Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Accident

The driver pulled the shiny black SUV with tinted windows into a parking spot directly in front of the double glass door and put it in park. He waited in silence for a few moments before glancing down and to his right at the chipette in the passenger seat. It was not his place to speak, so he patiently sat there, awaiting her giving him some sort of signal that she was ready.

Brittany was dressed in all black with a silky robe dress, a thick wire hat, high heels and dark sunglasses. She stared at the double glass doors just a few yards away from her, tucked inside a solid red brick wall, tinted black to the point where you couldn’t see anything inside. Out of the corner of her eye through the passenger side mirror, she could see dozens of protesters aggressively arguing, bickering, shouting and shoving each other with home-made signs, airhorns, and speakerphones. They were all restrained behind some yellow caution tape and a few orange cones, enforced by two or three security officers in bright neon jackets. 

And then she noticed him at the forefront of the whole mess: Alvin, glumly staring at his phone. She watched him type, pause, type, pause, backspace a few times, hesitate, type again. Finally satisfied, he finished tapping on the screen, put it in his trademark sweatshirt pocket along with both of his hands and look up at the black Chevy Suburban she was sitting in. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She knew who it was from, and she knew she didn’t want to read what the message said. But she reached into her pocket and lifted it in front of her face. The text message read: “please don’t do this baby….”

Brittany’s hand trembled as the nausea grew in her stomach. She wanted to cry, torn apart about what she was about to go through with. The Chipette slid the cellphone back into her pocket.

She continued to stare at the abortion clinic in front of her as if trying to decide whether it was inviting her inside or completely repulsing her. Finally, the man who had driven her there spoke up, “are you ready to go inside ma’am?”

“Oh,” Brit murmured, snapping out of it. “Yes.”

The driver nodded, opening his door and exiting the vehicle. While he walked around the hood of the car, Brittany’s breaths turned into long, shaky inhales and exhales. The man opened the door and extended a hand for Brittany to step onto, which she obliged. He carefully guided her down to the cement sidewalk, making sure to stand between her and the crowd of protesters. It was a chilly, grey, cloudy day and it looked like there was a decent chance of thunderstorms.

She wasn’t supposed to do this, but she couldn’t help herself. Brittany moved her head from around the driver’s leg to get one more look at Alvin. He still had his hands in his red sweatshirt pocket with the yellow “A” that he was famous for. But instead of that arrogant grin that seemed to always occupy his handsome face, which she had once fallen in love with, instead she locked eyes with a face of gloom and helplessness. Tears trickled down both of their faces as they stood eyeing each other up and down before finally Alvin dropped his gaze down towards the asphalt in defeat.

Brittany sighed, turned and began walking towards the clinic with her driver close behind. He opened one of the tinted doors and said, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say to him before he closed it and disappeared.

The inside of the clinic was brightly lit with a shiny white tile floor, white ceiling, and white walls with soothing paintings hung in random areas. Brit cautiously approached the welcome counter before she was noticed by the lady standing there. “Hi there,” she said in a monotone voice just loud enough so the Chipette could hear her. “How can I assist you today?” She was also wearing all white with preppy glasses and a nametag that said " Valeria" . 

“I… I have an appointment,” Brit responded.

Valeria looked down at her and said, “hmm. You must be Dr. Cummins’ 3pm. I’ll let him know you’re here. You can go ahead and take a seat wherever you feel comfortable.”

Brittany gulped as a pit began to form in her stomach. But she obliged the woman by taking a seat on the nearest fabric couch she could find. She didn’t even have enough time to take it all in, however, before a nearby wooden door opened with a slow creak and a charismatic man’s voice called out the name, “Brittany?”

She hopped down from the couch and scampered underneath it so she could see the doctor who was asking for her. It was a tall man with thin grey hair only on the sides of his head. “That’s me,” she responded.

Dr. Cummins used his bald head to motion her towards the door. “Room 13 down the hallway on the right.”

There was really no need to tell her this, as all she did was follow him to the checkout room anyway. Without being asked to, she took a seat on the examination chair while the doctor pulled out her file and began to examine it. 

“It says here you’re only about ten weeks in,” he muttered aloud. Without getting a response from her he looked up from the folder and followed up with, “is that correct?”

“Yes,” Brit said, shortly. 

Dr. Cummins chuckled. “That’s good. The earlier the better. Shouldn’t be a problem for the state of California anyways.”

“That’s good,” the Chipette sighed. She couldn’t get the sight of Alvin crying out of her head. Was he still in front of that crowd, she wondered, waiting, praying that she would change her mind?

“Is it your first pregnancy?” Cummins continued.

“Yes.” 

“Do you use, or have you used any substances in the last ten days including but not limited to; alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, heroin, or acid?”

“No.” 

“Any known defects of the fetus?”

Brittany turned to look at him as if she hadn’t heard him. “What?”

The bald doctor looked up from the file once again towards the Chipette. “Does the child have any birth defects that you know of at this time?”

“No,” Brit said. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen an ultrasound yet.”

Cummins nodded and continued, “ok, and-”

But was cut off by Brittany: “oh! That reminds me! I was wondering if I could actually see the baby on an ultrasound. You know, before I go through with this?”

The doctor didn’t even flinch or let his eyes stray from the folder before answering, “Miss Brittany we do not offer ultrasounds.”

“W-why not?” Brittany squinted at him.

“Because,” he said, “we’ve found that viewing an ultrasound only makes it harder for women to make these decisions. Trust me, it’s better if you don’t.”

The Chipette bit her lip as Cummins finally made eye contact with her again.

“Anymore questions?” he asked in a somewhat pandering tone.

“Yeah… actually. What will this whole operation look like? What exactly is gonna happen?”

He sighed and put his pen down. “Well we’re gonna run some tests on you, verify that we’re meeting state laws with accepting the termination of this pregnancy, collect a small down payment an-”

“My insurance is covering it,” Brittany interrupted once again. “I’m talking about the actual abortion, doctor.”

Cummins looked around the room as if searching for what to say, “I’m not sure how to describe the procedure without upsetting you.”

Brittany let out a small chuckle as she fought back tears. “You know what?” she said, getting the attention of the doctor. “Screw this.” And without further warning, she stood up and hopped down from the examination chair.

“Where are you going?” Cummins questioned her in shock.

“I can’t do this,” Brittany said over her shoulder as she walked towards the only door to the room. “I just can’t do it.”

None of the staff tried to stop her as she ran through the hallway and the greeting room all the way up to the entrance to the clinic. With good timing, the tinted double glass doors opened just as Brittany approached them. As she scurried outside, taking her place inside the greeting room was a skinny, teary-eyed middle aged woman with a pretty blonde girl, who looked to be about 16 or so. Both looked like they had just seen a ghost.

As soon as Brittany was outside she began darting her eyes back and forth across the entire crowd of protesters, much to the surprise of her driver. She could seem him frantically stuff his cellphone into his pocket through the windshield. Finally she found him: Alvin, sitting with his arms folded across his knees and his face tucked into his forearms. As the driver exited the SUV to see what Brit’s problem was, she began sprinting towards the red-clad chipmunk with reckless abandon.

“ALVIN!” she yelled as she ran

His ears flinched and his head perked up ever so slightly as he peered in her direction with squinted eyes. 

Continuing to run towards him with tears of joy flowing down her cheeks and a massive smile on her face, the Chipette had just enough breath to let out another cry, “Alvie!”

Alvin looked at her in amazement for a few moments before lifting himself to his feet. Just in time for him to catch his counterpart and embrace her in tight, loving hug. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Brittany whimpered into his ear. “I’m sorry I put you through all that. But I just, I couldn’t do that to it. Not to our baby.”

“Shh, it’s ok,” Alvin assured her, now with tears erupting from his own eyes as he held her close. “We’re going to pull this through. We’ll make it work. I swear to you.”

Chapter Text

Birds hidden by the rustling leaves of trees chirped in the early morning of a temperate September day. Brittany stood at the edge of her driveway, with her hand on top of the head of a young female chipmunk. It was Laney’s first day of Preschool. And both were clearly nervous but the caring mother also couldn’t help but swell with pride. She had spent over an hour this morning helping her daughter pick out a cute combination of a pink t shirt with jeans and did her hair in a cute French braid so that she could look good for her big day.

A loud, rackety old school bus could be heard screeching, breaking towards a stop sign down the road.

Brit took a deep breath and kneeled down next to Laney. “Hey,” she said in a soft voice, “look at me.”

Her daughter obeyed, turning and locking in with her big, pretty hazel eyes that she had clearly inherited from her father. 

“This is it. Ok? Don’t forget to listen to your teachers and play nice with the other kids. And make lots of friends!”

“I know mommy,” the young chipmunk responded, almost seeming bored by the moment.

Brittany sighed as the school bus rolled onto their street. “Ok.”

With a loud hiss and a long squeal, the bus slowed to a stop directly in front of both of them.

Brittany pulled her daughter into a tight hug. “I love you, and I am so proud of you. I know you’re gonna do great.” Finally, she broke away as the bus’s glass door opened with an old dragon lady of a driver staring at them impatiently.

“I love you too,” Laney said as she hesitantly began hopping towards the steps leading into the old yellow bus. She paused at the top of the steps to look back at her mother and smile and wave as the sliding glass doors closed. Brittany couldn’t help but smile and wave back. Her daughter was growing up so fast in front of her eyes. She felt as though she hadn't taken enough advantage of her previous years with Laney. Even now they seemed like a blur to the oldest Chipette, as if she had just been born six months ago. 

Finally, as Laney disappeared to find her seat, the bus rumbled back to life and started rolling forward. Brit bit her lip from anxiety but quickly shook out of it. It was time to go back inside to start getting ready.

~~~~~

Alvin rubbed his temple, not sure how much longer he could take this. The expensive headphones that covered his ears were blasting a clip of the most played song of some Soundcloud artist who called himself “Yung 22”. The guy was a textbook case of a breed that was not nearly rare enough: the wannabe mumble rapper. Alvin couldn’t interpret half of his lyrics, although the beat and the hook were kind of catchy. There just wasn’t any talent.

“That’s enough of that shit,” he muttered to himself as he moved onto the next artist on his playlist. 

Same problem, minus the catchy hook. Alvin groaned. Why were they never any good? The boss had been breathing down his neck for over a month, pressuring him into presenting some real talent for the agency to bring in. Alvin Seville could sniff out musical talent from nothing, he was sure of that. But in the entirety of the internet, it seemed there was nothing worthy of his recommendation.

Fed up, he exited Soundcloud and opened iTunes. He wasted no time in searching “alvin” before all of the older albums featuring the chipmunks and the Chipettes popped up on the screen. He smiled nostalgically at all of the content the six of them produced. Now that was quality music. He clicked on one of the albums and their cover of “Club Can’t Even Handle Me” began playing. 

Alvin absorbed the mental picture that this song gave him. He remembered the days of the group performing these at sold out football stadiums. How could six singing chipmunks have become “old news” so quickly? He supposed that he will be asking himself that question for the rest of his life.

The scouting office at Jett Records was buzzing with sounds of phones ringing and coworkers gossiping amongst each other. But Alvin drowned it out with the noise of his own past.

~~~~~

Laney nervously sat crisscross applesauce on the colorful carpet of Mrs. Kilburn’s classroom. She did not look much like the other children in the classroom. Even at the age of 4, she understood why. Why she was so much smaller than the other kids and had fur. Her classmates mostly seemed to give her curious looks, and definitely were not making much of an effort to interact with her. 

Mrs. Kilburn shut off the lights and began wheeling a TV on top of a table in front of the restless class. As the screen slowly came to life, she addressed her class: “Quiet down everyone! Every once in a while for science time I like to treat you guys to a show. Raise your hands if your parents have ever shown you ‘Science with Simon’?”

A few kids sitting down, including Laney, enthusiastically raised their hands. 

“I like to show it to my classes when he comes out with a new episode. I think you guys will learn a lot from this particular one!”

And with that, she hit the play button. 

The TV screen went dark for a couple seconds, before a giant burst of bright light swept across it with an explosion. Meteorites and stars flew away from the center of the blast in all directions, much to the delight of the small children watching. The video cut from a rocket launching to acid burning through metal to a bolt of lightning striking a metal rod. It finally faded into an animation of the nucleus of an atom surrounded by electrons zipping all around it, zooming out until none either than the star of the show himself was posing in front of the atom with his arms folded across his chest. Over him flashed the title: “ Science with Simon ”. 

Simon Seville, Laney’s uncle. She giggled with joy while the other children clapped from excitement as the title screen faded into black. She turned to the girl sitting next to her and said gleefully, “that's my uncle!”

The girl didn’t even acknowledge her.

The episode opened up underneath the ocean, with the sounds of crushing water depth and the pinging of sonar. After a couple seconds, a large, dark object floated through the sea in front of the camera, blocking everything else from sight. This prompted a faint “ooh” from the crowd of preschoolers.

“This is the USS Jimmy Carter,” the voice of Simon narrated. “It is one of the most high-tech submarines ever built by man. It is powered by a Nuclear reactor, meaning it can dive underwater for over a month without having to surface. But how does it do that? How can something sink underwater, to depths of over 500 feet, but still be afloat? What causes something to sink, or to float in water? I’ve decided to dig a little deeper to find out.”

~~~~~

Brittany stared at herself in the mirror, wearing only her new red lace bikini. It covered only the centerline of her chest, leaving her cleavage and underboob exposed. And the bottom rode tight up into her ass. She sighed, noticing that there was still a little baby fat she was recovering from. She supposed it came with the territory of being a mom.

“Looking good, Brit,” said Dustin, the leader of the photography group she had hired. “We’re good to start if you are.”

She bit her lip nervously before responding, “let’s do this.”

And with that the array of posing and camera flashing began. Beginning directly where she was standing, at least five different cameramen relentlessly snapped pictures of her every move. She switched up her poses from smiling at the camera with her hands on her hips, to poetically staring at the ground with her hands crossed over her shoulders, to shifting her body 90 degrees and bending one knee, showing off her figure as she made a kissing face at the different cameras.

She switched up and walked slowly over to her bed, followed closely by slack-jawed men with cameras pressed to their faces, some of whom were zooming in and taking pictures exclusively of her ass.

She stopped at the edge of the bed and looked over her shoulder seductively biting her lip. Somehow she got the bright idea to lean over, putting her elbows on top of the mattress. This made the flashing of the cameras all the more intense.

Enjoying the rush of attention, she hopped on top of the bed and continued to shift around into different poses, each one more sexy than the last. And although she would never admit it, she enjoyed every second of it. Every flash, every clicking sound, every moment with these eyes staring only at her, desperate for her as if they were smokers and her body were a cigarette, was better than any drug.

Half an hour later, she was standing fully clothed with a check in her hand for $1,900. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Seville,” one of the photographers said to her.

“Can’t thank you enough,” another chimed in. “These photos are gonna blow the hell up on the site. You did great work.”

“Look, Brittany, baby,” Dustin spoke up, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his card. “You’ve got a future if you want it. Give me a call if you ever wanna do business again. Maybe next time we can up the ante?”

Brit giggled nervously. “I’ll give you a call if that’s the case, Dustin,” she said. “Thanks again.”

And with that, the camera crew left, leaving her behind in shock. Almost two thousand dollars. In half an hour of work. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, “this is not going to be pretty.”

~~~~~

Laney had spent the whole school day feeling left out. One half of her classmates pretended she wasn’t even there while the other half stared at her like some little freak. She could hear them whispering and laughing amongst themselves while their eyes were on her, making jokes about her. It made her want to cry. 

To make herself feel better, she spent her recess drawing pictures in the sand of the baseball field. Pictures of flowers and trees and birds, and she capped it off by signing with her name in all capital print letters.

The sound of footsteps approaching her from behind caused her to look over her shoulder. Julie Maggart and her three best friends walked right up to Laney, who was still crouching in the sand, and peered over her at her sand creations. The young chipmunk got excited to finally be able to talk to some girls at the school. “Hi Julie!” she chirped enthusiastically as she stood up to come face to face with her.

Julie was a bit taller and more built than most of the other kids at the preschool. She had long, glowing red hair and pretty green eyes. “Nice drawings,” she said in a huff.

“Th-thank you!” Laney squeaked. “I”

But she was interrupted by Julie spitting in her face, “why are you over here by yourself, freak? Don’t you have friends?”

Laney was shocked. “No. No one here will even say hi to me. Do you want to be my friend?”

Julie and all of her cohorts started laughing at her. “Who even let you into this school? You’re a chipmunk. Chipmunks don’t belong in preschool.”

“B-but my mommy said that-” 

“Shut… up,” Julie cut her off again. “Your mommy is stupid for whatever she said. And my mom said your aunt is an evil little rat who wants to ruin America.”

Laney’s eyes went from shock to anger. “Take that back!”

But Julie didn’t budge. “You don’t talk to me like that.” And with that she stomped right over to Laney’s drawings and began kicking each one of them into nothing with her squad laughing and cheering her on. 

Laney did nothing but watch it happen with her mouth wide open. Once Julie had finished, there was nothing remaining that resembled her art; nothing but sand dust that had been kicked up in the air. A single tear dripped down the Chipette’s left cheek. “Why would you do that?”

“You needed to be taught a lesson!” Julie retorted matter-of-factly.

Completely filled with rage, Laney clenched her fist by her side. “So do you,” she grumbled.

“What?” the ginger girl squinted at her.

But before she could make another move, Laney had pounced onto her, throwing fists at whatever part of the young girl that she could hit until she finally stumbled onto her back into the infield sand. But Laney didn’t stop. With Julie trying to block as much as she could, the 4 year old chipmunk continued to punch. Her ferocious assault petrified Julie's friends, who each took a step back rather than intervening. Finally, with the redhead holding her arms defensively over her stomach, Laney raised her right hand over her head, opened her claws, and swiped them across her bully’s face as hard as she could.

With wide eyes from what had just taken over her, the exhausted Chipette took a couple steps back to look over what she had just done. Julie laid there, breathing heavily, dirty, amidst a cloud of disturbed sand, with a blackened right eye and three deep gashes across her left cheek. They stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before Julie erupted into loud, blubbering crying.

This got the attention of the teacher, Mrs. Kilburn, who sprinted in high heels over to where the five children were. As soon as she saw Julie, still sobbing on the ground, she looked at the other four kids and said, “who did this?” 

Julie’s three friends all immediately pointed at Laney without saying a word. The young chipmunk simply looked down at the ground, solemnly, knowing she was in big trouble.

“Laney! Come with me! Right now!”

She begrudgingly obliged, taking the teacher’s hand and following her towards the school.

“You and I are going to have a chat with the principal. And then we’re going to have a chat with your parents.”

Chapter Text

Alvin had been so distracted by humming the tunes of his band’s old covers that he didn’t hear his secretary enter his office. 

She looked at the chipmunk dressed in a nicely tailored suit with a red and yellow tie, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, mumbling the lyrics to an older song with confusion. She cleared her throat to get his attention to no avail. “Mr. Seville?” she muttered hesitantly. Still no reaction from Alvin. “Mr. Seville!” 

He stopped  what he was doing, opened his eyes to look in her direction, and as soon as he saw her standing in the doorway with her arms on her hips he quickly sat up in his chair and pulled the headphones off of his head.

“What's up Ronda?” he asked her, embarrassed.

“Mr. Ramos would like to see you,” she said as she began to exit the room and close the door behind her.

“Wait!” Alvin stopped her in her tracks. “Did he say what for?”

She responded with, “no sir,” before shutting the door, leaving the normally cocky chipmunk to nervously ponder how he was going to explain his lack of production to his boss… again.

He sighed and picked himself out of his chair. He set his headphones down in front of his desktop and made his way out of his office. It was a bit of a walk to the other end of the floor, where Ramos presided. On his way in that direction, Alvin passed a cubicle occupied by another talent scout like himself. He was a sad-looking, forty plus year old man with a beer belly and a receding hairline whose name was Dean Blandino. 

As he walked past it, Alvin thought nothing of Dean hunching towards his computer screen, until something caught his eye. He could have swore that he saw… no, it couldn’t have been. The chipmunk stopped dead in his tracks and trudged awkwardly back towards the opening in the cubicle. Dean didn’t hear him enter his office space, as he was absolutely fixated on what was on his desktop screen. Alvin got close enough to see around his shoulder, and his worst fears were confirmed.

His coworker was looking at pictures of his wife, Brittany, half naked in various locations of his own damn bedroom. 

Alvin crossed his arms, as a rollercoaster of emotions hit him all at once. This was the first time he had seen Brit in underwear for a very long time. Dean finally noticed Al standing to his left and quickly rotated in his chair to face him. “What do you want, Alvin?”

“I want that shit to never be on your computer again, or I’m telling the boss that you’re jerking it off in your office space.”

“Be my guest,” he responded. “Ask me if I give a fuck. I know for a fact he won’t. He may believe that I’m stroking my weiner all day at work, but I still find a way to be more productive than you.”

“Say, did your ex-wife leave you because she figured out that you’re a furry, or because your gut has its own gravitational pull?”

“Don’t you have an ass-chewing in Ramos’ office to crawl off to?” he looked down at me with a crossed expression.

“More likely a promotion,” I snorted, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pretty sure you actually need to find some talent as a talent scout before you’re eligible for promotion, Al. Now get the hell out of my office before I accidentally step on you.”

Alvin threw his arms up and began slowly backing out of the cubicle with a smile on his face. “Hey, whatever you say Dean.”

“That’s right, retreat. That’s what you’re good at,” Blandino called back as he spun back around to continue licking his lips at pictures of Brittany.

Alvin chuckled as he rounded the corner into the hallway. “The only thing retreating here is your hairline, Dean.”

As Alvin walked away, Dean could be heard calling, “tell Brittany I say hi!” but Al ignored him and kept moving.

Mr. Ramos sat behind his desk, fingers crossed on top of his lap, eyeing down the chipmunk who had just entered his office and closed the door. Alvin exchanged eye contact with his boss nervously. “You asked to see me?”

“Yes, I just wanted you to update me on your progress,” Ramos chirped from across the room.

Alvin stepped forward and grabbed the chair closest to him. “Well-”

But he was interrupted by Ramos interjecting rudely and sternly, “Oh no. No, don’t sit down. You’ve been doing enough of that recently.”

Alvin sighed. “I’ve been going through every possible corner of Youtube and Soundcloud, been making calls. But nothing that promising has caught my ear. And every time I think I have something they either already have another record deal lined up, or they’re just straight up not interested.”

Ramos put his hand up in a “stop” motion to shut Alvin up. His snarl could dissolve a snail. 

“Here’s the thing, Alvin. Everyone struggles with this job when they first start. Whether it’s because they don’t know where to look, or don’t know how to pitch the company, or don’t know money-making talent when they hear it, or - based off of what you’re telling me, all of the above in your case. But there’s an even bigger issue with you that I’m concerned about.”

Alvin’s eyes widened. “W-what do you mean?”

His boss turned his attention to the expensive computer screen to the left side of his desk. “Well, you just told me you’re hard at work, all day, trying to find talent for me to bring in. Let’s see if the facts back that up.”

Alvin gulped nervously as Ramos typed for a few seconds, before twisting the screen of the computer to face the chipmunk.

“Can you tell me what that is?” Ramos asked Alvin.

Al looked at the screen for a bit before recognizing it. “That’s the browser history on my desktop today.”

“That’s correct. Read some of it aloud to me, from the top.”

Alvin sighed. “Chipmunks ft. Chipettes - Party Rock Anthem on Youtube… chipmunks vs. chipettes - No Scrubs vs. No pigeons on bitchute… New York Times article - ‘Why the Chipmunks’ ticket sales are down’...”

“Stop right there,” Ramos commanded. “I’ll save us both some time, because pretty much your whole day looks like this, with the occasional Soundcloud song here and there from some wannabe rapper in his mom’s basement. Matter of fact, this is pretty much what every workday looks like for you since we’ve brought you in.” 

Alvin couldn’t think of anything to say. So he just stood there holding his right arm, staring at the ground. 

“Let me explain something to you,” Ramos continued. “When you are in my building on my payroll, you are on my time. And I expect you not only to be focused on work but to get me results.”

Alvin nodded solemnly “I understand sir.”

“You’re living in the past, Alvin,” Ramos said, easing up just a bit. “I brought you in here because you know your music. You’re one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever heard and you’re one of the most entertaining personalities that’s ever hit a stage. I brought you here to find another you so to speak. Or two, or three. You get the idea?”

“Of course,” Alvin sighed.

“Within the next two days, I expect something good to hit my desk. From you.”

Alvin’s ears perked up from surprise. “Sir… today is Friday. And it’s almost the end of the workday.”

His boss raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that a problem?”

The chipmunk bit his lip and let his eyes sink back towards the floor. “Nope. No problem.”

“Good, now get back to work. I better not see any more distractions on your history from now on.” 

………………………………………………

Laney sat awkwardly, staring at the floor of principal King’s office. King herself sat behind her desk, keeping an eye on her student, not saying a word. Across from Laney sat Julie Maggart and her mother, Mrs. Maggart, both glaring at the young Chipette with hateful eyes. Julie had both nostrils plugged up to stop the blood flow, sporting a black eye and some dirt that remained on her face, her clothes, and in her hair despite some washing. 

All four of them waited impatiently for Brittany to finally show up, none of them saying a thing to each other. 

Finally, the door to the office swung open. “I’m sorry that took so long,” came the frantic voice of Laney’s mother. 

“It’s fine Mrs. Seville,” Miss King’s voice responded with fake reassurance, “please have a seat.”

Brittany was already on her way to the seat next to Laney. “What happened?” she asked her daughter sternly.

“She attacked me!” Julie’s angry words interrupted. 

Laney never picked her eyes up to look at anybody, obviously in shame. 

Brittany looked at her daughter in shock. “Is that true?”

Laney didn’t respond. 

“Laney… is that true?” she persisted.

“What kind of question is that?” Julie’s mother piped in. “Have a look at what she did to my sweet little girl. Look at her face, at her clothes!”

“But she started it!” Laney finally retorted defiantly.

“No!” Julie fired back

“Laney, calm down,” Brittany murmured to her daughter.

“Miss King,” Mrs. Maggart turned to the principal, “I want this creature expelled… or at least suspended for attacking my baby girl in cold blood. You can’t stand for this.”

Brittany raised an eyebrow at her. “Creature?”

“We do not stand for violence,” King assured her. “Laney, what do you have to say for yourself? Can you tell us exactly what happened, honey?”

“She bullied me!” Laney tried to explain. “She stomped on my pictures in the sand and said mean things to me.”

“Did not!” Julie protested. “She’s lying!”

“No… I’m… not!” Laney said frantically.

“Please,” Mrs. Maggart interrupted. “I don’t see why my daughter would even go anywhere near that thing.”

“What are you trying to say?” Brittany responded, glaring at the mom across the office. 

Mrs. Maggart raised an eyebrow at her. “Did I stutter?”

“Oh no, honey,” Brit retorted, “it’s just kind of hard to hear you through all that plastic surgery. How many of your husband’s credit cards did you have to max out to fix that face?” 

“That’s enough!” King commanded.

“As you can see,” Julie’s mom sighed, “anger issues clearly run in the family. There are three other sweet little girls who all witnessed what happened and they all said Laney was unprovoked. For the safety of all of the students here, I insist you do something.”

King bit her lip, then turned to the two chipmunks. “Mrs. Seville, your daughter is suspended indefinitely. When we get more information I’ll follow up with you personally. Until then, I need you to parent Laney so she won’t repeat this incident.”

“Now wait just a minute-” Brittany tried to protest but was interrupted by the principal.

“That’s my final word on this issue today. Julie,” she turned to the red-headed girl in tangled pig tails, “you can go home with your mom for the rest of the day. I hope you get better.”

With a lowkey smirk on her face, Julie hopped off her chair and skipped out the office smugly. Her mother followed right behind her, glaring daggers at the two Chipettes on her way out. 

“I wish the rest of you a good day. And Mrs. Seville,” she paused to make eye contact with Brittany. “The next time will be the last time.”

Chapter Text

Tears flowed down Brittany’s cheeks, partly because of the large amount of freshly cut onions sautéing in her pan and partly from the frustration of her daughter getting kicked out of school. Laney had locked herself in her room as soon as they had gotten home. Brit hadn’t tried to disturb her yet. Even the car ride home was completely quiet. Truth be told, Brittany didn’t have the slightest clue on how she would talk to her daughter. Should she be firm? Should she punish her? At any rate, she figured she had given Laney enough time to reflect. 

She left the burner on a low setting, ensuring that the onions wouldn’t overcook while she was away, and began walking towards Laney’s room. Once she was upstairs, she stepped stealthily towards her daughter's plain white bedroom door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear the distinct sniffling of her crying child inside, which only upset Brittany even more. 

Brit knocked on the door and entered. The young Chipette quickly stopped crying, wiped the tears from under her eyes and spun around to look at her mom. “Laney?” Brittany chirped.

Laney appeared more annoyed than any other emotion as she pulled her eyes away from her mother and towards her bedroom floor. “What is it?” she responded to her mother. 

“I was just wondering if you could tell me everything that happened today,” said Brittany, with half of her body inside the bedroom and the other half leaning on the door frame.

“Why?” Laney asked, wiping snot off the tip of her nose. 

Brit thought about this for a second. “Well, I guess I just figured it’d be easier for you to open up to me. You know, without Julie there. Or her mom, or Mrs. King.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it matters, Laney,” Brittany retorted, putting her foot down on the issue. 

The young Chipette sighed, “Julie and her friends were bullying me. They were calling me names, ruining my drawings. They said bad things about you and auntie Jeanette.”

“Was there anyone else there who saw them do this?”

Laney shook her head. “No, it was just Julie and her friends. I was by myself in the baseball field.”

“Why were you out there by yourself?” her mother questioned her.

“Because,” Laney said shrugging. “No one else wanted to play with me. No one else wanted to talk to me. They all just wanted to point and stare and laugh at me.”

“I see…” Brittany trailed off in thought, shifting her eyes towards the floor, having no clue how to respond to what her daughter had just told her. 

“Is daddy home yet?” Laney asked.

“No sweetie.” She checked her watch, and it read 6:34 pm. “Which is really weird. He’s usually home an hour ago.” 

“Where could he be?”

Brittany sighed, deep in thought. “I don’t know, Laney.” All of the worst case scenarios began playing through her mind before she finally shook them away. “Are you excited to go to Aunt Jeannies’ house tonight?”

Laney shrugged. “I guess.”

“You know it’s a very big night for your aunt, don’t you?”

“Does she really want to ruin this country?” Laney asked her mom.

“N-no! Who told you that?” Brittany gasped, chuckling in surprise. Laney didn’t respond for a few moments. Britt's face transformed into a stern seriousness with an instant of realization. “It was Julie, wasn’t it?"

Without looking up from the floor, Laney nodded. 

As if on cue, the sound of the front door of the house opening excited Laney to the point of hopping off of her bed and sprinting past her mom out into the hallway. Brittany sighed as she followed her daughter towards Alvin. “Daddy!” Laney exclaimed as soon as she had a view of her father, who was still by the front door taking his shoes off. 

“Aw, Laney sweetie!” he chuckled. Without waiting for him to finish peeling off his socks, she jumped into his waiting arms. He lifted her off the ground and held her close. “How you doing baby? How was school?”

The smile immediately faded off her face. All she could muster up as a response was “uhhh…”

Before Alvin could press her for an answer, his ears perked up and he sniffed loudly twice. At this point he turned to Brittany, who was standing with her arms folded across her chest a few feet away, and said, “is something burning?”

Brit’s eyes widened. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed as she started jogging towards the kitchen. 

“Do you need help, baby?” Alvin called out to her as he set his daughter gently back down on the floor. 

There was no response.

Alvin sighed and followed his wife into the kitchen, where she was busy scraping and stirring the contents of a pan and turning down the heat. “Brit? What is it?”

“It’s the onions,” she muttered back without looking at him.

“Onions? What for?”

“For the soup.” She finally turned around to face him, only to see the confusion on his face. “Did you really forget about the watch party at Jeanette’s tonight?”

Alvin chuckled nervously. “Of course not.”

Brittany rolled her eyes and went back to focusing on the food she was cooking. “So why are you home so late from work?” she chirped at him in an accusing tone. 

“Boss gave me a tight deadline,” he tried to explain. “I’m gonna have to go in tomorrow, too.”

She raised an eyebrow at Alvin. “Tomorrow’s a Saturday.”

“I know. Gotta get some things done. I just can’t stay at Jeanette’s too late tonight.”

“Fine,” she groaned as she turned her focus back to the food. 

“Hey, Brit, can we talk?”

“About what?” she snorted.

Alvin sighed, before noticing his daughter staring at the two of them from a distance. “Laney, can you go to your room for a bit, please?”

The young Chipette nodded her head obediently and walked off. Alvin waited until he heard her bedroom door shut upstairs.

“Brit,” he said solemnly, “I really wish you had talked to me before having that photoshoot.” 

Brittany shrugged. “Why’s that?”

“It’s not the best feeling when you walk in on your coworker stroking one out to pictures of your naked wife on his work computer,” Alvin said gruffly, crossing his arms.

She glared at him with disdain. “Well those photos sell, Alvin. I made nineteen hundred dollars for that one shoot.”

“I still think I deserve to at least be given a heads up before you go ahead and do that again.”

“And why is it any of your business?” she snapped at him. Not getting an immediate response, she pressed, “huh? What gives you the right to control what I do?”

“I… I just want you to think about… what if Laney accidentally sees those photos one day?” he pleaded.

“Don’t do that!” she lifted a warning finger at him with anger beginning to swell in her eyes. “Don’t you dare fucking do that! Don’t bring our daughter into this!”

“What if she sees it?” he pushed, ignoring her warning. “What kind of questions will she have? How’re you gonna explain it to her?”

Brittany wiped a single tear off of her face and turned back towards the onions. “I’m just trying to make some more money, Alvin. Laney deserves a good Christmas and God knows without a Christmas bonus you won’t be much help.”

Alvin’s eyes widened. He had no idea how to respond, so he simply gulped down his shame and walked off, leaving his wife alone.

………………………………………………

When the Chipmunks and Chipettes turned sixteen years old, still very much at the height of their popularity, Dave had invested nearly two million dollars into six custom-built vehicles. They were manufactured by Chevrolet, designed with boosted driver's seats, extended gas and break pedals, a smaller wheel that could extend farther out from the dashboard. They were designed to allow the Chipmunks and Chipettes to learn to drive, and to allow them the same freedoms that most children their age were afforded. They were each the same model of Suburban, only being differentiated by their paint jobs, which reflected the primary colors of their individual owners. Years later, five of those SUV's remained in the family. Brittany had been involved in a car wreck just barely more than a year before Laney had been born, which totaled the car. And despite the expensive insurance policy Dave had taken out on the vehicles when he bought them, the complete decline of the band made it financially impossible for them to replace it.

Alvin and Brittany's lone remaining, bright red SUV rounded the corner into the driveway to Simon and Jeanette’s house. It was lengthy and beautifully designed. There were hedges trimmed to resemble animals, statuettes of mythical creatures and ancient Roman and Greek gods and goddesses. There were two fountains on either side of the walkway towards the front door. The house itself was three stories, made entirely of red brick, with a four car garage, surrounded by palm trees. It had such a grand feel to it that Brittany quietly mused to herself how it looked like her dream home. 

The car parked in front of the garage door, and it was almost immediately hounded by members of the media flashing their cameras at the young family and yelling questions at them about Jeanette. As Alvin exited the SUV from the driver's seat, he couldn’t help but let a smirk creep across his face. He hadn’t gotten this kind of media attention in a long time.

“Alvin!” one of the women called out. “Can you comment on Jeanette Seville’s chances?”

“Do you support her stance on healthcare?”

“How likely are we to get a public appearance from her tonight, Mr. Seville?”

Overwhelmed, Alvin said, “Um, I don’t have any comment right now. I’m just going to be enjoying tonight with my family. Whatever happens, happens! Thank you.”

With that, Alvin took his wife and daughter under his arms and walked towards the front door of the house with the paparazzi swarming behind them. As they approached the stone steps that led to the door, they noticed a red, white, and blue sign which read “Jeanette SEVILLE for US Senate”. Brittany walked ahead of them and rang the doorbell. The three of them waited in anticipation for about fifteen seconds. Finally, a faded image of a Chipette wearing a violet hue dress appeared from inside behind the pretty frosted glass in the white wooden front door. The rate of flashing of the cameras grew intensely. There was the click of the door unlocking, followed by a light creek as it opened. The reporters suddenly went wild, screaming questions at Laney’s aunt. 

“Aunt Jeanette!” Laney exclaimed.

“Aw, Laney,” Jeanette chuckled as she bent her knee to embrace her niece in a warm hug. 

Once Laney finally broke away, Jean rose to her feet and proceeded to hug both her sister and her brother-in-law. “Here,” she said, “come in! Come in! Sorry about the circus out here.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Brittany assured her as they walked inside.

“Jeanette! Jeanette!” one of the reporters heckled. “Any comment on how you’re feeling going into tonight?”

Jeannie turned around and faced the horde of reporters and cameras. “Myself, my husband and my staffers feel very confident that the voters of California have made the right decision. But the polls are just minutes away from closing, and we will be watching the results come in with great anticipation. I will make a statement after the election has been called. That’s all I have for now, thank you!” And with that she threw up a charming smile and wave before turning her back to the cameras, strutting inside, and shutting the door behind her.

She smiled at her family, who looked at her in amazement. “What happened to the shy, overcautious Jeannie?” Alvin chirped.

“She grew up,” Jeanette giggled. Suddenly she noticed the large pot of soup that Brittany was clearly struggling with carrying under her arm. “Oh, Brit! I’m sorry, let me help you with that!” She rushed to her sister’s side, taking the pot in both her hands. “Let me show you the way to the living room. We’ll set up bowls and spoons.”

The new house was simply magnificent, and it left both Alvin and Brittany extremely jealous. The hallways, the rugs, the wall art, everything was so elegant and obviously had a considerable amount of money behind it. 

Once they finally made it to the living room, complimented by a beautiful scarlet carpet, a white reclining leather couch, and an 80 inch flat screen smart TV. Simon, who sat on the couch, watching local news coverage of the election results, spun his head around. As soon as he saw his wife struggling, he hopped to his feet and helped Brittany and Jeanette set the pot of soup onto the coffee table in the middle of the living room. 

Simon chuckled at their collective weakness. “Hey. Brit,” he said, going in for a hug. “Long time no see.”

“What’s going on, Si,” Alvin piped up, “or should I call you, ‘ the science Munk ’?” he chuckled after pretending to sound epic. 

Simon didn’t really seem to know how to respond, but Jeanette interrupted by saying, “Simon, honey, could you please go and grab bowls and spoons? And napkins while you’re at it?”

He smiled at her warmly and said, “but of course, my dear.” And with that he walked off towards their kitchen. 

Jean turned to her three guests and said, “please! Sit down! Make yourselves at home.” 

“Aunt Jeanette, your house is so nice!” Laney gasped, marveling at her surroundings.

Jeanette giggled, “thank you, sweetie.” And with that, she turned up the volume of the TV. 

Jaime Scott, the late night reporter, was talking about none other than her. “Welcome back to ‘Election Night USA’ here on NBC. Tonight the most high profile campaign in the entire nation is happening right here in California. Jeanette Seville is looking to knock incumbent Gary Martin, and by doing so she hopes to become the first Republican to win a state-wide election in California since Arnold Schwarzenneger in 2006. Her campaign seemed to have virtually no chance at victory, until about three months ago when allegations of sexual assault surfaced against Senator Martin.”

It was at this point that Simon returned with the bowls, spoons, and napkins. He watched the TV as he carefully set down everything on the table. 

The news anchor continued, “but things may have taken an unfortunate turn for the Seville campaign when it was reported this morning that her older sister, Brittany Seville, had posed in a semi-nude photo shoot made available to the public online.”

Everyone’s eyes widened as blurred pictures from Brittany’s shoot were exposed on live television. Photos of her posing in obviously sexual moods, seductively staring at the screen. Images of her bending over, biting her lip. They didn't show any of the more expletive content, naturally, but the message was loud and clear. Laney didn’t seem to know how to comprehend it all. She had a pronounced, traumatized frown and her eyebrows were raised. She looked to her mother and father for some sort of guidance, which they were unable to offer her. Jeanette seemed to be concealing some rage because of the poor timing of this whole thing. She stared at the television, not saying a word, her eyes twitching, not looking at Brittany, not her husband, nor Alvin or Laney. She knew that in such a tight contest, this could be a fatal blow. She felt second hand-embarrassment for her sister, which was overshadowed only by her frustration.

“This incident has some of the voters in California now asking, how exactly does Mrs. Seville have the high ground when it comes to sexual morality? This morning, she had a slight lead in our polling. But this controversy might have been just what Gary Martin needed to pull out a victory and hold on to his senate seat. Back to you in the studio, Joe.”

The reporter hadn’t even finished by the time Brittany had picked herself up and walked off, doing her best to hold back tears as long as she could. 

Joe answered Jamie through the broadcast as she speed-walked away from her family. “Well, Jamie, if the feelings of the Martin campaign could be summed up in a single word, that word would be elation. Staff officials with Gary Martin have gone on the record saying they believe that this development significantly improves their odds for victory tonight.”

Brit made it all the way to the bathroom to which she emphatically closed the door behind her. As soon as she felt alone, the tears started flowing without the slightest attempt to control them. Her daughter had seen her posing like that for a camera, on live television. And not only that, but her sister, and Simon too. And Alvin, he had been right about Laney seeing those pictures. To top it all off, she might have just taken a wrecking ball to her sister’s chances at getting elected, and she didn’t know if she could ever be forgiven or even if she could ever forgive herself if that’s how it turned out.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Not now, Alvin,” Brittany murmured.

“It’s not Alvin,” came the response on the other side of the door.

Brittany sighed. “Simon, I need some space right now.”

“You should really let me in, Brit,” he said, “we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

*Flashback*

It was safe to say that Jeanette had not anticipated the reaction she got from a simple post. She stared at her phone screen, shuttering at the blowback pouring her way. Every second there was a “ding” sound, prompting a notification of an additional 12 to 17 engagements with the thread. Her account had only just over eight thousand followers. She had not received anywhere near this much attention since she had retired from music over six years ago. 

In comparison to the other five members of her group, Jeanette had by far remained the most out of the public eye since their band went separate ways. Simon took a chance on a starring role in a scientifically educational Amazon Prime show for kids, and it paid off with millions of dollars, four seasons (with a recent renewal for a fifth), and refurbished fame. Theodore carved out one of the most watched cooking shows in the United States. America fell in love with the bubbly personality of the youngest chipmunk bouncing off screen as he created art in the kitchen. Eleanor bought the WFA, a women's tackle football league. Through genius marketing and lenient contract negotiations with a few major television networks, as well as Netlflix, the WFA had become the fifth most watched sports entity in the United States. Brittany had had a brief stint as a runway model before her pregnancy with Laney. After she gave birth, she tried to get back into it but was mostly unable to find profitable work. She settled down as a stay-at-home mom with Alvin bringing home the bacon, who held out the longest in the music business. He had only just recently hung up his microphone to take up a job at, of all places, Jett Records as a talent scout. Jeanette didn't hear from them much, but what she had heard was, at best, unalarming regarding how Alvin's new job was going. 

Jeanette, on the other hand, took a very different route. She became a political campaign manager. None of the others besides Simon had even the faintest clue that she had earned her political science degree through online college while they were still touring as musicians. She didn’t want them to assume that it would negatively affect her commitment to the group. Her original plan was to use the degree as a stepping stool to a law degree, which she wanted to pursue whenever they retired. But as she studied political science, she came to realize that she had not only a talent for it but a passion for it. It took her a long time to understand why; she fell in love with the idea of directing and navigating men and women who had such a great ability to persuade and seduce people into larger coalitions. The practice of analyzing data centered around people's thoughts and emotions, and using that data to sway candidates, people of charisma and power, to do her bidding from behind the scenes. She understood people. She understood what motivated them, what made them tick, what drove them to be passionate activists… but she herself did not possess nearly the confidence or personality to bring these qualities out of people herself. She knew what had to be done or said at all times but did not have the ability to perform. Her masterful work behind the scenes led a near-perfect twenty-one out of twenty-two candidate victories under her watch. She worked with Republicans, Democrats, and independants alike with no discrimination between them in quality of service. She had now become the most sought after campaign manager in Southern California, and she managed to do so without the fame or publicity that often came with it.

She continued to tremble as she, sitting in her living room past 1am with all of the lights off, stared at her phone, still buzzing with activity. She had only planned to catch up on the news when she conducted her now regretted post.

Her post was a response to one of the two Senators from California: Gary Martin. A direct response with an “@” sign. Mr. Martin had posted an article from the Los Angeles Times titled “ Former Barnes Staffer Who Alleged the Congressman Raped Her Before Firing Her: ‘He paid for the abortion ’”. 

Senator Martin himself had added his own comments to the reposted article: “Congressman Barnes remains silent on this matter. Innocence is presumed until proven guilty… however the circumstances of Miss Flynn's firing are very suspicious. America deserves a statement from the Congressman on this issue.”

Jeanette was Barnes’ campaign manager when he first ran for office. He had a special place in her heart both because he was her first job after graduation and because of the genuine kindness he had always shown his staff, including her. She knew the circumstances of Jody Flynn's firing. Flynn was equally as lazy as she was incompetent as an event scheduler. There were at least two occasions that Jeanette was aware of where she accidentally double-booked campaign events. The first time this happened it was only discovered when Jeanette started getting phone calls from the old folks home that was supposed to be getting an appearance from Mr. Barnes. The second time it happened, it was caught by the purple clad chipette who had learned her lesson about fully trusting staffers. The final straw for Flynn's employment was when she booked an event at a private auditorium that was supposedly going to be full of Joseph Barnes’ donors. This event, which was planned to be a thank you speech, happened to be on a day where Jeanette had taken off for her anniversary dinner with Simon. Mrs. Barnes, coincidentally, had to take their son to a basketball tournament at the same time. However, Simon had to postpone the dinner to do an emergency re-shoot of a scene for his television show, so Jeanette decided to surprise Barnes by showing up to his speech. And not only did she make an appearance, but she arrived early. This obviously surprised Flynn, more so than Barnes, and not in a good way. Things were awkward, being that it was only the three of them when Jeanette strutted into the auditorium. And things started to become increasingly tense as the scheduled beginning time of the speech came and went with not a single donor showing up, Flynn dodging eye contact and questions until they collectively decided to go home. Jeanette did digging in the aftermath of all of this and discovered no invites were actually sent to any of the campaign donors. After Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were informed of this, Flynn's employment was terminated by the end of the next day. Almost six months later, she filed her sexual assault case.

Jeanette re-read her public response post to Senator Martin, which was born purely out of an impulse to defend a man who she considered a friend, which read: “The circumstances of Miss Flynn's firing are quite the opposite of mysterious. She was a defective employee. Nothing more, nothing less. Also, having been involved personally with both her and Barnes for several months, I can tell you there are several parts of her story that simply don't add up.”

Jeanette grimaced. That was definitely more strongly worded and direct than it had sounded in her head. And now, it was getting the reception that she should have expected. Thousands of more reactions, hundreds of more comments, dozens more reposts. The people responding to her did so in such a variety of ways; “bitch”, “bravo”, “victim blamer”, “I believe you”, “traitor”, “well said”, “slut”. Jeanette sighed and slumped into her couch. This isn't what she wanted. The last thing she wished for in this life was to go viral, to be thrust back into the spotlight. 

One additional notification made her eyes wide from fear. “Gary Martin replied to your comment”. She almost dropped her phone from her hand shaking, her heart was pumping so violently.

His response was: “You no longer work for Mr. Barnes. You no longer have to blindly defend every single one of his actions, especially not the morally reprehensible ones. I suggest you go back to doing what you do best: working silently in the shadow like a snake. Women and young girls are watching, and they don’t need to see you defending their abusers.”

Yep , Jean thought to herself, that's about what I would have told him to say to me if I were managing him . She rubbed her temples as reactions, comments and reposts began to pour onto his attack post against her. “Got her”, “Senator's got burns”, “she doesn't have the brains to follow your advice”, “you sir are a piece of shit”, “lol snake… nailed it”.

Jeanette didn't know what to do. She could think of a few decent rebuttals, but what she wanted more than anything was for this to die down. She sighed once more, got off the couch, went upstairs, and collapsed onto her bed next to her snoring husband, hoping all of it would blow over by the morning. 

……………….

She woke up to the smell of bacon. Drowsily, she picked her head up, looked around her bedroom, noticed it was lighter than normal, checked her alarm clock. It was past 11am. She groaned and picked herself all the way up, still wearing her nightgown. The blue in her eyes began to give way as she made her way out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Simon, her loving husband, was at the stove frying bacon and cooking scrambled eggs while wearing her cow-spot-patterned apron. 

“Morning, dear,” he said to her, chuckling to himself.

She smiled at him. “Mmm… morning.”

“Why'd you come to bed so late last night?” Simon asked her, not looking up from the eggs.

A pit formed in Jeanette’s stomach as memories of the social media fiasco suddenly flooded her mind. Her heart hoped it had all been a bad dream, but she knew the likelihood of that was barely above zero. “Nothing… just catching up on some current events.” 

Simon, who prided himself on being able to read his wife like a book, looked up at her from the stove with squinted eyes. 

“Speaking of which,” she said, attempting to distract him as she picked up the remote, “politics is twenty-four/seven.” She turned on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall near their fridge. It came alive tuning straight into CNN.

What they saw made their jaws drop. It was a shady-looking picture of her with sunglasses on, pointing somewhere off in the distance while speaking to Congressman Barnes. The news caption underneath read: “SEN. MARTIN AND JEANETTE SEVILLE GET INTO IT ON X OVER BARNES ASSAULT ACCUSATIONS”. 

Jake Tapper opined on screen, “ I just don't understand why she did it. There's just no reasonable explanation why someone with such a following and passionately nostalgic fan base would put her reputation on the line to take a stand on either side of this case. ”

“ This was clearly an impulse tweet, ” Dana Loesch chipped in. “ She was Barnes’ campaign manager, she worked directly with both of them, there were reports of tension between the four of them… four of them being, of course, including Mr Barnes’ wife. She has yet to respond further to the Senator which is probably in her own best interest. If you take a look at the stocks of every single one of the businesses that the Seville family is involved with… ” a new graphic faded onto the screen, illustrating what Loesch was about to say, “ Jett Records, down twelve percent. Rabbit Ears Productions, the production company that owns ‘Science Munk’, down nine percent, IW Productions, owner of ‘Cheesing With Theo’, only five percent so far. But look at this! WFA down thirty-eight - almost fourty percent - just so far today. ”

Jake Tapper “hmm'ed” in agreement before adding, “ it's important to note that Mrs. Seville has not only declined to respond to Senator Martin but has also not responded to our requests for her comment .”

“Oh God!” Jeanette exclaimed as she picked up her phone in a panic and checked the notifications. Thirty-six missed calls, some of them from unknown numbers, some of them from saved numbers including the local ABC, CBS, CNN, and FOX News affiliates, and some of them from her family and Dave. She slapped her forehead, feeling more stress than she could ever remember experiencing in her life, as Simon carefully began approaching her from around the counter. 

“ This is what Jody Flynn had to say in response to Mrs. Seville's comments: ”

The screen cut to Flynn, making a statement in front of a large number of reporters. “ My heart is heavy after reading what Jeanette Seville had to say about the sexual assault that I endured while working on the Joseph Barnes campaign under her leadership ,” she said with a shaky voice. “ I do not know why she chose to enter her opinion into this, but I also cannot say that it surprises me. Her and Joseph were very close before I went public about… what he did to me. My experience is unfortunately not unique. And it is deplorable that many little girls who used to look up to Jeanette Seville had to watch as she took a woman who is at her lowest point and attempt to tear her down even further for the sake of political and career gain. When women speak up, we need to defend - not attack - each other. But no matter how hard she tries, she can never- ”

The TV went black and silent as Simon shut it down. “Don't stress too much over this Jeannie,” he told her in an attempt to be comforting. “This is just a slow news day. Something will happen by tomorrow to make everyone forget about this. As a matter of fact, don't even respond to those assholes with a comment.”

…………………….

Jeanette waited in anticipation as her phone rang. Simon sat next to her. Both of them darted their eyes from her screen to the living room TV, which had MSNBC'S Rachel Maddow grinning down at them. “ Joining us now on the line is Jeanette Seville, who, after a few hours of requests on our part, has agreed to phone in. ”

The phone call finally connected with a beep. 

“ Mrs. Seville, thanks for joining us tonight, ” Rachel's voice came through the cell phone in a fuzzy, barely perceptible static.

“Thank you for having me, Rachel,” Jean responded.

Maddow straightened her notes on the desk in front of her. “ Now, I was hoping you could clarify your intentions behind your attack against Jody Flynn and Senator Martin. ”

“They weren't meant to be attacks on either of them,” Jeanette softly and nervously defended herself. “I have a great deal of respect for Gary Martin, as well as what Miss Flynn must be going through. My response to Senator Martin's post was merely intending to remind people to wait for facts about the case to become public before conceiving opinions on what happened.”

“ Forgive me, but in your response to him you called Miss Flynn a quote… ” she trailed off as she checked her notes… “‘ defective employee. Nothing more, nothing less.’ You go on to say that there are many parts of her story that ‘don’t add up’. At best, you are implying that she may be lying about the assault and you are adding insult to injury by publicly criticizing her abilities as a staffer. How was none of this meant to be an attack ?”

Jeanette pursed her lips and struggled to think of the correct response. When watching the debates of any of the candidates she managed from behind the curtain, she always instantly knew the best rebuttals. But now, on live national television, she was freezing up.

“ Mrs. Seville ?” Rachel pressed her.

“I…”

“As a matter of fact,” the professional journalist intercepted her, “Senator Martin, in that very same post you responded to, said ‘innocence is assumed until proven guilty’. So was there really any need to chime in to remind people to keep a level head?”

This was getting out of hand. Maddow had successfully attacked her on two different fronts, and Jeanette sat there, considering which front to defend. “That's simply not fair,” she said, “by sharing the Los Angeles Times article and making the comments that he did - erm… the ones surrounding the phrase that you just quoted, that is - he was very clearly attempting to reflect guilt onto Congressman Barnes for the sake of attacking the opposing political party. Rather than for the sake of the truth.”

“ That is a very charged accusation on your part ,” Maddow retorted. “ Fortunately, Senator Martin will have the chance right now to clarify his own intentions in this conflict as he is calling in on the other line. ”

Jeanette winced and gritted her teeth. She was not warned by MSNBC that this would be happening. But she could not hang up the phone now.

Rachel continued, “ thank you for joining us tonight Senator .”

There was a pause due to the phone line delay. “ Rachel, thank you so much for having me ,” he said to her in a confident tone.

“ Senator, can you offer us any insight as to why you chose to state your opinion on the Congressman Barnes sexual assault case, and why you chose to do it in the way you did ?” Maddow questioned him.

He let out an emphatic but light sigh that sounded like little more than static. “Yes of course. You know and the people back home know that I would never say or do anything to imply guilt against anybody that has not had their day in a fair court.” You could basically feel him shrugging innocently through the phone. “My only intent was to try to call on Congressman Barnes to defend himself in the public eye.”

Rachel “hmm'ed” in agreement before turning her attention to Jeanette. “ Mrs. Seville, your response ?”

“If that’s the case, Senator, then why did you care to comment on the circumstances surrounding Jody's - I mean Miss Flynn's employment termination?” It was becoming clear to Jeanette that her best strategy would be to do Rachel's job for her and actually grill Gary Martin herself. “That section of your post was the main focus of my response. If you had simply told your followers to hold reservations until we know more… none of this nonsense between us would have happened.”

Maddow put on a look of shock and asked her, “ are you insinuating that discussions about the alleged rape of a young woman is ‘nonsense’ Mrs. Seville ?”

“No! I-I-”

“ No, Rachel, that's not what she was trying to say ,” Martin defended Jean against the interrogation in a move that surprised everyone else involved. “ She was simply trying to say that us arguing over it before we have all of the facts is nonsense. I know Jeanette, I've met her on multiple occasions. She's a brilliant campaign manager and I have all of the respect in the world for her. She's successfully led half a dozen candidates that I personally campaigned for to victory, along with another fifteen or so, I believe. She really is one of the best in the business. But she's not used to the public eye, and I really do think that's where this whole misunderstanding stems from. She underestimated the passion that this sort of an issue brings out in people, and I don't blame her for that. I'm sure even now that she'd admit that she probably should have worded her tweet a little differently. ”

There was a pause. A long one. Jeanette was breathing so heavily she was practically panting. Sweat was dripping down her eyebrows. She had no idea what to say. She looked around her living room, at Simon, at her TV, as if one of them would have an answer. Simon bit his lips as he watched her, then widened his eyes at her as if to say, “say something”.

“ Mrs. Seville ?” Rachel said with a confused expression.

Nothing but silence. Finally, Jeanette shook her head as if breaking out of a trance and muttered, “thank you for having me on Rachel. Have a nice night Senator Martin.” She then frantically hung up the phone and kept her eyes peeled to the television screen. 

“ Mrs. Seville ?” Rachel asked again. No answer. Just silence. “ Ladies and gentlemen, it seems Jeanette Seville has disconnected from us so that is unfortunately where we will end the interview. Senator Martin thank you as always for joining us tonight. ”

“ It's been a pleasure, Rachel. Thank you .”

Simon flipped the channel, but accidentally did so to ABC, who it seemed had been simulcasting the interview. David Muir suavely said from behind his own desk, “ ok that once again was an MSNBC interview with Rachel Maddow and a blatantly poor attempt at self-representation by Jeanette Seville. ”

Simon finally turned off the TV. But he was at a loss of words as Jeanette clutched her hair tightly in frustration. There was no attempt on his part to be comforting that would even come close to worth the effort.

…

“You're absolutely sure you want to do this?” Simon asked his wife bluntly just over a week after her shaky performance on MSNBC. They were sitting across from each other in their kitchen, sipping coffee at 10pm.

“I'm sure,” she insisted. “But only if you support the decision.”

He sighed. “Jeanette… I've known you for years. You are the single most intelligent person - er, or chipette - that I have ever met.”

“Get to the point Simon,” she demanded. 

Simon gritted his teeth, clearly stepping around egg shells. “You're also naturally shy and nervous. Politics is your calling, it's your battlefield. But are you really sure your place on that field is the front lines?”

“So… you don't think I can do it?” She asked, slumping her posture, letting her eyes sag to the ground.

“I didn't say that, I just, I don't know, I want you to be sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to get another campaign manager job again, Simon. Not after that night on the news.”

“You don't need to,” he said, reassuringly reaching over and grabbing her hand. “I still have my TV show. We have plenty of money.”

“It's not about the money, Simon. It's the game I'm going to miss. The relentless mind games. The attacks, the dodges, it's a sport to me. I'd feel half empty without it, just watching everything unfold on the TV. But that's not the only reason I want to do this. It's deeper than that. It's this feeling that I can't just let that guy… no, let all of them do this to me. I have to strike back in self defense. They embarrassed me on national television. I won't be able to live with myself just letting that be the last word without at least trying to get the last laugh. And honestly, you should feel more passionately about that than I do.”

Simon slicked his hair back roughly in deep consideration. Suddenly, a smile creeped onto his face. “Ok Jeannie. I say do it.”

“Ok,” she said giggling, looking more joyful than she had in almost two weeks.

“As a matter of fact,” Simon continued, “I'll be your campaign manager.”

Jeanette's eyes widened. “No, you can't. You're too busy with your show, you won't have enough time to do the job.”

“Then I'll quit,” he confidently responded.

“You can't do that. Not for me. You love teaching kids science. It's what you were born for. They love you.”

He got up from his seat, walked over, and kneeled next to her so that his face was close to hers. “If you're going to do this, we are going to do this. I can't support this unless I am by your side the entire way, for better or worse.”

She smiled and then suddenly leaned in and locked him into a long, loving kiss.

…

It was a small, local theater outside of the borders or Los Angeles. Dozens of reporters, some of them carrying video cameras for news organizations, and almost one hundred excited residents of California. Jeanette was hiding behind the curtain at stage right, peering at all of the energetic people anxiously. Simon placed a hand on her shoulder, making her jump.

“It's ok,” he whispered in her ear. “You hear that?”

Jeanette focused on what her ears were receiving, which was the bustling and anticipation of the crowd. The excitement of the men and women in the theatre. They were talking about her, they were ready for her.

“They're waiting for you,” Simon continued, “they want you. They want to see you. To hear you speak. They want to experience your passion and believe in you.”

She turned to face him with a grateful smile.

“Give them what they want,” he concluded before walking onto the stage to the sound of erupting applause. He grinned slightly at them as he walked toward the podium at center stage. Once he had jumped onto a stool directly behind the podium, he lowered the microphone to his lips. “Thank you. Thank you to everybody here today. This will be a historic and momentous event. One that I know for a fact that… Mrs. Seville is so very excited to share with all of you. Without further ado, I would now like to introduce Jeanette Seville!”

The crowd rumbled into even more of a frenzy than before, preceding Jeanette's walking onto the stage in front of them. Her supporters waved campaign signs with her name on them and American flags. They cheered for her as she gave them a massive genuine smile and waved at them. Her confidence regenerated, she hopped onto the stool, landing inches away from Simon. She embraced him in a hug, just warm enough to come across as organic, but not too passionate, for the sake of appearances. They broke apart, nodded at each other. Simon hopped down onto the stage and began his exit. Jeanette turned back to the crowd.

“Thank you. Thank you all. Over the last several years… I have helped many smart, honest, hard working men and women get elected into government. But I have also witnessed many get elected who did not have their constituents best interests at heart.”

She was about to continue, but she was interrupted by a spontaneous booing of the crowd. She had seen this happen many times before in moments exactly like this while others were giving speeches. But it still took her by surprise. There was a split second where she thought to herself, what do I do now? They're booing the corrupt people I just brought up. This was quickly followed by just let them do their thing . She nodded at them as they booed, expertly, as she had seen so many trained professionals do before. She waited for the crowd’s reaction to die down before continuing with an adlib. “Yes, it's true, unfortunately.” She seamlessly transitioned back into her speech. “And what has been the result? Of men and women who are only interested in themselves and their power taking advantage of the people of this great state? What has been the result of our people sending corrupt politicians to represent us in Washington D.C.? The highest unemployment rate of any state in the country!” The crowd once again booed. “Record inflation creating difficulties for even the upper middle class families to support themselves!” More boos. “And… perhaps most importantly of all… the complete and total erosion of public trust in our government.” Jeanette paused again, expecting another crowd reaction, but there was not really one to speak of. She stepped back into her prepared lines, making good eye contact with the audience the whole way. “These are the consequences of electing people like Gary Martin. Yes, it is time for a brand new direction. A new vision, focused not on partisanship but on doing what's best for the people of California at all times. A new perspective.” She giggled. “Perspectives don't get much more unique than mine,” she said holding her hand flat up just above her head. The crowd reacted with a soft release of laughter. “All of this is why I am excited to announce… that I am running to represent California in the United States Senate. Thank you.”

The entire theatre nearly shook down from the cheers for the Chipette, who dropped from the stool with a grin on her face before exiting the stage towards a proud looking Simon behind the curtain, waiting with his arms open to give her a truly excited embrace.

Chapter Text

Simon spun the laptop around so that the screen was facing her. “These are the latest polls and projections.” He allowed Jeanette some time to look them over before continuing, “Politico has you down on average by thirty-one point two points… New York Times has Martin over you sixty-five to thirty one. Monmouth has him at sixty-six with you at thirty-three. You have one good outlier from YouGov that has you at forty with him at fifty-eight.”

Jeanette sighed and sat back in her chair. What would I advise myself to do if I were my own manager ? she thought to herself.

“I've reached out to the Martin campaign about setting up a debate between the two of you,” Simon murmured to her. “And… no response.”

She shook her head. “There wouldn't be. There's no reason for him to debate right now, being up by so much. He has everything to lose and nothing to gain by debating. If I were his manager I would forbid him from getting on that stage… or honestly any stage at all. His best bet in this very moment is to do as little as possible.”

“Well his strategy thus far seems to confirm that,” Simon said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turning the laptop back towards him. He typed into the keyboard, scrolled, clicked, and rotated back towards the middle chipette so she could see. “This is one of the attack ads that they have produced… against you.”

Simon played the video.

The video faded from black into a greyscale clip of Gary Martin walking confidently down a sidewalk in a nice suit. “I'm Gary Martin and I approve this message,” came the Senator's voice in the background. His voice was quickly replaced with that of a concerned-sounding woman as stock videos and images of Jeanette took over the screen. “Immoral hordes of wealth,” the ad flashed a picture of Jeanette's house. “Lack of commitment,” a picture, of all people, of Ian Hawke. “Irresponsibility,” a newspaper article about their entire family falling overboard during their infamous cruise years ago. “Promiscuity,” several pictures and videos flashing, first of her and Simon, followed by her and Alvin, followed by her and Theodore, then her and several of the politicians she had worked for as campaign manager. “Victim blamer,” a screen shot of her reply to Gary Martin's post, with news casters’ and Podcasters’ faded voices criticizing her in the background. “Are these the qualities California wants in their Senator?” the woman's voice continued. what followed was a Mashup of political pundits doubting Jeanette's ability to vote on policy, to communicate her message, and to win. Finally, Gary Martin came onto the screen in a different suit than at the beginning of the commercial with a stone-cold but suave look in his eye. “California doesn't need a pop star representing it in Washington,” he said. “Vote Gary Martin for Senate this November.” The screen faded to black.

Jeanette gritted her teeth. “That was pretty standard. But effective.”

“It's been absolutely flooded onto every single website and app that you could think of,” Simon said, nodding. “Look at this. I go to Youtube… click on a clip from my kids’ show… and… boom!” 

The ad that came up after selecting the “Science ‘Munk” clip was indeed that same ad. And it was unskippable.

“I get it,” Jeanette said in frustration. 

“That's the other thing,” her husband let out hesitantly. “It's the funding. Martin's campaign right now is out-spending us almost four to one. Our ads just aren't reaching nearly as many people as his are. What we are doing right now just simply isn't going to be enough if you want to win.”

Jeanette nodded, rubbing her temple in deep thought. “OK, we can combine our pursuit for more money for the campaign with more excitement. I need you to call up every PAC in existence that may be interested in donating, and also call your brothers to try to get a public endorsement from either of them. I'll do the same with my sisters, and I will also get in contact with as many wealthy investors and donors that I can. Hopefully my connections I built from being a manager pay off here. And both of us need to look through our old contact cards and find every single person, even mildly famous person, that we've maybe bumped into at a party or… whatever, and we need endorsements from them too.”

“Except for Diddy, right?” Simon chucked with a haphazard attempt to lighten the mood.

Not indulging him, Jeanette grumbled, “obviously, Simon,” while rolling her eyes.

Simon gulped down, knowing he had a lot of work to do. But he agreed.

Jeanette immediately retired to her office and began punching numbers into her cellphone. She figured she would go in order of most likely to donate to least likely, attempting to start a domino effect. Therefore, the first number she called was that of Richard Morrow, or Dick, as he liked to be called. He was one of the founders and pioneers of many of California’s data centers and he was only increasing his wealth in recent years with the explosion of AI. He had donated to literally every single campaign that Jeanette had ever managed, regardless of party. Jeanette suspected it was largely because he had a thing for her, which was revolting for her to think about being that he was twice her age. But she was perfectly willing to exploit it for a donation of his normal amount.

The phone rang three times, followed by a click. “ Jeannie !” came his old, sly, raspy voice. “ How are you ?”

“Dick!” She forced a smile as if he could see her. “Things are good! Definitely looking up from a couple of weeks ago.”

“ So… what can I do ya for ?”

Jeanette bit her lip. She cringed at that phrase coming from anyone, but especially an old man speaking to her. “Well I'm glad you asked,” she said, managing to shake off her disgust, “because I am on the precipice of a break through with the voters, with twenty effective ads ready to be released and an event tour schedule written up, and-”

“ Woah, I'm going to have to stop ya right there Jeannie ,” Morrow interrupted her. “ I appreciate the sales pitch and all… you know, for old time's sake, but I'm really not in a position to contribute to your campaign right now .”

Jeanette was taken aback by this. She giggled as if attempting to shrug this off as a bad joke. “Oh come on, Dick, ‘I'm not in a position right now,’” she grumbled in a poorly mimicking voice, “I doubt that. Looks like AI has you doing better for yourself than ever.”

“ Well… it's not really about the money, Jeannie. It's just that… well… you don't seem to be having much of a coalition building around you right now and I just can't see my investment being worthwhile. ”

“Worthwhile?” Jeanette repeated, still in shock.

“ Yeah. I just don't see a path to victory for you at all. I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you were hoping to hear. ”

Jeanette sat there in stunned silence, pondering how she could convince this old man to reconsider giving her his hard-earned money.

“ Listen ,” he broke the silence, “ I'm guessing I'm the first one you called, because you know I like you. And I really do like you. So please, even though I can't help you out financially, please take my advice. I'm not the only one that feels this way about your campaign. A lot of the other guys and I talked about it and we all agreed. You might want to think about pulling out. Ok? I'm trying to help you here. ”

Jeanette had had enough of him. His “advice” was simply unpalatable. After a brief pause she said, “thank you Richard,” then promptly hung up. She bit her lip with her canine tooth, discouraged, tapping her foot on the floor. “Well,” she muttered to herself after a moment, “next man up.”

And so she continued this act of calling up old acquaintances and brief contacts, former donors to previous campaign gigs, giving them the same persistent pitch. “The time is now to act to save this state,” she would say. Only to inevitably be shot down in heartbreaking fashion by “ I just don't see how you could win ,” or, at best, something along the lines of “ I'm not saying no , I just don't think now is the right time for your campaign to spend a lot of money .” This went on for a painful four and a half hours, with not a single donor for Jeanette to show for it. She buried her head into her palms, completely exhausted and drained of motivation. 

Suddenly, she remembered her fail safe. She could call her sisters. If nothing else, she desperately needed someone to give her emotional support in that moment. 

Rejuvenated, she picked up her phone and dialed Eleanor's number. It rang only twice before the youngest chipette answered, “ Hello ?”

“Ellie! It's me! Jean!”

“ Hey Jean ! How are you ? I haven't seen you in… God in ages. ”

Just hearing her sister's voice was such a boost of morale, it put a giant smile on Jeanette's face. “I'm awesome!” she lied. “Super good! Me and Simon are still fantastic, and the campaign is really picking up steam!”

“ That's great to hear, Jean, ” Eleanor said, sounding reserved but genuinely happy for her big sister.

“I'm sorry I haven't come to visit you in so long,” Jeanette apologized, “it's just that we've been so busy here with Simon's show and my work, and now with me running for office.”

“ No ! Don't be sorry ! Our schedule's been insane, too, the last couple years. The WFA literally never lets me rest and the camera crews are always around for Theo's show. ”

Jeanette giggled, wholeheartedly enjoying this catching-up that she was taking part in. Then, she remembered the main reason that she called. “Say, Ellie, if it's not too much to ask, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind making a public statement. You know, supporting me… and… my campaign?”

There was a long pause with Eleanor clearly trying to come up with the right words. “ Jeanette, you know I love and support you… ”

“But?” Jeanette asked in a poignant manner.

“ But, I am the owner and CEO of a major sports league. And our stock has already dropped a ridiculous amount ever since this whole drama between you and that Senator went down. I can't afford to take sides in politics. It'd be bad for my image and the league's image. And think of the players ! The vast majority of them disagree with you Jeannie, plain and simple. I can't risk the avalanche that coming out publicly for you could cause. ”

“You're my sister!” Jeanette argued, her heart sinking farther and farther by the second. “Surely everyone would understand if you came out in support of your own sister. If you won't even say a few words to defend me… who will?”

“ I'm sorry. I just can't risk it. I have to remain neutral. ”

Jeanette took a deep breath and responded, “okay. That's okay. I understand. I still love you, and we should definitely meet up sometime for lunch.”

“ I'd love that. I really would. I hate the fact that we haven't been face to face for almost two years. ”

“Me too,” Jeanette said to her little sister, holding back tears as best she could. “Okay I have to get going now. I love you.”

The only response was a half-hearted, apologetic “ bye .”

The middle chipette hung up the phone, bursting into a hysterical crying fit as soon as she had. She felt so hopelessly alone. Why was nobody, not a single person who had previously jumped through hoops to support the people she worked for, willing to give her the time of day? Was she really that bad at this? At getting people to believe in her? If her own sister couldn't even stand up for her then who would? 

Perhaps by chance or perhaps because he overheard his wife having a meltdown, Simon entered her office without knocking. She instinctively began wiping away her tears, ensuring her face was turned away from him. He frowned down at her, trudged hesitantly until he was directly behind her chair, wrapped her from behind in a warm hug. 

“Please tell me you've had luck,” the disparaged chipette whimpered.

“No,” he said, “even Theo said no. Didn't want to risk his show.”

This almost made Jeanette laugh through her crying.

“Alvin gave me a maybe but he didn't seem to like the idea at all.”

She nodded, damn near out of hope. “I still have to call Brittany.”

XXXXX

Laney sat in her living room, remaining blissfully unaware of the conversation that was transpiring not even ten feet away from her, forcing her toy truck to run over a miniature “Elsa” doll from frozen.

“We have to do it,” Brittany forcefully argued with her husband.

Alvin gritted his teeth, regretting even bringing up the issue with the eldest chipette. “I don't think it's a good idea. I could get in real trouble at work.”

She slapped her forehead. “I don’t even know you anymore. ‘I could get in trouble at work,’” she said, mimicking him in a feminine tone. “That's not the ‘munk I married. Since when have you given a damn about getting in trouble.”

“You have to listen to me! I haven't been producing at work as much as I should. I'm two months in and I'm already on thin ice.”

“Jeanette is family, Alvin. We are doing whatever she needs us to.”

Suddenly, Brittany's phone began reading. “It's her. Jeanette,” she said, causing Alvin to fold his arms across his chest and scrunch his eyebrows in frustration. Brittany accepted the call and put it on speaker phone. “Hey Jeanette.”

“ Brittany ! Hi ! I hope this isn't a bad time .”

“No, not at all.”

“ You're sure I'm not bothering you ?”

“I'm sure,” the eldest chipette insisted, “we really don't have anything going on here.”

“ That's good. We'll, not GOOD but… you know what I mean. Anyways… how's Laney ?"

“Oh, she's great! She's beginning to learn how to read!” Brittany turned the phone towards her daughter and said, “say hi to Auntie Jeanette, Laney.”

Laney looked up from her toy truck, looked at the phone, looked at her mother, back to the phone and said, “meow.”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “She likes to pretend she's a cat. When other people are around.”

“ Aw, that's so cute ! And what about Alvin ? How's his new job ?”

Despite not being face to face with her younger sister, Brittany locked eyes with Alvin, who grimaced in return. She widened her eyes and forced a great big smile. “Sounds like it's going great so far. His boss said he's got a bright future as a talent scout.”

“ That makes me so happy to hear. ” There was a brief, but awkward pause. Brittany could tell her sister was considering how to smoothly change the subject. “ Listen, Brit, I'd understand if you can't do it, but I would really appreciate it if- ”

“Woah, woah, Jeanette,” Brittany interrupted, “you don't have to give me the whole sales pitch. Save that for somebody else. I've already talked it out with Alvin.” This caused the oldest chipmunk to roll his eyes. “Of course we’ll do it. I'd do anything to support you.”

“ You will ?” Jeanette could not contain her elation in the slightest. “ Are you sure ?”

“Absolutely.”

Brittany could hear Jeanette squeal from excitement through the phone. “ Thank you so much Brit ! You have no idea how much this means to me, especially right now. ”

“Of course,” Brittany insisted. “We're sisters. I would die for you.”

“ I love you Brittany ! Look, I gotta get going, but I won't forget this ! I'll have Simon email you guys the details. Ok ? Ok ! Love you again ! Bye !”

And with that, the phone disconnected. Brittany let a smile creep across her face, which was soon wiped off when she noticed Alvin standing nearby, arms still crossed, looking disgruntled and brushed aside.

“I guess my opinion just doesn't mean a thing around here anymore, huh?” he said, glaring at his wife.

“Alvin, please,” she protested in response. “Let's not talk about this in front of Laney.”

Their daughter peeked her head up from her game, curious about why her name had just been mentioned. “Meow?”

XXXXX

Simon and Jeanette exchanged excited glances. Finally, something had gone right. As if one cue, Jeanette's phone buzzed from a notification. It was a Twitter alert that read “BREAKING: GARY MARTIN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL ASSAULT”. 

Jeanette’s eyes widened. She tapped the notification faster than she had ever tapped on any notification in her life. Her phone took her to an article by the LA Times of the same name. Jeanette read aloud: “California Senator Gary Martin has suddenly been thrust into the heat of controversy amidst his campaign for re-election, as not one but two former staffers have spoken out against the Senator in the last twelve hours. Sources claim they have accused Martin of getting drunk at multiple staff parties and inappropriately touching them against their will. Their names are Jennifer Alstott and Maia Shapiro, and they have so far declined requests for comment.”

“God,” Simon said in disbelief. 

“Does it really surprise you?” Jeanette asked him. “That man is a pig.” She trailed off in deep thought. “We have to get ahead of this.”

“I'll start drafting a press statement,” Simon told her, nodding as he walked away. 

Jeanette sat there after Simon had left her office, rocking back and forth in her chair that was not designed to rock. She had a very calculating grin on her face. This is how we get him , she thought to herself. I am going to hammer that disgusting, cow-faced fuck into the god damned dirt.

XXXXX

Three days later, Jeanette sat across the table from Ray McGovern, the head of the California Republican Party, in his office. Simon was standing behind her left shoulder. His desk/table was made of cheap wood that had thin legs that looked as though they could barely supported the desktop computer, the LAN phone, the pad of lined paper, and the two ball point pens that sat on top of it. Out the window was a view of a construction site where they were building section 8 apartments.

“I am sorry,” he insisted to them, “but we have already exhausted every dime of donor money that we can to other campaigns. Yours just isn’t feasibly competitive.”

Jeanette shook her head in disbelief. “Our poll numbers may not have come up as much as we would have liked after Martin's sexual assault charges,” she said, “but his have dropped significantly.”

“Politico has him polling all the way down in the lower forties,” Simon chimed in.

“He's vulnerable!” Jeanette continued. “You have to see that! This could be a chance for you to flip a Senate seat! Think about what that could do for your career.”

McGovern, a stout, plump, balding man with thin grey hairs around the side of his head, sighed at the chipmunk and chipette across from him. He was contemplating how to politely get rid of the two of them.

Suddenly, his desktop phone rang. He answered it by pressing a button, then leaned towards it. “Not now, Julia,” he scolded the woman on the other end. “I'm in a meeting.”

“ Sir, Mitch Ryan is on his way to see you .”

McGoverns eyes widened, looking like he had just seen a ghost. “Mitch Ryan? When's he due?”

As if one cue, the door to the office behind the chipmunks flung open with a startling thud. “Now,” exclaimed, in a thick Louisiana accent, a tall, thin, pale, curly haired man in his middle ages. “And don't say you weren't prepared, because I rang ahead.” 

“Hi, Mitch,” McGovern said to him nervously. “Jeanette, Simon, this is Mitch Ryan. I am going to go ahead and apologize in advance.”

“Don't apologize for me, apologize for yourself,” Mitch hissed at him indignantly. “Now give us the room, will you please Ray?”

McGovern obediently stood up from his chair in a rushed manner and began shuffling towards the door.

Mitch turned his attention towards the two chipmunks, who were staring at him with unsure looks on their faces. “Let me tell you,” he mused, gritting his teeth, pacing around where Simon and Jeanette sat menacingly, “if there's one thing I love more than anything in this world, it's a campaign that is so fucking incompetent that it gets gifted two disgruntled whores complaining to the press about their opponent and yet it still finds itself behind by twelve fucking points.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeanette raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively, “who are you, exactly?”

“Right,” he said, mockingly slapping his chest as if he had forgotten his manners. “How rude of me. Well let me tell you a little about myself. I am both your wildest wet dreams and your worst nightmare. I am the man they send in when a winnable campaign starts to look unwinnable. You understand? I am the fucking grim reaper. Now that I am here you will both do exactly as I say, when I say it. I own you. Both of you are my property now.”

Simon and Jeanette were both dumbfounded. Simon managed to squeak out, “who… sends… you?”

Mitch gave him a blank stare, as though he had just heard the dumbest question of his life. “Who sends me? The party! The fucking Republican Party! Not this hinky dinky local California farmer's market that calls itself the Republican Party, the real deal.”

“You're from the RNC?” Jeanette asked him.

“Sweetheart,” he said to her in a condescending tone, hunching over the arm of the chair she was sitting at to bring his face and his glaring eyes as close to her as possible. “I am the RNC. They just don't put me in front of the camera as much as some other guys because I'm too nice.”

At this moment, Ray McGovern interrupted by re-entering his own office and saying, “you know, guys, I was thinking-”

“Not the time, Ray!” Mitch screamed at him, waving him away. “I'm busy chatting with my new friends here! Fuck off!”

Whether from shock and fear or a desire to be insubordinate, McGovern froze and simply did not move. 

Jeanette spoke up, “things are already turning around. We're closing the gap with Gary Martin.”

“Not good enough!” Mitch refuted. “Your sorry excuse for a campaign is twelve points behind a man whose favorite pastime is slipping interns extra vodka and groping them! You need more national attention, so you'll be a guest on the following podcasts-” the angry southerner suddenly realized McGovern had not moved an inch and spun his head towards the plump, trembling man with pure fury in his eyes. “Did I not just tell you to fuck off, and yet you're still here?”

McGovern let his eyes sink to the ground nervously. “Yes… I am still here.”

“Hey, Chip N’ Dale!” Mitch shouted as he pointed at Simon. “Lesson one of politics, I tell you to fuck off… what do you do?”

Simon hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he murmured under his breath with about as much confidence as a bleeding fish entering shark infested waters, “eff… off?”

Mitch opened his mouth to verbally reprimand him, but stopped himself, seemingly surprised that Simon had answered his question correctly. Finally, he spat out, “you'll go far. Now both of you, fuck off.”

Simon and Jeanette exchanged worried glances and shrugged at each other before the chipmunk with the snazzy blue striped tie began escorting McGovern towards the door.

“And another thing,” Mitch said to Jeanette, “until your first podcast appearance, all of your currently scheduled events have been unscheduled .”

Simon and Jeanette both exclaimed, “What?”

“They've been cancelled until we can trust you to toe the party line, which you'll begin practicing immediately.”

“So you're telling me that I am no longer allowed to make any media appearances?” Jeanette asked him with dread and confusion dripping from each word.

“Correct,” he snapped.

“Why wasn't I told about this?” Simon protested.

“Why would I tell you about it?” Mitch growled back, “I've told you two to fuck off twice now and yet you're still here!”

Simon persisted in arguing, “you should tell me about it because they were scheduled campaign events! Therefore, as campaign manager, they fall well within my purview!”

“Within your purview?” Mitch's face was an equal mixture of shock and annoyance.

“Yes!” Simon exclaimed.

“Where do you think you are, on an episode of Parks and Rec? This is a campaign for United States Senate! Not a John fucking Grisham novel!” Mitch pointed a finger at Jeanette. “You! You are going to sit in a chair and repeat the line, ‘abortion is a States rights issue’ until I get tired of hearing you say it, or until your lips start bleeding, whichever comes last.” He then shifted his finger towards Simon. “And you! Since you want to keep pretending you're some big shot campaign manager, make yourself useful. Call up that hack Ted Chen over at MSNBC and tell him that if he ambushes Mrs. Seville with another question about her social media slap fight with Gary Martin, I'll drop a bomb on him.”

“I… can't say that to him,” said Simon, very clearly flabbergasted.

“Oh, does that not fit within your purview, Wannabe Bill Nye? Well in that case why don't you go back to your cushy home and play with your little toy chemistry flasks, and your magnets, and your… yacht owned by P-Diddy? Hey, you,” he was now addressing Mcgovern, “Danny Devito! You do it!”

XXXXX

“I'm not doing it,” Eleanor said defiantly. “I'm not sure why I even agreed to this meeting.”

Gary Martin sat across from her, his confident, charismatic grin never wavering. “Mrs. Seville, the stock in your league has steadily dropped ever since she announced her candidacy. I know you care about your sister, but how much longer can you hold out? Think about your players.”

“I can hold out long enough. Well past November if that's what you're wondering.”

“You're only delaying the inevitable. The longer your sister holds out, the more danger you put your company in, not to mention the job security of thousands of players and staff. Why would you jeopardize all that… everything you've worked hard for? Just for a campaign that you and I both know your sister is going to lose?”

Eleanor glared daggers at the Senator. “I already told you, your answer is no. I will not be the one who sabotages my sister. Now if that is all you are here for, you can kindly leave my office, and you can leave my building. Thanks for stopping by..”

“It’s not your building, or your office for that matter. Need I remind you?”

This caused Eleanor to pause. Not from confusion; she knew exactly what Martin meant by that statement. But from considering her two options: to double down, or to apologize. “I think if I called the police right now,” she finally threatened the Senator, “you would find that it is very much my building.”

Martin sighed. “I hoped it wouldn't come to this,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked him. She actually wondered to herself whether Martin was calling the cops himself. 

The phone began ringing up somebody who was in the Senator's speed dial. After a few moments, both of them could hear a faint, “ this is Johnny ,” as the phone was on speaker.

Eleanor's eyes widened. “Johnny Rankin?”

“ The same. Is this Mrs. Seville ?”

She hesitated. Rankin was the CEO of ABC, the only network willing to air the WFA’s games on national television. It was also the network that Theo's cooking shows aired on. She had spoken directly to him only once before.

“Yes, this is her,” she said softly.

“ I'm sorry this conversation can't happen under better circumstances. I wanted to personally let you know that the network has voted to cancel any and all further agreements to broadcast WFA games, for reasons including your family's violation of our code of conduct. ”

Her jaws dropped. “You can't do that! The playoffs start in just over a week!”

“ Your own sister's actions and words have clearly had a detrimental effect on your league. And therefore, on the network. If you like, you can file a suit and claim breach of contract. But I have a feeling your league won't last long enough to sustain that .” 

“This is wrong,” Eleanor pleaded, shaking her head. “You are killing this league! And everyone who works for it, their dreams!” The thoughts flashed through her mind of all of her staff being laid off with little warning, all of the players’ aspirations being crushed, families being put on the street, and all of them blaming her both internally and externally. Blood rushed to her head, making her want to pass out, causing her to groan out loud.

“ I am sorry, but my hands are tied on this issue. I'll be giving your husband a call shortly to inform him of the cancelation of his show as well .”

“No!” she exclaimed, finally looking back up at Gary Martin, who raised his eyebrows at her, grinning wide as ever. She sighed and slunk down deep into her chair. “What do I have to do?”

XXXXX

Two days later, Jeanette was studying the latest likely voter trends and internal polling in her office at home, with Simon by her side aiding her and providing amplifying information whenever she asked for it.

A third, independent candidate had entered the race. He did so on the guise of being the progressive alternative to Gary Martin, and he ran as a man of principle. He was Justin McDaniels, and he was among the most famous and one of the wealthiest businessmen in the entire state of California. He had historically been praised even by the most liberal, both in the state of California and nationwide, for enforcing a twenty dollar per hour minimum wage across every single one of his companies. He had donated over four hundred million dollars towards solar panel research. He had donated an additional 300 million dollars towards marine life conservation in the Los Angeles and San Diego areas. He was the Golden boy. Invited to all of the celebrity and big shot parties, rarely attending them. 

Fortunately, his entering his hat into the arena had done significantly more harm to Gary Martin than it had done to Jeanette. As the polls now showed an average of just a two point deficit for her; Martin at 40, Jeanette at 38, McDaniels at 22. With just one month to go until Election day, victory looked more feasible than ever before. 

Jeanette's phone unexpectedly began to ring, followed immediately by Simon's. They both glanced at their lock screens.

Simon grimaced and said, “ugh, it's Mitch.”

“It's Mitch for me too,” Jeanette gasped.

They shot each other confused looks. “How does he do that?” Simon whispered.

They both answered their calls. Unbeknownst to them, Mitch had two separate phones in his hands, holding each one up to either ear. “ Jeanette, Simon, ” came the furious growl of the southern man, “ I don't like hearing speeches about my candidates from their family members unless they've just died. Turn on the news. Now !”

Shock and fear flooded both of their eyes as Simon shuffled through papers on the desk, looking for the TV remote. As he was doing so, Mitch abruptly hung up on both of them. Finally finding it, Simon turned on the flat screen hanging on the wall in Jeanettes office, prompting it to immediately begin broadcasting the local ABC affiliate. Seeing Eleanor and Theodore standing side by side at a podium in front of a stone building made Jeanette gasp.

The news commentator spoke over the footage briefly: “former pop star and current owner of the W-F-A as well as younger sister of Senate hopeful Jeanette Seville has just finished giving a public statement denouncing Mrs. Seville's behavior. Listen in.”

The audio faded right into the video footage, where Eleanor began to speak, obviously addressing a large number of press members in front of her office building in downtown Dallas. “Thank you all for being here. Over the course of this election cycle, I have made it a point to maintain my neutrality in the face of controversy. I have done this for the sake of the players and staff that are under my employ. And I know for a fact that my husband,” she said, taking Theodore's hand in hers, “has felt similarly.”

In that moment, the youngest chipmunk stepped directly in front of the microphone at the podium, taking his wife's place. “As many out there watching know, Jeanette Seville is family to us. She is my wife's sister, and her campaign manager is her husband and my brother. My wife and I continue to love them both very dearly.” 

With that, he stepped away slightly and allowed Eleanor to once again take the microphone. “Jeanette’s candidacy has torn a hole in our family, one born of the fact that we all want to support her as our sister, despite the fact that we may disagree with some of her ideals or campaign promises. But this has led to a critical juncture. For the sake of both of our staffs who are looking to us to lead by example and make decisions that are best for them, we are hereby formally denouncing Jeanette Seville's campaign due to a lack of confidence in her ability to carry out the role of Senator, and are endorsing Gary Martin. There will be no questions, thank you.”

Both of them bowed their heads and stepped away from the cameras, pulling their faces away from the podium and away from the press, who were ignoring her “no question” statement and doing their best to hound them on their way out. 

The news broadcaster's voice faded in through the background, “well, there you have it, Theodore and Eleanor Seville-” she was interrupted by Simon shutting the TV off.

Jeanette, who had been watching the entire thing in dumbfounded silence, buried her face in her hands. Not crying, but wanting to more badly than she ever had. How could she do this to me ? she asked herself. Simon stood there, staring at her glumly. He was silently furious with his brother. They both felt betrayed and confused.

“She told me… over the phone that she just wanted to stay out of this,” Jeanette grumbled, not lifting her head. “Why would they do that? It makes no sense.”

Having not the faintest clue what to say, Simon scratched the back of his neck, plopped into a chair next to his wife's desk, and let out a big sigh.

XXXXX

Just over a month to go until election night, Jeanette was pacing to and fro within her office, pondering her next move in the hours after midnight. Simon had gone to bed a good while ago. The polls had been slipping, if only slightly. It was a noticeable trend. Mitch had ceased from pestering them but also was no longer returning their calls, likely signaling that either he, the Republican Party, or both believed Jeanette's campaign to be a lost cause. At six points behind and falling, she couldn't necessarily blame them. But what to do?

She had been on every semi-popular political commentary TV show and podcast in existence, some that supported her and some that targeted her with difficult questions. With every word she spoke, her personality and her veracious attempts to appeal to middle ground seemed to win people over. Until they didn't. Until her popularity plateaued and had failed to recover. Now she found the opposite result was common. It seemed every time she opened her mouth in public, her poll numbers dropped. Commentators often remarked that she came across as “annoying” and “like the drunk aunt that just won't shut up or go back home”. A real catch-22. On the one hand, every time she spoke, she lost support. On the other hand, the only way she could possibly make up the ground she had lost was to get out there and get her message across by speaking. 

She considered her dilemma for what must have been an hour, never once sitting down. Finally, she frowned, remembered her loving husband in bed all alone, and gave it up for the night. Jeanette walked upstairs in the dark, entered her bedroom where she could hear Simon lightly snoring, snuck into her walk-in closet, slipped off her professional skirt and suit, and clumsily wrapped herself in her pajamas. She tried to be as quiet as possible as she tiptoed to her bed, lifted the covers just enough so that she could slide in, and pulled herself up onto the mattress. But the movement woke Simon with a start as he rolled over to see it was his wife.

“Oh,” he said, “hey.”

“Hey,” Jeanette replied sheepishly. “I'm sorry, I tried not to wake you up.”

“No, no, it's fine,” Simon yawned, closing his eyes. “I was barely asleep anyways.” Suddenly, his eyes snapped back open. “Oh my God, Jeanette! I just remembered!”

“What is it?” she asked, startled.

“I had a dream. I think I know the solution to our problem!”

His wife shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

He sat up in bed and used his elbow for support as he leaned towards her in excitement. “OK, so you’ve been playing this entire game as if you were just a normal politician…” he trailed off as if expecting a response or an interruption which did not come. “But that's the thing - you're not just a normal politician! You were a pop star first!”

“So?” 

“So… we need to tap into the showmanship and likeability that got people lining up for miles to see us perform. You need to spend less time appealing to the intellectuality of people and more time appealing to their emotions and desires to be entertained! Less Ben Shapiro, more Joe Rogan and Theo Von. You need to increase the ‘hype’ levels at your events, get people excited! Your speeches need to be a show!”

Unsure of what to say at first, Jeanette glanced at the wall across the room, wondering what her husband's vision would look like when fully realized. How would this be received ?

XXXXX

Oracle Park, the San Francisco Giants’ home stadium, was filled to its 42,000 person capacity. In center field was erected a large wooden stage with a sixty foot by one hundred foot American flag hanging behind it. The stage itself was fully decorated with “Jeanette Seville for Senate” merchandise. Every member of the audience sat in anticipation, murmuring to each other. Excitement was so palpable in the air it could be detected on a Geiger counter. 

Suddenly, three bells rang from the stadium's loudspeakers resembling those of the beginning of a heavyweight boxing fight, followed by the rhythmic clapping of a nonexistent crowd. Michael Buffer's voice broke the tension with the words, “ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event!” This caused the entirety of the venue to erupt into cheers. This was only exasperated when Buffer gave them his famous intro: “LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!”

With that, much to the elation of all of the onlookers, the opening tune of the song “Let's Get Ready to Rumble” from “Space Jam” began playing. Right at the moment the beat dropped, the phrase “ya'll ready for this?” could be heard, followed immediately by three black Cadillac Escalades speeding onto the field. They each drifted recklessly around all four bases exactly three times to the sound of thunderous applause. The music encouraged them the entire way. Finally, they settled in front of the stage in center field, where Jeanette exited the middle one and wasted no time in flashing a wave to the crowd. Shrieks of excitement, clapping, laughing, the people loved the entire spectacle; the energy.

The middle Chipette, dressed in her business suit with a skirt and a violet-shaded tie, had never seen anything like this. These people cheered for her like she had been hoping they would from the very beginning. They waved her campaign signs and American flags, jumping up and down to the beat as she smiled and waved at them. She trudged confidently up the steps that led directly to her podium. Only once she reached her stool that allowed her to speak into the microphone and be seen over the podium did the song finally stop. The audience also went quiet, politely, waiting for her to speak.

She took a deep breath, smiled again, and said, “hello San Francisco! Woah boy, I love this city!”

The people attending once again gave her a pronounced and very prolonged cheer.

*End Flashback*

And so Jeanette sat there on her couch, her left eye twitching from frustration, watching the election result coverage turn from a relatively neutral production to a slander fest. They flashed blurred out images of her half naked sister, wondering aloud to themselves how Jeanette would react, how the last second voters would react, and how it could possibly swing such a razor tight race back to Gary Martin. It was almost more than she could bear. She felt embarrassment for Brittany but also herself. Alvin as well. Honestly, the entire family. What if Dave saw this? It was very likely he did. 

And now, in one second, it felt like her entire bid for office had been discredited. She was furious at Brittany for posing for those photos. Even though she knew, logically, that it was not an intentional betrayal, it still felt like one. At least like a sabotage.

Simon and Alvin were still out of sight, having rushed after Brittany who Jeanette assumed was crying in the bathroom. This left only herself and Laney in the living room.

Suddenly, her phone began ringing, causing her heart to sink. There was precisely a zero percent chance that this was going to be an enjoyable call to take. She checked the screen, and immediately realized her prediction was correct. It was a number that had refused to connect with her for months; Mitch's number.

She grimaced and accepted the call, pressing her phone against her right ear. “Hello?” she squeaked.

“ Oh, hey, if it isn't little miss ‘my sister is going to decide to become a professional whore the day of the election’ .”

“Do not talk about her like that,” Jeanette threatened him.

“ Oh, well, if that bothers you just imagine what all of the potential voters in line are saying about her right now. And about you for that matter. ”

Jeanette wanted to snap back at him, but failed to find the proper words to do so.

“ I'm going to make this perfectly clear and simple so your tiny chipmunk brain can comprehend, ” he continued menacingly, “ she needs to go. You need to kick her the fuck out of your house. As a matter of fact, you need to do it very publicly. Out the front door, so the press sees it too. And then you're going to make a statement where you basically disown her in front of all of those cameras. ”

Chapter Text

Brittany wiped the tears off her eyelids, took a small piece of tissue paper, blew her nose, and begrudgingly opened the bathroom door. Simon stood on the other side, in the hallway, holding his left arm with his right hand, biting his lip nervously and avoiding eye contact by staring at the floor. “What is it?” Brittany asked him in a snappy tone. There are many things she did not particularly like; her family seeing her in an emotional state being high on that list.

“Can I come in?” Simon croaked politely, turning his head to look over his shoulder as if making sure he wasn't followed.

“Umm,” she murmured, chuckling, “into the… bathroom?”

As if suddenly realizing it was an odd request, but acknowledging he was already committed, he said, “yes. Please.”

Brittany studied the beautiful hallway full of baby blue painted doors behind Simon, complete with the Navy blue carpet patterned with golden fleur-de-lis. She checked each room that she could from her vantage point, attempting to determine whether either Alvin or Jeanette had put this poor skittish chipmunk up to this. To talk to her on their behalf, perhaps because they were both so furious with her.

Seeing no sign of life anywhere besides the two of them, no evidence at all of ulterior motive, she nodded at him and motioned with her head for him to come in. He obliged quicker than she expected, stepping inside after she had backed up enough to give him room and closing and locking the door behind him. The way he went about this made her a bit uncomfortable, but she kept her discomfort to herself.

He turned and looked at her, for the first time, in the eye. “How are you doing?” he asked her under his breath.

She gritted her teeth. “How do you think I'm doing? How do I look?”

“Terrible,” he admitted, pursing his lips. “I… don't think you should beat yourself up so much over this.”

“There is literally no reason to not beat myself up over this,” Brittany sighed, disgusted with herself. “Do you know what I got paid for those photos? I don't even remember, exactly. Nineteen hundred dollars? Something like that. A paycheck, basically. I was going to use the money to surprise my family with a really nice Christmas. But then Alvin caught one of his coworkers looking at them… and now someone's using them to try and take down Jeanette.”

“So, what you should be focusing on is you did something for a good reason; for Alvin and Laney,” he said, shaking his head. “Would it have been better if you hadn’t? Probably. But the fact that it backfired as much as it has, it's not your fault.”

“Simon,” she retorted, “it is my fault. Every aspect of this is my fault.”

“No it isn't,” he insisted. “But I have to warn you, Jeanette is not going to take this well. She is going to be angry over this for… a long time. You have no idea how much work she's put into this campaign. How personal all this is for her.”

Brittany eyed him down, suspicious of his sudden confidence. “What is it you wanted to tell me?” she asked.

The chipmunk, who was dressed in a nice tuxedo with a blue tie, opened his mouth as if to respond, but reconsidered his thoughts. He looked away for a couple seconds, pondering his words, before he was rescued from the moment by a sudden knock on the door.

Alvin's muffled voice interrupted from outside the bathroom, “Brittany? Are you in there?”

Brittany and Simon exchanged glances. The Chipette in the pink dress snapped at him, “well?” She was unwilling to let her brother in law off the hook from getting to his point.

Instead, Simon gritted his teeth, unlocked and opened the bathroom door, revealing her husband on the other side. Alvin was obviously taken aback by the sight of Simon and Brittany alone in a locked bathroom, but did not question it. At least not in a verbal sense.

He shook it off, addressing his wife sternly, “Brit, you can't lock yourself in this bathroom for the rest of the night. Laney's wondering where you are.”

Brittany looked as if she just remembered she had a daughter.

“She's still down there in the living room, confused and scared. She needs to see us together.”

The Chipette sighed. “I don't know how I could face her right now,” she grumbled.

“I get it,” Alvin pressed her, “I do. I can't lie to you and pretend it won't be awkward. But for her sake and for Jeanette's, we need to go downstairs, have some dinner, and finish out the night as if everything were business as usual.”

There was still some leftover anger burning within Brittany towards Alvin, for daring to question her about her decision to do the photoshoot. For his agreeing to be away from the family more for work. For being short tempered with her earlier that night. For his lack of understanding. But most of all, he was right, and she hated that. It felt like torture acknowledging that fact even in her own mind. But it was undeniable now that she should have listened to him. She was regretting how she had treated him earlier that night.

“Alvin…” she began with an extremely low amount of confidence, “you were right. About everything. And I am so sorry. I was such a bitch when you got home, and you were just looking out for us.”

Her husband scratched the back of his neck in confusion and in disbelief at the words that had just come out of her mouth. “You don't need to apologize, Brit,” he finally responded in a comforting fashion. “Let's just go back to the living room and give Laney a big group hug, huh?”

“Yeah…” she sighed, letting her eyes sink to the bathroom floor while tears welled up inside of them.

Alvin stuck his arms out in her direction, inviting her into them. She smiled, nodded, and trudged her body into her chest. She dug her face into his shoulders and sniffled, managing to contain most of her crying now that she felt better.

Simon watched the entire scene in awkward silence. He had allowed the opportunity to confide in Brittany slip away, and he was angry at himself for it. But he could not spill the beans within range of Alvin's ears, so perhaps it was for the best that his brother had knocked when he did.

“Let’s go,” Alvin whispered into the side of his wife’s head. 

She nodded without removing the contact between her eyes and his body. After a few more moments, she finally lifted them and they walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway, still wrapped in each other's arms. Simon trudged in the same direction, a slight distance behind them, following with gritted teeth and seething with regret.

They reached the living room, Brittany hesitantly scanning it for life. Jeanette was nowhere to be seen. They peered over the back side of the couch, checking the cushions for their daughter. She laid blissfully unaware on top of the far left one, staring at the advertisement playing on the TV, appearing to be very nearly asleep. Sensing the eyes on her, Laney turned her head upwards. Her face lit up with joy the moment she realized both her mother and father were staring down at her with smiles on their faces. 

“Momma!” she exclaimed.

Brittany chuckled, “Hey, sweetie!”

Laney spun into pouncing position on her hands and knees, then launched herself up towards the Chipette. Despite being taken by surprise, Brittany was able to catch her into her arms and wrap her daughter tightly. Alvin joined them without hesitation.

Simon watched from a few feet away, a painful smile creeping onto his face. He was glad that his brother's family seemed to be mending so quickly from such an odd and devastating turn of events as what they had all witnessed on the television.

“Where were you mommy?” Laney asked Brittany innocently.

“I was just going to the bathroom,” she lied in response.

“Are you okay?” said her daughter with genuine concern.

“Of course baby.”

“Mommy… was that really you, in the pictures?”

Brittany froze, having not the slightest clue as to how to address this question. 

Fortunately, Alvin answered for her, “nah,” he said nonchalantly, “I think they made a mistake.”

“Are there other chipmunks that look like us?” his daughter continued with her curiosity. 

“I believe there are,” Alvin whispered.

“Oh…” Laney responded with wide eyes, as if this were a groundbreaking revelation. “I'd like to meet them.”

“I’m sure you will, one day,” whispered Alvin into her ear, not being able to help himself but to crack a smile at her youthful ignorance.

Suddenly, Jeanette's defensive outcry coming from the kitchen could be heard by everyone in the living room: “I said I can't do that!” she exclaimed.

Concerned and curious, all four of the chipmunks who were standing behind the couch stepped cautiously and quietly towards the source of the distressed voice. 

Jeanette was indeed in the kitchen, as they all saw, pacing back and forth, her face never lifting away from towards the floor. She had her phone pinched between her shoulder and the side of her head as she dug a bottle of 1989 Chateau St. Jean Cinq Cépages Cabernet Sauvignon out of her wine rack. “I heard you, and I'm saying we have to find another way,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the line in obvious defiance as she uncorked the bottle. “I could do a press statement, or something. Just trust me, I'll take responsibility.” She took a crystal glass out of the cabinet and began pouring, her hands visibly shaking as she did so, either from anger or from fear, causing drops of wine to miss the glass and spill onto her counter. “No, I…” she trailed off and went silent for a good while, seemingly taking some serious verbal abuse from someone, still unaware that the others were in the kitchen observing her. She filled her wine glass nearly to the brim and set the bottle down with a louder clank sound than she had intended, causing her to grimace. She gritted her teeth and clenched her counter top with white knuckles as she listened to whomever she was on the phone with. Finally, she flailed her left hand outwardly and retorted, “if it was just her then maybe, but she has-” but she was cut off by having her defensive arm motions knock the cab sauv bottle clean off the counter, landing on the kitchen floor and shattering, sending the remnants of wine flying in all directions. “Ugh, damn it!” she exclaimed. It was at that moment that she noticed the rest of her family, in the kitchen with her, staring with a great deal of curiosity. She froze and stared back, trying to hide the fact that someone was yelling at her through the phone. They all exchanged eye contact for an awkward few moments before Jeanette turned away and put her free hand back on the counter top behind her. “Fine,” she said. “Yes, I understand. You'll see it on the news soon. Yes sir, ‘fuckity bye’ to you too.” With that she hung up, put her phone away, hunched over as if stretching the negative energy out of her, sighed, let her face slink towards the floor, picked up the glass of wine from the counter in front of her. The pieces of dark green glass remained scattered all over her surrounding area, along with the droplets of red wine that was beginning to dry into a stain on her tiled floor and white painted cabinets.

Simon took a step forward. “Jeanette?” he managed to softly verbalize. “What was that?”

She turned to face them, slowly, and scanned the entire group, allowing her eyes to rest directly onto Laney. Her frown was deep and ominous. She ignored Simon's question and instead addressed Brittany. “I am sorry… but I have to ask you guys to go home.”

Everyone's eyes widened. “What?” Brittany exclaimed. “You're kicking us out?”

Jeanette glanced at her ceiling, considering how to rebut the phrasing of that question.

“Jean, wait,” Simon interjected, “let's talk about this!”

Jeanette shook her head at him, “I just got off the phone with Mitch. I don't have a choice.”

“Who the hell is Mitch?” Alvin asked, still carrying his daughter in his arms.

Brittany squinted at her younger sister with disdain. “I can't believe you would put your own flesh and blood out of your house over something like this. What? Just to save face? To give the public some half-assed apology for having a whore as a sister?”

Trembling, Jeanette took a big gulp of wine from her glass, spilling just a bit onto her left cheek, which she promptly wiped off. “I'm not the one who had those pictures taken of me,” she snorted. “You were. I truly am very sorry, but I need you to leave.”

“Jeanette, don't do this,” Simon begged. “We can't push them out like this, think of Laney!”

“No, you think Simon!” Jeanette defiantly yelled at him. “Think of everything we have put into this.” She then turned her attention back to her sister and niece. “I would love to have you guys back over for dinner soon. Hell, tomorrow night if you'd like. But tonight, I need you guys out of my house.”

Brittany scoffed at her. “Jeanette, I wouldn't come back to visit you if you paid me.”

Jeanette raised an eyebrow at her in anger. “Well, at least that's one thing you won't do for money!”

This prompted an awkward silence from all five of them. Laney, Brittany, and Jeanette all had tears forming. Brittany had a look of shock and fury like none of them had seen on her before. Jeanette maintained eye contact with her as if trying to convince everyone present that she had meant every word. 

“Fine,” Brittany finally humphed, “where's your back door? We'll leave.”

Jeanette bit her lip. “It's… broken,” she lied, “you'll have to use the front door.”

“‘It's broken’?” Brittany quoted her through nervous laughter. “You’re trying to sacrifice us, publicly humiliate us? Like you’re marching us up to the lip of a volcano to appease the Gods?”

Jeanette didn't answer, simply sulking and taking another hefty sip of wine.

Brittany simply grabbed Laney out of Alvin's arms, prompting their daughter to begin sobbing as she understood that they were about to leave her aunt's house in a spurt of bad blood. The auburn-haired chipette glared up at Alvin and said, “come on. Let's go.”

Simon sighed as he watched his brother and his family trudge towards the front door. He looked at his wife, who stared at the broken glass scattered throughout her kitchen like she had just survived a war. This was eating her alive, and he could tell, but he still found it difficult to forgive her despite the fact that he had foreseen such a response.

Alvin slipped Laney's shoes onto her feet, doing his best to comfort and reassure her that mommy and auntie were just a little angry at each othe r and that they would be back soon. Brittany said nothing, bracing herself for the swarm of media that she was about to face. She could see the flashing of the cameras through the frosted windows on the side of Jeanette's front door. They had probably already noticed her outline from the outside. If they were snapping pictures through a window where she was barely visible, imagine how crazy they would go once she stepped foot outside. 

Alvin finished putting shoes on Laney, stood himself and his daughter up, glanced at his wife, and said, “you ready?”

Brittany nodded begrudgingly. 

Alvin unlocked the door, grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and pulled. The paparazzi outside stirred themselves into a frenzy at the uninhibited sight of them. Brittany grabbed and picked up Laney as they walked intently towards the car, attempting to shield her from the cameras to the best of her ability. Alvin wrapped his arms around the both of them, doing his damndest to use his body to protect their faces as they picked up the pace. The press charged them and surrounded them; about sixty people with cameras and microphones, from major news sources, shouting questions at them as they pushed their way through.

“Brittany, any comment on the photos?”

“Mr. Seville! Were you aware of those pictures?”

“How much were you paid for those photos, Mrs. Seville?”

“Who took them?”

“Do you guys have any comment on the potential ramifications on Jeanette Seville's campaign?”

“Did Jeanette ask you to leave Mrs. Seville, or did you leave her house on your own accord?”

Alvin glared up at all of them. “No comment today, guys,” he growled. This did precisely nothing to quell the storm.

The flashing of the cameras and the sticking of microphones towards them only intensified as they reached the car. “Are you trying to downplay this incident for the voters?”

“Will there be any comment from Jeanette tonight?”

Brittany was the first to get into the custom-built SUV, designed to allow chipmunks to drive, climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind her. Alvin took it upon himself to buckle his obviously traumatized daughter into the booster seat behind the driver's side. He closed her door gracefully, opened his own, hopped in, shut it furiously, sat down, buckled himself, wondered silently how he would back this car out while surrounded by the blood-sucking media personnel. 

As if on cue, the front door to the house reopened, revealing an insultingly composed-appearing Jeanette. The press instantly ceased paying the SUV any attention and rushed towards the porch of the mansion where the Chipette in a deep violet professional dress stood waiting for them with both hands cupped together in front of her crotch. Alvin pressed the push-to-start ignition button, bringing the car to life with a faint hybrid purr. They could see Jeanette speaking into the microphones reassuringly, staring at the cameras with an apologetic but confident apathy. They could not hear what she was saying, but they got the message. Alvin, while overcome with disgust, put the car in reverse and began backing out of the driveway.

XXXXXXX

Laney had been put to bed, obviously traumatized by the day's events, as soon as the three of them had reached home. Alvin, being required to show face at work the next day, had followed suit and put himself to bed not long after. Brittany sat on their couch, a cheap box of pinot grigio resting on her coffee table along with a half-full glass, as she was glued to her TV. It was 3am. 

The results had been coming in all night. She wasn't sure why she cared at this point, after what had happened. After what her sister had done to her. But for whatever reason, if her sister were to lose this election, she knew she would feel terrible, with or without any sort of confirmation that her mistake had anything to do with it. Part of her wanted Jeanette to lose. That was a fact that she had no problem admitting. She believed in her heart that she would be forever unable to fully forgive her for what her family was just put through, even though the heart of the problem originated from herself. If Jeanette were to lose, then perhaps she would feel like she had kicked Brittany and her daughter out for nothing, and feel guilty about it. On the other hand, if she lost a close race, Brittany was certain she would feel responsible and therefore be overcome by her own sense of guilt.

It was almost 3:30 now. Finally, the Viagra advertisement was interrupted by the flashy “BREAKING NEWS” banner of the TV Station. The male and female announcers appeared on the screen, prompting the man to speak while eyeing the camera. “And breaking news: the ABC decision desk can finally officially call the Senate race between incumbent Gary Martin and Republican challenger Jeanette Seville.” The screen turned to a live tracker of vote count and percentage plastered underneath flattering portraits of both candidates. Gary Martin had 38.5 percent of votes, with a total of five million, three hundred and ninety-two thousand, seven hundred and forty. He had a large, pronounced yellow check mark next to his name. Jeanette had 38.6 percent of votes, with a vote count slightly higher than that of Martin, which Brittany was unable to read before the camera cut back to the announcers. “ABC news has projected that Gary Martin will narrowly hold onto his Senate seat, beating out Mrs. Seville by what looks likely to be around 0.2 percent. We now take you live to the ‘Jeanette Seville for Senate’ watch party where the political adviser- turned political candidate is about to make a statement.” 

The feed cut to just outside Jeanette's front porch, where she stood alongside her husband with disappointment but resounding determination on her face. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” she said, glumly addressing the media. “As you can imagine, these are not the results we hoped for when last night began. But there are still many votes to count, and if the count is within a reasonable distance, my campaign will not be ruling out the possibility of filing for a recount at this time. For now, I would like to congratulate Senator Martin and his family on his projected victory. Thank you.” She bowed her head and turned to walk back through her front door.

Simon stepped forward and said, “that will be all for tonight.”

Before he could continue, Brittany changed the channel, and dug her face into her palms. She lifted them up and peered at the luke warm white wine on her coffee table; the only way she could think of in the moment to suppress the roller coaster of emotions that were rushing through her.

Chapter Text

Alvin had not a single second of a dream that night. His absent consciousness was resurrected in a fit of disarray to the sound of his alarm. About a year ago, he had begun intentionally setting his alarm as an AM radio frequency that did not have any stations broadcasting on it. The result was that each morning, he awoke to an ear piercing static turned up to maximum volume. This was to ensure that the oldest Chipmunk actually stirred with enough alertness and adrenaline to stay awake. Brittany hated it, but it was a necessity. 

On that day, the alarm would normally have not gone off at all. It was a Saturday. This was literally the first thought that managed to course through Alvin's mind, was that it was the weekend. And yet, he had set his absolutely jolting, petrifying, doomsday-worthy alarm the night before. He did so because, unlike previous Saturdays, he had to go to work today. Otherwise, his job was probably as good as terminated. And therefore, so would be his ability to feed his wife and daughter. 

He blinked twice, forced his eyelids to stay open, cursed under his breath, and scanned his bedroom in a daze before rolling over onto his shoulder and silencing the alarm clock. The intrusively harsh static went quiet. The digital reading was 4:30 am. The bedroom was still, and totally dark. The only light came from a singular street lamp outside, on the sidewalk a couple houses down. Alvin groaned, and laid on his back, pondering to himself about how he had let things get to this point. But he did not allow himself to rest there long, for if he did, he knew he would fall back asleep. 

As soon as his eyes mostly regained focus, he glanced over to the left side of his bed: Brittany’s side. The realization that she was not there made him overcome with confusion. Was she in the bathroom? The living room? Did she have an appointment she had to go to that she didn't tell him about? Did she leave him? If she did, did she take Laney with her? Alvin physically shook his head, derailing his thought train of despair. She was upset, and she was upset with him, to a certain degree, which had been a dreadful and consistent theme in their marriage for the better part of two years by then. But was she unhappy enough to just up and vanish on him in the middle of the night? Unlikely.

He blinked once more, grumbled to himself, and lifted his head off of his pillow with a great strain. He was a traditionally well built, athletic chipmunk. A singular sit-up under normal circumstances would have been an easy task. But mornings were different. He hated early mornings, perhaps, more than he hated anything else. The feeling of waking up before eight, regardless of how much sleep he got the night before, was pure pain for him. He wouldn't actually mind work so much if it weren't for the start time. Once he successfully managed to crunch his body so that his upper half sat up, he twisted himself side to side at his waist, cracking his back in both directions. Alvin lifted the sheet and comforter off of himself, let his feet fall to the floor beside him, and squatted himself out of bed with a grunt. My God, did he hate mornings.

The room itself had barely come into clarity. He rubbed his eyes and picked the sand out of the corner of them, which only mildly helped. What helped significantly more was when he flipped the light switch, illuminating the entire bedroom with a single overhead sixty watt light bulb. Just to quell his worst fears regarding Brittany, he dragged his feet drowsily over to their window and used only his index finger to barely pull one of the Navy Blue blackout curtains an inch to the side. He peered out to his driveway from his second-story vantage point. The custom designed SUV was still parked out there, waiting in intimidating anticipation for Alvin to use it to transport himself to the office. The oldest chipmunk exhaled, reassured that Brittany was in the house somewhere.

Then his morning routine began. It was the same every weekday, and it started in the bathroom. Step one was to brush his teeth, a chore that normally would take anyone only a few minutes. But the repetitive simplicity of it combined with his drowsiness often led to him day dreaming while performing it, causing him to lose track of time and drag the task out to ten minutes. This was the case on that day. After brushing his teeth, aggressively brushing his tongue, flossing - something he did not actually do nearly as much as he knew he should - and using mouth wash, he weighed himself on their electronic glass scale. Despite his weight slowly trending upwards over the last few years, he did not have the self-discipline to maintain any semblance of a diet. His prime years of youth were behind him, if only just barely. It was all downhill from there. He did not shower; he always showered at night, so that he could sleep in as much as possible. Instead, he exited his attached bathroom, trudged into the walk-in closet, and put on his collared shirt, his pants, his belt, his tie, and his dress socks and polished shoes. He did so at a sluggish pace, eyes barely cracked open, resembling a zombie more than a living, conscious member of society. He grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys from his bedside table with more aggression than necessary and shuffled out into the hallway.

Alvin crept past his daughter's room, not wanting to wake her, understanding that only one member of their family had to have their beauty sleep interrupted that day. He carefully stepped down the stairs into the living room.

And there she was: his wife, fast asleep on the couch in front of the TV which was still playing CNN, snoring violently in an awkward body position. She was normally pretty bad with snoring, something she both fervently denied and was extremely embarrassed by. The sight in front of Alvin made him sigh deeply. Brittany had passed out, probably only a couple hours ago at most, with the news on. Two empty boxes of wine and a half full glass sat on the coffee table. Alvin walked over next to where she laid, frowned at her, watched a drop of drool dribble out of the corner of her mouth and onto the cushion her entire body rested on. He took his phone out of his pocket, took a quick five second video of her, and stuffed it away. He grabbed the wine boxes, threw them in their recycling bin, then grabbed her glass, emphatically poured its contents into the sink, then left it on the counter. 

Alvin wondered to himself if she was going to be capable of getting up and taking care of their daughter, but he had no time to worry about that.

He put two scoops of cheap store bought coffee grounds into the reusable filter cup in their Keurig, filled it with water, placed his Yeti mug underneath the spout, and turned it on. The whirring sound of the coffee machine energizing cause Brittany to stir, surprising Alvin given her obvious intoxication and her tendencies as a heavy sleeper, even when totally sober. The chipmunk sporting the red tie cautiously approached her as she blinked awake and looked up at her husband. She looked confused, at first, then managed to grumble, “oh, yeah. Forgot you have work today.”

Alvin nodded, whispering, “yeah. Unfortunately.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” she yawned, closing her eyes and digging her face into the cushion. 

“I don't know,” he responded softly, scratching the back of his head. “Good chance I'm gone all day.”

She nodded without picking her head up or saying a word.

There was something about the way his wife responded to this news that cut him, although he had a difficult time admitting that sort of thing. He knew that she was drunk and tired, but it still felt as though she could care less that she might not see him all day. He sighed, sat next to her, causing her to finally raise her face with squinted eyes towards him. 

“Hey,” he said in a warm whisper.

“What?” she muttered with just a mild undertone of hostility. 

“You look really beautiful this morning.”

She rolled here eyes and grumbled. Alvin leaned in for a kiss, but she flinched and recoiled away. “I am disgusting right now, dude,” she protested. “My breath definitely smells so bad.”

Alvin bit his lip, nodded and stood up. As if on cue, the Kuerig finished its job right at that moment. He went to retrieve his Yeti coffee mug as Brittany laid her head back down and drifted off to sleep. The chipmunk stepped towards the front door, took one final longing look at the back of the couch, then opened it.

As soon as he was outside, he noticed a white van decorated with an ABC News logo running in idle across the street. “Ah, shit,” Alvin hissed. 

Before he could even shut his front door, a reporter, a cameraman, and a boom mic operator piled out of the back of the van and began sprinting towards him. The disgruntled chipmunk tried to make it to his car before they reached him, but he was unable to. 

“Alvin! Is Brittany inside?” the female reporter called to him.

“I don't know where she is,” Alvin lied, still barely awake. He continued trying to maneuver his way to the SUV. 

“What are your thoughts on the election results?”

The chipmunk waved them off, growling at them, “I don’t have any comments for you guys today.”

Surprisingly, they laid off at that point, although he could hear the reporter telling her subordinates, “let's get back in the van. She has to come out at some point.”

Alvin climbed into the driver's seat, slammed the door behind him significantly harder than he had to, and pushed the start button. He was so annoyed with Brittany for her lack of affection that he almost considered not warning her about the reporters. But he soon realized how selfish and deplorable such a consideration was. He pulled out his phone and shot his wife a text that read, “reporters outside… and not going away.”

After that, he connected his phone to the car's Bluetooth, elected to begin his drive by listening to “Scar Tissue” by Red Hot Chili Peppers, put it in reverse, and backed out of his driveway. 

Work started at 7 am. That was one of the reasons that he had to wake up so early. His options were to either beat the notoriously unpredictable and backed up morning Los Angeles traffic, or to risk that same traffic making him late to work. It was his daily lament. This was, however, not the case on this particular morning, as all of the suburban roads, on-ramps, and sections of the free way that typically had the earliest formations of car pile-ups forming around that time of day were jarringly barren. No more than a few vehicles here and there, allowing for easy navigation for Alvin. He shook his head at himself as he mused that he grossly underestimated how few people would be waking up early on a Saturday. But it was better safe than sorry, he supposed. It made for a peaceful drive, filled with Red Hot Chili Pepper songs and coffee sipping. As he pulled into the Jett Records employee parking garage, two blocks down from the actual office building itself, the Sun was just beginning to brighten the sky into a lighter shade of blue through the curtain of skyscrapers. 

His designated parking spot was on the top floor, farthest corner away from the elevator. His boss, however, Mr. Ramos, had an assigned parking spot on the first floor only about fifteen feet away from the exit to the garage. With the emptiness of their garage far exceeding that of the roads of LA, and with how bitter Alvin was for having to go into work, it was an easy choice for him to make to pull into Ramos's slot, rather than his own. It wasn't like he would need it, not that day at the very least. 

Alvin put his SUV in park, forcefully pressed the back of his head into his seat, gritted his teeth, contemplated life, turned the car off, grabbed his Yeti, opened the door, exited the vehicle with a humph, and off he was on his ritualistic walk into work. It was an abnormally brisk early morning in Los Angeles. Alvin didn't know the exact temperature, as he rarely checked his weather app before going anywhere, but he assumed the temperature was in the high fifties or low sixties. Just enough to make him feel cold, to shiver, to cause just a bit of liquid snot to build up inside and on the corners of his nostrils. It was honestly beautiful; he loved it. Much better than the prototypical Southern California heat that felt like it was coming from Satan’s taint. For that reason, his ten minute walk, despite the usual scenery of cracked sidewalks and roads, and garbage and homelessness scattered throughout the city, was actually somewhat pleasant. 

Alvin scanned his access badge to unlock the front door, which took some extra strain to do given his height as compared to a normal person. This act simultaneously clocked him in for work, and thus began his unpaid overtime. He checked his watch, which read 6:03. Nearly an hour earlier than he had to be there. This made him cringe.

The inside of the office building was entirely empty, with the exception of a single security guard whom Alvin recognized but could not recall the name of. As Alvin passed him by, the guard took an ear bud out of his right ear and shot the chipmunk a confused glance. Alvin smiled politely but awkwardly at him and gave him a half-hearted playful salute.

“Mr. Seville?” the guard said inquisitively.

“Don't ask, man,” Alvin responded with a sigh, hoping to both avoid a conversation about why he was at work and to avoid making it obvious that he had forgotten the guy's name. “Just keep hanging in there. I'll be in my office…”

The guard nodded, seemingly instantly dropping any care in the world about Alvin, and reinserted the ear bud as the chipmunk strutted past him.

Alvin begrudgingly entered the elevator in the lobby and commanded it take him to the 26th floor; the talent scouting department floor, where he worked. As the lift carried him upwards at a rapid pace, he took another sip of coffee from his portable mug. This stuff is going to be a necessity today , he thought to himself.  

The elevator dinged, the steel doors slid apart and open, revealing the maze of cubicles and offices that he spent several hours of his life per day inside of. He hated this place. It felt like a cage to him. And he anticipated that his frustration with being forced to be here would only be exaggerated by the fact that there was no one physically there to hold him accountable. Leaving a palpable trail of disgruntlement behind him as he walked, he practically stomped his way through the central passageway of cubicles, past the secretary’s desk, through the glass door that was specifically custom built with a lower handle to allow him easier access. 

He did take a moment to appreciate his office. It was clean and had a view through the window behind his chair. It wasn't much of a view, pretty much entirely being taken up by the building beside theirs, but it was a view. He had plenty of space, a clean, fresh carpet, a nice desk, and a brand new desktop computer. It was definitely a better situation than any other new hires at the company received. Many people who had worked on that floor for years were still relegated to a cramped, moldy, depressing cubicle. It made many of the longer tenured employees in his department jealous, and Alvin understood why. When he was brought onto the team, there was a great amount of anticipation. Many believed that his acute sense of talent would bring multiple blue blood artists onto the record and turn the whole company around. Hence, the above average accommodations. But Alvin, thus far, had fallen well short of those expectations, leading to this increased pressure being placed on his shoulders.

He exhaled as he flopped onto his leather cushioned rolling chair, understanding how dire his situation was in this company. Alvin wasted no time in logging onto his computer, because he knew the computer itself would waste plenty of time doing so on it's own. As was typical, from the moment the chipmunk pressed “enter” after typing his password to the moment the loading screen cleared was approximately six minutes. Alvin spent the entirety of that time scrolling through his phone. 

With a bit of unfortunate timing, he took the final remaining sip of coffee from his mug within seconds of his computer actually booting up. To go make a fresh pot, or to limit his own caffeine intake for the day was a big decision, only complicated by the fact that deliberation at that point was officially procrastination. It was a choice he made fairly quickly, however, as he pushed his Yeti behind his monitor so he wouldn't get distracted by thinking about another cup of Joe. 

It was time to get down to business, to bravely explore the internet, to rummage through YouTube, to thoroughly examine SoundCloud, to find the talent he had to believe existed somewhere. 

And it was as agonizing a process as ever. Four hours produced only two rappers who regrettably had quit their day jobs, four American Idol Rejects, a comedy singer, an Irish Pub band that was good but not quite what he or Ramos were looking for, and two middle aged men who had made it their entire personality to write and play underwhelming country songs from their garage and put it on YouTube. Alvin groaned, clenched his eyelids shut, rubbed the bridge his nose. He felt as though he were in legitimate pain; his eyes from staring at a screen for too long, his ears from being violated by subpar music. 

Snapping him out of his meditative state of self pity, his desk phone began ringing, startling him. Alvin jumped from the sudden breach of silence and quickly picked the phone up from its base. He held it up to his right ear and spoke into it with an annoyed and uninterested grumble, “Jett Records Talent Agency, this is Alvin, how may I help you?”

“ Ooh, nice customer service voice, Al ,” came the patronizing voice of his despised coworker, Dean. “ You really have a future here as a secretary if this whole talent scout thing doesn't work out .”

Alvin rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Dean?” he muttered.

“ Well, I just woke up ,” he explained with an insincere innocence, “ and I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay at work. ”

Alvin opened his mouth to say something belittling to his rival, but remembered that this conversation, being on a company line, was being recorded and could be used against him. “I'm fine. Thanks for checking in. I'm extremely busy, though, so I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye.”

“ You've been staying on task, then ?” Dean interjected before Alvin could remove the phone from his face. “ No time spent reliving the ‘glory days’ ? You don't want to upset Ramos again, do you ?”

“No,” Alvin snapped, feeling a little more confident now that retaliation would not only be justified but potentially go unpunished. “And if you spent half as much time putting Minoxidil on your head as you do worrying about me, your ex-wife might still think that you're attractive.”

Dean chuckled through the phone, at the very least acting as though that comment from the chipmunk hadn't phased him. “ I can't wait until you don't work here anymore ,” he cooed ominously. “ Well, I shouldn't say ‘here’, I guess. I'm at home. You're the one who's in the office. ”

Having had enough, Alvin aggressively slammed the phone back into its holder, simultaneously hanging up on the man.

Perhaps “rival” was not the best description of what Dean was to Alvin. On the one hand, Alvin had accomplished more, earned more money and fame than Dean could ever hope to in his entire life. Alvin liked to tell himself that he was an elephant compared to Dean, who he likened more to as an ant. Elephants do not battle ants, nor do they truly even engage with them or acknowledge them. And yet, in the context of their employment at Jett Records, Dean had the advantage. He had been steady and reliable, he had produced results. He had brought three Emmy Award winners to the label compared to Alvin's zero. He had worked there for nearly ten years, never being promoted nor given the accommodations within the office that Alvin did. The famous brown eyed chipmunk was showered with the gifts of the best possible situations as soon as he was brought in as a member of the team. This, naturally, brewed resentment, which was the seed that sprouted into their constant bickering. Dean, for all of his flaws, was arguably the best talent scout on their floor. Nobody produced like he had at Jett Records since the unmatched seven-year stretch of dominance of Ian Hawke. Alvin understood that the only reason he was still cooped up in that smaller, dustier cubicle was because he simply was unlikeable, both due to his personality and his looks. He was greasy, significantly chunkier than the average man in the industry, had thinning hair, wore dorky glasses, had chest hair that protruded up through the collar of his shirt from his neck. The company was desperate to hire Alvin, believing his talents on stage would translate well to the scouting department. They went so far as to offer him his office and a significantly higher salary than anyone else in his position. It wasn't nearly the income that Alvin or Brittany had grown accustomed to from their lives as pop stars, but it was more than any of his proven coworkers were making. They weren't supposed to discuss contracts amongst each other, but Alvin accidentally spilled the beans to Dean on his second day working there, which directly led to their first ever confrontation. It felt weird for Alvin to admit to himself that when Dean or any of his other coworkers chastised him over the discrepancies between his compensation and his actual performance, that they were right. And yet, he continued to tell himself that in the grand scheme of things, those people and their opinions were insignificant both to him and in comparison to him.

Alvin sat in his chair, staring with furious eyes at his desk phone, fuming, asking himself why he had stooped so low as to get into a war with people who were beneath him. He shook his head, raised his eyebrows in disbelief, exhaled in a pronounced sigh. The chipmunk then returned his attention to his monitor. There was little he could do to change his situation but to recontinue his journey down the rabbit hole of YouTube. A journey which brought him to videos of a clown singing at an eight year old’s birthday party, to a homeless man singing for a twenty dollar bill, to more and more people that just did not excite him. Alvin felt terrible about being disappointed by some of these people, many of whom seemed like fantastic men and women who would probably bring some much needed humility and respectability to the music industry. But they just weren't good enough, for him or for his boss.

And finally, there she was. A gorgeous young woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, an attractive tan, a pretty smile with nearly perfect teeth. She was being ambushed by one of her friends, pressured on the spot to sing a song. “ Sing something !” her friend, obviously holding the phone or camera directed towards the girl, pleaded.

“ No! ” The woman exclaimed, giggling and raising her right hand between the camera and her face. “ Shelly ! Put that down !” 

“ Come on, Maia !” her friend, Shelly, persisted. “ Just do it !”

Maia sighed, eyed her friend down with a giant grin on her face, shook her head while rolling her eyes, and broke into the most magical, fantastic thirty second acapella cover of “All Good Things” by Nelly Furtado that Alvin had heard in his entire life. After finishing, she blushed, gritted her teeth, and sheepishly rotated her head so that only half of her face could be seen on screen. 

Shelly spun the camera around to view her significantly more modest face from a less than flattering angle, where you could see into her nostrils. She confidently and proudly proclaimed, “my friend is a really good singer.”

Yes, she was.

Alvin wasted no time in typing a comment on the video, which read: “Hello! I am Alvin Seville from Jett Records. I am very interested in speaking with Maia. If you could help me get in contact with her, I would appreciate it.”

Deciding he had earned a treat, Alvin arose from his desk, grabbed his yeti, exited his office, and trudged over to the coffee machine across the floor with a renewed hopefulness. He had a glow about him as he strutted through the cubicle area, one which would have been noticeable if it weren't for the fact that the entire place was eerily empty and silent. 

As the coffee brewed to the tune of pronounced whirring and slurping sounds, which in and of themselves released a large amount of dopamine into the chipmunk’s brain, he mused to himself about his past, but also about his future. After taking the job at Jett Records, him and Brittany failed to appropriately adjust their lifestyles to their lower incomes. Brittany never truly overcame her addiction to clothes, although the draining of their joint bank account eventually forced her to take it easy. Both of them consistently found it important to ensure they had the best possible material objects, whether it be appliances, furniture, electronics, or anything else. The areas of their over-indulgence varied, leading to more than a few fights between the couple over each other's spending habits. Accusations would often fly towards one or the other regarding wasting money on something that “didn't matter,” only to be rebutted by the obvious evidence of a purchase the other had recently made. It was a tale as old as time. A routine as durable and predictable as the Sun rising. Money was tight, by their own doing, only making their patience with each other even tighter. This was not the only issue between Alvin and Brittany, of course. Their relationship being lovey dovey one day and hateful or spiteful the next was a phenomena that followed them since being high school sweethearts. They both could not stand their partner's personalities but also could not help but be drawn to them. And one thing that had always remained consistent was that when the chips were down, their physical attraction to each other was undeniable and powerful. This superficial attraction, at times, seemed only to be a Band-Aid on a very dysfunctional marriage.

But somehow, Alvin believed in his heart that if he could get this woman, Maia, to sign onto Jett Records under his own name, that everything might turn around. She was different. She stood out. Everything about her screamed “future star” to him. She was charming, good-looking, had an incredible voice. Her personality was alluring. There was an “it” factor with her, not possible to quantify. The public had to see her, because once they did, he knew they would have to see more. And if he would be the one to give her her big break, to represent her and bring her into the eye of his boss and that of the the entire world, he knew the opportunities and the money would be flowing into his pocket in a way that he had not experienced since his own music was topping charts.

Suddenly, Alvin was snapped out of his day-dreaming trance by the coffee maker ringing out an upbeat little jingle, alerting him that it had completed its task. He gratefully took the half-full pot and, carefully and painstakingly due to his size, emptied and poured much of its contents into his mug. 

As he travelled back to his office, he remarked how creepy the place seemed with how dark and lonely it was. Were it not for the regular business of Los Angeles outside, the floor would have been almost entirely silent.

Upon unlocking his computer, he rejoiced when learning that Shelly had already responded. The oldest chipmunk read the reply, which read: “is this the real Alvin Seville??”

Alvin chucked, realizing that that was an understandable reaction to his comment. “Yes,” he typed, “can you get me in contact with Maia please?”

Alvin had barely enough time to take a sip of coffee before a ding sound notified him that Shelly had directly messaged him. “if this is really Alvin Seville, you can call this number 2167889053”.

Alvin immediately pulled his personal cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number. It rang only once before a burst of mild background static indicated that someone had picked up. “ Hello ?”

“Hi,” Alvin croaked, mildly nervously, “is this-”

He was interrupted by a fit of excited squealing. “ Ohmygod ! It really is him !”

The chipmunk could hear another voice in the background say, “ actually ?” After a brief pause, the same female's voice grew closer and louder when exclaiming, “ this is Maia ! It is so awesome to be speaking to you !”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Alvin suavely retorted. “Listen, I don't want to take up too much of your time. I am sure you have a lot of people from a bunch of different agencies contacting you. I just wanted to let you know that I think you have immense talent and that Jett Records is very interested in recording an album with you.” The chipmunk knew very well that it was likely that Maia had zero other agencies clamoring to work with her. Bluffing and pretending to assume otherwise was a tactic that the talent scouts were taught to attempt to artificially inflate the ego and confidence of their potential client. Despite logically having the effect of putting the idea into peoples’ heads that they could negotiate, it was actually found to make it more likely to get the artists to want to sign with the company.

“ Oh , I actually don't - ouch !” There was the distinct sound of Maia angrily grumbling in the background, likely cussing out her friend for physically hurting her to prevent her from finishing that sentence. “ I… mean… I'm not pressed for time .”

A second thought crept into Alvin's mind, something he had to verify. “How old are you, by the way?”

“ Why ?” came the hesitant, restrained response.

“Because if you're under eighteen, then I should be speaking to your parents. Not you.”

There was a slight hesitation, before Maia finally said, “ I'm twenty-two .”

“You promise?” Alvin playfully pressed, raising an eyebrow.

He could hear her subtly chuckle and double down with a “ yes .”

“Okay. Do you live in California?” Again, another tactic Alvin was taught to keep potential clients comfortable speaking with him. Rather than directly asking a young woman where she lived, albeit for professional reasons, it is much easier for most people to stomach giving yes or no answers regarding their whereabouts rather than divulging precise addresses. Often, just asking in such a way often quickly leads to the artist spilling the beans anyway.

Such was the case in this scenario. “ Oh, no. I live in Ohio ,” Maia responded.

Kids these days just don't care what they tell random strangers , Alvin reflected to himself. It was such a weird feeling to be thinking such things. For one, this girl, at least according to her, was a grown ass woman. He was on the wrong side of thirty, so there was an age gap between the two, but it was mostly the maturity discrepancy. Which, again, was very odd for him to even consider. Maturity had never been something that he was famous for. But as time had passed since his music retirement, things slowly change. He got married, he had a kid, he had learned to have patience and even, perhaps, the slightest hint of humility. Maia acted like a college or high school girl who did not have a solid individual identity, nor a sense of direction, and was way too easily excitable. 

“Okay,” Alvin said to her. “No big deal. If you are willing, we can fly you out to our headquarters on the company’s dime. After giving you a little bit of, erm, ‘tryout’ work, we can work out a deal in person.”

“ Fly to LA ?” Maia repeated with not a drop of confidence. “ When ?”

“Well, if you have meetings lined up with any other agencies already, then we can work it out with your schedule.” 

There was an awkward pause, causing Alvin to become even more certain than before that he was the only talent scout who had ever given this girl the time of day. Finally, she hesitantly admitted, “ it's just that I have classes. Finals for the semester are coming up, and after that, my mom will want me to come home for the holidays. ”

“I see,” Alvin muttered, considering long and hard what he could say to convince the young woman on the other end of the line. “Listen, I am not sure how much you know about how I came to Jett Records, or how I became as successful as I was in the music industry. There's a lot in your life I can't relate to. I didn't have any school, or any parents to worry about. All I had were my brothers. We had each other, our gifts, and that was it. But one thing I can tell you is we were never just handed our opportunities. We happened to meet a guy who also needed a big break. And together, the four of us took a chance, and it paid off. That man turned out to be our adoptive father, Dave. And the chances we collectively took led to us being some of the biggest stars that this industry has ever seen. Beyond that, our success also led to us meeting our eventual wives. I have a beautiful daughter today because of the chances that I took when I was much younger.” Realizing that he was getting a tad off track, the chipmunk shook his head, and got to the point. “Anyways… the moral of the story is, there are times in our lives when we are presented with opportunities. Sometimes those opportunities are obvious, sometimes they're hidden. But they almost always come with risks. This is an opportunity for you. You can decide that whatever risks are involved are too much for you, and that's your prerogative. It's your life. But I’ve been in this business a long time, and I am here to tell you… the people who don't take the chance when these opportunities get thrust onto people, they regret it for the rest of their lives.”

“ Wow , didn't have ‘ get a pep talk from Alvin Seville ’ on my Bingo card today, ” Maia sarcastically broke the tension with her infectious giggle.

“What do you say?” the Chipmunk pressed.

She sighed, then chirped with little conviction, “ okay , Mr. Seville. I will find a way to make it work. Just let me know when. ”

Alvin could barely contain his excitement, pumping his left fist with every syllable. “Is this a good number to call or text you and work out the details?” he asked, quickening the tempo towards the end of his sentence as he realized he hadn't drawn a breath in too long.

“ Um, no, this is actually my friend's number ,” she admitted. “ My number is 2163605309. ”

Alvin nodded enthusiastically, barely coming down from his ecstatic high. “Great, got it!” he exclaimed. “Wait, nevermind! I don't, actually.” He removed the phone from his ear, put it on speaker phone, went to his contacts app, clicked “add contact”, moved the bottom of the cell close to his mouth and said, “could you repeat that, please?”

She giggled again. “ 216…360…5309 .”

“Awesome, I got it!” Alvin reaffirmed, typing each digit into his phone, putting her name into the contact with a star emoji at the end, and hitting “save”.

“ So… is that it for now ?”

“Yep,” Alvin responded, unselecting speaker phone. “I'll be in touch within the next couple of days. Have a good one! Goodbye!”

“ Okay, b- ”

Alvin hung up and immediately broke into a fit of pumping both his fists, spinning around on his rotating desk chair, and aggressively exhaling the word, “yes” multiple times. He felt on top of the world. He had finally landed a talent that he believed would be word breaking. He took a break just to stare out his window for a few moments. Should I go home now, or should I keep working ? He asked himself. It was the easiest question he'd ever have to answer. He was going to go home and enjoy his family, and give them all of the love that they deserved.

Chapter Text

Eleanor studied the galvanized steel bleachers she was surrounded by on both sides. They were packed full of people. People wearing black, baby blue and green, waving palm fronds and pom-poms. Emphatically supporting a sports team that she had created and manufactured. Excited about their team's chances; a team she had brought to life. She had birthed this team into existence, along with nineteen others. All of them, this entire league owed their lives as they knew it to her. They had no idea the sacrifices she made to bring them to this point.

The Hawaiian men on the turf field, dressed only in lava-lava skirts and grass crowns, began beating their drums in a low, building pace. The audience cheered and applauded enthusiastically. Torches intentionally aged to appear ancient, being carried by other large men only three feet from Eleanor, were lit. Tribalistic calls and screams erupted from both the performers and those in the crowd as the drumming became incrementally more intense. The men holding the torches stepped confidently through the gap in the bleachers and onto the turf field, dancing in traditional Hawaiian fashion as they did. The women sporting all-black football uniforms trudged respectfully behind, jumping up and down in place, cracking their necks, allowing the adrenaline of the moment to take them over. 

Finally, the dance was finished. The man in the lead thrusted his torch towards the sky and let out an intimidating howling. The crowd went nuts as the half-naked men and the players sprinted onto the field with the drums still blaring their beats of war. 

Eleanor couldn't help but admire the showmanship that went into Honolulu home games. Whoever the local marketing manager was, they were in for a sizable raise. She cracked a faint smile, having to maintain the appearance of not having favorites as league owner.

That grin faded the moment she saw him out of the corner of her eye, approaching her from the locker rooms behind her. Johnny Rankin, CEO of ABC. The man who assisted in her blackmail. “Eleanor!” He greeted her with a disgustingly convincing fake warmth.

She, likewise, feigned courtesy. “Hello, sir,” she said.

“Great show you've set up here,” he complimented her. “Awesome crowd. Rowdy, excitable, primal… you've really got something special going.”

“We've always been able to count on Honolulu to sell out,” she admitted, sighing. “Thank God they made it to the championship. If Charleston were hosting this game, it would be absolutely barren.”

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes things work out for the best, don't you agree?”

Eat a dick , Eleanor thought to herself. But she bit her tongue and sheepishly nodded.

“Anyways,” he continued, “I just wanted to congratulate you. You really did a great job.”

Taking a deep breath, not buying the praise as legitimate for a second, Ellie responded, “thank you. That means a lot. Would you like to come out there with me?” She decided to extend the offer as a courtesy, more or less knowing what the answer would be.

He shook his head, keeping his grin pointed down at her. “Nah, I don't want my image to be too attached to this league. Never know what can happen, know what I mean? Besides, this is your baby. You go enjoy the spotlight.”

She flashed a false smile back at him and nodded. “I understand.”

As if she were already an afterthought in his head, he removed his cell phone from his pocket, scanned the lock screen, and without so much as a glance down at her, muttered, “excuse me.” And with that, he trudged back the way he came. 

The chipette sporting a grey and green horizontally striped dress suit gritted her teeth, rolled her eyes, took a moment to gather herself, and finally was given her que. She trudged confidently onto the playing field, smiling and waving at the crowd who applauded her cheerfully. The enthusiasm on her face could have lit a city. She kept up the act until she reached the microphone, preset to her height, at the perfect center of midfield. She grabbed its base with her left hand and the mic itself with her right, pulling it close to her mouth. “Aloha Honolulu!” she blurted, her voice echoing through the stadium. The people in the stands erupted in applause. “I want to thank you all for coming out to watch your very own Rogue Waves take on the Boston Renegades!” She pumped her fists in the air, lowered her voice into a masculine growl, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “are you ready for some football?” Every man woman and child in the audience went ballistic. Some of them clapped, some began rhymically stomping their feet against the steel bleachers. Some waved towels and cardboard signs.

The youngest chipette examined everything around her with a three hundred and sixty degree spin. In awe, she remarked to herself that this was everything he had ever dreamed of for herself. She had created something that both she enjoyed and thousands of people enjoyed. She was the main reason these people were here, that people and players were getting paid. Every person who paid to watch this game live, or who streamed it, or viewing it on ABC, were invested in her brain child. It brought in a steady income for her and Theodore, but it also gave her a sense of purpose and fun that rivaled even her music performance days. But was it worth it; the reward for her betrayal? Eleanor glimpsed the multiple ABC cameras pointed directly at her, as well as various players on the sidelines, and the people in the stands. Were those cameras and the eyes that came with them worth it? Sisterhood was supposed to be a priceless bond, and here she was, realizing that putting a price on it was exactly what she had done. It put a pit in her stomach. It almost made her want to enjoy that moment even more, knowing that once it was over, she still would have a burnt bridge with someone she loved.

A single tear welled up in her eyes as she gave the crowd one final wave before beginning her long walk off the field. Those who were about to watch the game at home most definitely believed it to be a tear of joy, but she knew the truth.

XXXXX

“No, mommy!” Laney giggled. “You're not a bad pirate, you're a good pirate!”

“Oh,” Brittany patronized her daughter, feigning a confused tone, not being able to help but laugh at her daughter's imagination. “So I don't take treasure from all of the other sailors?”

“No,” the little girl shook a head with a smile on her face that could have lit an entire city. “You… take it… and…” she trailed off, gears turning, “give it to poor people!”

“Oh, like Robin Hood?”

“Yeah, exactly mom!” The six year old, for whatever reason, still had trouble pronouncing the word “exactly”, treating the “t” and the “l” as if they were silent, instead producing an extremely cute “exacky”.

“Okay… here.” Brittany held out her hand, revealing the lego pieces that Laney had been pretending was treasure, offering it to her daughter.

“No!” Laney protested, appearing to be genuinely offended. “I'm not poor! I'm a pirate! Those guys are poor.” She gestured to the four Lego men and the Lego Princess Leia, propped upright on the carpeted living room floor.

Brittany shot her daughter a confused look. “I thought those were the sailors we just stole from?”

“Well now they're the poor!” the little girl fired in a demanding tone.

Her mother sighed before carefully placing the treasure at the feet of the poor.

“You have to be more careful than that," Laney groaned, “do you want to get caught by the sheriff?”

“Okay sweetie,” Brittany calmly but assertively said, rising from her knees onto her feet and brushing her legs off, “mommy has to cook dinner now.”

Her daughter's facial expression instantly transformed from annoyed to heartbroken. “Aw. Can you play just five more minutes?” she pleaded.

“I'm sorry baby, I can't. We already made that deal five minutes ago, remember?”

“Aw,” Laney moaned, “not fair.”

“It's perfectly fair,” Britt calmly explained. “And besides, if I don't make dinner, all of these pirates are going to want to eat you instead.”

Laney's eyes widened, and she peered over towards the Lego people sitting on the carpet, as if she had just been introduced to some groundbreaking concept. “Okay,” she finally muttered.

On her way to the kitchen, Brittany paused and, out of sheer curiosity, peeled the curtain to the left of the front door aside just enough to peer through the window. The small group of reporting vans still sat patiently, parallel-parked against the sidewalk across the street. She groaned in disgust, let go of her grip on the curtain, and put forth the extra effort to ensure it covered the entirety of the window.

This hadn't felt like a normal Saturday to the eldest chipette. It also hadn't felt like a weekday. Laney was home, and Brittany was left to entertain her, alone, because her husband had been gone all day. Even though he had warned her that it was a possibility, the amount of time he spent at work that day surprised her. It's something he would have never willingly done on his own, meaning there must have been significant pressure from his higher-ups. It was a concerning thought for the auburn-haired firecracker. Scenarios where Alvin loses his job coursed through her mind like a Greek tragedy playing on a screen. It was enough to put her into a bad mood, not that it took much those days. 

As she prepped her cutting board, her utensils and removed the dethawed chicken from the fridge, her darkened mindset lingered. How long would Alvin hold out at his job? How long could their bank account withstand having no income? With their lifestyles, not long. Would they be homeless soon? How could they feed Laney? Brittany placed the minced garlic to the side next to her fancy redwood cutting board, a piece she had convinced Alvin years ago would be a necessary addition to her kitchen set, despite its absolutely asinine price as compared to any regular cutting board. A sense of regret shocked her system, as the board was just one of many completely unnecessary purchases that both of them had made, which may, she feared, come back to haunt them in the near future. 

Her muscles tensed as she felt a shadow of impending poverty shroud her. I really gotta take the edge off , she thought to herself, glancing longingly towards the cabinet that contained her last box of wine. She stared in that direction for several moments, allowing her eyes to go blurry while in the battlefield of inner dialogue and self doubt. She finally shook her head and turned her attention back towards her cooking.

Suddenly, Laney sprinted into the kitchen with an excited grin. “Mommy,” she said, panting, trying to catch her breath, “what's a ‘bitch’?”

Brittany's eyes widened from shock, but her mouth crept into a grin which she could not help but crack and which she did her best to hide from her child. “What?” She croaked.

“A ‘bitch’!” Laney exclaimed with a great confidence.

“Where did you year that?” the pink-clad chipette questioned her daughter, still trying hard to not let on how funny she found it that she was being asked this question by her six year old girl.

The little one shrugged. “I heard daddy say it to the woman in front of our house.”

As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening reached their ears, making Laney uncontrollably giddy.

“Daddy!” she squealed, sprinting away to greet him.

As she approached Alvin, who was hunched over to remove the shoes from his feet, his face lit up with warmth. “Hey baby!” he chuckled.

His daughter jumped and caught herself by wrapping her arms and legs around her father's waist, nearly knocking him to the ground. “Woah, careful!” he pretended to scold. “Where's mommy?”

“She's making dinner,” she helpfully informed him.

“Oh thank goodness,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing his stomach over emphatically, “I'm starving!” 

After removing his second shoe, he cautiously approached the kitchen, peered through the doorway and around the corner and the fridge. He peaked silently at the chipette standing with her back to him at the counter, dicing chicken, seemingly ignorant to his presence. His eyes coursed up and down the entirety of her figure. There was a tinge of lust that forced itself into his body and mind. She was still equally as beautiful as she was when they were teenagers. Despite their lack of cohesion, he felt so incredibly lucky to have her in his life. Gripping his left shoulder while wearing a nervous smile, he trudged towards her, only then, with the sound of his footsteps, alerting her that he was nearby. She turned her head, and met his grin with a look of confused indifference. 

“Hey, Brit,” Alvin attempted greet her in a friendly manner.

“Hey,” she responded before turning her attention back to her cutting board.

There was an awkward silence that lasted only a couple seconds. “I'm home,” the chipmunk with the red tie informed her with a forced level of warm playfulness.

“I can see that,” she said, grabbing the knife off the counter. After another pause with no words spoken, she allowed a brief and mild sigh to escape her lips. As if realizing she had been unnecessarily short, she muttered under her breath. “How was work?”

Alvin, unintentionally making it obvious that he was trying to conceal a certain amount of excitement, smiled with a glimmer in his eye and said, “real Rollercoaster of a day. The office is so creepy when it's just you in there. It's super easy to get lost in your own train of thought. It was dark and gloomy, and painfully boring.”

“You don't seem too down about it,” his wife responded in a monotone manner without so much as glancing away from the chicken breast she was slicing through.

“Well that's because of some good news,” Alvin cheerfully explained. “I think I finally found someone. Somebody with the full package that could be the real deal in the music business! This chick could literally be the next big thing, and I spoke to her on the phone and she's interested in visiting the label!”

“That's awesome,” the Chipette grumbled, just barely attempting to feign excitement.

Feeling unfulfilled and unsatisfied with her reaction, the chipmunk sporting the suit with the red tie pressed. “It took me hours today of searching. Her friend just happened to put her singing on YouTube! Isn't that crazy?”

“Yes it is,” Brittany said abruptly.

Again, there was a pause while Alvin collected his thoughts, before he mustered up the words, “I think Ramos is going to be really happy about her.”

His wife finally lifted her face away from the counter, forced a smile which seemed to him more painful than impressed or interested, and said, “I'm really happy to hear that.”

“Is… something wrong?”

With an obvious twitch of annoyance, the chipette set the kitchen knife down on the cutting board with just a little more force than necessary, spun her head and body to face her counterpart, and asked him, “why would something be wrong?”

“You just… seem upset about something,” Alvin responded apologetically, instinctively holding his hands up in surrender.

“You always do this,” Brittany snapped, rolling her eyes. “You always say that, like, that I'm acting upset or acting different. I'm fine! I'm acting fine, not acting any different than I normally do.”

“Is it… does it have anything to do with Jean, and the press outside?” he tensed, knowing as he was speaking that he'd definitely regret asking the question.

She glared at him in frustration. “As if I've never had to handle a hostile paparazzi before!” she growled. “I am fine. There is nothing wrong! Now can you please stop being so damned sensitive every time that I don't jump for joy when you get home?”

“I'm not being sensitive,” the chipmunk protested defiantly, “I'm just making sure there's nothing bothering you!”

Brittany opened her mouth with a fiery look in her eyes and readiness to retorted dripping from her face, but her glance drifted to their daughter watching them bicker sheepishly from around the corner. The chipette bit her lip, allowing a feeling of guilt to overpowered her, then transformed and redirected that feeling in a mild fit of rage towards Alvin, and said between gritted teeth, “we are not talking about this now.”

Her husband clenched his jaw, pursed his lips, and took a step backwards. Without having to look, he understood that the switch in attitude from Brittany was due to the realization of Laney's presence. “Okay, fine,” he sighed. He turned around to finally acknowledge Laney standing in the entryway to the kitchen from where he had come, looking confused and concerned at her parents’ hostility towards one another. “Laney, baby, how are you doing?” Alvin playfully prodded her in a quick-thinking attempt to brush her young mind off of the loveless conversation she had just witnessed.

She looked up at her father, let her facial expression drift away from worry and into curiosity, and asked him, “daddy, what's a ‘bitch’?”

XXXXX

“You know,” Jeanette spoke up with a firm reassurance, “you don't need to be here with us the entire time they're recounting.”

Mitch chuckled, raising his eyebrows, as if wishing what she said were true. “I agree. You would think so,” he grumbled. “But unfortunately for both of us, the RNC doesn't quite see it that way. According to them, you need a babysitter to make sure you don't get bored and wander off, and say something they don't like to the press.”

“That's what you're relegated to now?” the chipette asked him with a tortured grin on her face. “Babysitting?”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he growled at her in visible discontent, “I have plenty of other things I'm taking care of while I'm here. Making sure you don't commit political suicide is more of a… side gig.”

“Oh,” Jeanette cooed with a condescending drawl. She was very much enjoying poking and prodding the man sitting on her living room couch next to her. “And what else are you taking care of exactly?”

Changing the subject, Mitch snapped at her, “hey tell me, where has Stewie Griffin pranced off to anyways?”

“Simon's in my office,” Jeanette groaned, rolling her eyes, “taking calls for me. He gave me a break.”

“Ugh, God help us all,” the middle-aged man snorted, “he's probably the only one I'd trust less than you to be taking phone calls.”

Simon, in that moment, was reclined on their custom-made Herman Miller chair, shoes off, dress socks on, feet kicked up on top of the somewhat grand wooden desk. The cord of the LAN phone was stretched to its limit to reach his right ear. “No,” he muttered with an annoyed undertone, “I can't comment on how the campaign feels about it's chances. We just want to make sure the vote count is absolutely correct.”

“ If the recount ends in another close loss for Mrs. Seville, can she commit right now to conceding the election or will there be further challenges ?” asked the female reporter on the other end of the line. Who, precisely, was it again? Simon had lost track, and he didn't truly care who it was in the first place.

“We won't be committing to any future course of action at this time,” Simon responded matter-of-factly. “Right now, we are just focused on making sure the election results are properly verified. Furthermore, I seriously doubt that Senator Martin has been asked that same question.”

“ I wouldn't know ,” she retorted, “ I am speaking to you right now, Mr. Seville, not Senator Martin .”

There was an awkward pause as neither knew if they should be the next to speak. Simon had no good response that would not reflect poorly on the campaign, but she awaited one regardless.

Finally, she broke the silence by saying, “ one last question, sir. Will we be getting regular updates from the campaign as results come in ?”

“Updates?” the chipmunk repeated. “Erm, not likely. You guys will be getting results in significantly faster than we will. It's your job, isn't it? News channels are our only source for the vote count and the status of everything.”

“ Thank you for your time Mr. Seville. ”

“Thank you for the call,” Simon muttered with little enthusiasm.

Before he even finished his sentence, she had hung up. Rather harsh obscenities flashed across the mind of the chipmunk in an expensive suit with a blue striped tie, before he rested on a more soothing thought. Well , we are either about to win an election , or this will all suddenly not be my life anymore . 

Not one moment after replacing the phone onto its station did it begin to ring again, forcing a groan from Simon's lips. He picked himself off his chair just a little to peer towards the screen and read who the caller was. “DAVE SEVILLE” was the digital reading. Simon's eyes widened and his ears perked, wearing a concerned frown. How long had it been since he had spoken to his adoptive father? Months? Over a year? Was he calling about the election, just to chat, or something else? Simon's heart swelled with joy at the thought of speaking to him, but didn't feel as though he had the time in that moment. Understandably, the feeling of longing for a connection with his dad overpowered his sense of staying on task, and he hesitantly picked the phone back off of its platform and held it to his ear. “Dave?”

“ Simon ?” came the staticky, shaky voice on the other end. “ Hey, buddy, it's good to talk to you !” The years had not been quite as kind to David as they could have been. Which was not to say that he was in poor shape, simply that his age showed more than one might have expected given his wealth. It was more evident in his voice, which shook like a rope bridge and came through raspy, than it was in his physical appearance. But perhaps it was the stress of looking after the chipmunks and chipettes that did it to him. With how difficult Alvin made it for both Dave and Simon back in the day, perhaps rapid aging was something the middle chipmunk had to look forward to as well. 

“Hey Dave!” Simon chuckled through gritted teeth, internally bracing himself for whatever Dave's motivation was for calling the house number.

“ Is this a bad time ?” his father asked him apologetically. “ I can call back if- ”

“No!” Simon interrupted. “No, I can talk, it's not a bad time.”

“ I'm guessing it's pretty hectic over there right now , though ,” he mused. 

“You could say that, I guess,” the chipmunk admitted with a sigh, rubbing his temple as he allowed the stress to cramp his muscles. “Honestly, not really. Things have calmed down since election night. Even with the recount, we don't get bothered nearly as much as we used to. I don't think most people believe we have much of a shot.”

“ Well …” Dave trailed off, obviously debating amongst himself how to lighten the mood. “ Whether she wins or loses , I am so proud of both of you. Will you tell her that for me ? That I'm proud of her ?”

This was odd for Dave. He was acting more sentimental than usual, too desperate for positive vibes. “Of course I will,” Simon promised. 

The man on the other end took the opportunity to change the subject, shifting to what was undoubtedly his main reason for calling. “ Is there a chance you guys might be interested in visiting anytime soon ?”

Simon took a deep breath, bit his lip. This was always such an uncomfortable conversation, and with each time it occurred between previous visits with his father, the worse it became. “We would love to. Hopefully we have the time. If Jeanette wins, her work schedule is going to become pretty unpredictable. But we definitely need to make time for it. I mean it's been…”

“ Two years ,” Dave finished his sentence for him matter-of-factly.

Holy Jesus. Had it really been that long? This was significantly worse than the chipmunk originally thought. There was an awful long, tense pause. Finally, Simon managed to squeak out, “yeah… wow! It's really been a while… I am very sorry about that.”

“ Don't be sorry ,” Dave chuckled, “ like I said, you guys have been busy . I would just really love to catch up with you guys. At least over dinner or something, if you don't have time to stay the night at my house. Maybe we could get all eight of us together at some point ?”

“Oh, I don't think that-” Simon paused mid-sentence, considering how to word the rest of his thought, understanding that it was possible that his father was entirely out of the loop of the dynamic at that time between his children. After a bit, he realized it was most likely that he would find on his own that all six of his children did not have the ability nor the desire to all meet with him at once. “Nevermind. That would be awesome!”

“ Great !” The enthusiasm in Dave's voice, as if he had just accomplished the first in a long line of tasks, was actually quite heartbreaking for Simon. The chipmunk knew he had just agreed to an event, to his father's elation, after not seeing him for two years, which would probably not take place for a while.

“It's really good to hear your voice again, Dave,” Simon croaked with a tangible vulnerability. “You should probably get a hold of Alvin and Britt, if you haven't already. They could probably stand to connect with you too.”

“ Yeah ,” came the solemn response, “ you're right. Brittany's probably in a really bad mindset right now , with what happened on election night .”

Simon felt a tinge of annoyance at this revelation. So Dave had seen the news? Then why had he been seemingly playing dumb about the current status of his kids’ lives? “Yeah,” the middle chipmunk muttered. “Rough night. For a lot of reasons.”

“ Did they leave your house on their own ? I can't imagine either one of you could kick them out .”

So, Simon silently mused, they had finally arrived at the actual real reason that Dave called him. “I would lie to you and tell you it was a mutual decision between all of us. For them to leave our house in that manner, that is. But again, that would be a lie. And I am only admitting it to you now because I know you'll be calling them soon, if you haven't already, and even if they didn't tell you the truth, you would know better because you are the most talented being in this world when it comes to recognizing when Alvin or Brittany are hiding something from you.”

This earned a chuckle out of Dave. “ It sure didn't feel like it at times .”

Sticking to the subject, Simon continued his explanation, “Jeanette was under immense pressure from a great many sources. It was dictated to her that Brittany specifically had to be seen by television cameras leaving her house in an effort to save the few last second voters still in line at that time. If you were to ask Jeanette now, whether or not she felt that giving into that pressure was worth it, I am positive she would say no. I haven't actually asked her, and if reporters were to ask either of us that question, we would have to either lie or divert the subject, but that's the honest to God truth, is that she most definitely feels terrible. It tore her apart when it happened and it is indisputably eating at her still.”

“ I can understand that. And to be honest, if she were the one talking to me right now, I wouldn't really know what to say to her. The reality is that this is the sort of thing that really tears people apart for a while. Especially someone like Brittany. But the more positive flip side of that , is that they are still sisters… and I know how much Britt still cares for her. They will find the opportunity to mend their trust sooner or later .” 

“You're probably right,” Simon admitted, peaking over his shoulder, as if worried he was being eavesdropped on. “Listen, I have to go. I have a phoned-in interview in a few minutes.” 

“ No worries , bud ,” Dave understandingly agreed, “ just remember that I'm here for all of you guys. And I'm serious about getting together. I'm going to make it happen .”

“Absolutely. For sure, Dave.” Simon did not believe him. At all. “Bye now.”

“ Goodbye .”

It was unclear who hung up first. But the line disconnected. 

Simon sighed, peered out the office window through the semi-translucent white curtains towards the grey brick wall protecting his property and the trees bristling in the wind on the other side. What a mess he had found himself in. He wished he could go back in time and tell Jeanette she should not run for office, to be brutally honest. Through his own actions, his own inaction, and circumstances out of his control, his wife's pursuit of the position had been a poison on their family that likely was not done spreading. It was all he could do to anticipate how it was going to negatively affect them next.

Chapter Text

The humble wooden table with one leg that was just slightly shorter than the rest stood precariously between the dysfunctional family, wobbling with each time someone set their wrist, or their elbow on top of it. “Could you pass the salt?” were the first words, spoken by Alvin to his wife, Brittany, that had been uttered since dinner time had begun. Their daughter, Laney, watched in awkward silence as her mother set down her glass of cheap red wine, grabbed a hold of the nearly-empty salt shaker in her right hand and slid it across the table to her father, sitting on the opposite side, without saying a thing.

Laney did not have much more of a reason to speak than either of her parents, as she knew full well she was still on thin ice for being suspended from school. There was no reason, in her mind, to make her parents’ annoyance with her grow by being a loud or annoying nuisance. True, her mom had happily played with her earlier that day. But she could always count on her mother to show support and kindness, even when she was in trouble. Her dad, on the other hand, was sometimes more difficult to predict. At times, he could respond in a very similar fashion. The young chipette did not know it at the time, but Alvin occasionally allowed the fact that he saw a lot of himself in her to overpower his desire to be a good father who corrected undesirable behavior. At other times, he was able to force the demand for discipline. But that was exactly what it was: forced. And despite his best efforts and his best intentions, it was usually obvious to both his wife and his daughter. 

As far as her parents went, Laney did not truly have a clue what it was that kept them so restrained from each other that night. She recalled that it was not infrequent that they would get into some sort of argument or shouting match. Sometimes, the uncomfortable silence and the refusal to make eye contact with the other would last a few days. The majority of cases, this would be preceded by a loud verbal fight, at least voices raised enough where she could hear them from her room and decipher the root of their disagreement. Not this time. This time, Laney was out of the loop. 

Alvin caught the salt shaker before it fell off his edge of the table, upended it over his plate of Mediterranean chicken and salad, gave it three shakes of unnecessary aggressiveness, and placed it back down on the wooden face. 

The chipette across from him watched him do this,  maintaining a subtle hint of disdain in her glare. Her cooking was downright terrible when the two of them had first met, but she had improved considerably with practice over the years. Apparently, not quite to Alvin's liking, at least not that night. But she had no interest in mulling over that in the moment. She instead finished her glass and immediately pulled the cork out of her bottle. 

“Jesus, Britt,” Alvin scolded her. “Do you really need more?”

“This is only my third glass,” she grumbled in defense while ignoring his protests and pouring the red blend into her cup until it was about three quarters of the way full. “And it's a Saturday.”

Her husband put a concerned palm on the table face, causing it to creak and tremble and rock slightly towards his left hand side, towards the short leg. This forced an irrational groan from his lips and a roll of his eyes before he abruptly stood up from his seat and left the dining room without saying a word. 

Laney peered over at Brittany in confusion, only to see that her mother was hunched over with both elbows on the table, covering her mouth and the bridge of her nose with her hands. The moment that the chipette dressed humbly in a pink dress with green and purple flowers noticed her daughter staring at her, she picked her face up out of her palms. And then she turned her head towards her and cracked the faintest, most forced, and yet warmest smile she could possibly muster. It was enough to coax Laney into returning a grin, though still overcome with bewilderment. 

Before long, Alvin returned holding in his left hand a towelette he had clearly just retrieved from the kitchen. 

“What is that?” Brittany asked with an equal mix of malice and defiance. 

This caused her husband to pause and take a naturally defensive posture. “It's a hand towel from the kitchen,” he responded, confusion evident in his voice and on his face.

“That's a decorative towel. Put it back.”

Alvin scrunched his eyebrows at her, took a glance at the towel in question. It was plain forest green with only a few red paisley patterns at the corners. “It was in the drawer. How is this thing decorative?”

“Just because it's not being used as a decoration right now doesn't mean it's not decorative,” Brittany explained, growing impatient. “Put it back.”

“I'm just going to stick it under the table to get it to stop rocking,” Alvin grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

“Pick a different one,” Brittany demanded, raising her voice just a touch.

Ignoring her, perhaps sensing that this would require multiple trips back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room until she finally decided a specific towel was unspectacular enough to be used for such a demeaning purpose, he approached the table. The chipmunk crouched down, wedged to towelette underneath the short leg, grabbed his seat, and sat down with his wife glaring daggers at his direction. In an uncomfortable attempt to shift the topic of discussion, he turned to his daughter and asked, “how was your day Laney?”

“Uhm…” she considered her father's question carefully, “it was okay.”

“What'd you do?”

“Well, mommy read me some books,” she mumbled under her breath.

“She did?” Alvin feigned excitement, exchanging glances with Britt with cartoonishly wide eyes.

This did nothing to ease the mood. His wife never lifted her furious gaze from his face.

“Yeah,” Laney continued, beginning to reach a rhythm with the conversation she had been pulled into, thanks to the forced encouragement of her dad. “And she played pirates with me!”

This time, Alvin did not even bother looking at his wife. He could see her maintaining her icy glare through the corner of his eye. Instead, he kept his focus on his daughter, leaned in towards her, the corners of his lips hanging upwards in a proud smile. “That's so awesome of her. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah…” his daughter trailed off, trying to decide if then was the time to ask her next question. “Can I be excused please?”

“Um,” Alvin straightened up a bit, taken aback by the question, “you've barely touched the food that your mom made for you. Can you eat some before you get up please?”

“But I'm not really hungry,” his daughter protested. 

“Well, I understand that,” the chipmunk sighed, and then patiently tried to explain to her, “but it's rude to your mother to not eat anything. Can you please just eat a little?”

Suddenly, Brittany inserted herself into the dialogue. “Why do you not want her to excuse herself?”

“Because,” Alvin shot back with visible frustration, “it's impolite for her to not eat any of her dinner. I don't want to teach her that that's okay.”

This made her scoff. “It's fine, Alvin. I'm not offended that she's not hungry.”

“That's… not really the point,” her husband continued to argue. “The point is that she has to enjoy dinner time with her family. That's the way to raise a decent human being!”

“Well,” she retorted, “she's not a human being. And she's been through a lot over the last few days where she's been constantly reminded of that fact.”

Alvin groaned and gritted his teeth, becoming overtaken with annoyance at his wife. “You know exactly what I meant.”

Instead of responding to her husband, Brittany turned to her daughter and softly said to her, “Laney, honey, you can be excused. Take your plate and throw out your food, then put your dishes in the sink."

“Yes momma,” came the little chipette's soft reply as she slid off her chair. Laney obediently grabbed her plate and her glass of milk, then shuffled away from her parents towards the kitchen.

Alvin waited for her to be out of sight before turning to his wife with his arms folded across his chest. “Britt, we've been over this,” he told her in a low, threatening tone, “you need to stop interrupting me when I'm parenting.” 

She shrugged. “If you're going to confuse her by randomly deciding when it's okay to do certain things, like staying at the dinner table until dinner's over, then I'm going to intervene.” With that, the chipette took another obnoxiously large sip of wine, slurping it, undeterred by Alvin's judgement.

“It's not good for her to get conflicting mixed messages from the two of us,” Alvin insisted. “Please just… keep it in mind from now on.”

Brittany gave a little ditsy smirk, as if trying to show her husband that his concerns were petty, rolled her eyes, and took another large gulp. God, she really knew how to grind Alvin's gears. That seemingly insignificant look was all it took. She was a natural at it. The LeBron James of pissing him off. 

Neither of them had any desire to stay awake much longer. After tucking Laney into bed, Brittany trudged straight into the master bedroom. Alvin could hear her do so from the living room. In that moment, he decided he no longer had any interest in scrolling through his phone alone with the lights off. He sighed, rubbed his temples, reflected on his entire life as it currently stood. How had he gotten to that point? How had he and Brittany gotten to that point? Couldn’t agree on a single thing, couldn’t ever get truly happy for each other any more. And when he tried to have a level-headed conversation with her about his desires to be a respected parent, she threw that damned look his way. It was that bratty smirk in the middle of an argument, as if she were trying to brush him off mentally. He had seen it before, many times, going all the way back to when they were just kids and bickering about unimportant problems. It drove him nuts back then and it did to that day, both because it insultingly and infuriatingly downplayed his points and rubbed them in his face, and because it was always such a cute - no - sexy expression that reminded him of when she were pretending to ignore paparazzi that were showering her with attention. It was as if she wanted him to feel like just one of them, another man just desperately trying to snap a picture of her eternal glory. Like she was so above him that she had no need and no desire to even acknowledge his feelings. It drove him wild, in multiple ways. And then it dawned on him; she was literally his wife. They were married. She was in his bedroom at that very moment.

Alvin bit his lip, wondering to himself how he had let such a good thing get to such a dreadful state, then stood up, trudged unenthusiastically up his staircase, took a right, and walked into the master bedroom. Inside his room, the lights were all dark. The only visibility was due to the light seeping underneath the door of the attached bathroom, from where the chipmunk could hear the running water of the faucet. Without knocking, he turned the zinc alloy knob and pushed the creaky door slightly ajar.

Brittany was actively finishing taking her hair down, wearing only her laced underwear that included a thong designed specially to allow her tail to protrude through the back side. She was facing away from him, but they could see each other through the mirror that she was staring at. She briefly reacted with a slight jolt of shock at seeing her husband entering unexpectedly, but quickly rearranged her expression to be that of cold malice. Alvin did nothing but stare into her eyes with his mouth open and his jaw hanging helplessly. And then he let his gaze drift down her body, experiencing the ghost of a feeling that he had not taken the time to allow himself to be overcome with for quite some time. 

Being in their thirties, neither of them were in their physical prime any more. Alvin, for his part, had allowed his figure to transform into what was beginning to resemble a “dad bod”; just a bit of a gut. Britt, through child birth and age, had some stretch marks and the occasional grey strand of fur, a phenomena she obsessed over concealing and attempting to halt altogether. But she had made gains in other areas. Areas that Alvin was finding it impossible to look away from at that time.

Brittany squinted at him with her icy stare, perhaps disdainfully, even if the coldness was a bit forced. “What?” she simply asked him. 

Without so much as attempting to break his gaze away from her backside, he halfheartedly muttered, “nothing.”

But then something happened. Alvin did manage to snap out of it and return eye contact with his wife. And in a moment that lasted only a split-second, he noticed her inability to contain a new emotion. She smirked, ever-so-faintly, then regained her composure and her angry glare. The chipmunk realized immediately what had just happened: she felt rejuvenated, happy, excited to have her partner staring at her in such a lustful fashion, though her immediate reposturing attempted to conceal it, needlessly feigning her fatigue of him. In truth, she didn’t mind being stared at in the slightest. It made her feel young and desirable again. 

All logic, second-guessing, heartache, even temporary hatred evaporated from Alvin’s brain right then and there, replaced only with animalistic emotions and therefore animalistic control. He stepped fully into the bathroom for the first time since opening the door and walked confidently towards his wife. All she could get out was “what are you-” before he grabbed her left shoulder, spun her around, and pulled her into a kiss. 

(Explicit Content WARNING)

Out of pure shock and the lingering feeling of detestment towards Alvin, her first instinct was to push him back, but that faded away in a split second as she decided this was also just what she needed. Alvin’s lips stayed locked onto hers as she felt up his chest and shoulders, clutching onto them with such grip strength that it would have made him wince in pain if he were not so into the moment. The two explored each other's mouths. They both took drawn, lengthy inhales and exhales through their nose as the chipmunk in the red t-shirt slid his left hand up underneath the strap of Brittany’s bra and used his right hand to cup, then grasp her left ass-cheek and pull her upwards with a force. 

She yelped, finally pulled backwards while pushing him away by his upper-chest, and gave him a defiant smile with her lips wide that teased him. “As I was saying,” she inserted dramatically in a tone that was a mixture of playful flirting, false impugnance, and wine drunken slurring, “what do you think you are doing here? You think you can just waltz in here after an argument and do whatever you want with me? Think again!”

Confused, at first, Alvin froze in his tracks. Had he just pissed her off more? But then he saw it again, that same exact smirk, on her face as she turned away from him once again to look at herself in the mirror. Except even once her back was turned to him, her focus was still not on herself. Through the reflective glass, the chipmunk watched her eyes slide towards him, her face dripping with anticipation to see what he'd do next.

Picking up the cue and running with it, Alvin stepped forward until his semi-erect shaft was pressed through his pants into her buttocks, one hand wrapped around the front of her thigh and the other around the lower section of her neck. He forced her upper body backwards and leaned into her, tilting his head forward towards her face. Not being able to help herself but to let out a cute little giggle, she let herself be corralled back into a long, passionate kiss with her husband. She was absolutely digging just how much he was suddenly obsessed with her and her body, and the way he was forcefully kissing her from behind. He began feeling her up with both hands, and not particularly gently. Caressing her one second then grabbing a possessive fist-full the next.

The chipette broke away again and spun to face her partner, not even bothering to conceal the enthralled smile she wore. This time, she had nowhere to back up or retreat to. She bowed her head just a tad and fluttered her eyes flirtatiously at Alvin, who was now fully erect. “Sometimes I don't know who you think you are,” she seductively whispered to him. “You're going to need to do more than that to get me in a good mood again.”

Alvin gave her that look. That signature look with his sly grin, which made the chipette's heart skip a beat. That was just about all he could bear. With no warning, he went back in, and gave her a deep but rather quick kiss. Her lips and tongue tasted like the after taste of a dry red wine, but it was enjoyable regardless. The chipmunk eventually reached down towards her waist with both hands, pinched the waist band of her thong between both pairs of thumbs and index fingers, and pushed downwards so impatiently that for a split second he was worried he had caused it to tear. He did not, in fact, as her underwear now rested just above her knees, hanging in place by the tension between her thighs. 

Logic was, by then, completely absent from Alvin's mind. He was operating purely off of instinct. He crouched and simultaneously firmly grasped the string around her legs. Noticing his face was just inches from his wife's crotch, he closed his eyes, leaning forward to smoothly plant his tongue on her vagina, and ripped the thong downwards. This time the underwear came to rest around her ankles. But of course she did not cooperate by lifting her feet or kicking them away; it was more fun for her to make her husband work for it. 

The horny chipmunk lingered in his position, with his face lovingly wedged into the chipette's private area, for another enjoyable couple of seconds, forcing a soft moan from her lips. But he was not stopping there. Before either of them knew it, he had risen and begun hastily working to pull his pants down. Brittany stood there, just then realizing she was clutching the counter top behind her so intensely that her finger tips hurt, chest raising and lowering with each deep, anxious breath she took. Finally, Alvin managed to drop his nice suit pants to his feet. He grasped his wife's ass tightly and lifted her, placing her in a sitting position on the edge of the countertop next to the sink less-than-carefully. The chipette just barely managed to move her tail aside to ensure it did not get crushed underneath her weight. She gasped at his forcefulness, his courage, his determination, and his girth as he lifted one of her legs and slid his cock inside of her.

She groaned songs of pleasure and leaned backwards as he immediately thrusted his hips forward aggressively, rapidly inserting the entirety of his shaft into her pussy. But he didn't allow her to slip into a more comfortable position, instead pulling her back towards himself by her neck. She cupped her own left breast and combed through her hair, biting her lip, shaking, obediently lifting and maintaining one one knee beside her ribs as he barraged her with a steady supply of swift pricks. It was almost as if he intended each one to cause her just a little pain. Each time he plunged himself deeper into her with such a ferociousness, his hips collided against her buttocks. “Oh fuck… Alvin,” she whispered through gritted teeth. His pace was quite slow, at first, but he was uncharacteristically impatient with picking it up, eventually working his way up to such a fury of plunges that Britt was unable to contain her signs of bliss. Moans, her walls getting increasingly wet with each back and forth. He relished in the feeling of friction as her slick walls grinded and slid around his penis. As he fucked her they stared deeply into each other's eyes, mouths agape, panting. 

But it was not long before Alvin was bored of that too. He gave her one final enthusiastic hump, driving his dick deep inside her with a vicious thump, then he wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up off the counter without pulling out, spun her around, and slammed her back against the wall next to the door. There was a brief hesitation where both of them suddenly remembered they had a daughter that they'd rather not wake up, but it was interrupted by Alvin resuming inserting and removing himself from Brittany's hole. She was suspended off her feet only by the strength of her man and the surface tension between the fur and skin of her backside and the paint of the wall. “Jesus Chri-” she squealed. Alvin was relentless, pushing and pulling his hips, his hands holding onto his wife's ass for dear life. Both of them began to really get sweaty. Grunting, gasping for air, grabbing each other's bodies in mercilessly rough manners. It was as though, despite being as lustful for each other as they were, they desired that the other work for every ounce of pleasure that they stole from each other's bodies. Even to force the other to work through a mild amount of discomfort.

Brittany was pinned against that wall for about thirty seconds, her breasts bobbing up and down with each stroke, her right ripple having long since slipped out of her bra, rubbing Alvin's shoulders as he violated her as roughly as he possibly could. For her part, being physically helpless to do anything about it, she took the opportunity to taunt him. “Ungh,” she moaned. “Is this the best you got? You've lost a step, old man.” 

Alvin had never been one to speak or even make much noise during sex. The antithesis of himself otherwise. He generally preferred that Brittany be the same way, at least when it came to speaking. She knew that, although he never explicitly told her. And he knew that she knew that. She was teasing him in more ways than one.

With a newly found sense of animosity, even a tinge of resentment, he let his shaft slip out of her vagina and dropped her in one fell swoop. She let out a little “yelp” as she skidded downwards, barely catching herself on her feet, and then glared up at Alvin with shock on her face. For all she had put him through recently, her attempts to get under his skin infuriated him. In other words, they were effective. 

The chipmunk gave her a quick wink and a grin, letting her know she had successfully ground his gears. She squinted back in confusion, still aggravated that he had just allowed her to drop so suddenly. But that was of no concern to Alvin. He put his hand on her chest, caressed it, gave her exposed nipple a little squeeze, provoking Brittany to lightly hiss under her breath. Then, he moved on from her breasts up to her neck, which he firmly grabbed, still, with a single hand. She didn't mean to look as turned on as she did by this, but she was unable to resist the strange mixture of a gasp and a moan that erupted from her lips. “Come on,” he commanded her with a grunt.

Brittany obediently followed him through the doorway into the bedroom. Being dragged along by the scruff of her neck, her husband led her to their bed and essentially threw her onto the mattress. She spun her head around only to watch him fumbling through his bedside table drawer. After allowing him to dig around in the dark for a few moments, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. “It's in mine,” she huffed. 

Though she could not see his face exceptionally well due to the lack of light, the brief pause led her to believe that he stood there cringing before climbing atop of the bed himself and crawling over her body across the mattress to the other side. He leaned over the edge of the bed frame, pulled out the dresser drawer, shuffled its contents for a moment before proudly showing off the pair of handcuffs he had found. He held them up with a single finger, jiggled them around to initiate an intimidating clinking noise, twirled them about in a circle thrice. All of this exhilarated Brittany, got her blood pumping, made her grin from ear to ear. 

Alvin approached her cautiously, shuffling his knees on top of the comforter in her direction. She chuckled and patiently waited for him to draw near. At the last moment, she lunged towards him, snatched the handcuffs out of his hands, and immediately attempted to latch them around the chipmunk's wrist. “No!” he exclaimed frantically, unable to contain his laughter as he fought and pushed back against Brittany. The struggle lasted an unsurprisingly short amount of time; Alvin was quickly able to subdue her, hold her down against the mattress, and rip the cuffs out of her hands.

“Dammit,” she grumbled, still squirming in a feeble attempt to break free from his grasp and a fraction of his body weight. 

Alvin rolled her onto her front side, firmly grabbed her left arm, twisted it behind her back, slid the ratchet arm until it was tight around her wrist. She kicked and tussled with him desperately to escape his grip, but it was to no avail. Her man was able to repeat the process on her other wrist, locking her arms folded behind her so that each hand was resting directly next to the opposite elbow. She sighed a deep exhale of defeat and blew some of her hair away from her eyes. Alvin leaned into her, cock pressed against her naked right butt cheek, maneuvered his lips next to her ear, and whispered, “now I've got you.”

“Let me go,” she demanded through a giggle.

Alvin did not respond verbally, but he was not done with the game. For in that moment, an idea to take it one step further invaded his imagination. He stepped off the bed and walked with a brimming confidence towards their shared dresser with an antique mirror hanging above it. Brittany contorted her body, neck and head so as to watch him, stricken with confusion and curiosity. He disappeared from her sight by crouching. She could hear a faint scratching noise, followed by another, before he stood up again. The chipmunk turned towards her holding two separate lines of rope, which he had tucked away to save in case he needed them. This was not the moment he originally envisioned as their purpose, but he was not complaining. 

The chipmunk said nothing as he approached her, not entirely sure how she'd react. “Woah,” was all she said, visibly apprehensive at first, but succumbing to her wonderment as she allowed him to bend her left knee until her heel dug into her hamstring. The excitement building led to her becoming dripping wet, fluids leaking out of her, as he tied her ankle to her upper thigh, then worked his way with the rope all the way down to her leg until she was no longer physically able to extend her leg. This was a slow process, as Alvin was no sailor when it came to tying knots. The trial and error of his process only heightened the anticipation for both of them, even as he repeated it for the other leg. 

Once he was finished, Brittany was still face down in the bed, hands and arms locked tight behind her lower back, legs slightly spread, feet uselessly apprehended just underneath her buttocks. Ankles tied to her thighs. While still standing next to the frame, Alvin hunched over, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her lower section off the mattress. She naturally brought her knees beneath her, propping her ass up in the air even after being released from his grip. 

Now, her face was dug deep into the fitted sheet, toes dangling over the edge of the frame, back arched, her holes protected only by her malingering bushy tail. Alvin admired the sight before his eyes, took it in, stared at his wife from head to toe, aroused beyond comprehension. She was completely exposed and at his mercy. Both of their breathing quickened as their heartbeats became more violent, especially Brittany's, who anxiously anticipated her partner's next move while not being able to see him. 

It took Alvin some time to decide for himself what he wanted to do with her next. But after some deliberation, he licked his lips lustfully, shooed her tail to the side, grabbed ahold of both of her hips, pulled her rear end towards him and downwards just a tad, crouched down until his nose was mere millimeters away from her crotch, took a deep breath, stuck his tongue out, and smooshed it against her walls. This elicited a shaky gasp to escape from the chipette's lips. She moaned guttural noises of pleasure as he slid his speech organ up and down, inside her crevice then outside, across her clit with precise rhythm. It did not matter to him that it tasted mildly acidic with a hint of her sweat. He was enamored; in a completely different world, a divergent reality. 

He barely recoiled and removed his face just long enough to take another breath before plunging back into the loving abyss. Brittany cooed and thrusted her hips rhythmically against his nose as he vibrated his tongue against her magical point. “Oh fuck Alvin,” she managed to get out through gritted teeth, “oh Jesus th-that's so good”. The chipmunk raised his hand and didn't hold back his strength as he gave her right ass cheek a punishing slap. She yelped as the stinging sensation made her body automatically jolt and attempt to straighten itself, only to be restricted to her position by her excessively convoluted restraints. 

“Don't you move,” Alvin warned her, forcefully reaching around her waist and retrieving her towards himself in a swift and powerful rowing motion. “Stay put.”

The chipette wanted to protest only until she felt the warm, wet, roughness retake its place grinding against her vaginal walls. She felt him slither around back there with exactly the perfect amount of force, of speed, of precision that made her dripping with desire for more. Her husband licked upwards, trailing it across her taint onto the outer rim of her other hole. She inhaled as he wriggled around back there for a moment, paused, blew cold air onto it. She shuddered but her obedience in maintaining her arched back encouraged Alvin to continue. 

Without warning, the oldest chipmunk grabbed her by her neck and her shoulder and spun her body around so that she was resting on her right side, facing towards him and the edge of the mattress. His shaft hung precariously just inches from her face. She grimaced as he grabbed her head by the hair and pulled it closer to his crotch. “You know what to do,” he menacingly cooed.

She giggled, licked her lips, and muttered, “yes sir,” obediently under her breath before enveloping the tip of his cock inside her mouth. Arms still restrained behind her back, Brittany used the strength of her lips and her neck to expertly coerce moans of pleasure from her partner. Utilized her tongue as a lethal weapon, prodding against his sensitive sex organ, sliding it up and down the tip, vibrating it against the skin of the shaft. On the receiving end, Alvin shook with an uncontrollable reflex of ecstasy. She rocked her head forward and backward with precise timing, rotated it left to right, left to right, with superb technique. The chipette leaned in as far as her throat would allow, swallowing the entirety of his dick as if she were a vicious, bloodthirsty wild animal. The auburn haired firecracker gagged but did well to hold her position for multiple seconds before releasing the chipmunk’s member from the grip of her mouth and recoiling her head backwards. Alvin, being the kind and merciful master that he was actively pretending to be, allowed her a moment to cough and wheeze, to catch her breath as a few tears dripped down her cheeks and began to run her mascara. 

That was enough for him. He once again lifted her upper body with an abrupt show of force and tossed her towards the middle of the bed. Her lower section failed to follow, as she simply spun into a more convenient position made perfectly to his liking only after grabbing her hips and pulling her rear end down a tad. Face-down, dug deep into the comforter, back arched, ass-up, popping out in a beautiful and enthralling display. She felt her husband lift her tail, surprisingly gently, although he maintained his hold on it even as he slid his shaft inside of her pussy. Just the tip at first; he enjoyed playing with her in somewhat of a masochist way. He let it linger there, soaking, while Britt tensed from an anticipation so extreme that she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. 

The chipmunk used his free hand to recklessly get a firm grip around the majority of her auburn hair and tug it towards himself, dragging his wife's head just barely off the bed with it. She bit her lip, internally squirming from the unimaginable heat that was coursing through her body.

Finally, the thrust. And it wasn't a slow, nor a shallow warmup thrust either. No, Alvin was angry with her. And he wanted her to know it. He swiftly penetrated her to the maximum length of his shaft, landing his pelvis violently against her buttocks, pounding her so hard her entire body rocked from the collision, forcing a gasp to escape the shocked chipette. Although they were making love, they also were releasing their frustrations, born largely from each other, onto each other. It wasn't quite a hate fuck, but it was nearing that grey area. 

They went at it in that position for several minutes. And Alvin was simply relentless the entire time, practically attacking her with intense, violent, quick pricks that had her dripping and oozing onto the sheets. Every insertion came right along with the jolting sound of the clap of his body against her ass. Using his grasp on her hair and her tail to prevent her from sliding away from him each time their bodies collided. She moaned and pleaded for more the moment she sensed he had begun to slow even the slightest bit. “Fu-uck… Jesus,” she whispered, “do not stop. Please. Keep going. Oh God, yes, that's it! Harder Alvin! Harder! Yes! Fuck yes!”

Her begging had inspired some extra wind of effort, but more so due to a tinge of annoyance than legitimate encouragement. Although he did oblige her by keeping up his pace and his aggressive style, an idea popped into his devious brain. His hand holding her long, beautifully bushy tail to the side rearranged smoothly and skillfully so that the stem was arrested between his middle and ring fingers. This allowed his thumb to gently caress across her voluptuous, curvy behind and come to a precarious rest against the walls of her anus.

He could faintly hear her mutter the word, “woah,” but got no further challenge. Feeling as though that were all the encouragement he needed, he playfully slid his digit around the opening in a taunting circular fashion once… twice… and finally, the sudden insertion. She clenched and tightened the muscles throughout her body, inhaling through gritted teeth. Alvin went in up to the first knuckle, then the second and final knuckle. This only increased his ability to control her body as he continued to fuck her from behind.

They were both drenched in sweat by then. Brittany's hair had become a tangled mess due to the frictious relationship her head had with the comforter. Alvin panted audibly as his hips moved back and forth. Clap. Clap. Clap. The chipette wriggled and groaned in pleasure under his clasp. The two of them worked in harmony to ensure her back remained arched and in the perfect position.

“I’m close,” she cooed softly. The absolute ecstasy coursing through her body gave her involuntary twitches. Her arms and legs battled in vain against her restraints.

The blissfully horny chipmunk released his wife’s hair and used the same hand to reach underneath her left shoulder and grab a hand full of her breast, both of which had at some point become free of the bra that was still hooked around her sternum. He lifted his head, looked to the sky as if asking God what he had done to deserve such a gorgeous thing to be his, then lowered his gaze to take in the sight of his cock entering and exiting her pleasure portal with impressive tempo. He kept going, eliciting ecstatic noises from Brittany.

She begged him to “keep going” repeatedly, getting more and more adamant each time. Alvin knew her well, and knew the moment she would climax was fast approaching. This was something he could not allow to happen. Not yet. Without warning, he fully withdrew both his shaft and his thumb from the chipette’s crevices, prompting an immediate confused and aggravated look on her face. “W-what?” she softly expressed discontentment through heavy breaths as her juices lazily dripped onto the hard wood floor, both from her vagina and from the base of the oldest chipmunk’s member. 

Her husband silenced her by pushing her ass downwards until her quads and calves were pressed tightly together, lifted his penis, aimed the tip for her back door, and used his thumb to assist in pressing his cock inside of her. The chipette gasped and immediately attempted to lash her arms apart from shock, but eased up as he carefully slid the rest of himself forward. The walls of her hole stubbornly resisted but molded itself around him, tightly but elastically accepting the insertion.

“Oh my God!” she choked out in a wheeze. “Ohhh my God, ohmygod!”

Ignoring her hissing and digging her face into the mattress, Alvin persisted in his endeavors until the entire length had disappeared into the abyss. He held it there until he felt her relax. Watched her arms and legs lose the intense urge to break free against the devices holding them in place. Watched her sigh in relief as the slight discomfort turned into evidence of enjoyment in the form of a subtle lip bite and a chuckle. He pulled his hips backward and, slightly faster than just previously, pushed them back in again. Brittany moaned. Alvin repeated the process, but quicker and more forcefully. And that was enough warming up; he promptly went into full-fledged fucking mode. 

The noises that escaped Brittany's lips over the ensuing two and a half minutes were a mixture of grunts of brief stings of pain and that of elation and release. Moaning, groaning, sudden inhales through teeth making a hissing sound. The bed frame creaking with each thrust. Clap. Clap. Clap. Euphoria filled both of their souls through the experience. “I'm… going to cum,” the eldest chipette announced. Her egging him on made no difference in his tempo, nor his technique in any discernible way. The pounding just kept coming, until finally, so was Brittany. One final full body spasm preceded the chipette basically collapsing from exhaustion and release. She had climaxed. Fluids oozed out of her as her tongue hung out of her mouth. 

Her husband detached from her body by exiting her ass, but he was not finished. Not even allowing her to catch her breath, he picked her up and rotated her so that her head and face were hanging over the edge of the bed. “You know what to do,” Alvin growled as he began stroking himself, his glimmering tip just inches from her left cheek.

The chipette obediently opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out as far as she could, maneuvering her head just enough so she could get a quick lick in. Her husband's hand continued to travel up and down his shaft. She leaned in again and gave it a quick peck. 

Getting close, Alvin grabbed the back of her head and pulled it in towards his penis, which was still drenched with both her fluids and his pre-cum. “Finish me off,” he ordered her. 

“Yes sir,” she whimpered before initiating further contact. Brittany, in a showing of masterful technique, sandwiched the end of her tongue between her lips, pressed them all against the very tip of Alvin's cock, then let it slide inside her mouth, making good and sure her speech organ grinded against the bottom of his shaft all the way until she felt the poke against the back of her throat. 

She gagged but held strong in her position for a full second before releasing her grip, choking once with the member still half inside. “Keep going,” she was told. As was demanded of her, she reestablished the tight, loving seal of her lips around him, lifted her tongue until it was pressed firmly against him, and began moving her head back and forth with the added kick of a pleasure-extracting rotating motion. Alvin closed his eyes and moaned aloud as he dug his claws slightly into the back of her noggin. She continued. He opened his eyes once again, determined to watch closely, turned on and on the edge of a climax. Back and forth, back and forth. Dragging her tongue around and across every inch of his dick. “I- I'm about to…” but he was unable to finish his warning. As in that moment, salty, gooey cum erupted from his tip and into the chipette's graciously accepting mouth. 

This was always an odd sensation for her. The taste? Not great, but not the worst thing ever. The satisfaction? Superb, the knowledge that even in her “old” age, she was fully capable of bringing a man, especially her man, to this vulnerable stage. 

Alvin literally shook in his place, standing at the edge of the bed, his member protruding into his wife's kisser as she sucked and licked the lingering cum out of him. She giggled as she slid her tongue onto the areas of his tip that she knew from experience were now his most sensitive. They were so sensitive, in fact, that his immediate instinct from experiencing that sensation was to simultaneously grab her hair and push her away from him while recoiling his hips in the opposite direction. This caused his cock to eject out of the chipette's mouth with a “pop” sound, as well as the unfortunate unintended side effect of launching a drizzle of powdery white, gushing cum onto her cheek just beneath her eye. She flinched and her eye twitched half-shut. “Ugh,” she groaned in annoyance, “Alvin! You got some on my face! I'm going to have to wash my fur out now!”

Still panting, catching his breath, the chipmunk could barely muster a care in the world. “Sorry,” he sheepishly muttered. 

Nursing his mildly sore, drenched, over-stimulated penis, he turned around and plopped his butt against the side of their mattress, causing the wooden frame to loudly express its strain. 

(END sexual content)

“Uh… hello?” Brittany interrupted her husband's recovery with her protest, causing him to squint in her direction. As soon as his gaze had returned towards her, she emphasized a vain attempt to extend her limbs, reminding Alvin that she was still fully restrained.

“Oh, right,” he grumbled. With a humph and a hint of joint pain that reintroduced itself now that he had left his driven, mindless sexual state, he pulled himself across the bed and opened the bedside table drawer that belonged to Brittany. He rummaged around in there, searching through chargers, deodorant, a few over-the-counter medications, some perfume, random empty bottles of nail polish, some jewelry that had fallen out of her favor, and more. He dug all the way to the bottom. “I don’t see the key in here,” he informed her without looking up.

Still unable to move out of her position, with both arms locked behind her back and both ankles tied to her thighs, she lifted her head and impatiently protested, “it’s in there, I promise. I saw it, like, two days ago.”

Her husband shuffled through the drawer for another few moments. “Nope,” he finally stated bluntly.

She groaned, making it painfully clear she was at her wit’s end. “Just untie my legs, then,” she said gruffly, “I’ll get up and look.”

“Nope,” Alvin shrugged with a grin on his face. “I don’t know how. I guess you’re stuck like that. I’ll have to hide you so that Laney doesn’t see you in such a state.”

“Alvin!” the chipette exclaimed in frustration.

The tall chipmunk grimaced. “Shh!” he scolded her. “Not so loud! You’ll wake her up! I was kidding.” He lifted a small silver key just high enough so that she was able to glimpse it while straining her neck to look over her shoulder. 

This prompted a very justified eye roll from Brittany. But she said nothing as she waited, fuming, for her husband to unlock the cuffs that were pinning her arms behind her. He did so, also without saying a word, freeing her to move her hands by her stomach and nurse her sore wrists. She fully extended her right elbow, causing it to crack. But she did not assist Alvin in untying the rope bondage that held her legs in place; that was his job. He was the mastermind behind the messy but effective hodgepodge of knots, he would be the one to deal with the challenge of getting them undone. And it did take several minutes, but eventually, the rope had been entirely released and tossed onto their bedroom floor, and the chipette’s legs were free. 

“Thank you,” she said in a snooty tone as she slid off the bed until her feet touched the floor. The wooden boards creaked as she stepped lightly towards the bathroom door. Alvin watched her, eyed her up and down as she walked, every inch of her, very much enjoying the view.

As if sensing the pair of eyes on her, the moment she stepped through the doorway into the bathroom, she called out to him, “stop staring at me, Alvin, you just had plenty of time to get a good look in.”

The chipette closed the door behind her and immediately got to work putting her underwear back on and washing her face off.

XXXXX

It was rare for Theodore Seville to ever struggle with anything in the field of culinary arts. But that night was one of those very rare occasions. The next day, he was scheduled to film an episode of his show. The food and home economics genre was a crowded market of television, and the fact that he had broken apart from the crowd and developed a loyal, rabid following of people placed a great deal of pressure on him to get everything right. He knew that thousands would attempt this dish the moment his show was over. Hell, quite a few would be following him step by step, meticulously attempting to recreate his presentation precisely. He knew his continued ratings, and therefore a significant chunk of his livelihood depended on perfection week-after-week. For if he failed this week, or the next, or any week after that… would the people come back? Would they still trust him to teach them how to impress their families, or a new significant other? No, probably not. And so, he had to be perfect, and he needed his products to look and taste perfect.

But that night, perfection was escaping him.

As part of his international series, Theo was producing a dish on camera, each week from a different nation. This week, the endeavor that he had regrettably agreed to undertake was Pork Adobo from the Philipines. On paper, this was actually one of the simplest foods he had ever attempted for TV. Different cuts of pork sautéed into a pan with a few vegetables and some spices with some vinegar and chicken base, making a sort of stew, poured onto white rice. Easy, right? At least for him, it should have been. And yet, as he stood, hunched over his stove, sampling his creation, something was off. 

He thought about the dozens of fans who had messaged him requesting this specific dish. How they all had similar stories, mostly about how their mother or grandmother used to make them Pork Adobo when they were children, how it was their favorite food, and that it meant so much to them. The chipmunk felt as though he had a duty to those people who took time out of their days to reach out to him. To do the dish the justice it deserved, and to do right by everyone in the Philippines who cooked it traditionally. 

But this attempt? Pathetic, just like the four previous iterations he had tortured himself with over the last three days. No matter what he tried, which exact recipe he followed, which minor tweaks to said recipe he threw in, it came out wrong. But he was running out of time to get it right. In fact, he had precisely ten hours and fourteen minutes before he was to broadcast to the entire world his opinion on how to properly prepare Pork Adobo. The fear of embarrassment from getting it this insultingly low-quality was driving him mad. 

Thankfully, his lovely wife Eleanor stepped into the kitchen at that very moment. She had barely left her room over the previous week and was rarely in the mood for eating, which was unusual for her. Which is not to say that Theodore didn’t know why she was in such a trance; he knew very well. The both of them were now holistically estranged from their brothers and sisters. Or, at the very least, Simon and Jeanette. Neither the youngest chipmunk nor the youngest chipette blamed their elder siblings for being upset with them. With their betrayal. They just wish they understood the lack of choice they truly had on the matter. At least, that was what they told themselves. Ellie, for her part, was always a dependable back fall for Theo when it came to culinary advice. Though she did not pursue such things professionally, she had always had as much of a passion for producing food as Theo, and just as much of a talent for it too. She still liked to cook when she was at home, at least occasionally for fun.

“Hey,” Theodore chirped at her, concern evident on his face, “can you try this?”

His wife glanced at him with emotionally distant confusion, then down at the wooden spoon he was holding in her direction. “Sure,” she glumly agreed. “What is it?”

“Pork Adobo,” the chipmunk grumbled. “And, literally no matter what I try, I can’t get it to taste the way I need it to. I don’t get it. It’s like… so bland, except for a few pockets of flavor that randomly hit you, which are way too extreme.”

Ellie slurped up a mouthful that included a bite of pork, some broth, and a sliced onion. She chewed and glanced up at the ceiling in thought, then swallowed, thought for just a moment more, and then returned her attention to her partner. “It’s the peppercorn,” she said matter-of-factly. “You should try to use crushed pepper. It’ll spread the flavor more evenly.”

She walked away before she could even get a good look at the surprised, relieved and embarrassed expression on Theodore’s face. Of course she would crack the code that quickly. Her brilliance in so many areas was why he loved her, and why he frankly didn’t believe he deserved her. 

She meandered on over to their living room, plopped herself on the couch, stared at the black de-energized flat screen mounted on the wall across from her a few moments before convincing herself to turn it on. The television came to life, projecting the same channel that had been playing when it was last turned off: CNN. A still image of Jeanette smiling and waving at a crowd with the underneath caption “BREAKING NEWS” flooded their eyes. 

“And CNN can now officially project that Jeanette Seville has won her bid for California's junior Senate seat. This is a major election projection - the final one we will be making this year. According to our network's election officials, the recount has concluded with an extremely narrow victory…” the anchor paused briefly to catch her breath, “but a victory nonetheless. Giovanni, Julia, your thoughts?”

Theodore studied the silhouette of his wife, staring at the screen without moving an inch. “Oh, she won?” he tried, attempting to extract from her some sort of reaction or emotion. He got none. Finally, he sighed, and croaked, “what do you think this means for us?”

After a long, awkward moment of silence, Eleanor finally, without turning her head or removing her eyes from the TV, managed to muster up the ominous response, “I don't know…”

XXXXX

A silently elated, overflowing with anticipation watch party taking place in Jeanette's campaign headquarters watched the two television screens inside with shocked grins on their faces. All sixteen people; staffers, workers, managers, Mitch, Simon and Jeanette themselves sat, and stood randomly about the office, their hearts beating a mile a minute. Suddenly, Jeanette's phone began ringing in her pocket. She abruptly dug to take it out with so much haste that she accidentally dropped it on the floor. It continued to buzz, even as she picked it up and scanned its screen. She was receiving a call from none other than Senator Gary Martin. She scanned the room, took a good look at all of the people who were watching her with anticipation. 

Finally, she tapped the green button and held the cell up to her cheek. A satisfied, boasting smile creeped across her face. This was the moment she had dreamt of for nearly a year. “You don't have to say it, Gary,” she cooed into the phone with such an obviously fake tone of humility. In reality, everything about her demeanor screamed that she desperately wanted to gloat.

She could hear a long, pained, discontent sigh on the other line, before the solemn words, “congratulations, Madam Senator-Elect.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, maintaining her grin, relishing the entire scenario. “I changed my mind,” she said, “I'm glad you said it. It makes this whole thing… so much sweeter.”

“Are you done?” Martin abruptly butt-in, snapping Jeanette out of her trance.

After a brief moment, where her smile disappeared and transformed into a look of resentment, she replied, “yes. Good bye.” And hung up the phone.

Simon watched the entire sequence with, in all honesty, a mild sensation of horror. With all that had transpired with the campaign, he was just now realizing that his wife had truly changed. And not necessarily for the better - although any change was at best unnecessary, as he had always loved her for who she was when he met her. She didn't just gain confidence; she had built up a tangible sense of deviousness and had calloused her emotions in a way that only a long time in politics could have done. And now, the goal that had driven a stake into the heart of their family had come to fruition. There was no turning back now.

Chapter Text

Alvin hadn't bothered getting dressed. It wasn't that uncommon for either of them to sleep in the nude, at least back before things had gotten complicated and contentious between the two. Being chipmunks, there was a certain level of acceptance and normalcy surrounding the concept of nudity. Two of them being in close proximity without clothes on would not have felt inherently sexual until either one made it so. Clothes were more of a tool. A tool to fit into human societal norms. And a tool to remove any sense of intimacy from a private moment between two chipmunks. As such, when Brittany paced back into the bedroom from the attached lavatory actually wearing her thong and having readjusted her bra so that it fully covered her, he felt a tangible wave of disappointment sweep over him.

The handcuffs hung limply from the handle of the chipette's bedside table drawer, having been locked in place there by her husband as a light practical joke. He had hidden the key within her pillowcase on the side that was face-down, confident that it wouldn't take her that long to find it. But as she trudged around the foot of their bed, stepping over the ropes that had been carelessly tossed to the floor the moment she was free of them, shuffled to her side of the bed and removed an elegant bottle of hand lotion from that same drawer, she didn't even seem to notice or care about the cuffs dangling from it.

“You didn't need to get dressed,” Alvin whimpered sympathetically as she applied the ointment to each of her paws. 

“Honeymoon's over, babe,” she grumbled, clearly no longer in any sort of an affectionate mood.

Alvin pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Technically,” he nervously corrected her, “we never even had a honeymoon.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” she shot back at him, monotone like a zombie who barely had a care in the world left to give. 

After rubbing her hands together for well over a minute, spreading the lotion to every square inch, pressing it between her fingers until it was perfectly saturated on her skin, she carelessly picked up and threw the top corner of the covers on her side of the bed over, partially uncovering Alvin’s top half. He recoiled from the sudden breeze of cold air and shot her an annoyed glare, which she either did not notice or simply did not react to. The chipette simply climbed up onto the mattress, laid her head on her pillow, facing away from her partner, and ripped the sheet and comforter on top of herself. The eldest chipmunk watched the entire scene and sighed deeply. He was fulfilled physically, but somehow still felt empty. And frustration brewed within him from the realization that his wife, regardless of whether or not she felt the same hollowed out sensation, was projecting a dulled, beaten down emotional indifference. 

He looked to the ceiling, contemplating how to begin a conversation out of a desperate desire to not end the night in such an anticlimactic fashion. “I’m sorry that I had to work today,” he finally whispered.

“It’s fine,” Brittany grumbled through a yawn without moving an inch.

There was another long, awkward pause, complete with Alvin playing with both his thumbs and sliding his right foot around in a fidgeting pattern near the bottom edge of the bed. “You know that I only want the best for all of us, right? Like I do my best.”

The chipette exhaled, mildly aggravated but politely trying to conceal it, then turned her body around to face him. “I know you do. We both do.” She wanted to go to sleep, and he could tell.

“You guys - you and Laney, I mean - you both mean the world to me,” he insisted, eyes pleading her in the dark for some semblance of affirmation, some form of compliment. 

Instead, he received a subject-changing question: “what’s bothering you?” It wasn’t particularly cutting or accusatory, but rather a soft and genuinely concerned inquisition.

It froze Alvin in his tracks. Even after years of marriage, and several more years of a close relationship before that, he still was not completely used to the absolute ease that Brittany found in reading him. It made him feel uncomfortable to a certain degree, likely stemming from their age-old rivalry that pushed him into a natural desire to hide things from her that left him feeling vulnerable. “Why would something be bothering me?” was the first and best response that he could conjure.

“That’s a good question,” she replied, unwavering. “But there is something. I know you, I can tell. So… what is it?”

He sighed in reluctant defeat. “I honestly don’t know,” he acknowledged. “I guess… nevermind. You can go to sleep.”

There was a brief pause, as Brittany legitimately considered his offer. She was tired, still mildly wine drunk, and haunted by the knowledge that her daughter was inevitably going to wake up early and that she would have to get out of bed when that happened. But, she shook her head, and demanded: “no. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I just wish I could understand how we got so distant. So cold. It’s not even that we act like we hate each other like we used to sometimes. We both barely show any emotion at all. And I know that sounds weird, coming from me. Like, of all people, you’d think I would be the last person to be bothered by any of this. But I see us drifting apart and it’s really been digging at me.”

The chipette bit her lip, considering the large load of feelings that her husband had just dumped on her. She knew in her heart that he was right. She had felt the same thing long ago, long before that night, and it had torn her apart until she finally gave up and accepted their loveless dynamic. It had made her numb. Perhaps, permanently so, and with that in mind, was there even any point in discussing it or attempting to mend it? “Honestly, I can’t remember a time when it didn’t feel like this,” she confided through a sigh. “You’ve never been the best at expressing yourself. And maybe I’m not the best at it either. Sometimes I’ve thought that you and I just weren’t meant to stay together. Not in a serious way, at least. I mean, do you think anyone who’s known us our whole lives would have said that either of us were ‘marriage material’? Our feelings and our actions change direction more frequently than the wind.”

Alvin’s eyes widened. Though she did not mean those words in such a harsh way, they pierced him like a deliberately sharpened icicle. “Not marriage material?” he repeated back to her in an offended tone. “What do you mean? Why?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by her husband continuing his internally retrospective monologue.

“I know we have an extremely hot and cold relationship. We always have and probably always will. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t always cared for each other.”

“Caring for each other is not the same as true love,” she interjected.

The chipmunk gulped down the pain he felt hearing those words. “What are you saying? That you don’t truly love me?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Brittany groaned, rolling her eyes. God , the chipette thought to herself, why is he acting like such a girl ? She understood why her choices in vocabulary were being misinterpreted by her husband in the way that they were, but that could not stop her from feeling an increasing frustration by it. Perhaps the alcohol was interfering with her filter to a greater degree than she originally believed. “I guess I just… I don’t know. Now’s not a great time to be talking about this, anyway. I’m tired, I’m bloated, and I’m tipsy. Can we save this topic for tomorrow sometime?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Alvin sighed. “That’s fine.”

“Thank you,” his wife cooed, immediately taking the opportunity to twist her body so that her head once again faced the opposite direction. 

The chipmunk struggled to resist the urge to bother her with anything else. To bring up their spat earlier that night, to request she not interfere with his parenting in the future, to discuss their daughter in any capacity. It was just another thing on the long list of items that was actively nagging him and depriving him of sleep. That conversation had not satisfied him at all. If anything, it only opened an entirely new line of questions that were racing through his mind and making him question the meaning of his existence. Had the truth finally come out from his wife’s lips, in her intoxicated state, or had she misspoke? It was a gut-wrenching concept for him to wrap his mind around, and he wasn’t sure what he feared most; that he might never get the opportunity to steal the truth from the chipette, or that he would indeed manage to convince her to admit it and that he would not like what she had to say.

XXXXX

The warm and cozy Theonor home maintained its petrified, still silence broken only by the living room TV projecting five CNN political analysts discussing the “massive upset” that had just concluded. Eleanor's face was an unchanged, fearful grimace as she sat with her back pressed into the cushions of her couch. Theodore stood hunched over the countertop next to their stove, watching both his wife and the screen, scowling hopelessly. 

It was unsurprising for both of them that Eleanor's phone began ringing in her lap, but their hearts sank regardless. The youngest chipette turned it over to glimpse its screen, which plainly informed her that the caller was Jonny Rankin, the CEO of ABC and both hers and Theo's boss. At least, he was for the time being. Was this really happening so soon? She pressed the green button near the bottom, held the device up to her right ear, and squeaked out, “Mr. Rankin?”

“Eleanor,” he calmly responded, uttering her name with the slimed confidence of a man who was enjoying power over someone else. “Are you watching the news.”

She silently gulped, tears beginning to well in her eyes from the impending soul-crushing exchange. “Yes,” she croaked.

“Are you watching on ABC?” he asked her sharply.

She pursed her lips and retorted, “would it make a difference if I was?”

Completely shifting the subject, Rankin casually mused, “so, this should come as no surprise to you…” he paused and waited, perhaps to see if Eleanor would interject with some desperate pleas to keep her job. To maintain the league that she had put her sweat and blood into building from scratch. Or to at least show some sign that she could predict what his next words would be. But she kept silent, awaiting the second half of his blow. “We're not going to be able to renew the WFA for a second season,” he finally finished. “Sorry for the bad news.”

Eleanor shut her eyes, trembling, trying to compose herself. “No, that's not a surprise. I understand,” she managed to whimper through the building urge to cry. Perhaps, she hoped, with her polite and calm response, the conversation might end there and further disaster could be avoided.

“Oh, and another question,” the man on the other line continued, “is Theodore busy preparing for his show tomorrow?”

Ellie's blood froze and her eyes widened. “Yes…” she hesitantly admitted in pure fright. 

“Very unfortunate,” he purred with a sickening cynicism. “Be a doll, will you, and ask him to stop preparing please?”

And there it was. The chipette's vision went white. Her heart seemed to entirely stop. Her soul was crushed, her mind racing through all of the events that led to this. She managed to convince herself that this was all her fault, but the self hatred soon transformed into rage. “Johnny…” she huffed, intentionally waiting for him to acknowledge her again before finishing her sentence.

Believing that this was the moment he'd get the pleasure of hearing her get on her knees and beg him, he wasted little time in responding, “yes?”

“I know for a fact that there is something - some secret, something about yourself or your past - that you would rather die than have exposed to the public. Whether it's a money laundering scheme, some other crime, a former colleague… or maybe an adulterous, hidden relationship, perhaps. I need you to know - and I need you to go to sleep every night knowing - that the only thing standing between your role as CEO of ABC and embarrassing termination, that the only thing keeping your job safe, is the fact that I am currently unaware of precisely what your secret is. And I hope you understand that the moment my lack of clarity on the dirt in your life disappears… so does that safety.”

It was a cold, spiteful, threatening message, which Rankin still seemed oddly satisfied with. “Goodbye, Eleanor,” were the only two words he uttered before hanging up, as if he did not believe for a second that she would or could actually follow through with her warning. 

The chipette solemnly let her phone drop back down into her lap, sighed, composed herself despite the awful, crushing feeling of allowing both her world and her husband's world being lit into flames. She turned her head to look longingly over her shoulders at Theodore, who was still watching her in the same hunched over position, frowning at her, obviously knowing what had just transpired despite not even being able to hear any of the rich man's words.

XXXXX

There was a contrasting mood at the “Jeanette Seville for Senate” headquarters, as one of the staffers released the cork of a champagne bottle into the stratosphere, partially covered the mouth with their thumb, and proceeded to violently shake it around their eye level. This caused its contents to eject in all directions like a garden hose, prompting excited hoots and howls from many others in attendance. It was like watching the locker room of the winning team of the world series after game seven. Chaotic, energetic, fun. 

Jeanette had a massive smile on her face as she watched the victory party commence in pure bliss. A noticeable twinkle in her eye. Shuffling through the conference room from one clique of her volunteers to another, enjoying the sights and sounds of them drinking, laughing, and celebrating, despite the spillage of outrageously priced bubbly on the felt carpet in her rented office space. They were toasting her; her victory, her revenge. It was just so damned sweet. 

The chipette finally spotted her husband and Mitch together in the far corner, forcing uncomfortable smiles and chit-chat, each holding a glass that had not had a single sip drawn from them. They nodded at her as she approached them. She could not help herself but to wrap both of her arms around Simon in a warm embrace the moment she was close enough, and to pull him in and plant her lips on his. The RNC representative raised his eyebrows, bit his lip, and looked about nervously as if worried someone was watching the two kiss. After a few seconds of enduring the discomfort, he finally interrupted their moment by snapping, “alright, alright. You two can get all your disgusting little animalistic desires out with each other after your speech.”

Jeanette broke apart from her counterpart and glanced upwards at Mitch, pure annoyance written all over her face. “What's your problem?” she fired at him.

“Me?” He gave her a shocked and rejected look. “I've just led another hopeless campaign to victory. I've created a Republican seat in a barren wasteland of blue. I am about to fly back to DC and be celebrated and rewarded as if I was fucking Christ himself reincarnated. I have no problem at all. And I certainly don't have a problem with you being in your little joyous, shameless, horny fit either. Although the thought does make me gag a little. I would just prefer you save it for your guys’ bedroom, okay?”

Jeanette rolled her eyes at the quick-thinking, witty Louisiana man, while her husband couldn't help but chuckle. “You know what?” Simon chimed in. “He's funny. Say what you want about him, but he's funny.”

“You know what else is funny?” Mitch retorted, glaring down at the two of them. “Is watching just how excited the two of you are. Neither of you has the slightest clue what you've just gotten yourselves into.” Satisfied that he had successfully dampened the mood, the man finally took his first lengthy, loud slurp of champagne, then continued. “Look, enjoy this moment. Celebrate this night. You won, and to be honest, I did not think there was a chance in hell that you would. But understand that this job that you've just earned is not a party. It's not glamorous, and it certainly isn't fun. If you think having me nagging you non-stop has been miserable, just you wait until the true evil puppet masters get their hands on you.” He observed the two chipmunks silently adjust themselves, allowing their faces to sink into an uncomfortable and anxious frown of self-doubt and doom. This made him smirk, and he finished by cooing in his silky-smooth southern drawl, “and on that note, don't think for a second you've seen the last of me, either. My job with you is just beginning. I've made you a senator, now my role will be to ensure that you are as obedient and depressed as possible while you bend the knee at the every whim of the party. You are still very much my property. You're my pet parrot, who will do and say everything that I command because if you don't, you'll be on the streets crying about the cruel unfairness of this world like… fucking… Al Gore, or something.”

“Okay,” Simon threatened, “that's enough talking to my wife like that.” In his mind, he theorized that perhaps a large portion of the blame for Jeanette’s transformation into the unrecognizable, maliced politician she had become was to be placed squarely on the shoulders of people like Mitch, who had been hounding her from the moment she began her campaign. 

In response, the man simply smiled, raised his glass at them, and said, “enjoy the party. And fucking be on that stage at the right time without looking or smelling like a piss-drunk sailor.” And with that, he walked off and disappeared into the crowd of degenerate staffers. 

Jeanette turned to her husband and smiled at him with a reaffirming warmth. “You don't have to defend me like that, even though it turns me on,” she purred at him. “Mitch is harmless. All bark, no bite. Unlike me.” She gave him a seductive wink.

Simon sighed, not allowing her charm to defuse his anger. “You shouldn't let him speak to you like that.”

“It's fine,” she insisted, giggling. “That sort of thing comes with the territory. Besides, he doesn't actually mean any of it. Guys that high up in this profession are assholes. I can deal with it. I'm a big girl.”

“That… honestly sums up my entire problem,” Simon groaned. 

“What problem?” she asked him, raising a concerned eyebrow.

“You've changed, Jeanette. And I just flat out don't like it.”

“I have changed, in a lot of ways,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “I've grown confidence. I've learned to navigate and negotiate with people. I've…”

Simon cut her off. “No, that's not what I'm talking about. It's as though you've entirely lost your empathy. Like, you've calloused your emotions and become so hardened that your grasp on morality has blurred. You're numb to the harsh ugliness of your new world. You don't hesitate to seek vengeance. You've become… hardened. Cutthroat even. You can't see that?”

“I was cutthroat towards one person,” the chipette defiantly humphed, “and he's out of the picture now. I've put on the facade of a strong, emotionless woman because that's the type of person that people want in office. I guess I should be proud of myself that even you fell for it, but honestly I'm kind of stunned hearing all this.” 

“You let a guy curse at you, call you names, boss you around, and force you to kick your own sister out of your house on live TV. And the moment you got the power that you were hell-bent on accruing, you very visibly let it get to your head. None of that is strength.” Simon was growing increasingly frustrated as he chastised Jeanette over the droning sounds of the chatter, glass-clanking, and obnoxious laughter of the party around them.

His wife stared into his eyes with legitimate hurt and downtroddenness in her own. A frown that resembled a permanent wince of pain. “I did things I'm not proud of,” she eventually admitted. “I allowed myself to get suckered into a war and once I was in that war, I felt so desperate to win that, at times, I was cornered into impossible decisions. And I am thankful you supported me through all that. I hope you will continue to support me because, thankfully, that war is over now. I won. Things can go back to normal.”

“You think it's over?” Simon scoffed brashly, berating her in a significantly more raised voice than previously. “Did you not hear a word Mitch just said? Our lives are only going to get more stressful for at least the next six years!”

Jeanette sighed, a single tear forming in her left eye which she promptly wiped away before anyone else could see. Her lips were quivering as she continued to stare through her partner's soul, and as he stared right back, beside himself with a pleading agony and nostalgia for his old wife. She suddenly checked the silver Rolex watch on her wrist and exclaimed, “shit! We've got to go.” After a powerful inhale, a grit of her teeth, and a dejected glance back up at Simon, she muttered, “it's been a hard year for both of us. But I promise, now that this whole campaign is over, you're going to see me relax. A lot. Now please… come with me on that stage?” She motioned with her head and right shoulder towards the doorway leading out of the office.

The chipmunk rolled his eyes and sarcastically grumbled, “what would the voters think if you went up there without me?”

Choosing to ignore him, Jeanette turned and with a rushed, arguably panicked pace, began quick-stepping towards the exit. As she passed through the crowd of her volunteers to the tune of the occasional cheer, or, “knock ‘em dead”, she went to work wiping away at her eyes and cheeks to do her best to dry them. To rid them of her tears and runny mascara and any other evidence of her emotions. Simon watched her do it as he followed a distance behind her.

Together, they made their way behind the modest little makeshift wooden stage in the lobby, in front of which were dozens of members of the media anxiously awaiting the fashionably late chipette's appearance. She stopped just behind the backdrop wall that protected them from view of the cameras, spun around to see her husband begrudgingly trudging behind her, and waved him on impatiently, raising her eyebrows at him. The moment he was close enough to her she pulled him into a side-to-side embrace with her right arm. “Ready?” she whispered to him.

“Yes, I'm ready,” he responded in a mumble, appearing by all metrics more like a prisoner of war than an excited spouse.

“Chin up, darling,” the chipette teased, playfully enacting a blatantly faked and over-emphasized British accent. “We just won a fucking election.”

“Correction: you just won a fucking election,” the disgruntled chipmunk retorted.

“Nonsense!” she fired back at her husband. “We accomplished this together. And we will continue to do great things… together.” Before Simon could respond, she yanked him in the direction of stage right and exclaimed, “now come on! Let’s go bask in it!”

And so they both manifested from around the wall to the immediate tune of emphatic reporters screaming questions their way. The two of them smiled and waved at the crowd but answered none of their inquisitions verbally as they climbed the stairs. Jeanette’s trademark clumsiness shone through for just a brief second as she tripped on the second step and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself on her opposite leg without making too much of a scene. Simon’s feigned grateful appearance was significantly less convincing than that of his wife, who seemed too giddy to even contain herself. It was a short and deliberate march to the center, where Jeanette took command of a podium with a microphone, and where her husband sheepishly stood by her side, right hand cupped over his left in front of his crotch area.

Jeanette, slowly, clearly, and assertively addressed the room full of men and women: “well this was a historic night!” 

Simon glanced up and to his right slightly and watched his wife’s face for the remainder of her speech. He noticed more than anything else that there was not even the faintest sign of the harsh discussion that they had taken part in not even a minute prior. Her eyes and cheeks were as full of life and hopeful as he had ever seen them. Her smile, captivating. Her hair, straightened, free of curls, entanglement, and most off-putting of all to the chipmunk: out of her bun. It was something that only bothered him a little bit during the entirety of the campaign, like a splinter that dug too deep under his skin to remove. Her posture was upright and confident, a complete reversal from the slunken solemn chipette that he had literally just confronted on becoming a worse version of herself. It was as though the emotions that caused her visible pain and frustration in the conference room were totally wiped away, replaced with only a vain emptiness. It was uncanny, Simon remarked in his own head, how she transformed herself literally while speed-walking through only a couple of hallways. It was like witchcraft, as if she were a plastic doll that a ten year old girl passionately drew makeup on. 

In her best imitation of every victorious politician she had ever studied and worked for, she continued, “in a moment, I will make myself available to answer your questions. But first, I have some people I want to thank. I would like to thank my husband, Simon.” The middle chipmunk, suddenly remembering he was in a room full of people with cameras, increased the width of his smile and nodded at his wife as she turned and gestured towards him. “He has been my biggest supporter through so many years of marriage. He has stood by me through it all, and I can say with certainty that I would not have been able to do any of this without him. Next, I would like to thank my volunteers around the state. A few of them are here with me tonight, but there are many more, from San Diego all the way up to Ferndale, who are watching at home with a renewed and restored hope in the people of California. Like my husband, I also could not have done this without each and every one of you. Most of all, I must thank the people of California. It was a close one; a real nail-biter. You guys truly made the ballot counters earn their pay, but in the end, it was confirmed that the people of this great state made the correct decision. And for that, I want to thank you all for the faith and trust you have placed in me. For those who did not vote for me, I would like to thank you regardless for performing your civic duty and participating in the process that makes our nation so great. Please understand… that I have each of your best interests at heart and I will carry out my responsibilities in a manner that reflects that.” Jeanette paused for effect as a stark uptick in flashes of cameras brightened her face. “Finally,” she announced, raising her right index finger in a command for the attention to return to her words, “I would like to thank Senator Gary Martin, who called me not very long ago and congratulated me on my win. He told me that he was praying for my husband and myself, as well as our success and the prosperity of Californians everywhere. Mr. Martin, thank you for your kind words, for your prayers, for the class that you have shown throughout this campaign, and for the service you have sacrificed for this state as well as the United States of America.”

XXXXX

It was Monday. Alvin, predictably, had lacked either the willpower or the necessary timing to converse with his wife over her true thoughts or feelings regarding their relationship. Which was all the same to Brittany, who wholeheartedly regretted even suggesting any deep-rooted troubles in her semi-drunken state Saturday night. The way she saw it, she did not understand her own emotions well enough yet to have even the faintest hope to try to explain them to anyone else, let alone someone as quick to assumptions as her husband.

Despite the time of day - that being just past 11am - she sat on her living room couch, sipping the iced latte she had made for herself, hair haphazardly thrown into a ponytail, wrinkles under her eyes which stayed locked in a thousand yard stare in the direction of her daughter. Laney was playing with two Barbie dolls and a Ken doll, pretending the three of them were having a very intense and dramatic conversation. Something about a love triangle between the three of them, though the exhausted mother barely had enough effort within her body to pay attention to the specifics.

“ Barbie, how could you ? I didn't want you to find out this way, Rapunzel! I swear! Ladies , please ! Not in the middle of the ball ! Let's talk about this outside !”

Brittany had taken her sweet time in actually consuming her drink, only taking a small sip whenever the after taste became so stale and uncomfortable in her mouth that it drove her to desire one. Unfortunately for her, at the exact moment she was reminded of her drink by that same sensation on her tongue, her phone began ringing. In response, she hurriedly placed the mug on the coffee table in front of her and answered the call, which was coming from an unknown and unrecognized number. “Hello?”

“ Hi , Mrs. Seville ?” It was Mrs. King on the other end of the line, Laney's principal, asking that question as if Brittany did not possess one of the most recognizable voices on the planet.

“Yes,” the chipette cooed, snapping out of her trance in order to attempt to sound like a polite, calm, well-adjusted individual. “This is her. Is this Principal King?”

“ The same ,” came the blunt, somewhat ominous response from the woman. “ Mrs. Seville , I am sorry to call you this morning with bad news , but I am afraid that I have to inform you that Laney's suspension is going to be quite… extensive. ”

Brittany's eyes widened and drifted down towards her daughter, sitting with her legs crossed on their carpeted floor, oblivious to all but the imaginary world she had created. A million questions immediately raced through her mind. Questions like what could have possibly changed in the last three days ? Was it because of those damned photos on the news ? Was it something she did ? “I'm sorry,” she croaked, struggling with every fiber of her being to maintain her composure. “Can you hang on for just one minute?”

“ Sure , no problem .”

The chipette stood from the couch while keeping her eyes glued on her daughter, who only stirred out of her game briefly to glance up at her mother before returning her attention towards Barbie. Doing her best to be unremarkable, Brittany shuffled up the stairs into her bedroom and closed and locked the door. “What happened?” she hissed into the phone in a semi-accusatory tone. 

“ I really can't go into too much detail ,” King groaned, “ all I can say is that the school is now being faced with a lawsuit related to the incident between Laney and Julie Maggart. Until that lawsuit is resolved, the district cannot afford for your daughter to return to school .”

“‘Until the lawsuit is resolved’?” Brittany repeated with a scoff in absolute bewilderment. “Couldn't that take months? Am I wrong? Like, several months?”

“ I’m not in a position where I can discuss specifics on the case. And that includes projected time frames. But… yes, it could be an extensive period of time. ”

The chipette stood silently, slack-jawed from shock and anger, knuckles white from clenched fists. “You can’t be serious,” she protested. “What is Laney supposed to do for months? Just miss out on an education?”

“ What we can do for Laney is we can set her up with enrollment at Los Angeles’ 2-C-C-S. It stands for Second Chance Correctional School, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it ? It’s actually very lovely, and they have the facilities and staff equipped to deal with her case. They are also very used to temporary students for odd time periods .” She was politely but legitimately trying to be helpful. Brittany could tell.

The dumbfounded mother had heard of this school before. It had an impressively undesirable reputation, essentially functioning as an entirely separate school district in downtown Los Angeles. It was a cesspool of the most problematic students from each of the systems in the region. Students that had either behavioral problems, learning difficulties, or some combination of both. The idea of transferring her daughter into that system, even for a relatively short amount of time, was frightening and unacceptable. Brittany feared not only that Laney could pick up endless bad habits from her peers, but that she would be significantly less safe there than she already was at her proper, designated school. As a revolting cherry on top, it was very much public knowledge that 2CCS had a putrid record for educational standards. Graduating from their “high school” didn’t even earn a diploma, but rather, a GED. “She’s not going there,” the chipette spat defiantly. 

“ There are other options for you ,” King sighed, “ such as private and homeschooling. But as far as our district goes , there is nothing more I can do. There won’t be an exception made here. ”

Brittany grumbled and rubbed her temples with eyes clenched shut. “Should we be prepared for an additional lawsuit against us personally?”

“ I am neither qualified nor authorized to offer you any legal advice here ,” the principal responded matter-of-factly. 

The oldest chipette waited for an addition to that statement, yearned for one. However, even after two seconds of silence it did not come. “I see,” she finally responded, her muscles twitching and shaking anxiously, a pit fully formed in her stomach. “Thank you for informing me. Have a nice day.”

“ You have a nice day as well. I am sorry , again , for being the bearer of bad news. ”

The pink-clad female chipmunk hung up the phone in disgust not even a split second after King had finished her sentence. She set it down on the dresser drawer next to her, staring with blurry vision at the wall across from her, ran her fingers through her hair from stress, scratched her palm, sweat forming underneath her fur throughout her body. How could all that be happening to her family? What had they done to deserve this major interruption to her daughter’s development? How could that Maggart bitch possibly think it was appropriate to sue the school over such an insignificant little fight? Brittany realized she was never explicitly told that the lawsuit was being filed by Julie’s mother, but who else could it be? After several moments of contemplating her life, Laney’s life, Alvin’s life, their options, their income, their time, she shook her head and decided she had to speak to her daughter. She had to find a way to somehow explain to her that she won’t be going back to school anytime soon, and that her mother was still unsure as to what they were going to do with her. 

She spun around, took a few steps forward, and swung her bedroom door open. And there was Laney, just on the other side of the frame. The little one jumped backwards slightly from the surprise of the sudden and swift opening of the painted white egress, but calmed herself long enough to stare into her mother’s eyes, confusion and worry evident in her own. 

XXXXX

Alvin stood in front of the massive sliding glass doors, outside the greeting area of the towering Jett Records office building, hands in pockets, glancing anxiously between the multitude of vehicles that drove past him. He bit his lower lip, wondering to himself why she was running late. She wasn’t that late. How late was she? He checked his silver watch, noted that it said twelve thirty-six. So, about thirty six minutes late.

As if on cue, a Tesla Model X with a light blue neon “UBER” sign slowed to a halt curbside directly across the sidewalk from him. The rear right-side door cracked open cautiously, then swung fully ajar, revealing an absolutely stunning young woman with blonde hair. She stepped carefully out of the car and stood straight up, staring in awe upwards at the imposing building before her, noticed Alvin by the entrance, and smiled at him. She was wearing jean shorts that revealed her curves with questionable intention at best, and a white tank top that was decorated with a hot pink heart drawn around the letters “LA”. After shutting the door behind her, she sheepishly approached Alvin while he waited for her without moving from his position. 

“Alvin Seville!” she awkwardly exclaimed as she climbed the four round, fancy concrete steps on her way towards him. This caused the chipmunk to dart his eyes around instinctively, and brace for a sudden outburst of attention from the people in the vicinity, but no one had a reaction. “I can’t believe I’m here in front of you!” 

He grinned at her politely, slightly uncomfortable as he hadn’t had anyone excited to meet him in at least a few years. “The one and only,” he chuckled. “Sorry about the rental car mix-up last night. I wish I could’ve been there to help you straighten it out. You got to your hotel just fine anyways, right?”

Maia nodded, likewise smiling with excitement from ear to ear, as she finally reached Alvin’s spot. “Yeah, I just Uber’d there. It wasn’t a huge deal.”

“Yeah,” he groaned, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment from the lack of professionalism that the label had displayed by not having all of the expected accommodations for a potential artist. “I’ll get the company to refund you for the two rides. And we have a car here for you, too, during your stay in Los Angeles.” 

“Thank you,” she gratefully cooed. “I’m sorry I was late. I spilled some coffee on myself after I left the hotel. That’s why I’m wearing this touristy thing.” She pinched the bottom of her tank top and pulled it out and away from her stomach towards him, showing it off. 

The chipmunk waved her off, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine. Better late than never. Sorry about your shirt. The new one suits you, though.”

“Thank you,” she chirped, blushing.

Alvin cleared his throat, gestured towards the massive sliding glass doors behind him, and chuckled, “come on inside, I’ll show you around!”

Maia nodded and followed him into the reception lobby, which came complete with grand art and decor, as well as comfortable, lavish leather furniture in the waiting area. 

“Shelley,” Alvin acknowledged the young brunette woman sitting behind an impressive granite desk with a subtle head nod.

“Welcome back, Mr. Seville,” she warmly responded along with a grin. “And this must be our guest that you’ve been expecting.” The receptionist’s expression as she turned her attention towards Maia was more one of jealousy. Her attempts to conceal it were poor. Alvin knew that she would spend time around himself, Ramos and many other of the big shots at the label company as frequently as she could, often “accidentally” leaving her own privately recorded songs in areas where they were sure to find them. Despite her best efforts, her job still only consisted of sitting behind that desk and answering phones. 

“Yep,” the chipmunk awkwardly stuttered, “this is Maia…” he drifted off, only then realizing he didn’t know his new prospective star’s last name.

“Wells,” she filled in for him, maintaining her friendly smile as if either ignoring the jaw-clenching envy on the greeter’s face or being blissfully unaware of it. 

The receptionist nodded and simply said, “gotcha,” under her breath. “You guys are good to head on up.”

And they did, ascending up the massive building in one of the two elevators behind the lobby desk that impressed Maia with gold-plated handrails. She appeared to be so enamored by the entire situation, so whimsically mesmerized, that Alvin couldn't help but crack a smile at her. It reminded him of himself in an odd way, when he and his brothers first rose to stardom. Now his role in life was to find, lift, and mentor others through the fast lane life that he once enjoyed.

The elevator finally came to a halt with a ding noise, having arrived onto the floor of the building where is office laid. The steel door slid open, revealing the rather dull, poorly lit, and ordinary maze of cubicles that he navigated on a daily basis. Maia's expression of enchantment faded almost instantly, prompting the chipmunk to roll his eyes. “This is where they imprison those of us who scour the internet all day, every day looking for… well… people like you.”

“It looks nice in here,” she lied, forcing a polite smile down at him.

“No it doesn't,” Alvin scoffed, “I hate this place. But it puts food on the table, I guess.”

Rather than responding, she pursed her lips and widened her eyes as if worried she had just offended him. With the chipmunk’s short legs, his small but quick strides, it was difficult for her to smoothly follow him through the office. As they passed by other employees, Alvin briefly introduced her to each one. “This is Don, he's been working here since before I started singing. He's great.”

A cordial but awkward head nod was shared between the two.

“That's Juliet over there, by the coffee machine. She's my boss's secretary.”

“Got it.” Maia was wildly terrible with remembering names. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would forget every single one that this anthropomorphic chipmunk was overwhelming her with in less than five minutes.

“And over there in that corner, that's Dean's office,” Alvin murmured, leaning in closer to her, pointing in the direction of his most hated coworker's cubicle. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's fine,” he sighed. “We're just… not going to go over there. As a matter of fact, it's probably best for both of us if you just don't talk to him at all.”

“Talk to who?” Dean's annoyed, cutting grumble originating from directly behind Maia and Alvin caused the chipmunk's eyes to widen and his heart to skip a beat. 

Both of them spun around to glimpse the balding man standing with his arms folded across his chest, looking every bit as dejected and on edge as he usually did. Fortunately, Juliet also appeared in that moment, trudging around Dean, carefully carrying a cup of black coffee in both hands that was full almost to the brim. “Jules,” Alvin called to her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks, and likewise causing a few dribbles of Java to spill onto the outside of her mug and drip onto the carpet. “Could you let Ramos know that Maia Wells is here and ready to see him?”

Juliet shot him an impatient glance and muttered, “sure, but he's in a meeting right now. It'll probably be a little while,” while simultaneously continuing on her way back to her desk.

Without wasting time in the general vicinity of Dean, Alvin lightly touched Maia's shoulder and motioned her away with his head. “Come on,” he urged, “I'll show you my office.”

“Okay,” she unconfidently agreed as she once again followed behind him, leaving the middle-aged stick in the mud standing alone, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes in detestment. 

The moment Alvin opened the glass door separating his corner, window-laden office from the rest of the droll, depressing cubicles, and the second that Maia stepped foot inside and caught a glimpse of the sturdy, lavish wooden desk and the views of Los Angeles, her obvious look of amazement returned. She peered around the various items inside, including the high-end rolling chair, and she was clearly impressed, which gave the chipmunk a great sense of satisfaction. “Grab a seat,” he beckoned her while pointing out the less expensive chair that stood on the side of his desk opposite to where he worked. 

She obeyed, still a little unsure of herself, or perhaps how she had managed to be there.

“This meeting with Ramos,” Alvin told her, haphazardly launching himself onto his own chair and allowing it to freely spin until his dress shoe-covered feet were kicked up on top of his desk. “Don't be too nervous about it. Just be yourself. He just wants to get a feel for you, make sure you're not going to be a problem child. Which I don't think you will be. But even if he thinks you are, your talent will win him over anyway.”

Her eyes lit up with a noticeable twinkle, as if her entire world had just been warmed by a new Sun. “Thank you. What's he like?”

“Erm…” Alvin paused for a moment to consider how to answer that question politically. He eventually gave up doing so. “He kind of sucks too. Not as bad as Dean, but he's a hard ass. Very blunt.” He watched her face drift back into a perpetual state of severe nerves and reminded himself to be encouraging. “Like I said, just be yourself. He's going to really act like he doesn't like you. Until he decides he does like you. After that, he will really act like he likes you. And I know he will.”

Maia grinned, lowered her gaze to the floor sheepishly, raised her eyebrows and shrugged, feigning humility. “So…” her voice trailed off as she debated amongst herself how to smoothly change the subject. “You've got a daughter, right? Laney? That's her name, I think.” 

Alvin's face lit up at the thought of his child, and he nodded faintly at the young woman.

“How is she?”

“She's great,” the chipmunk shrugged, adjusting his position on his seat, mildly surprised at the topic of conversation being shifted to something personal. “She had a little incident recently that got her kicked out of school. I guess she definitely has my genes. But she's actually a really great kid, she really is. She's the light of my life. The most important thing in the world to me.”

“That's so sweet,” Maia swooned. “I'd love to meet her some time, if that's okay with you. I love kids so much! My half sister is a lot younger than me. She just turned ten, but she's the best. It's like, everything she says is just hilarious.”

“Sometimes kids can be that way. Just saying the darndest things, you know?” Alvin sighed, not being able to help but let his mind drift to negative thoughts about himself as a father. Wrapped up in convincing himself he was somehow a failure.

“What about Brittany?” That question from the young woman sitting across from him very visually caught the chipmunk off guard. 

“What about her?” he squeaked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Well… I know she's been going through a tough time lately.”

“Oh,” Alvin chuckled sheepishly. “You're talking about that .”

“And, just…” Maia interjected before trailing off, eyes glued to the ceiling, blushing, “like, how are you guys doing?”

The chipmunk cleared his throat, thoroughly uncomfortable. Maia, in response, recognizing she might have struck a cord, bit her lip apologetically. Suddenly, as if he were being saved by the bell, his desk phone interrupted the conversation by ringing, causing them both to jump. Alvin picked his feet up and dropped them to the ground, leaned over and pressed the button to accept the call. “Jett Records, Alvin Seville speaking,” he enthusiastically answered. 

“ Alvin ,” Juliet's depressed, mumbling voice patronized him, “ Mr. Ramos will see you now .”

“Tell him we'll be right there,” he responded before promptly hanging up, glancing over to where Maia sat anxiously twiddling her thumbs. “We should get going.”

The meeting between the two of them and Ramos went swimmingly, surprising even Alvin, who had lied to Maia to some degree about his expectations for his boss to lighten up. Typically, he did not do so until at the very least after hearing a potential signee sing in person. However, in this case, the man seemed absolutely infatuated with Maia within five minutes of meeting her. Her personality was just so charismatic and energetic. The nerves she displayed in meeting Alvin seemed to disappear the moment she stepped foot in Ramos’ office, as if she had literally flipped a switch. Her smile won him over. Her Midwestern charm was relatable and relaxed. She even persuaded Alvin's boss to explain to her the entire process of getting somebody signed onto the label, something never before seen by any prospective artist prior to his final decision being made. The entire scene, though Alvin managed to wisely hold his tongue for the majority of it, made him giddy with flashes before his eyes of not only a renewed possibility of keeping his job but even a possible promotion.

Unfortunately, the chipmunk's phone began ringing, interrupting Ramos’ monologue to his evident annoyance. “Sorry,” Alvin apologized in a murmur as he dug through his pockets with wide eyes and gritted teeth. This was one of if not the biggest pet peeve in his supervisor's arsenal; being interrupted by a phone when speaking. He had seen his mood instantaneously transformed from melancholy to irrational rage even from an important meeting reminder from Juliet via his desk phone. After scanning the screen, the oldest chipmunk read that it was his wife who was calling him, gifting him with his own sensation of seething anger. She knows not to call me when I'm at work , he thought to himself as he picked up the call. “Hey,” he spoke as calmly and as softly as he could force himself to, “now's not a good time, Brit.”

“ Alvin ? Sorry , I know you're working , it's just that Laney's school just called , and -”

Brittany was impatiently cut off by her husband, “look, is this an emergency?”

After an awkward two second pause, during which Alvin's muscles tensed from frustration of witnessing Ramos squinting and crunching his eyebrows at him, the chipette croaked, “ I… guess not. ”

“Okay, I'll call you back when I can.” The chipmunk couldn't hang up the phone fast enough. “Sorry about that,” Alvin muttered while waving apologetically at both of the people staring at him.

Ramos blinked. “Where was I?”

The remaining nine minutes of the meeting in the office went well, despite Alvin's unusual silence and his flustered seething. Maia herself seemed thrown off her game just a tad, though it was not enough to deter the chipmunk's boss from inviting her to the recording studio down stairs.  

That was where she cemented her destiny. Belting out an acapella cover of “Hot N’ Cold” by Katy Perry with impressive range and the vocal control of a seasoned pro, she dazzled the two employees of Jett Records who watched her and listened to her from behind the sound-proof glass. Alvin periodically shot his manager a side-eyed glance, to assure himself that he was as enamored with the young woman as the chipmunk was. That he was also coming to the realization that Maia was a star in the making. The head nodding and the subtle grin at the corners of his mouth that Ramos tried to conceal was all the confirmation Alvin needed. Confidence in the stability of his life, his job, satisfaction in both, all renewed. 

After Maia finished her roughly minute-and-a-half solo, Ramos held the green button down in front of his microphone and spoke into it, “I've heard enough. You can come out now.” 

Her immediate reaction was that of worry and dread as she removed her headset and obediently exited the recording studio, concerned she had completely fumbled her chance. But upon approaching the two waiting for her in the mixing room, seeing the gleam in the eyes of Alvin's boss and the opportunistic smile spread across his face, her mood lightened.

“Well,” the man hummed with his arms folded across his chest, “you've made quite the impression. I'll tell you what, come back tomorrow morning and see Alvin in his office. He'll connect you with a couple of our songwriters and producers, and get you started on the process of recording for real.”

Maia practically jumped out of her skin with excitement. “Shut up!” she exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, quickly shifting to an uncomfortable posture due to overstimulation from the young woman's shriek and perceived disrespect. “And don't tell me to shut up.”

XXXXX

Alvin's head bumped and rocked to the beat of "Separate Ways” by journey as he navigated the dense Los Angeles rush hour freeway traffic on his way back home. His right hand rested at the twelve o'clock position of his steering wheel. His left hand caressed his hair. His windows and sunroof, fully open. His sunglasses glistened underneath the afternoon sun. His teeth were freely being shown off in an overjoyed smile. He felt on top of the world. He was back. He had conquered the challenges of his job and produced, something he was unsure of his ability to do himself. Being doubtful of his own capabilities was something barely comprehensible within the statutes of his own personality, and yet, such thoughts had lingered and infected him so long that he had forgotten what victory felt like. Not anymore. 

Stop and go highway driving would normally have frustrated and enraged him. But not that day. He was legitimately enjoying his commute home from work, harmonizing with music that made him recall his own glory days. In a way, he felt as though he may be on his way to a sequel - of sorts - to those good times. Not as a celebrity, but as a mentor to one.

Less than a mile from his off ramp, he was in the second lane from the right, which was travelling at a slightly quicker pace than the exit-only lane beside him. He scanned the lane that he had to merge into carefully, as an almost stand-still line had predictably formed beginning nearly two miles back due to the lengthy stop light which existed immediately after the exit ramp. He did this every day, knowing there would be a car somewhere close to the fork that left just enough gap for him to get over at the last second. This day was no different, as he recognized it from a distance like a seasoned professional. A silver Toyota Prius was cautiously trailing the white Ford F-250 in front of it by a distance of at least three car lengths. “Yeah…” Alvin muttered to himself as he stalked his prey from behind and to the left. “There's my bitch.”

Perfectly as planned, he swerved in behind the pickup truck and in front of the hybrid without having to do anything reckless. Satisfied with himself, he peered in his rear view mirror to get a glimpse of whether the driver behind him was old or just clueless. With all due disrespect , he thought to himself, if your car had a top speed greater than ten , you might have been able to prevent that . However, the chipmunk was unable to get a good look at them before the break lights on the truck in front of him dimmed. Alvin followed closely, maintaining a distance of maybe a half a car length. I am a defensive driver. I am defending the hell out of my spot in this line . 

As the brakes of the white Ford initiated, prompting him to also slow his custom-built SUV, he heard a jolting screeching noise from behind. Alvin once again glanced at his rear-view just in time to glimpse a dinged up grey 2008 Saturn Aura with a black replacement fender assert itself into the exit lane between himself and the Prius and come to a skidding halt mere feet behind his rear bumper. 

Alvin chuckled to himself, “now that guy is a maniac.”

Moments later, likely due to a green light down the line, the exit lane picked up some speed. He rode the pickup in front of him, both getting up to about thirty-five miles per hour. The Saturn, for whatever reason, took a couple seconds to react to the lane moving and thus trailed a fair distance behind but eventually accelerated to keep pace. 

Suddenly, the F-250 hit its breaks a tad harder than the oldest chipmunk was expecting. With impressive reflexes, Alvin pressed his own all the way to the floor of the car, managing to violently bring the SUV to a complete stop with a couple feet of distance between his license plate and the truck's tow hitch. The former pop star sighed a breath of relief. His heart jumped and was thudding within his rib cage. His blood turned thin. In that moment, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, through his rear-view mirror, a grey blur approaching him with an unchecked velocity that was obviously and terrifyingly faster than it probably needed to be in order to have even the slimmest chance of safely coming to a stop. And the first object in its path was Alvin’s SUV. 

The chipmunk had only time to think to himself, oh no …

The Saturn slammed into his car's rear with a prolonged and pronounced crack and a crunch. The force of the impact drove the SUV forward, jumping, vibrating, skidding, until it collided with the white Ford.