Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It could have been a funny situation, Gizmoduck thought. Maybe he’d look back on it and laugh. Someday. Today was not that day. Right now, he’d rather be anywhere but between these two men.

Gizmoduck looked over at Darkwing, his face blank but rage seeping off of him.

Gizmoduck glanced to the other side, at the smug face of Chief of Police Grizzlikoff.

“Grizzlikoff,” Darkwing said, voice flat.

“Yes, Darkwing?” Grizzlikoff said pleasantly.

“What is this?” Darkwing demanded.

Grizzlikoff’s smirk grew. “Why, can’t you tell? Does he or does he not match the BOLO you and your division put out?”

Darkwing’s eye twitched, which made Gizmoduck wince because that was never a good sign.

“I would think,” Darkwing said through gritted teeth, pointing at the glass window that overlooked the interrogation room at the police station. “That Duckburg’s finest could tell the difference between Negaduck and—!” Darkwing held up the file that had been shoved at him moments before and waved it in Grizzlikoff’s face. “—Mr. Eugene Martin of the Salty Pelican!”

Gizmoduck sighed and glanced into the interrogation room. Nope. The scene had still not changed. There was still an older male duck, wearing a yellow raincoat and a red rainhat. At least he didn’t seem too perturbed about having been arrested when he stepped off his fishing boat about an hour ago, shortly before Grizzlikoff had placed the call to the new supervillain taskforce that sent Darkwing and Gizmoduck scrambling to get over to the department. Mr. Martin only asked to use his one phone-call to let his wife know he was going to be a little late coming home.

“Does he or does he not match description in your BOLO?” Grizzlikoff demanded, voice still pleasant. “He’s a white male duck, in his sixties, wearing a yellow coat and red hat, after all. I made sure every officer knew that was your exact specifications. You’ll see it’s also in the arrest report. Oh, and that Mr. Martin—if that is his real name—knows the reason for his arrest. All because Darkwing Duck put out a Be-On-the-Lookout.”

“Release him,” Darkwing spat. “You know he’s not our man.”

“Oh, is it our man now?” Grizzlikoff demanded, a rougher edge to his voice. “No, I thought he was your man. After all, isn’t that what this whole supervillain taskforce is meant for?”

“This is low, even for you,” Darkwing snapped. “Mayor Owlson will hear about your interference and incompetence.”

“And the general public will hear about yours, Darkwing,” Girzzlikoff said. “Oh, wait, they already know about it.”

Gizmoduck quickly grabbed hold of Darkwing’s cape, even as Darkwing continued to stand painfully still, eyes blazing.

“And just what,” Darkwing growled. “Is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be the one to take care of these supervillains, and neither you, nor Gizmoduck, or even this new Duck Avenger have been able to actually arrest any,” Grizzlikoff pointed out. “Your supervillains keep getting away, and three days ago you were the one who let Quackerjack walk out of the bank he was robbing.”

“He had a hostage,” Darkwing growled. This was still a sore point with Gizmoduck’s caped counterpart.

After all, it had been Darkwing’s young nephew who Quackerjack had snatched as a hostage, and Darkwing spent the rest of the day rescuing the boy, with only Gosalyn for back up, only for them to be temporarily captured and only able to get away because Honker tricked Negaduck and his team into thinking that he had created something that would destroy the superhero, but instead only served as a distraction for their escape. Furthermore, when the three heroes went back to what they believed to be Negaduck’s base camp, they found it abandoned.

And then Honker had to reveal that he figured out Darkwing Duck’s secret identity.

And that he was a huge fan of Gizmoduck.

It had not been a good week for Darkwing’s ego.

“Let’s just go,” Gizmoduck murmured to Darkwing. “We’re wasting our time here.”

“Yes, we’re wasting our time,” Darkwing agreed, in a much louder voice. “When we could actually be out there saving lives.”

With that, Darkwing stomped out of the interrogation room and Gizmoduck hurried to follow, though at a much slower pace, apologizing for his bulk as he went.

One thing that Gizmoduck could say about Darkwing when he got this worked up over Grizzlikoff was that he always waited until they were on the front steps of the police department before he lost his cool. That, or he preferred to just wait until Gizmoduck was the only one to take the brunt of his anger, he wasn’t sure which.

But, needless to say, this wasn’t the first time nor the last that he’s dealt with a furiously venting Darkwing.

“The absolute nerve! The gall! The… the… the…” Darkwing apparently couldn’t find another word, his hands making circling motions in front of his torso. He gave up and let out a shout of rage. “Grizzlikoff purposefully followed our BOLO to the tee, just to make us look like idiots—when it’s his officers that did the arresting, not ours, thank you very much! He’s pissed, and taking it out on us. We took his best detectives, his best officers, and we ultimately are the ones who made him look like the power-hungry elbow-rubber that he is when that deal he made with Heath got revealed, and he knows he’s got no other choice but to play nice with Zan in office if he wants to keep his job. But can’t he see that we’re on the same team here? We all want a safer city, and Negaduck off the streets, but we can’t do that if he’s pulling us away from our patrols because he’s decided to be passive-aggressive and make more work for us!”

“Yes, Darwking, I know. I was there,” Gizmoduck said patiently.

Darkwing ignored this, and apparently wasn’t done ranting. “And, oh yeah, we recently learned that Morgana can literally change her appearance and we might not know who we’re actually speaking to or dealing with until it’s too late, and we’re vulnerable, and something is on fire! No big deal! Meaning we really can’t waste our time with Grizzlikoff’s false leads when one of our perps can change her entire body in a short period of time, and we have no idea if she can do the same thing with the other three members of her team!” Darkwing began pacing back and forth in front of the station. “What we need is a real lead. Something. Anything. Just… Just we need something.”

“Darkwing,” Gizmoduck said. “Uh, is perhaps the something you need is some more sleep? Because you sound like you need it.”

Darkwing paused in his pacing to turn and narrow his eyes at Gizmoduck. “Oh, yes, thank you,” Darkwing said, sarcasm oozing from his voice. “For reminding me that, until I got the call from Grizzlikoff that we had Negaduck, that I. Was. ASLEEP! Does no one have a respect for the terror that flaps in the night’s sleep schedule and that he sleeps during the day?”

Gizmoduck winced at this one. Considering he had been the reason that Darkwing’s sleep schedule had been interrupted already earlier that week. And ultimately why Darkwing had to rescue Honker with only Gosalyn for back-up.

All because Gizmoduck apparently turned into a pubescent teenager again whenever his girlfriend touched him and he pissed off Elise by inadvertently messing with the results of an EKG. His EKG…

Who knew those things were so sensitive? He did. Now. After a lot of yelling. And two days where Elise had forbidden any physical contact between him and his girlfriend. And Dr. Gearloose laughing so hard he fell out of his chair.

Those were two very long days. And seemed to be getting dragged out because of course everyone in their friend/work circle heard about this incident and no one will let either of them live it down for a very long time. Mostly because Dr. Gearloose made sure everyone knew about it through the group chat because he found the entire thing absolutely hysterical.

In the corner of his visor, Gizmoduck noted the time. “We need to go, or we’ll be late.”

“Right. Another reason to be angry at Grizzlikoff. Ruining the day of a momentous occasion,” Darkwing grumbled as he pulled out the keys to his motorcycle.

“Want a lift?” Gizmoduck offered.

“No, I’d rather take some time to drive and clear my head a bit,” Darkwing said. “You go on ahead, I’ll meet you at the Bin.”

Gizmoduck nodded and flew off.

And as he did so, he turned over Darkwing’s words in his head.

Darkwing wanted a lead. He wanted to feel useful, do something purposeful and meaningful, anything to feel like he was getting closer to tracking down Negaduck.

Gizmoduck had an idea.

Darkwing had said he wanted a real lead.

But, maybe, another false lead would work just as well.

*****

Minnie Mouse beamed at her not-so-small audience seated before the curtained-off platform in her brand-new studio as she said, “I am proud to present to you… Duck Avenger!”

She gave a dramatic pull of the rope and the curtain drew back, revealing Duck Avenger standing in the center, grinning broadly in his brand-new costume.

Their audience burst into cheers and applause and a few wolf whistles—with Huey, Dewey, Louie, Della, Daisy, and Storkules being the loudest of them all.

Minnie beamed under the praise as she stepped forward. “As outlined in the prototype drawings, highlights of this costume include special grips on the gloves to allow for easier access of climbing a variety of surfaces, boots with deployable springs, a voice modulator in the piece of the bodysuit that covers the throat—which is made of a special blend of cotton and Kevlar that is thin and breathable, but still durable.”

Her eyes twinkled and Duck Avenger’s grin grew, because they still had one more surprise.

Minnie took a step back and Duck Avenger held up his arm and a transparent shield but otherwise solid looking shield in a glowing gold appeared.

“Ooh!” The kids all chorused.

“Sweet!” Lena exclaimed.

“That’s so cool!” Dewey said, leaning forward some on the bench he sat on.

“A late addition courtesy of Gyro,” Duck Avenger said, his modulated voice deep and containing an air of mystery. He lowered his arm and the shield disappeared.

“Impressive,” Drake commented approvingly.

“Indeed. Motion activated?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

“Neural transmitters,” Gyro answered, sounding more smug than usual. “The high collar we needed for the voice modulator puts the fabric close to the brain stem, and similar tech in that area allows a connection between the brain and the shield. Meaning, all Duck Avenger has to do is think about the shield to activate it or to turn it off.”

“Gyro, Minnie, excellent work!” Scrooge praised as he stepped forward, clapping a hand onto Duck Avenger’s shoulder. “So proud of you, my boy. I’m very excited to see you start this new chapter of your life. Duckburg is lucky to have a hero like you.”

Duck Avenger’s proud grin turned slightly soft. “Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

Scrooge nodded once and clapped his hands. “Now, who’s ready to see the brand-new headquarters of Duckburg’s heroes?”

Not only was today the official debut of Duck Avenger, but the contractors Scrooge had hired had finished renovating several of the other floors of the Money Bin. There would be a ribbon-cutting ceremony with Mayor Owlson to officially mark the beginning of the superheroes working for the city in a few weeks’ time, but for now only those in-the-know had access to explore the new workspace and training hall.

It was in the corner of the new office space that Della managed to grab a moment alone with Duck Avenger. Well, semi-alone. That he was talking with Gyro was just an added bonus.

“Hey,” Della said, approaching the two. Impulsively, she hugged Duck Avenger, who returned the embrace. Then she held her brother at arms’ length, grinning. “You do look great, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” Duck Avenger said a bit cheekily.

“And you’re going to be great,” Della said. “You’re perfect for being a hero.” She turned to Gyro, gesturing towards Duck Avenger as she said, “Isn’t he the most perfect candidate for being a hero you’ve ever met?”

“I wouldn’t say perfect, but I can say that, out of all my acquaintances, he’s probably the one I’d trust the most to save my life if I was ever, like, trapped in a burning building or being mugged and he showed up in a costume,” Gyro said, a faint hint of a smile on his face.

“See? That’s some of the highest praise you can get from this guy,” Della said, nodding. Then she grinned and lightly nudged the scientist in the ribs with her elbow. “So, Gyro, you promise that nothing you’ve strapped to my brother is going to go haywire or turn evil or anything, right?”

Though she said it like it was a joke, Gyro did not find this particularly funny, scowling at her. “Yes, Della,” He said, voice tight. “Everything has been rigorously tested. Furthermore, there is nothing in Duck Avenger’s arsenal that has any sort of AI, therefore there is no way for anything to gain sentience.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t blame me for wanting to be sure,” Della said. “Given that the last time you made something for one of us, I spent ten years on the moon with only the taste of black licorice for company.”

Gyro’s scowl deepened and he said, “Don’t blame the inventor for user error.”

With that, he turned and strode away from Della.

Duck Avenger sighed and gave his sister a look. “You really stepped in it there, Dumbella.”

“What? I was joking!” Della said, spreading her arms. “I’ve reached the part of dealing with my trauma where I can joke about it! That’s one of the stages of PTSD, right? The joking stage?”

“You’re thinking of grief. Grief has stages. Not PTSD.”

“What? No, that can’t be right. I was sure that PTSD had stages.”

“Dumbella, which one of us has actually seen a therapist about their PTSD and which one of us regularly says ‘dank memes are all the therapy I need’?”

“Oof, two ‘Dumbellas’ in one conversation? Not very poggers of you, bro.”

“Do you even know what ‘poggers’ means?”

“No, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask Dewey to find out.”

Duck Avenger rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, I don’t think Gyro found your little joke to be funny.”

“Yeah, but if I joke about it, maybe we can move past it?” Della suggested. “Not have to, like, actually talk about it?”

Duck Avenger studied his twin, then asked, “Have you tried? To talk with him about it?”

“Once,” Della admitted, averting her eyes. “Didn’t go too well. Things weren’t going well between us before I brought it up, but they haven’t exactly gotten worse? Well, until I opened my big fat mouth.”

“Della,” Duck Avenger said. “I know you want to be friends with Gyro again, like you were before. I know, to a certain extent, you need that. But it just might never happen. And I’m worried that, if you don’t accept that at some point, you’re only going to do yourself and Gyro a disservice.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Della grudgingly admitted. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying. At least for a while longer. I just need to find the right way to connect with him, and I know I can find it.”

Duck Avenger sighed but swung his arm around Della’s shoulders. “Well, if you do, how about you pick up a joke book so you can actually tell him a good one instead of trying to make light of trauma?”

Della nodded, smiling at him faintly.

Across the room, Fenton pulled Gandra aside into another corner of the room.

“So I have an idea,” Fenton said quickly.

“What else is new?” Gandra said teasingly. “About what this time? Please tell me it’s a spray that perfectly removes wrinkles from clothes without ironing, because I’ve got this one shirt—”

“No, that’s not the idea, but that is an amazing idea and it’s definitely going on the list,” Fenton interrupted. “But, no. So, you know how the last few days, Drake has been so…” He trailed off, not knowing the right word to describe his friend.

“Pissy? Yeah,” Gandra said with a nod. “And he’s even worse right now after your little visit to the police station to meet a Negaduck doppelganger.”

“Right, but I realized something,” Fenton explained. “What Drake needs is to put time and mental energy into being productive, and if he can do that in pursuit of Negaduck, that’s even better.”

“Okay?” Gandra said, arching an eyebrow. “So… What? What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to give him something to do, obviously,” Fenton said, grinning. “Something to work with until we get a real hit on our BOLO or other new information pops up.”

“Like what?” Gandra asked warily.

Fenton grinned. “Follow me, and see.”

Gandra reluctantly did so, watching as Fenton stepped up to Drake’s side, tapping the slightly taller duck on the shoulder.

“Drake, got a minute?” Fenton asked.

“I guess,” Drake said. “What’s up?”

Fenton grinned. “I’ve got a hot tip, but not on Negaduck. On Morgana.”

Gandra and Drake both stared at him, the former arching an eyebrow at him and the latter blinking before bursting into a grin.

“Yeah?” Drake said enthusiastically. “What’s the tip?”

“So, you know that occult shop downtown? Well, I happen to know that the one and only Black Arts Beagle is a regular customer. And that he has been spotted speaking with people in the alleyway beside the shop. Different people, but always dressed in black and red.”

Drake nodded, looking even more pleased. “Morgana’s signature colors. It has to be how he’s supposed to recognize her when she takes on different forms.”

“Exactly what I’m thinking,” Fenton said, nodding. “Now, it just so happens that there’s a weekly workshop on tarot readings that Black Arts attends, and it’s this afternoon. What say you that we have a bit of a stake-out and see if we can get some information out of the conjuring canine?”

“I’m in,” Drake said, now grinning broadly. “Launchpad has to take Mr. McDuck to a meeting with Zan at City Hall, so he’s out, but Darkwing will be there. Donald will be alright on his own for his first patrol, he’ll get his feet under him in no time. What time does the workshop start?”

“Three o’clock, and I think we should be there about quarter-till. Just in case he meets up with someone before the workshop,” Fenton said.

“Perfect. I’ll be ready,” Drake said. He turned at hearing Gosalyn call for him, then he said, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Great!” Fenton said, giving Drake double thumbs-up as he went to join his daughter as they looked at the scale-model of the city. He turned to Gandra, still grinning. “So? Am I a genius or what?”

“What.”

“I said, am I a genius or—”

“I heard you the first time, Suit,” Gandra sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. “Fenton. What the heck? Did you just seriously make up a false lead?”

“Okay, okay, it’s not an idea I’m exactly proud of,” Fenton admitted. “But the data is accurate. Black Arts Beagle regularly goes to the occult shop, he attends the three o’clock Thursday tarot reading workshop, and he can often be seen talking to someone dressed in black and red. And it’s a different person every time.”

“Goths hang out around that shop. Two of the goth subculture’s favorite colors are black and red. I once shared a homeroom with two goth girls who almost had a fist fight over whether the color of the laces on one of the girls’ corsets were scarlet or crimson.”

“Precisely. None of it was a lie, per se. Theoretically, Morgana could have been one of the teenage goths Black Arts talks with. How can we know? She can change her appearance easily with magic. We won’t know until we go and talk to Black Arts personally, right? We won’t accuse him of anything, just ask him a few questions, gather some more data.”

“Fenton, this is a horrible idea.” Gandra hissed. “Because your little lead isn’t going to lead anywhere. So not only will it fizzle out very quickly, which will make Drake even angrier, and if he finds out you made it up in the first place, he’s going to be furious.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fenton insisted, waving a dismissive hand. “He’ll never know.”

“Famous last words, Suit,” Gandra said, poking Fenton in the chest with her finger. “Famous. Last. Words.”

Fenton wrapped his hands around Gandra’s to stop her assault, shaking her hand slightly as he emphasized, “It. Will. Be. Fine. Seriously, what is the worst that can happen?”

Gandra stared at him and narrowed her eyes.

“I take it back,” She said dryly. “Those are famous last words.”

*****

“I must say, Fair Daisy,” Storkules said. “That this is most romantic.”

“Oh, yes, my Dearest Storkules,” Daisy said dryly, her elbow against the window of the car, her fist against her cheek. “It is incredibly romantic. Just you. And me. Cruising down Main Street. In a police car. With a superhero riding on the roof.”

“Indeed,” Storkules said, not catching his girlfriend’s sarcasm. “I could further set the mood by switching on the lights and sirens.”

“Please don’t,” Daisy said quickly, reaching out to put her hand on the back of his as he reached for the switch. “It’s plenty romantic with the quiet.”

Also she was pretty sure that, if he did turn on the lights and sirens, Duck Avenger would get startled and fall off the car. Which would not be a great start to his first official patrol as a superhero.

They pulled up to a red light and Daisy rolled down her window, sticking her head out and calling up to her other boyfriend, “How are you doing up there, DA?”

“I’m king of the world, Miss Duck!” Duck Avenger called back, one foot on the light bar of the car, his fists on his hips. “Just surveying my kingdom, looking for crimes to punish and justice to serve!”

“Can I quote you on that?” Daisy asked, holding up her notepad and pen. “Or is that off the record?”

“Everything is on the record, and you can most definitely quote me on that!” Duck Avenger said giddily.

Daisy nodded and scribbled it down. She had finagled into being allowed to report on Duck Avenger’s first week as a hero for the local news station—a feat that was not that difficult as she was now her boss’ favorite person for her huge exposé article on the election as well as her coverage of the first appearance of Duck Avenger. Also because the other reporters, quote, ‘valued their lives too much’ and therefore ‘refused to get anywhere near any of the heroes’, unquote.

“Officer Storkules, any rumblings of crime on the radio?” Duck Avenger asked.

“Alas, Daring Duck Avenger, I fear that the waves are calm and still,” Storkules reported. “Tis rather a quiet day for—”

A scream tore through the air and Duck Avenger’s eyes gleamed.

“Fear not, citizen!” He called, pulling out his grappling hook. “Duck Avenger is coming to your aid!”

With that, he swung off, Daisy and Storkules were quick to jump out of the car and chase after.

Duck Avenger quickly found the source of the scream, a woman who was shouting “Thief!” after a young male swan running with a scarlet purse in his hands.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Duck Avenger said, chasing after the man. He leapt onto a nearby bench, and used the end to propel himself into the air, leaping over the thief and landing in front of him in a crouch. The thief came to a skidding stop, but was not able to stop Duck Avenger from punching him in the face, sending him backwards, the purse flying into the air.

Duck Avenger caught the bag, and tucked it under his arm, looking positively pleased with himself.

“Let this be a warning to you and all the other crooks in this city,” Duck Avenger declared. “No matter how fast you are, you can never outrace the storm. For I am—”

“Freeze! Drop the bag and put your hands up!”

Duck Avenger froze and found that he was now being approached by two cops—two who were very much not from his team.

“Wait, hold up,” Duck Avenger said, holding up a single hand. “This is a misunderstanding. For I am—ACK!”

Before Duck Avenger really knew what was happening, his arms were grabbed from behind, the purse hitting the ground and he started to struggle.

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy here!” Duck Avenger shouted. “I’m the hero!”

“Oh yeah? Explain why you have a lady’s purse and are wearing a mask then!”

“I have a mask because I’m Duck Avenger!”

“Yeah, right, you look nothing like him, buddy.”

“New costume,” Duck Avenger gritted out. “And I had the bag because I got it back from the real thief! You know, the guy on the ground!”

“What guy on the ground?”

Duck Avenger was near his boiling point. “He’s literally right—!” He paused and turned, seeing that the purse snatcher had disappeared.

Ah, phooey. Well. He was in hot water now.

“Halt! Unhand the Duck Avenger!”

Duck Avenger sighed in relief as Storkules and Daisy approached. Saved by his glorious himbo of a boyfriend in uniform.

The two cops that were in the process of arresting Duck Avenger looked at Storkules in shock.

“This is actually the Duck Avenger?” One of them asked.

“Verily,” Storkules confirmed. “Why, doth thou not recognize his noble visage?”

“In their defense,” Daisy said as she came up to Storkules’ side. “The uniform is new.”

Perhaps Duck Avenger should have waited a day for the news articles with the photos of his new uniform to go out before he started patrolling the streets. And gotten confirmation that the police department had spread the word about Duck Avenger’s new costume to all officers…

Duck Avenger was quickly uncuffed.

“Sorry,” One of the officers said sheepishly. “Really didn’t recognize you.”

“That’s okay,” Duck Avenger said, trying hard not to have wounded pride over the ordeal. He picked up the purse. “The important thing is that we can return this to its rightful owner!”

At least he could do that right…

“Well, that could have gone better,” Duck Avenger said with a sigh as the woman walked away with her bag as Storkules finished making some notes on her statement.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Daisy said with a smile. “It’s just your first day. You’ll get in the swing of things, and everyone will come to know who you are, and all will be well.”

“Yeah,” Duck Avenger said a bit glumly. For the first time since he decided to become a superhero full-time, he wondered if he was making a mistake. After all, it was only a matter of time until his unnaturally bad bad luck showed up, and it did. Within only a few hours of his first official day on the job.

A sick feeling twisted in his stomach.

Was he actually cut-out for this after all?

*****

Gizmoduck pretended to be watching across the street at the occult shop, but was really watching Darkwing, laying on the rooftop on his stomach with a pair of binoculars that were trained on the shop.

Darkwing was in an excellent mood, and Gizmoduck had no qualms in taking credit for that. Even though they’d already been here for half an hour and nothing had happened except that Black Arts Beagle had arrived exactly when they expected, and that he was now in the workshop in the backroom of the shop.

Through the window, they saw Black Arts speak to a few of the other attendees, shoppers, and employees, but no one who was wearing black and red. Even now that he was out of sight behind the closed door, Darkwing didn’t seem too bothered by the lack of action.

Just as Gizmoduck has expected, Darkwing was enthused by feeling like he was doing something productive, whether it was actually going to benefit them in the long run or not.

He was starting to think of other ways to keep the terror that flaps in the night busy when Darkwing suddenly said,

“Black Arts just stepped out of the workshop!”

“Already?” Gizmoduck said, surprised. “But it goes on for another fifteen minutes.”

“He’s pulling out his phone, think you can get audio?”

“Maybe, but it’d only be for his side of the conversation,” Gizmoduck said, activating the long-range listening system.

Just his luck, the sensors picked up just in time for them to hear that it was Black Arts’ phone that was ringing and hear him answer,

“Ma, I’m in class! If you must know, we were studying something of the utmost importance. The Minor Arcana! Yes, I’m being serious right now! It is actually important! No, Ma. Sorry Ma. Ma, I— What? Okay, okay, okay, I’m coming home. I’ll be there soon.”

Black Arts hung up his phone and stared at it for a moment, shaking his head, then tucked it into his pocket and headed out the front door, pulling his hood over his head.

“Well, that was suspicious,” Darkwing said, already on his feet, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s go investigate.”

“Huh,” Gizmoduck said, grinning. “Maybe this lead will actually go somewhere.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Darkwing asked, his brow furrowed. “It was your tip in the first place.”

“I mean, uh,” Gizmoduck said, shaking himself slightly. “Just… you know how it is. Crime fighting is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get on a daily basis. It’s all just one big surprise after the other.”

Darkwing nodded solemnly, grabbing his gas gun. “Darn right. Come on. We’ve got a Beagle to confront.”

With that, he activated the grappling hook and swung down to land in front of Black Arts, who skidded to a stop on the sidewalk.

“Halt right there!” Darkwing said, holding up a hand as Gizmoduck landed behind Black Arts.

“We’ve got some questions for you, Black Arts,” Gizmoduck declared.

Black Arts heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Look, if this is about Big Time and the zoo thing last week, I know nothing about that other than the whoopin’ Ma gave him when he lost the snake in the junkyard and Ma found it in the bathtub with her.”

“We’re more interested in you than your brother,” Darkwing said. “You hang around that occult shop a lot, don’t you Black Arts?”

“Yeah,” Black Arts confirmed. “So what?”

“So, you talk to any interesting people there?” Darkwing prompted. “Some who might offer you a chance to enhance your set of… magic tricks?”

“Yeah?” Black Arts said again, looking at Darkwing like he was crazy. “If you want to know how to do something else with your smokebombs, go talk to Ebony Way. She’s the owner and a great magician. She went to some fancy-schmancy private magic school in Scotland. She’s taught me everything I know.”

“No, no, someone else,” Darkwing prodded. “Someone who doesn’t work there. A mysterious stranger, perhaps? One that dresses in red and black?”

Black Arts shook his head. “Don’t know who you’re talking about. Besides, Ma told us to stop talking to strangers after what happened with Bruiser and the man in the sewer. Look, I’ve got to go home. Ma’s expecting me. Wants everyone home right now. Family emergency and all that. So, unless you actually need something from me, I’m going to go.”

With that, Black Arts pushed around Darkwing and strolled down the street.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Darkwing practically purred. “He’s hiding something.”

“And Ma Beagle calling all her boys home? For a ‘family emergency’?” Gizmoduck said. “Sounds a bit suspicious if you ask me.”

The two exchanged a glance.

“We should investigate,” Darkwing said.

Gizmoduck nodded in agreement. “To the junkyard!”

*****

“Thanks for the ride, Launchpad!” Dewey said as he hopped into the passenger seat of the limo, with Gosalyn and Scrooge in the back.

“No problemo,” Launchpad said. “After all, the movie theater is on the way to Mr. McD’s meeting.”

“So what is this film that you two are itching to see?” Scrooge asked.

“Duckthulu Three: Release the Quacken!” Gosalyn said, rubbing her hands together. “It’s supposed to be even scarier and gorier than the first two combined! And it’s also in 3D, so it’ll almost be like we’re actually there, with the sharks and the tentacles and the undead zombie pirates!”

“Ah,” Scrooge said, arching an eyebrow. “And, er, what exactly is the rating of this movie?”

“It’s PG-13,” Dewey answered, positively beaming with excitement. “I can’t believe it, my first PG-13 movie! You know, because now I’m thirteen and I can do what I want! Good-bye needing Mom or Uncle Donald’s permission, I’m a free man who can see whatever movie he wants as long as it’s not rated R!”

“But doesn’t the PG stand for ‘parental guidance’?” Scrooge asked, and then glanced over at Gosalyn. “And aren’t you twelve, Gosalyn? Not thirteen?”

“Yeah, but Launchpad said he’d buy my ticket at the booth for me so that the theater knows it’s okay,” Gosalyn explained. “But I’m paying. Just, you know, through a proxy.”

“I see,” Scrooge said, glancing forward slightly towards Launchpad. “And, er, Drake has also approved of your choice for film viewing?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly ask him,” Gosalyn said, waving her hand. “But Launchpad is my guardian, and he said I could see the movie, so technically I don’t need Dad’s permission. It’s all cool, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Is it now?” Scrooge said, tilting his head, obviously trying to meet Launchpad’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but failing.

The limo came to a halt in front of the movie theater, and Gosalyn, Dewey, and Launchpad hopped out. Tickets were purchased, Launchpad told them to enjoy the movie, and he was back in the driver’s seat a few moments later.

“Alright, on to our next destination!” Launchpad said, swerving back into traffic, ignorant to the honking coming from behind.

Scrooge sighed. “Launchpad, we’ve been friends for a while now, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, Mr. McD!” Launchpad said, beaming internally and externally. Mr. McD saw him as a friend…

“And, well, friends give friends advice,” Scrooge said. “And express their concerns.”

“Of course!” Launchpad said. “Whatcha need advice on, Mr. McD?”

“Launchpad, I’d like to give you advice and express a concern,” Scrooge said. “I know you love Gosalyn.”

“Yeah, of course I do!”

“And that she loves you.”

“Yeah…” Launchpad said, starting to feel like this conversation was not headed in the direction he thought it was. “Where are you going with this?”

Scrooge sighed. “I’m simply concerned about Gosalyn asking you for permission to see this movie and bypassing Drake entirely.”

“Why?”

“Well, it could cause a problem between you and Drake, for starters. He’s her father; he has a right to have a say in this sort of situation.”

“Drake trusts me to make decisions about Gosalyn,” Launchpad said defensively. “He wouldn’t have asked me to be her guardian if he didn’t.”

“I know that,” Scrooge said. “And I’m not doubting your judgement or his, but I’m just worried that it could cause strife between you and Drake in your relationship if Gosalyn feels that, if there’s a chance Drake will say no, she can go to you for a guaranteed yes.”

“I’m not going to guarantee a yes to whatever she asks,” Launchpad argued. “It’s going to depend on the situation. I mean, this was just a movie. Where’s the harm in that?”

“Yes, just a movie this time. But what happens if this continues and it becomes clear that you are the ‘fun’ one who is more likely to say yes, compared to Drake, who is more likely to say no?”

“You make it sound like Drake’s immediate reaction to anything she asks is ‘no’.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Scrooge said with another sigh. “I’m sorry, I know I am overstepping and that it’s not really any of my business, but I am simply trying to suggest that this may need to be something that you and Drake discuss, especially now that you have moved in with him and Gosalyn. Before, when you were living in the mansion, the relationship between you three was different. But now you’re living together, which means that you and Drake are going to have to co-parent more frequently. And I’m suggesting this not just for the sake of the relationship between you and Drake, but your relationship with Gosalyn.”

“How could this affect me and Gos?” Launchpad asked, turning around to look at the billionaire.

“EYES ON THE ROAD!” Scrooge yelled, his eyes wide as a semi honked its horn at the incoming limo.

Launchpad turned back around and effortlessly swerved back into the lane before colliding with the semi. Scrooge put a hand on his chest and shook his head as Launchpad said,

“What did you mean about that?”

“What I mean,” Scrooge said, still trying to get his heart-rate back down. “Is that right now she sees you as the fun parental figure, but that may not always be the case. There’s a reason Drake wanted to ensure she had someone if something were to happen to him. If that is the case, then you are the one who has to make all the decisions—both the good and the bad, the ones Gosalyn wants and the ones she doesn’t want. And, having been in the position of suddenly becoming a caretaker in the wake of grief, that’s not an easy transition, regardless of whether you are the adult or the child in that scenario. Overnight, I went from being Uncle Scrooge, who was the fun but infrequent visitor with toys and stories of treasure and adventure, to Uncle Scrooge, parental authority to two grieving little ones that I had never been around for more than a handful of hours at a time and now their twenty-four-seven caretaker.

“I guess what I’m saying is, Gosalyn does love you, and you love her, but if you were to suddenly be in the full-time parental position… well, there will be challenges. Knowing her personality, and having seen her records following being inducted into the foster care system after the passing of her grandfather, I know she’d challenge your authority. Or any authority for that matter. And I don’t know if you would be prepared if that happened.”

Launchpad gripped the steering wheel tight. No, he hadn’t really thought about that. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if Drake died, but he also knew that it was something he couldn’t necessarily avoid putting some thought into. He and Drake had talked out the practical things, if something were to happen to Drake in the line of duty. Drake’s will, the insurance, the mortgage, and of course that Launchpad would be Gosalyn’s legal guardian until she turned eighteen, as well as the guardian of the trust fund that her grandfather left her until she turned twenty-one.

Launchpad felt secure in knowing that he’d be able to take care of any and all of Gosalyn’s physical needs if he was left to take care of her on her own.

But if it were to happen tomorrow… Well, he hadn’t really thought about some of those emotional and parenting type things.

He wasn’t prepared to replace her dad.

Yet.

“Thanks, Mr. McD,” Launchpad said as he pulled up to another curb. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

*****

Sneaking into the local junkyard wasn’t something Gizmoduck had thought he’d be doing that day, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing he had ever done in the suit.

Though, he had to admit, seeing Burger Beagle plaster up big yellow posters on the fence, a surgical mask over his face, was definitely one of the strangest sights he’d seen in a good while. When Burger went back inside the junkyard, Gizmoduck and Darkwing approached to examine the posters.

“Warning, do not enter, huh?” Darkwing said, looking at the skull and crossbones and hazard symbols on the posters. “They really don’t want visitors right now.”

“Seems suspicious,” Gizmoduck commented. “Given how few visitors they usually get. Now, what could Ma Beagle be up to?”

“We should find out, even if it has nothing to do with Negaduck,” Darkwing said. Then he grinned. “But if a certain nefarious ne’er-do-well does happen to be involved…” He rubbed his hands together and looked up at the fence, then at Gizmoduck. “Give me a boost.”

Gizmoduck did so, and within a few seconds they were both over the fence. They looked around, but there was no one in sight.

“Strange,” Gizmoduck commented. “Usually, there’s a lot of Beagle Boys traipsing around the compound.”

“We’re going to refer to the junkyard as a compound now?” Darkwing asked in a low voice.

“Makes it sound more professionally criminal,” Gizmoduck explained.

Darkwing grinned. “I like it.”

They kept quiet and crept around the junkyard, looking for any sign of Beagle Boys or their mother. Frankly, they both knew they stood a better chance against the sons compared to Ma Beagle.

They heard muffled voices quickly approaching—and one of them was definitely Ma Beagle.

“Here, quick!” Gizmoduck hissed at Darkwing as they dove behind a pile of garbage, listening as they heard,

“But Ma…”

“Don’t you ‘but Ma’ me, Big Time! I don’t got time to listen to your quibbling and your whining, just do as I say! Now!”

“But—”

“That’s an order, Big Time!”

They heard grumbling that got closer, from Big Time, and presumably with Ma Beagle having left.

“‘Just do as you’re told, Big Time’,” He grumbled. “‘Stop lazing around and be useful, Big Time’. I don’t have time for this, I’m a criminal genius!”

Darkwing and Gizmoduck exchanged a glance, popping out from behind the junk pile once the coast was clear.

“Big Time doesn’t approve of whatever Ma’s got planned,” Gizmoduck said.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Darkwing commented, scowling. “That mama’s boy always is trying to get on her good side, and would go along with whatever she says. Now we really have to know what’s going on.”

They went deeper into the junkyard, where they started to hear strange noises.

Peering around carefully, they saw that the main area of the junkyard that was beneath where Ma Beagle’s trailer was situated, there were a ton of Beagle Boys loitering around. Not unusual. Except they seemed… different. Huddled up in blankets and shivering despite the heat of the day, or sweating profusely. Groaning and coughing and sneezing, drinking water, juice, and tea.

“Huh,” Darkwing said softly. “Looks like the Beagle Boys aren’t planning anything other than a sick day.”

“Or it’s an elaborate ruse?” Gizmoduck suggested, though this time he knew it was truly a weak one, his shoulders sagging. Well, his little lead had officially run its course. Just as whatever was spread among the Beagle Boys was running its course.

“Hey, what are you two doing here?”

Both Gizmoduck and Darkwing turned around to see Big Time standing right behind them, hands on his hips, smirking.

“Hey! Ma! I found these two superlosers in our territory!” Big Time called out, a hand cupped around the side of his mouth.

But then, his smirking face transformed, his nose scrunching.

“Ah, ah, achoo!” Big Time sneezed, comically flying backwards slightly to land on his back on the ground with a groan.

The two superheroes glanced at each other, then both looked at Big Time oddly from where he lay on his back, sniffling, wiping his nose on the back of his arm.

“Um, gesundheit?” Darkwing said at the same time Gizmoduck said, “Salud?”

“What are you two heroic hooligans doing in my junkyard?”

Both Gizmoduck and Darkwing jumped at hearing Ma Beagle behind them, the tiny dog woman glaring at them something fierce. Though she was only half their size, she was no less intimidating. And furious.

“Technically, the junkyard belongs to the city, and—” Gimzoduck started to say but Ma Beagle cut him off by smacking him with her handbag.

“Didn’t you numbskulls read the signs? No one’s allowed in! This place is under quarantine!” Ma Beagle shouted, rearing her arm back and whacking Darkwing with her purse, too. “I don’t know what Big Time did this time, but get outta my junkyard! We’ve got an outbreak of the Canine Cold!”

“Ow!” Darkwing exclaimed as Ma Beagle hit him with her bag again. “Okay! Okay! We’re going!”

“Sorry to have bothered you!” Gizmoduck called as they quickly headed towards the exit, helped partially by an angry Ma Beagle chasing after them, taking turns hitting both with her purse until finally they were on the other side of the junkyard doors.

“AND STAY OUT!” Ma Beagle yelled as she slammed the doors shut in their faces.

Gizmoduck and Darkwing stood still and silent for a long moment.

“Well,” Gizmoduck said, breaking the silence. “That was a bust.”

“Hey, Giz?” Darkwing said, glancing at the yellow posters again. “Should we be worried?”

“About what?”

“Oh, you know, that we just walked out of germ city?”

“No? I mean, you heard what Ma Beagle said. It’s the Canine Cold. And we’re ducks. Not dogs. So we can’t get it.”

Darkwing’s brow furrowed. “I thought that was a myth? That only dogs could catch the Canine Cold?”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine because we’re ducks,” Gizmoduck insisted.

Darkwing still didn’t look convinced. “How sure?”

“Absolutely positive,” Gizmoduck said. Though a bit of panic was starting to build in his gut. He wasn’t as absolutely positive as he said he was. “Tell you what, how about we call Elise to confirm?”

“Can’t hurt,” Darkwing admitted.

Gizmoduck nodded and called Elise, putting the call on speaker.

“Hello?” Elise said after a moment.

“Greetings, Dr. Schwanz!” Gizmoduck said. “Darkwing and I had a question for you that requires your medical expertise.”

“Okay, hit me with it.”

“Only dogs can get the Canine Cold, correct?”

“Oh, no, that’s just a myth,” Elsie answered breezily. “Common misconception. No, it was only named after Dr. Gregory Canine who discovered the strain of virus that makes it different from the common cold, which is why we can actually test for it. Though dogs are more susceptible to catching it, they are actually more likely to have a shorter window of being sick and the symptoms are less severe compared to what infected avians experience.”

“Ah,” Gizmoduck said, his throat suddenly tight. Darkwing arched an eyebrow, a silent ‘I told you so’. “Um. And then, uh, would you happen to know how contagious it is?”

“Extremely. Especially through contact. Spreads like wildfire if you’re not careful. Comes on quick, too. When I was in undergrad, an entire dorm got quarantined because of an outbreak of the Canine Cold. Not just a floor, the whole four-story building, all within a few hours of patient zero showing symptoms.”

Gizmoduck’s small feeling of panic was now full-on dread that felt like lead weights in his gut.

Oh. Blathering blatherskite…

Neither Darkwing nor Gizmoduck moved or spoke. Elise quickly picked up on the silence.

“Why are you asking?” Elise suddenly said, her voice painfully calm but also barely restrained anger because she already seemed to know the answer to her question.

“Um, well, you see…” Gizmoduck said.

“We just left an infected compound full of Beagle Boys who are all down with the Canine Cold,” Darkwing answered bluntly.

Elise was silent.

“Did you know,” She said, her voice still tight. “That you were walking into a compound full of people infected with the Canine Cold?”

“There… might have been some warning signs…” Gizmoduck admitted, wincing as he glanced at the bright yellow poster that was on the fence right beside him.

Elise went painfully quiet.

“You two,” She growled. “Are some of the biggest idiots I have ever had the misfortune of knowing, and you have no idea how many idiots I graduated from high school, university, and medical school with. Get your tailfeathers to the infirmary at the Money Bin this instant. In the meantime, do not get within six feet of anyone except each other. Do not speak to anyone. Do not even look at anyone. Touch as little as possible. All you’re allowed to do right now is to get to the infirmary as quickly as possible, and to think about how furious I am with you two idiots.”

With that, she hung up the phone.

Needlessly, Darkwing and Gizmoduck exchanged a glance to confirm what they already knew.

They were totally and completely screwed.

Chapter Text

Day One

“Idiots!” Carol proclaimed. The anger on her typically calm and kind face was hidden by a surgical mask that covered the lower half of her face

“Yep.” Elise said, not looking up from the blood test results she had run, her face similarly covered by a mask.

“How can they be such idiots?” Carol demanded, rounding on Elise.

“I warned you what you’d be getting into,” Elise said, flipping through her data sheets. “And you have first-hand experience with what idiocy Drake can get into.”

“Yes, but still!” Carol exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “There were literal warning signs! How? Why?”

“Because one of them goes by the life motto of ‘Let’s get dangerous’, and the other one has a high IQ but a low common sense score,” Elise answered. She lifted her gaze and looked past her two sheepish patients slumped in the chairs before her, and instead looked at Gandra, who was sitting sideways in another chair, one leg dangling over the arm of the chair and her foot bobbing while she texted. “Speaking of high IQs and no common sense, Gandra, you really should not be here.”

“I’m good,” Gandra said, not looking up. “I’m immune.”

“No, you’re not,” Elise argued with a sigh. “There’s no way you can possibly be immune to the Canine Cold.”

“Well, I am. Ran my titers as soon as Fenton sent me a heads-up of the situation. Should be in your inbox now.”

Elise frowned and opened her email, finding the results. She opened them and her eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Okay, then. Your immune system is good. For just about anything and everything.”

Carol put on her glasses and leaned forward over Elise’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be.” Then she looked at Gandra in amazement. “But, how? There’s not a vaccine for the Canine Cold.”

Fenton turned around in his seat. “Is this the result of another one of your self-experimentations? A super vaccine or something?”

“Nah, it’s the result of a crappy childhood spent in foster care,” Gandra said with a small shrug. “If I’ve had it, I’m now immune to ever getting it again. If I haven’t had it, I never will. The Black Plague could make a comeback and I won’t catch it because my immune system has been introduced to just about every single germ that has ever existed.”

“That’s not how immune systems work,” Elise groaned. “Statistically speaking, inconsistent care as a child should result in your immune system being worse, not better than average.”

“It’s how mine works,” Gandra argued. “Look at the data. We all know how much you love data.”

Elise narrowed her eyes. “I see someone is still pissed off about learning the hard way about the consequences of messing with my data.”

“Ya think?” Gandra said flatly with an arched brow. She swung her legs so that she was sitting in the chair properly and leaned forward. “I had to suffer through two whole days of not touching my boyfriend. Well, you can’t tell me not to touch him now, can you? ‘Cause I’m immune to the Canine Cold and you’re not.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest, positively smug.

Elise simply stared at her and turned to Carol, who returned the same flat expression.

“Idiots,” They both said at the same time.

“So…” Drake said. “What now? How do we treat this?”

“The usual,” Elise said with a shrug. “Rest. Fluids. Cold medicine.”

“And… that’s it?” Fenton asked.

“Pretty much, yes,” Elise said with a nod. “Sucks, but that is how it is.” She threaded her fingers together and rested her arms on the desk, saying, “For most mammal species, the duration is two to three days. Avians can be sick for up to a week, if not longer. There’s no medicine that will shorten the duration of the illness, so it’s entirely symptoms management. It’s an upper respiratory virus, so you’ll get the usual coughing, sneezing, sore throats, and sinus and chest congestion, as well as headaches, fever, and muscular pain. Also, dizzy spells, profuse sweating, quick switches between feeling overheated and chills, and fever-associated delirium and short-term memory issues are what notoriously make this different than your average cold. And did I mention that it’s all the more intense and a longer-running illness for avians compared to any other species?”

“Yeah, yeah, you mentioned that,” Drake said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. He groaned. “I’ve got to call Launchpad. He and Gos need to find somewhere else to stay for the next few days, don’t need them catching this, too.”

“Wait, you mean you’re just going to stay home, all alone?” Fenton asked, more guilt suddenly hitting him. After all, they were both in this position because of a little white lie that Fenton had told Drake. Fenton knew for a fact that Drake didn’t do well with being alone and feeling bad physically. He’d once witnessed a pain-killer-high Drake be absolutely terrified at the idea of being left alone for a few minutes for Fenton to get him an ice-pack, so he really didn’t want to imagine how Drake would react to being sick and completely alone for an extended period of time. And now Drake was talking about intentionally putting himself in total isolation while sick…

“Doesn’t seem like I have any other choice,” Drake said wearily with a shrug. “I’ll be fine. I’ve taken care of myself while sick before and obviously lived to tell the tale.”

“Um, no,” Carol said. “Hon, no. You don’t want that. Not with the Canine Cold, and the delirium. Ducks, for some reason, always have the delirium as the worst and most intense symptom. It’s literally not safe for you to be alone.”

“Like I said, I don’t see any other choice, unless Launchpad stays with me, and then we’re just risking him getting sick, too, and the two of us being delirious together,” Drake pointed out.

“Oh no,” Elise said, her eyes going wide. “No, no, no. No. I can barely keep the two of you alive when you’re in your right minds, the two of you being out of your minds together is a recipe for disaster.”

“I’ll be fine,” Drake insisted.

“Hold up,” Fenton said, raising a hand. “There’s another solution.”

“There is?” Everyone else said, looking at him.

Fenton nodded. “Come stay with me.”

Drake arched an eyebrow. “With you? Thanks, but I can’t impose on you and your mom.”

“Actually,” Gandra spoke up. “It’d be Fenton and me you’d be imposing on. Rosa’s got the sergeant’s test first thing on Monday morning, so she really can’t afford to catch this.” Gandra held up her phone, waving it slightly. “Rosa, Kevin, Raymond, and I already arranged it so that Rosa will go stay in my room at the Sabrewings, and I’d stay with Fenton, since I’m the only one who stands a chance of coming away from this without getting sick.”

Elise looked at Gandra warily. “And you think you can handle two sick, delirious idiots on your own? For up to an entire week?”

Gandra nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be fine. It’s just putting water, soup, and cold medicine in front of them at appropriate intervals, right? How hard can it be?”

Elise folded her arms on her desk and rested her forehead on her arms wearily. Carol patted her shoulder comfortingly.

“I don’t know…” Drake said, trailing off.

“We can work with the evidence we do have on Negaduck and Morgana,” Fenton offered, trying to sway Drake’s opinion. “Plus, I think we have enough evidence to request for security footage from around the occult shop to be pulled. We’ll have plenty of time to go over the footage, analyze our data, and strategize.”

“Ducks. High fevers. Delirium.” Elise said flatly, raising her head slightly. “You did hear us when we said that ducks are more likely to have high fevers and delirium, right?”

“We’ll do it when we’re lucid,” Fenton told her.

“Are you even lucid now?” Elise demanded. “I’m starting to wonder if you’ve ever been lucid.”

Drake glanced at Gandra. “Are you sure about this?”

Gandra nodded. “As positive as your test results.”

Drake sighed and glanced at the ceiling. Then he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Just let me call Launchpad and let him know what’s going on.”

Fenton stiffened slightly and he pulled out his own phone. “And, uh, I’ll call Duck Avenger…”

Because Drake wasn’t the only hero to be affected by this little white lie.

*****

Launchpad blinked and pulled his phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief.

“Launchpad?” Drake’s voice was thin and echoey from the distance of the phone. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Launchpad said, returning the phone to his ear. “What do you mean you’re sick?”

“It’s a long story,” Drake said with a weary sigh, and Launchpad could imagine his boyfriend rubbing his forehead with his fingers, like he usually did when stressed and didn’t feel like pacing. “But the short of it is, I’ve got the Canine Cold.”

“...But you’re a duck?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, LP.”

“Okay,” Launchpad said, going through a mental checklist. “It may take some time for me to get Gos packed up and dropped off—”

“No,” Drake interrupted. “No need for that. I just need you to pack a bag for me.”

“What do you mean?” Launchpad asked, confused. “Aren’t you coming home? Is Elise making you stay at the infirmary or something?”

“Even longer story, but I’m going to stay with Fenton,” Drake said with a slight sigh. “Gandra’s going to make sure we don’t die or anything. She’s somehow immune? I don’t know. Point is, I’m not coming home, so you and Gos will be on your own for a few days until this clears up.”

Launchpad blinked. “So… wait. You’re basically saying I’m in charge. Of Gosalyn? On my own?”

“Yeah?” Drake said, now sounding as confused as Launchpad felt. “You’ll be fine. Most important thing here is that you two don’t get sick. Why are you sounding so panicked about this?”

“It’s just, well, I’ve never had to actually be in charge of Gosalyn for more than a day or two before,” Launchpad said, scratching the back of his head. “A whole week? I just… I’m worried about screwing up with her.”

“LP, you literally have nothing to worry about,” Drake said assuringly. “You’re going to be the dad for a week, and the world will still spin when everything is all said and done. And you’re going to do just fine. You’re going to be brilliant, even.”

“I don’t know…” Launchpad said, voice trailing off.

“Launchpad, would I have asked you to be her guardian if I didn’t have the absolute faith in you to do a good job at raising her?”

“No.”

“Precisely. I don’t know what’s sent you into a panic, but I’m starting to get one of those light-headed dizzy spells that Elise warned me about, so as much as I sense we need to have a serious conversation, I really can’t get into one right now. Can we talk about this more in about a week?”

“Sure,” Launchpad said, though he felt his heart sink. He had been hoping to have this conversation tonight instead of finding out that the exact thing he wanted to talk about was happening before he could prepare. “I’ll bring a bag and leave it on Fenton’s front porch for you. Anything in particular you want me to pack?”

“Maybe just that one blanket? You know the one I mean?”

“I know the one you mean.”

“Great. Thanks, babe. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Feel better soon, Drake.”

“I’ll try.”

With that, the call ended and Launchpad held his phone in his hand, weighing it slightly, thinking.

He had a week.

A week in which he was Gosalyn’s sole parent.

And by golly he was going to prove that he could do just as good a job at being Gosalyn’s dad as Drake was.

*****

“I’m sorry, I’m what?” Duck Avenger said in disbelief as he leaned against the police car.

“The only hero in Duckburg for the next week,” Fenton said with a sigh. “I’m really, really, really sorry that this is how your debut week is going to be, but—”

“Hey, it’s not your fault you and Darkwing both got sick,” Duck Avenger said quickly, a little bit of his inner dad coming out. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Everything will be fine.”

Especially now that the rest of the police department was aware of his new look.

Fenton was quiet for a minute, then he said, “Yeah. Totally not anyone’s fault we’re sick. Anyways, you’ve got Raymond, and Storkules, and Penumbra, all there as back up. And you’ll do great, I just know it.”

Glad someone’s got faith in me, Duck Avenger thought glumly, still a bit bummed about his first flub on the job. And, so far, no other crime had occurred, so he hadn’t yet had a chance to redeem himself or make a better first impression. And, despite his best efforts and a couple of calls into dispatch to check with other units, no one had found the attempted purse snatcher, meaning he was still on the loose and was very likely to attempt more theft.

But, he suddenly thought. If Gizmoduck and Darkwing are out, that means that Duck Avenger will have more than his fair share to prove he’s just as good a superhero as them!

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Duck Avenger told Fenton confidently, suddenly standing straighter, a fist on his hip, grinning. “You focus on resting and getting better. The city is in Duck Avenger’s capable hands!”

*****

“Aw, man, that was brilliant!” Dewey exclaimed as he and Gosalyn walked up the driveway to the Mallard household. “Way better than Duckthulu Two!”

“Yeah!” Gosalyn said, nodding enthusiastically. “My favorite part was when the girl thought she had escaped the Quacken, only to find herself trapped by the pirate zombie!”

“Yeah, that was great,” Dewey said as Gosalyn unlocked the front door. “Did you hear how loud that one person screamed?”

“That was you, Dewey.” Gosalyn informed him as they stepped inside.

“Nope. Not me. You can’t prove it. That theater was dark and—” Dewey started to say, but cut himself off and tilted his head, his brow furrowing with confusion as he looked into the living room.

Launchpad was sitting in the armchair, one ankle over his other knee, wearing a brown sweater-vest and glasses, reading the newspaper, and “smoking” a bubble pipe. He folded up the newspaper and set it aside, getting to his feet. 

He took the pipe out of his mouth and said jovially, “Well, hey there, sport! How about you go get washed up for supper? We’re having a perfectly balanced and nutritious meal, complete with the...” Launchpad trailed off, frowned and pulled a notebook out of his pocket, putting it close to his face, eventually lifting the glasses to read aloud, proudly declaring, “Four servings of vegetables!” Then his brow furrowed again at the notebook, muttering, “Wait, four? That can’t be right… That’s a lot of vegetables.” He glanced up at the befuddled Dewey and Gosalyn and put on a smile, saying, “I mean, that’s a lot of vegetables! Which you need as a growing child and to stay healthy! Yeah, that’s right. And if you eat them all, you can have a cookie for dessert!”

Gosalyn and Dewey stared at him for a long time, then glanced at each other, then back at Launchpad.

“Um, Launchpad?” Dewey said slowly. “Are you… feeling alright there, buddy?”

Launchpad laughed and came over to gently slap Dewey on the back. “Right as rain, Dewford! Now what have you two scamps been up to today?”

“Launchpad, where’s dad?” Gosalyn asked.

“Ah, well, you see, I’m your dad,” Launchpad said, gesturing to himself. “At least, for the next week. So, as your dad, I’m right here! That answer your question, Gosaroonie?”

“No,” Gosalyn said, shaking her head. “Not at all.”

“Um, if you’re being Gos’s dad for the week, where’s Drake?” Dewey asked.

“Drake and Fenton both caught the Canine Cold, so they’re quarantining themselves over at Fenton’s place,” Launchpad explained. “But don’t worry. Everything’s going to be A-OK. ‘Cause your old man Launchpad is here!”

Gosalyn and Dewey exchanged another glance.

“Uh, okay?” Gosalyn said with a forced smile. “Great.”

Launchpad beamed. “I knew you’d say that!” He wrapped his arm around Gosalyn’s shoulder, saying, “We’re going to have a swell time, just a dad and his daughter, doing all sorts of dad and daughter things. Like the dad and daughter we are.”

“Um, yeah,” Gosalyn said, glancing at Dewey who mirrored the odd look on her face.

Who was this guy and what had he done with Launchpad?

*****

“The only superhero for the next week?” Della said with surprise as Donald shoveled food into his mouth at the dinner table. As they sat down to eat, he had told everyone he was going to eat as fast as he could then go out on patrol for a few more hours as Duck Avenger. “Talk about a baptism by fire.”

Donald nodded, mouth full of pasta. He swallowed and said, “It’ll be fine.”

“Poor Fenton and Drake,” Huey said, shaking his head slightly as he neatly twirled spaghetti around his fork. “I’ve seen the entry for the Canine Cold in the JWG. It’s notoriously awful to have if you’re a duck.”

“To be perfectly honest, I feel more pity for Gandra, as she will be the one taking care of them,” Mrs. Beakley said as she passed the bread basket down the table. “I fear that she will quickly get in over her head, especially having never been in the role of sole caretaker before.”

Della blinked, then turned to look down at Mrs. Beakley. “Wait, so… Gyro’s down two interns this week? Not just one?”

“He’s down all three of his current interns, actually,” Uncle Scrooge amended. “Manny had some pre-arranged leave. And Honker is not scheduled to start until after Manny comes back.”

“Which means that Gyro’s going to be all alone in the lab,” Della said, wheels turning in her head.

“Knowing Gyro, he’s thrilled,” Louie commented.

“Yeah, he really does like working alone,” Webby said with a nod.

“Or…” Della said, a plan forming in her head. “He’s going to need a lot of help.”

“Um, Mom?” Dewey said cautiously. “You’ve got the Louie Scheme Look on your face.”

“The Louie Scheme Look is a trademark of Louie Duck and intellectual property belonging to Louie Incorporated,” Louie threw out, pointing a finger-gun at Dewey.

Uncle Scrooge set down his fork and looked at Della apprehensively. “What are you plannin’, Della?”

Della stood up and put her hands on her hips, declaring, “I’m going to be Gyro’s intern for the week!”

*****

Fenton pushed the whiteboard into the living room, then succumbed to a loud, hacking coughing fit and groaned. Geeze, Elise had not been kidding at how fast the symptoms of the Canine Cold kicked in. They hadn’t even been back from the Bin for an hour.

“Pour one out for our white blood cells,” Drake murmured from where he sat in front of the coffee table, wearing an oversized black t-shirt with the Darkwing Duck logo on it that Fenton suspected actually belonged to Launchpad, shivering slightly under a similar blanket, one hand outstretched and pouring cough syrup into plastic medicine cups. He picked up one and gestured for Fenton to grab the other, saying, “First round’s on me.”

Fenton picked up his cup and the two of them tapped the little plastic cups together.

“Cheers,” They said in unison, then knocked the medicine back, both immediately gagging and making faces after.

“Gah, why does cold medicine taste so bad?” Fenton demanded as he grabbed his water bottle, quickly drinking some to try to rid his mouth of the horrible taste.

“It’s like we’re being punished for getting sick,” Drake grumbled before blowing his nose and groaning slightly. “Like, wow, you feel like crap? Here’s something that will make you feel better, but at the expense of your tastebuds.” He grabbed another tissue and blew his nose again before saying in a raspy voice, “Okay, Fenton. What have we got?”

“The Canine Cold?” Fenton said, tilting his head slightly at Drake in confusion. “Is this a delirium check?”

“No, dummy,” Drake sighed. “You’re the one who wheeled that thing out here. Figured for some reason.”

“What thing?” Fenton said, then he turned around, genuinely surprised to see the white board he had wheeled out just a moment before. “Oh! Yeah. That thing. Why did I bring it out again?”

“I dunno, man, that’s why I’m asking you.”

“Is for…” Fenton made circular motions with his hands, his eyes glazing over slightly. Then he lowered his arms. “Things.”

“Things,” Drake repeated, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. I like things.”

There was a beat between them, then they both exclaimed, “Morgana!”

“Right, I brought this out so we could keep track of our evidence about Morgana!” Fenton said, patting his chest for his shirt pocket, then looked down and remembered he wasn’t wearing his usual shirts, but instead he was wearing his Duckburg University hoodie. Huh, maybe that was a bad idea. He was starting to feel warm… No, it was just because he had pushed the white board into the room, right? Fenton then lowered his hands into the pockets, letting out a happy cry as he found the dry-erase marker he had stuffed in there. He went over and stood on his toes to write at the top, in big capital letters, ‘MORGANA’. “You know. So we don’t forget anything.”

“Smart,” Drake said, standing up and coming to stand beside Fenton, slowly and shivering with every step. They stood there for a minute, then Drake asked, “Forget what, exactly?”

Fenton stared at the white expanse of the empty board. “I was hoping you remembered.”

Chapter Text

Day Two

It was the dawn of a new day. The sun was shining. Opportunity was in the air.

And the Duck Avenger was on the prowl, looking for anyone who were going to use that opportunity for nefarious purposes.

Duck Avenger stood atop the Glomgold Industries building, a hand raised to shade his eyes as he scanned the city from that vantage point. Storkules stood behind him, trying to give the hero his space while also eagerly anticipating Duck Avenger’s next move.

Down below, seated on a bench across the street, were Huey, Webby, Louie, and Daisy. 

“So, I know why I’m tailing him, and why Storkules is tailing him,” Daisy said, her binoculars raised. “But why are you three?”

“Moral support,” Louie said, not looking up from the text he was sending.

“Yeah, it didn’t sound like yesterday went all too well for Duck Avenger,” Huey admitted.

“So we’re here to cheer him on and help him if needed!” Webby confirmed.

“Shouldn’t you be home and resting your ankle, Louie?” Daisy asked concernedly, looking at Louie’s cast-bound foot, the boy sitting sideways on the bench with his back against the armrest and his leg stretched out over his brother’s lap, his foot resting on Webby’s thigh.

“Yeah, turns out being forced to stay home and do nothing and have everyone wait on you hand and foot can get really, really, really boring,” Louie said. “Mom said I could come as long as I was careful, and that Huey and Webby stayed with me the entire time. Though it’ll be hard to get to see Duck Avenger in action unless the action is literally happening right in front of us. So, sorry, Huey and Webby for being dead weight.”

“It’s statistically probable that something could happen right here and right now,” Huey assured his brother, patting Louie on the knee. “So don’t worry about that.”

“Yeah, besides, even if we don’t see Duck Avenger stopping bad guys, we still get to hang out together and you get some Vitamin D from the nice sunshine!” Webby said brightly. “That’s good for you and it’ll help you heal faster!”

“That’s—Hey!” Daisy exclaimed, leaping to her feet as her bag was snatched off her lap, the young male swan running down the street. “Stop, thief!”

From above, Duck Avenger heard her cry and used his grappling hook to swing down onto the sidewalk, taking off running after the purse snatcher.

“Huh,” Huey said as they watched Duck Avenger go. “I’ve got to admit, when I said it was statistically probable, it was still a pretty low probability.”

“Yay for low odds pleasantly surprisingly coming through!” Webby exclaimed as Louie swung his leg off of her and Huey, allowing her to jump to her feet, rushing to crouch down in front of Louie, who climbed onto her back as Huey grabbed Louie’s crutches. Webby stood and hooked her arms around Louie’s legs, shouting, “After that hero who is after that thief!”

Up ahead, Duck Avenger smiled, pleased. He could tell that this was the same guy from yesterday, which meant he could catch him easily and get this guy off the streets.

“Halt!” Duck Avenger called out, seeing that heavy traffic on the streets and construction on the sidewalk meant that the purse snatcher was trapped, his pace slowing as he realized this and Duck Avenger’s pace speeding up. He was going to make his first arrest! He was going to have his first success as an official hero! He was—

“Ooph!” Duck Avenger cried out as the purse snatcher turned and smacked Duck Avenger in the face with the purse.

What does Daisy keep in there, bricks? He wondered as he went down, the bag landing on his face.

By the time he got up and back on his feet, the purse snatcher was nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, phooey,” Duck Avenger sighed, snapping his fingers.

“My hero!” Daisy said as she and the others caught up to him.

“Uh, are you okay, Duck Avenger?” Huey asked.

“No, I’m not okay! The thief got away again!” Duck Avenger said, handing the purse back to Daisy. “And what do you keep in that thing? A dictionary?”

“No. Two dictionaries.” Daisy said with a slightly smug smile.

“Oh, you got hit in the face with two dictionaries, that explains it,” Louie said from where he rode on Webby’s back (how was that girl so freakishly strong?).

Duck Avenger frowned. “Explains what?”

“Well, you’ve got a little, uh…” Huey said, gesturing to his face.

Daisy pulled out a compact mirror from her purse and handed it to him.

Sure enough, a large red welt was forming where he got hit, from his forehead on down.

The mask may have protected his identity, but it did nothing for protecting his face from bruises. Or, at this point, his dignity.

“Phooey,” Duck Avenger sighed again.

Day two on the job wasn’t looking any better than day one… 

*****

Gosalyn wandered out of her room, yawning. Then she got to the top of the stairs and frowned.

She smelled coffee.

But Dad was the only one who drank coffee.

And Dad was still at Fenton’s…

So who was making coffee?

Gosalyn went into the kitchen and saw Launchpad sitting at the breakfast table, dressed just as he was the night before, reading the newspaper, a cup of coffee at his side.

“Ah, good morning, sport!” Launchpad said, grinning upon noticing her.

“Are you drinking coffee?” Gosalyn asked. “Like, actually drinking it?”

“Of course!” Launchpad said, picking up the cup.

“But you hate coffee.”

“What? No. How could I hate coffee? It’s the official drink of dads everywhere!”

With that, he took a sip, meeting Gosalyn’s eyes as he did so.

She arched a brow at him.

Launchpad took a longer drink, though she could see that it pained him.

Then he lowered the mug away from his face, clearly trying not to grimace.

“Ah, refreshing,” Launchpad said, with a forced smile. “Yessiree. Can’t go wrong with your morning cup o’ joe. Best tasting stuff in the world to a dad.”

“Even better than hot chocolate?” Gosalyn asked, going over to grab the tin where it rested beside the coffee pot.

“Oh, no,” Launchpad said with a laugh. “Hot chocolate is a kid’s drink. Not a dad’s. No, this cup of coffee is all I need. Yep.”

“Hmm,” Gosalyn said, scooping a few spoonfuls into her mug. “More for me then, I guess.”

She grabbed the kettle and filled it, placing it on the stove. But as she reached for the knob to turn on the heat, two large hands grabbed her from behind.

“Hey! Launchpad!” Gosalyn cried out in surprise, kicking her feet slightly before Launchpad set her down on the opposite side of the room.

“Now, Gosalyn, it’s not safe for you to use the stove!” Launchpad said, wagging a scolding finger at her. “Let me handle it! I’m the dad!”

“I know how to use the stove!” Gosalyn argued, even as Launchpad turned his back on her to turn the burner on under the kettle. “Dad lets me use the stove, even when you two aren’t home!”

“I’m the dad, and I say you can’t use the stove,” Launchpad said, still not looking at her, getting the oatmeal down from the cabinet. “You want apples and cinnamon, or maple and brown sugar this morning?”

“I want to make it myself,” Gosalyn declared.

“Ah, but you forget, I’m the dad, and it’s a dad’s job to make you, the daughter, breakfast!” Launchpad said, grabbing the one that Gosalyn could grudgingly admit she was going to pick anyway. He poured the contents of the packet into a bowl as the kettle whistled and poured the water into both her mug and the bowl. “As your dad, I need to make sure you get a good, nutritious breakfast. Safely.”

Gosalyn went over and grabbed her mug, mixing in the hot chocolate powder with the spoon. She set it on the table, taking a seat as Launchpad brought her over the bowl of oatmeal.

“You going to blow on it to cool it down for me, too?” Gosalyn asked sarcastically as the bowl was set in front of her.

Launchpad inhaled, and Gosalyn covered the bowl with her hands.

“I was kidding!” She said quickly. “It’s fine! I’ve got it!”

Launchpad chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Ah, good one, tyke.” Then he went back to his chair, sat down, and picked up the newspaper again.

Gosalyn sipped her hot chocolate, studying Launchpad curiously.

It did not escape her notice that the rest of Launchpad’s “cup of joe” went cold and untouched.

*****

Gyro inhaled deeply, a smile on his face as he breathed in the scents of fresh coffee, just-sharpened pencils, and new paper.

Ah. Alone at last. He thought, thoroughly pleased.

Finally, for the first time in over three years, he had his lab back to himself again.

Just how he liked it.

No distractions. No bumbling, chattering interns. No lovesick idiots making kissy faces in his vicinity despite his very clearly posted “NO MAKING OUT IN THE LAB” posters he had purposefully plastered all over their workspaces while making direct eye contact with both of the offending parties. No alarms going off because there was a crime to be stopped. No clip-clopping of hooves. No one and nothing. Just him, alone.

Gyro took a sip of his coffee, carefully set the mug aside to pick up a pencil, preparing to touch the freshly sharpened lead to paper.

It was just him, and his lab, and his genius mind, and—

“HEY GYRO! WHERE ARE YOU?”

Gyro jolted, shaking the table, the lead of his pencil snapping against the paper, the coffee cup knocking over and spilling onto the paper.

Gyro scowled as he hurried to save the rest of his paper and pencils from the coffee.

And, of course, the peace and quiet was too good to last.

Because Della ding-dang Duck had come for a visit.

“Hey, there you are!” Della said as she came over, grinning. She surveyed the mess on his desk. “Need a hand?” 

“No,” Gyro snapped as he grabbed a roll of paper towels to sop up the spilled coffee. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard that you were going to be all alone in your lab for the week, so of course I came to your rescue!” Della said, still grinning broadly.

“Rescue?” Gyro exclaimed. “I don’t need to be rescued! What nonsense are you blathering about?”

“Um, duh,” Della said, spreading her arms before putting her hands on her hips, looking proud. “I’m your intern for the week!”

“You’re my what?” Gyro shouted the last word, the now-empty mug nearly slipping from his hand and he had to scramble to keep it from hitting the ground, barely catching it in time.

“Yeah,” Della said, taking the mug from his hands, going over to the coffee pot. “Figured you could use a hand, so here I am! Ready to be the best temporary intern you’ve ever had!”

“If I had it my way, all my interns would be temporary,” Gyro snapped. “And I don’t need an intern. I never have. Get out of my lab, Della. Now.”

“Aw, come on, Gy, it’ll be like old times!” Della insisted, bringing him over the now-full mug of coffee. “Me being the Igor to your mad scientist. We used to have so much fun inventing together in your old workshop back in the day.”

“That was over twenty years ago, Della,” Gyro said through gritted teeth as he put the cup on the table. “This isn’t the workshop. This is a lab. A proper lab. I’m not a kid inventor anymore. I’m a proper, respected scientist and—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Della said, rolling her eyes. “I know, I get it, you’re Doctor Gyro Gearloose now, you don’t have time for playing around anymore. Which is why you keep turning down my totally awesome friend-date ideas, because someone’s a ‘respectable grown-up’ or some shit. But, guess what? I’m a respectable grown-up, too, and I’m not all play and no work. I’m here, and ready to be your lackey, your assistant, your coffee girl, your test subject, whatever you want. Just give me a chance, Gyro!”

“Della, I’ve seen your resume. Your last one was scrawled on the back of a cafe’s weekly-specials menu and written in three different colors because none of the pens you had actually had enough ink. You have never held down a stable job in your life. Why should I give you a chance?”

“Hey, now, to be fair, I do have a significant gap on my resume because I was on the moon for ten years,” Della said, putting one hand on her hip and pointing a finger at him with her other hand, still grinning. “There weren’t a lot of Starducks I could apply to on the moon, you know.”

Gyro’s scowl deepened and his black mood got even darker. His entire being was so dark that Anish Kakapo was not allowed to look at him nor was anyone allowed to look at him on behalf of Anish Kakapo or look at him at all if they were in any way affiliated with Anish Kakapo.

She was stating a fact. She had been on the moon for over a decade. She wasn’t accusing him or out-right guilt-tripping him, but it was, ultimately, his fault that she did have that gap on her resume, on her life.

Fine. He’d give her a chance. He owed her that much.

Besides, knowing Della, she’d either quit at the end of the day or just be bored enough to not show up the next day.

He owed her a chance. But he would make sure that she didn’t show up tomorrow, one way or another.

“Fine,” Gyro groused. “I’ll give you a chance. One. Singular. Don’t screw it up.”

“Yes!” Della said, punching the air. “So, what do you want me to do first, boss?”

Gyro smirked at her, his eyes sparking devilishly. “Well, first, how about I show you to your office? You can have Fenton’s old one.”

*****

Fenton put his laptop on the coffee table, calling over to Drake in a hoarse voice, “Hey, we’ve got the footage!”

“Great,” Drake croaked as he shuffled over to the couch, blanket still wrapped around him, a cup of tea in his hand. “Let’s do this while we’re still sane.”

“I think Elise has doubts about whether we were sane to begin with,” Fenton pointed out, sipping his own tea, almost groaning at how good it felt against his sore throat.

“Well, Elise isn’t here,” Drake said, settling in against the couch cushions. “Hit it, Giz.”

“Coming right up, Wingy.”

And so they sat there for the next few hours, silently watching the video footage. Nothing too exciting seemed to happen, nothing unusual.

And then… 

“Oh my God!” Drake exclaimed.

“I can’t believe it!” Fenton shouted, his hands on his face.

Gandra ran out of the kitchen into the living room, skidding to a stop as she asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Look!” Drake said, pointing at the laptop screen as Fenton rewound the footage.

“See!” Fenton said excitedly, his eyes wide and bright as he proclaimed, “That lady is breathing fire!”

“Maybe she’s a dragon in disguise!” Drake said excitedly.

“Maybe she’s a weredragon!” Fenton said, grabbing hold of Drake’s shoulders, who gasped and breathed out reverently,

“That’s so cool!”

Gandra watched for a moment. Then she sighed. “Guys. She’s not breathing fire. And she’s not a dragon. She’s just… vaping.”

Fenton and Drake both turned to stare at her blankly.

Gandra sighed and rewound the footage, making them watch it again. She pointed at the screen. “See?”

Both stood there silently for a moment. Then, sounding thoroughly disappointed, they said, “Oh.”

Gandra closed the laptop. “Maybe you two need a break. You’ve been at this all morning. How about a nap?”

“No nap!” Fenton declared, sounding a bit like a petulant toddler. That he stomped his foot did not help his cause.

“Heroes don’t need naps, not when there is justice to be served!” Drake declared, throwing an arm into the air, pointing at the ceiling. Then his face wrinkled slightly and he sneezed into the crook of his elbow. Several times.

“Naptime,” Gandra declared. “Now.”

They both pouted at her and grumbled as she forced them to go find separate places to lay down—Drake on the couch, Fenton on the mattress they had dragged out of his room. But, as soon as they were horizontal, they were out like lights and snoring.

Gandra shook her head and returned to the kitchen, starting to have an inkling of understanding as to why Elise referred to them as ‘idiots’.

*****

“Two dictionaries, Daisy?” Donald said, wincing as he pressed the ice-pack to his still-tender face. “What do you need two dictionaries for?”

“Certainty and validation of being always right in my spellings and definitions,” Daisy answered easily as she climbed into the corner of the couch, tucking her feet under her. “Also, one is an English-to-Spanish dictionary.”

Donald grumbled under his breath and snuggled in deeper to Storkules’ side. Comfortingly, Storkules leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Donald’s head, but frowned slightly in concern.

“Art thou in enough distress that we should summon forth Dr. Schwanz?” He asked, gently rubbing his thumb over Donald’s cheekbone.

“No,” Donald grunted irritably. “She can’t do anything for a bruised pride, anyhow.”

Daisy sighed and shifted positions so that she was sitting closer to Donald, taking his hand.

“You did great today, Darling,” She told him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Verily,” Storkules agreed. “For thou were bold and daring, and had many successes today! You chased after the nefarious thief that attempted to purloin our Fair Daisy’s purse—”

“He got away,” Donald mumbled. “And hit me in the face with Daisy’s purse.”

“And you rescued that child from getting hit by a car!” Daisy added.

“His mom thought I was kidnapping him at first and hit me in the face with her purse.”

“You stopped a robbery as it happened!” Storkules said. “The fiends literally placed the stolen money in your hands, they trembled in fear of you!”

“My mask threw one of the guys off and he thought I was his partner and part of the robbery. He was heard shouting as he was put into the squad car, ‘I thought the hero with the mask was nocturnal’.”

“You got a cat out of a tree!” Daisy said, sounding a bit desperate now.

“I misjudged how much force to use on my springs and not only hit a lot of branches, but got scratched by the cat, who then jumped down on her own.”

Daisy sighed. “Donald, I don’t know what to tell you other than take your victories where you can.”

“I can’t, though,” Donald groaned. “This is two days in a row I’ve encountered the same thief, and twice now he’s gotten away! And, while I was busy getting myself stuck in a tree, the same guy struck and did actually make away with a purse! And there were two more reports of him as well, and both times Duck Avenger wasn’t there to stop him!”

“You cannot be everywhere at one time,” Storkules reminded him. “There is but one Duck Avenger, one hero protecting the streets of Duckburg at this time.”

“I know that,” Donald groused. “But this guy would be locked up by now if Darkwing or Gizmoduck were on his tail. Because neither of them would have been stopped by the police who thought they were also bad guys!”

“Okay, so you’re experiencing some minor hiccups,” Daisy said. “That happens when you settle into a new job.”

“I can’t afford any hiccups,” Donald said, squirming slightly as he emerged from his lovers’ embraces. He got to his feet and paced. “Not now. Not when the entire city is counting on me. Not when I’ve got Drake and Fenton counting on me for there to be a city still standing when they come back!”

“Ah, yes, how tragic it is that the foundation of this very city can be so easily destroyed by a common purse-snatcher,” Storkules said in a slightly dry tone of voice.

Daisy straightened and smiled, putting a hand to her chest as she turned to Storkules and said, “My Dearest Storkules, was that sarcasm I just heard from your mouth?”

“Indeed, Fair Daisy, twas indeed sarcasm,” Storkules said, nodding his head.

Daisy pretended to wipe away a tear. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh, will you two knock it off!” Donald snapped, tapping his foot as he narrowed his eyes at his paramours.

Daisy stretched out an arm towards Donald, beckoning him to return to the couch, which he did so, slumping down onto the cushions. Daisy threw her legs over his lap and her arms around his neck. “Sarcasm or not, Storkules is right,” She told Donald, kissing his cheek. “This guy is just a petty thief. He’ll get caught eventually. But he’s not a huge threat. Not like a supervillain or anything.”

“I know that,” Donald said. “But I still want to catch him, you know? I want to prove that I can handle any and all crime, big or small.”

“You shall catch him in due time, Beloved Donald,” Storkules assured him, pressing another kiss to the top of Donald’s head, wrapping his arms around Donald and Daisy. “We have the utmost faith in you.”

Donald sighed and simply allowed himself to be snuggled into the arms of his boyfriend and girlfriend.

Tomorrow, he thought. Is another day.

*****

Gosalyn frowned as she sat on the back porch steps, a glass of lemonade in hand, a tray with a pitcher and another empty glass beside her. Honker came over and sat down beside her.

“Hey, Gos,” Honker said.

“Hey.”

“Um, Mr. Launchpad suggested I come over and get a glass of lemonade, too, while he talks with my dad.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Gosalyn said, glancing down at the glass in her hand. “Launchpad made it with salt instead of sugar. Then drank an entire glass even though he knew it tasted bad.”

“Why?” Honker asked, his brow furrowing.

“Because that’s what dads do. According to him.”

“Oh. That is perfectly understandable. I can see my dad doing that, actually.” Honker said, glancing over to where his father and Launchpad were talking over the fence, talking about grilling and other ‘dadly’ things, as Mr. Launchpad called it. Or, more accurately, Herb Muddlefoot was lecturing about the difference in propane versus charcoal grilling and Launchpad seemed to be pretending he understood every word. Honker still didn’t understand why Launchpad was wearing a cardigan and tie to grill. Or why he wore it while mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges and washing the car. “But, um, Gosalyn?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t think Launchpad was your dad. I thought Uncle Drakey was your dad. Or is ‘Launchpad’ actually just what you call him because he and Uncle Drakey are both men, so you only call Uncle Drakey ‘Dad’ while Mr. Launchpad is ‘Launchpad’?” He frowned, then added, “Have I been essentially calling Mr. Launchpad ‘Mr. Dad’ the entire time I’ve known him?”

“No, Launchpad is Launchpad’s real name. And Launchpad is my guardian. See, Dad adopted me, then he and Launchpad signed some papers so that if anything happened to Dad, Launchpad would get custody of me, so I wouldn’t have to go back into foster care.”

“...Launchpad is Mr. Launchpad’s real name? It’s not even a nickname?”

“It’s real. His sister’s name is Loopdeloop, but everyone calls her Loopy. She’s great, I’ll make sure you meet her next time she’s in town.”

“That sounds nice. But, Gosalyn?”

“Yeah, Honk?”

“If Mr. Launchpad is saying that he’s your dad right now, where is your dad?” Honker asked. “Did he have another, um, workplace accident?”

“Well, he was in uniform when he got sick, so I think it can get classified as a workplace accident? At least that’s the city’s problem to figure out, not Uncle Scrooge’s anymore. Basically, Dad’s sick, and so is Fenton, so they’re both over at Fenton’s house being sick together for the next week.”

Honker was quiet. “I am now even more confused.”

“Welcome to my world, Honk,” Gosalyn said with a sigh. She dumped the glass of salty lemonade into the bush beside the porch steps. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Launchpad today. He’s just acting so weird. Insisting that he’s the dad while Dad is gone. Like, he’s never done this before?”

“Maybe he’s worried that you’re going to be sad without your dad, so he’s trying to be a substitute-dad so you don’t miss Uncle Drakey as much?”

“I mean, I do miss Dad,” Gosalyn admitted. “And this will be the longest we’ve ever been apart since my adoption was finalized. But I know he’s just a couple of blocks away, and I talked with him on the phone earlier, and he was kind of out of it like he gets when he’s on pain meds, but it’s not really a major thing, considering all the stuff we’ve been through. So I don’t know why Launchpad is making a big deal out of this.”

“Does it bother you?” Honker asked. “Mr. Launchpad saying that he’s your dad?”

“Not really?” Gosalyn said. “It’s just weird, because I don’t know why he’s so insistent about it.”

“Hey, Gosaroonie!” Launchpad called, waving a pair of grilling tongs in the air and holding a plate of charred hot dogs. “Bring the lemonade and buns on over, dinner’s ready!”

“Coming!” Gosalyn called, handing the pitcher of lemonade to Honker and muttering, “Do me a solid, Honk, and make it look like an accident.”

*****

Scrooge paused as he walked past the dining room, seeing Della sitting at the table with her forehead against the tabletop. He stepped inside the room and behind her chair. He cleared his throat.

“So… how did the first day of your internship go, lass?”

Della raised her head, turning to look at him, her eyes slightly vacant. “Uncle Scrooge, Gyro is the cruelest taskmaster I’ve ever met. And that includes Mrs. Featherbottom, she-devil of tenth-grade geometry class.”

Scrooge pulled out the chair beside Della and sat down. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Della groaned. “All day, it was, ‘clean this, clean that, no, Della, you cleaned it wrong. File this, alphabetize that, oh, you’re almost done with that? Good, because I “forgot” that these all go in as well’. On the plus side, I get an office.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“But because it’s Gyro, it’s in the bathroom.”

“Ah. I suppose—”

“The men’s bathroom.”

Scrooge shook his head, unsure of whether he did so because of Della or because of Gyro. Definitely some combination.

“Are you going to go back tomorrow, then?” Scrooge asked.

Della sat up further and stretched. “Duh. I know what Gyro’s up to. He thinks he can scare me away. In fact, I know he’s expecting me to walk away. But nothing can stop Della Duck!”

“Why are you so determined to be Gyro’s intern?” Scrooge asked. “I didn’t think you had any real interest in scientific endeavors.”

“I don’t, but I have interest in endeavoring to reconcile with a scientist.” Della explained. “He keeps turning me down when I suggest we go out and do something together. And I guess I figure that, if I can’t get Gyro out of the lab, maybe if we do stuff together in the lab, then maybe he’ll remember how much fun we used to have and, you know, be more open to doing more stuff with me.”

Scrooge nodded. “I don’t disagree with you, Gyro does need to get out of that lab more. But, Della, be careful. The more you try to forcefully reinsert yourself into Gyro’s space, into his life, when he doesn’t seem to want the same, the more chances are there are for both of you to get hurt.”

Della sighed and glanced at her lap. “Donald said the same thing.” She said softly. She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Look, I… I’ve come to accept that I had created an idealistic version of what was happening here on earth while I was on the moon. I know I had built up this kind of utopia in my head, where I could come home and everything would be exactly as I left it and I could pick up where I left off. I’ve come to accept that the people I left behind have changed. I’ve even come to accept that I’ve changed, even when I didn’t think I had.” She lifted her head. “I’ve made amends with you, and the boys, and Donald. Gyro’s my best friend. Or, at least, was my best friend. But I’m not going to give up on him without trying everything I can first to save our friendship.”

“An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, I see,” Scrooge said fondly. “But if there’s anyone who can remind Gyro that there is an entire world that exists outside of that lab, it’s you.”

Della smiled. “I knew you’d understand, Uncle Scrooge. You’ll see, I’ll be the best darn intern Gyro’s ever had, and by the end of the week he’ll be begging me to take him on a friend-date!”

Her first day as an intern was over. Now she had the rest of the week to win Gyro over to the Besties Reunited And It Feels So Good cause!

*****

Gandra stood at the entrance to the kitchen, watching Fenton and Drake stare at the television, totally enraptured at the drama commencing. In one hand, she held her phone to her ear, chatting with Rosa, who had called to check in on them.

“Don’t worry about a thing. They’re fine,” Gandra said. “They’re watching some telenovela right now. Have been all afternoon. They’re really hooked. Which, I’m surprised, since I didn’t think Drake understood Spanish that well.”

“Oh, really?” Rosa said, intrigued. “What is it?”

“It’s like this period drama set in I think the Ottoman Empire? There’s all these guys in turbans and one of them is a Sultan—who I think is supposed to be Suleimongoose the Magnificent but I’m not sure—and there’s all these women who are in his harem, I guess? Basically, most of the show revolves around the in-fighting among the women as they fight for power as the king’s favorite. At least, that’s as much as I can figure out. Kinda like Ye Olde Real Housewives, basically.”

Rosa was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “And it’s on right now?”

“Yep.”

There was another moment of quiet. “And you found it on the Spanish channel?”

“I don’t know which one of them turned on the TV, I just found them on the floor captivated by the show,” Gandra admitted.

Rosa was quiet for another moment. “Gandra,” She said. “You said they both seem to understand what’s going on?”

“Yeah?” Gandra said, confused. “I mean, Fenton’s fluent, and I knew Drake was learning, and maybe—”

“Gandra,” Rosa said again. “I turned on the television here at the Sabrewings. I think I found the show you’re referring to. And it’s not in Spanish.”

Gandra blinked, looking at the two captivated patients and the television screen.

“So… What language is it in, then?”

“If I had to guess by the logo for this channel I found it on, I’d say Turkish.”

Gandra was quiet for a moment. 

“Turkish?” She repeated.

“Turkish.”

“As in, from Turkey?”

“Appears so.”

“Not Spanish?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me that Fenton and Drake are watching some Turkish period drama soap opera? And apparently seem to understand it? Even though neither of them speak Turkish and there are no subtitles?”

“That is, essentially, what I am saying, yes.”

Gandra was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Rosa, I’m gonna have to call you back. I think I need to take their temperatures again, figure out just how high their fevers are.”

“Sounds like it, chiquita,” Rosa said. “Good luck, and Godspeed.”

“Thanks,” Gandra said with a sigh.

She was going to need it.

Chapter Text

Day Three

Gyro hummed to himself as he strolled through the lab, his focus entirely on the tablet he held in his left hand, twirling the stylus around in his fingers of his right hand, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He was once again officially intern free. Especially free of Della. There was no way she was going to actually come back and—

“Morning, boss! Careful, the floor is—”

Too late.

Gyro felt his foot slip out from under him and he let out an ‘Ooph!’ as he hit the floor, landing on his back. He tried to catch himself with his right hand, but it did nothing except send a jolt of pain up his arm, not slowing his descent in the slightest.

“Um,” Della said as she stood over him, a mop in hand. “Floor’s wet.”

Gyro scowled. And… he thought he was in the clear all too soon.

Gyro groaned and managed to push himself upright with his left elbow, his right wrist still stinging slightly from the fall. “What are you doing here?”

“Reporting for duty, of course!” Della said, saluting him. Then she dropped the mop and held out her hands. “Here, let me—”

“I don’t need help,” Gyro snarled as he put both hands on the floor to push himself to his feet, only to hiss in pain as he put pressure on his right wrist.

Della crouched down in front of him, her eyes full of concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Gyro hissed at her.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Because you look like you’re in pain. Like, a lot of it.”

“Only because I have this horrific headache.”

“Oh, no, did you hit your head?” Della asked, her eyes going wide. She stuck her hand in his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“No, the headache comes and goes,” Gyro gritted out, batting aside her hand. “As soon as you get out of my lab, it’ll be gone.”

Della didn’t take the hint, instead grabbing him by the left arm and helping him up despite his protests. She frowned at his right arm. “Your wrist is starting to swell.”

“No, it’s not.” Gyro argued, arguing purely for the sake of arguing, grimacing because as he looked down at his arm, he could see that his wrist was looking a little swollen. Okay, a lot swollen. But he was fine.

Della didn’t let go of his other arm, trying to lead him towards the elevator. “Come on, let me take you upstairs to have Carol give you a look-over.”

“I don’t need—” Gyro started to say, pushing Della away with both hands, only to let out a cry and double-over as a zing of pain went up his right arm. “Fine,” He said through gritted teeth, clutching his arm to his chest. “Take me up to Carol.”

Ten minutes later, Gyro was sulking as he sat on the exam table in the infirmary, Carol wrapping his sprained wrist.

“Just rest it for a few days with some ice and you’ll be good as new,” Carol told him.

“I don’t have a few days,” Gyro said irritably. “I have things I need to get done this week, and I’m already behind.”

“Don’t worry, Gyro, your best temporary intern ever is here!” Della declared. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ve got it covered! I’ll literally be your right-hand woman!”

“You’ve done enough to ‘help’ already,” Gyro snapped, cradling his wrapped wrist to his chest protectively. “The last thing I need is any more from you.”

“Come on, Gyro,” Della said with a slight whine. “I’ve done rocket science. Twice! I’m totally prepared for whatever nerd thing it is you were going to work on.”

Gyro huffed. “Look, primarily I wanted to give the Gizmoduck armor a couple of upgrades while Fenton was out. That, at least, I can still do; it’s just software, not hardware. Plug in a few wires and activate the upgrades on my tablet, and we’re good to go.”

“Ooh, plug and play, I’m good at that,” Della said, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

Gyro grimaced and it had nothing to do with Carol putting a bag of ice on his aching wrist.

Della ding-dang Duck was the absolute last person who should be allowed to ‘play’ with the Gizmoduck armor. Okay, second to last. She managed to rank just above Mark Beaks. By the skin of her teeth. And, even then, he had to think really hard to determine which was the lesser of two evils.

But even she couldn’t completely screw up plugging in wires where he told her to, right?

“Fine,” Gyro conceded. “You can help.”

“Yes!” Della exclaimed, punching the air.

“But only with this!” Gyro said, shaking a finger at her with his good hand. “Don’t get any ideas! I’ll accept your help this one time, and then you will make yourself scarce, got it?”

“Or,” Della said, grinning. “You’ll be so amazed and impressed with my mad skillz that you can’t imagine what you’d do without me!”

“...Did you just say ‘skills’ with a ‘z’ at the end?”

“See how in-tune we still are? You knew exactly what I was thinking!”

Gyro’s eyes narrowed.

Della should be glad that they were not, in fact, in-tune. 

Because she did not want to know what he was thinking.

*****

Duck Avenger shrugged his shoulders in a warm-up, shaking out his arms.

Okay. Day three. He could do this.

I’ve got this, he thought. Let that punk do his best, but I’m going to do even better!

He’d picked up on the thief’s pattern and territory. He knew what he looked like. He was in a perfect position to watch and wait.

There was nothing going to stop Duck Avenger from catching this thief.

And that’s when he heard a horrific crashing sound.

Duck Avenger was friends with Launchpad McQuack; crashing sounds weren’t unusual. But that didn’t make him stay put, rushing towards the noise, swinging down into a nearby street, where he found a three-car accident. One car had been hit from behind, and it looked like it could have been an easy fender-bender, if not for the fact that there was a third car involved, crashed into a lamppost.

The drivers of the first two cars were already out, looking unhurt but shaken, so Duck Avenger turned his focus on the third car; he hadn’t witnessed what happened, but he could guess. The third driver had swerved suddenly to avoid hitting the first two cars, resulting in hitting the lamppost.

Duck Avenger could hear that a nearby pedestrian was already on the phone with 9-1-1, but Duck Avenger rushed to the car where the driver was slumped over the wheel, the airbag deployed.

He rushed towards the driver’s door. He could see blood on the forehead of the unconscious woman, and heard a toddler wailing in the backseat while his big sister had tears streaming down her face and calling for her mother to wake up, but they looked otherwise unhurt. He grimaced as he found the door locked, then he ran around to the passenger side, pulling out a multitool and opening up the glass-cutter. He cut open the window and stuck his arm in to unlock the car, hoping that would work.

Fortunately, it did, and Duck Avenger breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled open the door to the back seat and looked at the little girl, saying, “I know you’re scared, and that I’m a stranger, but I need you to trust me and let me get you to safety, okay? I’m here to help you.”

The little girl nodded, and Duck Avenger unbuckled her seatbelt, and lifted her out of the car. One of the other drivers from the original two cars involved had come over to help, and Duck Avenger passed her into his arms before going for her brother. Once the two children were out of the car and in safe hands, he returned his focus to the mother.

Still mostly in the backseat, Duck Avenger reached his fingers to the side of her neck, relieved to feel a pulse, but he was worried about her breathing. Carefully, he climbed into a position where he could easily cup the back of her neck for stabilization and tilt her head back, trying to ensure that her breathing was clear.

Fortunately, by that point, the fire department had arrived and Duck Avenger stayed in his position until the firefighters could get the car door open and cut her free. As the paramedics were putting a neck brace on her, she woke up, her eyes wide.

“My kids?” She whispered. “Where are my kids?”

“They’re safe,” Duck Avenger assured her. “I got them out first. They’re not hurt.”

She looked so relieved and managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

Duck Avenger smiled back. “All part of the job, ma’am.”

“Good work, Duck Avenger,” Raymond said approvingly a half-hour later, the captain acting as the Avenger’s official police shadow for the day. The woman had been transferred to the hospital, her husband had come to get their kids, and the tow-trucks had done their job. “Jessica said that you were smart to stabilize her neck and check her breathing while waiting for her team.”

“Yeah, how did you know to do all that?” Daisy asked, looking up briefly from her notebook.

“Off record,” Duck Avenger told her, not wanting her to add this to her report, wanting to answer his girlfriend’s question but not wanting this particular piece of information to be known by the general public, lest it potentially compromise his civilian identity. Daisy nodded, lowering her pen and paper, indicating that she recognized the difference. “When I was in the Navy, I had combat medic training.”

Raymond’s eyes brightened slightly at this piece of information. “An unexpected skill set for a superhero, but clearly one that has and will continue to be useful in your line of work.”

Duck Avenger nodded; he hadn’t thought about that before, when they had talked about him becoming a hero. He hadn’t really thought about it until after he acted that he did have that advantage, another way he could help. “Honestly, I’m just glad that her injuries weren’t worse.”

Adrenaline was coursing through him, and he felt a bit shaky. But proud. He hadn’t screwed up, he had been the perfect hero, he had—

He heard static come over the radio in the car.

“Unit needed on Rose Boulevard for a bag snatch.”

And… his purse snatcher got away.

Again.

Duck Avenger frowned.

Of course, his first true victory as a hero would get soured by that pain in his ass.

Better grab an umbrella, you no good purse-stealing punk, Duck Avenger thought, smashing the empty water bottle in his hands. You’ve got a storm headed your way… 

*****

Gosalyn grinned and settled into the couch, video game controller in hand as the console loaded. She kicked her feet slightly with excitement as she clicked on the game icon, but as soon as it got to the ‘start’ screen, the entire television screen went dark.

Gosalyn frowned. “Huh?”

She looked around. No, the light was still on, and the ceiling fan was still going strong, and the console was still on, so they didn’t lose power. What happened to the television, then?

Then she saw that Launchpad was standing behind her, the TV remote in hand.

“Hey!” Gosalyn exclaimed, getting onto her knees to grab the back of the couch. “What was that for?”

“Now, Gosalyn, too many video games will rot your brain,” Launchpad said, wagging the TV remote at her. “It’s a beautiful day outside, and we’re going to go out together and get some fresh air and have some father-daughter bonding!”

“We are?” Gosalyn asked, totally bewildered.

And then horror and disgust went through her as Launchpad crouched down to pick up a bucket, full of wriggling worms.

“We’re going fishing!” Launchpad proudly declared.

*****

Gandra looked down at Fenton on the floor, his arms and legs outstretched, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and not a shred of cloth on his body.

She took a deep breath. “Fenton, I know you’re hot—”

“I’m not just hot,” Fenton muttered, sounding affronted. “I’m sexy!”

“Right. Sure, babe, you’re terribly sexy,” Gandra said, rolling her eyes slightly. “But maybe you should put on some clothes and not lie butt naked on the floor?”

“Nooooo!” Fenton moaned. “Clothes are evil. Don’t make me. Too hot…”

“H-hot d-damn,” Drake said with chattering teeth, bundled up on the corner of the couch with three blankets around him. Then to Gandra’s amused horror, they both sang,

“Call the police and a fireman.”

Gandra closed her eyes and pinched between them. Just her luck. These two had lost all of their brain-cells except for the ones that remembered the lyrics to ‘Uptown Funk’.

“I thought you were sexy,” Gandra told Fenton when she reopened her eyes.

“I am!” He said, his voice a little slurred. “I’m so sexy! In fact, I’m too sexy!”

“H-he’s t-too s-sexy for his s-shirt,” Drake sang through his shivering. “T-too s-sexy for his s-shirt…”

“So sexy it hurts!” Fenton sang, moving his arms some on the floor like he was making a snow-angel.

Gandra just sighed and shook her head. This was, at least, mostly better than the two A.M. Frozen sing-along she had been subjected to. Mostly. “Okay, Mr. Sexy, I’m going to go run you a bath with some cool water, that should help bring your fever down. Just stay right there, okay?”

But when Gandra returned five minutes later, she found that Fenton had not, in fact, stayed right there.

No, now he was on the couch under a pile of blankets and shivering. He looked at Gandra with shocked wide-eyes and said, “I-it’s c-cold i-in h-here!”

Meanwhile, Drake was dripping in sweat, pulling his soaked t-shirt away from his skin, his eyes a bit glazed as he reached for the hem to pull it over his head.

“Nope,” Gandra said, grabbing Drake by the arm and pulling him towards the bathroom. “If you’re going to be a nudist, you’re doing it in the tub.”

And as she sat on the counter, watching Drake absently splash water with his hand in some sort of effort to keep himself entertained and awake while she made sure he didn’t accidentally drown, the thought occurred to her.

The saying “men are babies when they’re sick” was a total lie.

Nope. They were one-hundred percent toddlers.

*****

Two burglaries, one faulty fire alarm at the library, a mugging, a car theft, and a puppy rescued from a drainage system later, Duck Avenger was even more determined to be in his stake-out spot.

Of course, his growling stomach was begging him to reconsider.

And his nephew waving a sandwich under his beak most definitely wasn’t helping.

“You sure you won’t eat?” Huey prodded. “It’s egg salad. You’re favorite. Made with love by your favorite nephew.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Hubert,” Louie said as he munched on a bag of chips behind them. “Only thing I contributed to this lunch was the candy bar. But, if he doesn’t want that, his real favorite nephew would be glad to take it off his hands.”

“Duck Avenger doesn’t have any nephews,” Duck Avenger said, peering through his binoculars. “But if he did, he wouldn’t play favorites amongst his boys.”

And that was true. He didn’t play favorites. He just… occasionally told each of the boys individually and in private that they were his favorite because he just loved seeing their little faces light up.

At least, Donald did. Not Duck Avenger.

“So, we know to look for a male swan, but is there anything else we can use to identify our perp?” Webby asked where she lay on the rooftop at Duck Avenger’s side, her own binoculars to her face.

“It’s my perp,” Duck Avenger told her. “And from this distance, no. Sounds like he’s good at changing into different clothes between grabs. He does have a tattoo on his wrist, though, of a lobster.”

“Why would anyone get a tattoo of a lobster on their wrist?” Louie asked, his brow furrowing. “If you’re going to get a tattoo, it needs to be something cool.”

“Don’t know, don’t care, just as long as it helps confirm he’s my man,” Duck Avenger said, scanning the streets.

And then he caught sight of something. A male swan. Right height. Hood up. Looking around before ducking his head, walking into a group of people.

Duck Avenger followed him in the crowd, saw him brush past a woman who was texting on her phone, not paying attention.

And then the swan started to run, something tucked up against his chest.

Gotcha! Duck Avenger thought, swinging into action.

“Stop, thief!” Duck Avenger called as the thief ran into the park, shoving past two women pushing strollers, knocking over a child, and sending a flock of pigeons flying.

Duck Avenger wasn’t going to let him go this time.

“Halt, in the name of the law!” He cried out as the thief rushed towards the wooden bridge over the pond, leaping over the ‘DANGER: DO NOT ENTER’ sign and barricade.

Duck Avenger leapt after him.

He was running and he was so close, he didn’t even notice the thief leap.

Not until it was too late, at least, to notice the missing boards on the bridge.

SPLASH!

Duck Avenger was a strong swimmer, but he still thrashed in the water, especially as he felt something grab him from behind, pulling him up and out of the water.

And so Duck Avenger hung in the air, on a hook, like a fish, spitting out water as he spun slightly, turning to face his ‘rescuer’.

“Lookie, there!” Declared Launchpad—or, at least, whom Duck Avenger assumed was Launchpad, considering this person looked like Launchpad except for the tie, cardigan, and glasses—as he grinned down at Gosalyn. “Look at the big one your old man caught, Gos!”

“Yeah,” Gosalyn said, using one hand to shield her face from onlookers, clearly embarrassed. “No one’s gonna believe this big fish tale.”

Duck Avenger folded his arms over his chest and growled.

Now he was wet, cold, hungry, humiliated, and his perp had gotten away.

Again.

*****

Della plugged in the last wire into the Gizmoduck torso and dusted her hands off on her pants. “Alright, Gyro, it’s good to go.”

Gyro gave a small grunt, his focus on the tablet in front of him. He’d made a make-shift lap desk out of a pillow, with Lil Bulb standing on the pillow and holding up the tablet at an angle for him to poke at the screen.

Della walked over to hover over his shoulder.

“Personal space,” Gyro snapped.

Della took a side-step to appease his request. “How’s your wrist? Need more ice?”

“No.”

“How about something to eat?”

“I’m fine.”

“More coffee?”

“After this morning, I’m convinced you’d spill it all over me.”

“Ouch.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I said this morning and why I’m not inclined to let anywhere near me with hot liquid.”

Della frowned. Okay, so she’d screwed up and accidentally injured Gyro. But, come on! It was a sprained wrist! He’d recover from that! It wasn’t like she permanently maimed him or anything! And he’s the one who walked past the ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ signs anyway!

Wait, she did put those out, didn’t she?

“So, what are these upgrades for?” Della asked, going over to circle the Gizmoduck armor, laid out on a table.

“Just a few minor improvements. Accuracy of missiles will go up by zero-point-five percent, small software upgrade to the internal hard drive for faster data gathering, and there will be two new types of pie flavors in the arsenal.”

“Is one of them black licorice?” Della couldn’t stop herself from asking sarcastically.

Gyro paused and glared up at her over the rims of his glasses. “Black licorice is an acquired and refined taste.”

“Ten years of black licorice and only black licorice begs to disagree there, pal.”

Gyro shrugged. “To each their own. Don’t touch that.”

Della withdrew her hand before she could poke the armor. “It’s not like I’m going to break anything!”

“Don’t. Touch. It.” Gyro snapped, not looking at her.

Della huffed and walked around the space. “So, how long is this going to take?”

“A couple of hours, give or take.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I usually run these upgrades at night, when it’s Darkwing’s shift. Plus, I can usually do other things while keeping an eye for any problems in the upgrade process.”

Della groaned. She stomped around the lab, suspecting she was going to finally face the boredom Gyro had threatened her with. She tapped a finger to one of the ‘NO MAKING OUT IN THE LAB’ posters. “There a story behind these?”

“Yes. Once upon a time, a wealthy king threatened to withhold funds from the budget of his kingdom’s smartest, most brilliant inventor if the inventor did not take on a squire. The poor, betrodden but still brilliant inventor did as his cruel tyrant dictated, and has been stuck with an idiot-in-shining-armor ever since. Then, one day, that idiot-in-shining-armor met a sassy maiden, whom he brought back to the brilliant inventor’s humble abode, and the two of them proceeded to live happily ever after tormenting the brilliant inventor with how sappily in love they are with each other, defiling the inventor’s humble abode with their constant need to make out like horny teenagers. So the brilliant but absolutely disgusted inventor put up those posters to make them knock it off and shame them for their atrocious behavior. Finally, though, the idiot-in-shining-armor and sassy maiden got their comeuppance through a curse put on them by the fearsome Witch Doctor Schwanz, whose wrath they incurred by interrupting her sacred data gathering ritual. And the brilliant inventor spread word throughout the entire land of their shame, ensuring that his humble abode would never be defiled by their vile lovesickness ever again. The end.”

“Wow, Gyro, you’ve got such a way with words.”

“It’s truly a gift.”

“Yeah, you’re wasted as a scientist. And to think, the world has no idea what they’re missing out on.”

“Yes, it’s an absolute tragedy.”

“No ‘happily ever after’ for the brilliant inventor, though?”

“Alas, now his humble abode is under attack from a fearsome dragon. No rest for the brilliant, apparently.”

Della frowned because she was fully aware that she was the dragon, but then shrugged, because, hey, dragons were awesome.

“So, what is this supposed to be when it grows up?” Della asked, peering at a machine on a nearby table, half-assembled. Her eyes fell onto a shiny red button that was just calling her name.

“That’s the Tater Transformer,” Gyro said absently. “You put potatoes in it, and they come out in whatever form you want them to be. Baked, mashed, chips, fries, latkes, bread, hash—DON’T TOUCH THAT BUTTON!”

But because Della had zero impulse control, the order came far too late.

Big black clouds of smoke began to pour out of the machine.

“What the—?” Della exclaimed, backing away.

“I haven’t figured out how to make it stop having internal grease fires!” Gyro shouted as he rushed to grab a large box of baking soda, dousing the machine until it stopped putting out smoke.

Della and Gyro both coughed as they tried to bat away at the lingering smoke clouds, but Della quickly noticed that Gyro was still coughing after she had stopped.

“Are you okay?” Della asked.

“No, I am not okay!” Gyro shouted between coughs, bent over slightly, one hand on the table for support, but he was quite clearly glaring at her. “Some crazy woman is trying to kill me today!” 

Then he started coughing again, harder, more like hacking. The slight wheeze that Della heard was what alarmed her, made her blood chill. That was a noise she was all too familiar with. She hadn’t heard it in years, but she recognized it instantly.

“Where’s your inhaler?” Della demanded, grabbing Gyro by the shoulders, trying to get him upright.

“Don’t need my inhaler,” Gyro told her, despite his wheezing. “Haven’t used it in years.”

“I’m going to find your inhaler,” Della declared, rushing towards Gyro’s office, the most likely place it would be.

She started tearing into the drawers of Gyro’s desk, searching for any sign of the rescue inhaler. She just hoped that it was still the bright red she remembered it to be. Something else caught her eye in one of the drawers. A thick envelope, sealed and stamped and addressed.

The envelope was obviously part of the lab’s official stationery, based on the return address being printed while the intended recipient’s name was handwritten in Gyro’s familiar scrawl, messy and clearly written in a rush but still legible.

Maria Gearloose.

Strange. All three of the Gearloose siblings were technophiles, so it was odd that Gyro would send something to his sister through snail-mail. But why hadn’t he sent it?

“Get. Out. Of. My. Office!”

Envelope still in hand, Della looked up to see a furious Gyro standing in the doorway, panting slightly.

“Give me that!” Gyro snapped, snatching the envelope out of Della’s hand, stuffing it into the pocket of his vest. “And get out!”

“I haven’t found your inhaler yet,” Della said.

“I don’t need my inhaler! I need you to get out!” Gyro ordered, pointing towards the door quickly with his injured arm, and then hissing with pain as that action came back to bite him.

“Wait, where is it?”

“The door is right there!”

“No, your inhaler! For future reference!” Then she smacked her forehead with realization. “Duh, you carry it in your pocket, don’t you?”

“No,” Gyro said sharply. “I don’t. I don’t have an inhaler.”

Della stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t have a rescue inhaler? Why not? You’re asthmatic, dummy!”

“I haven’t had an asthma attack since I was a teenager, Della,” Gyro said through gritted teeth. “I stopped carrying one around years ago. Just a waste of valuable space. Like you!”

Della froze, staring at Gyro in shock, tears pricking at her eyes and not from the smoke, her heart aching.

His words registered a split second later and the anger on his face fell into horror, regret in his eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I didn’t mean it. God, I’m so sorry, Della.”

She knew he meant it. Gyro had always been blunt and said exactly what he was thinking, but it was rare for him to apologize for something he said. And whenever he did, he meant it. He deeply regretted what he said just now, and that he had said it only in the heat of the moment, while anger was the dominant emotion in him.

And some part of her wanted to storm away. Some part of her just wanted to break down into tears right then and there. Some part of her wanted to say ‘I know you didn’t mean it, I forgive you’. Some part of her wanted to scream at him, throw every insult she could think of at him, make him hurt as much as he had hurt her.

Instead, she just pushed past him and said, “Let’s go check on the status of those upgrades.”

Gyro silently followed her a few moments later.

Neither of them said another word for the rest of the day.

*****

Gosalyn peeked out of her room, checking to make sure the coast was clear, then she closed the door and ducked into her closet, sitting on the floor as she quickly made a call.

“Hey, Gos!” Dewey answered on the first ring. “What can the Dew do for you?”

“Dewey, something’s wrong with Launchpad. Like, seriously wrong.” Gosalyn said urgently.

“Oh, no, is he sick, too?” Dewey asked. “He caught whatever it is Drake and Fenton have?”

“No, this is worse,” Gosalyn said. “Launchpad took me fishing today, Dewey. Fishing! Since when does Launchpad go fishing?”

“Did you catch anything?” Dewey asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, other than a superhero?”

Gosalyn narrowed her eyes and snapped out, “No, because we went to the pond in the park. Do you know what’s in the pond in the park, Dewey?”

“Frogs?”

“Yes. Frogs. You know what’s not in the pond in the park?”

“Fish?”

“FISH!” Gosalyn screamed, throwing the hand not holding the phone in the air. “I have no idea what’s wrong with Launchpad, but he’s acting so weird! It’s like he’s been brainwashed into thinking he’s some stupid sitcom stereotypical dad!”

“Maybe,” Dewey said slowly. “Launchpad got abducted by aliens and they left us with a clone, but because they only were able to get ahold of media from the 1950s, he’s not as believable of a substitute as they thought.”

Gosalyn was quiet. Then, “Really, Dewey? Aliens? That’s what you’re going to go with?”

“What?” Dewey said. “It could happen. Knowing Launchpad, the aliens probably just needed him to come and lead their army in a war against an evil empire and they’ll have him back in a few days. I mean, unless they make him their king or something.”

“Dewey.” Gosalyn said flatly. “Launchpad has not been abducted by aliens.”

“Well, do you have any better explanations of why Launchpad’s acting weird?”

Gosalyn grimaced. She did not.

“What am I supposed to do?” Gosalyn demanded.

“How should I know?” Dewey asked.

“You’re his best friend. I figured it anyone could figure out how to make him snap back to reality, it’d be you.”

Dewey was quiet, then he said, “Look, Gos, I have no idea what to do here. But what I do know from past experience is that this means that Launchpad’s got something on his mind, and he either doesn’t know how to talk about it, doesn’t want to talk about it, or isn’t ready to talk about it.”

“So… I need to make him talk about it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, what I’m saying is that you may just need to be a bit more patient with him. He’ll talk. Eventually.”

“But that might not be until Dad’s back,” Gosalyn argued. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“It’ll be fine, Gos!”

“Easy for you to say,” Gosalyn snapped. “You’re not the one eating liver and onions for dinner! Because, according to Launchpad, that’s the dinner dads make when the fish aren’t biting!”

With that, she hung up on Dewey, feeling more frustrated and more worried than before.

What could she do to get the real Launchpad back?

*****

“Pond scum.” Minnie said flatly, scowling at the sopping wet uniform in her hands. “Pond. Scum.”

“Please don’t tell me I could have just tossed it in the machine,” Donald called from behind the changing screen, pulling a shirt over his head.

Minnie shuddered at the thought of the costume going in the washing machine. “Don’t. Just, don’t. Ever. You hear me? Never.”

With a huff, Minnie draped the wet Duck Avenger uniform over her arm and said, “And this is why you have a back-up. This one will be ready for action again in a few days.”

“Thanks, Minnie,” Donald said as he stepped out from behind the screen.

Minnie gave an indignant sniff and stepped over to a workstation.

“So, aside from an unexpected swim, today was a good day,” Daisy commented brightly.

“Are you kidding me? Today was horrible!” Donald groaned as he threw himself onto the couch.

“You acted quickly and potentially saved a life, you launched a daring rescue of a puppy, you ensured that the library was properly evacuated when the alarm was sounded, you halted two burglaries and a mugging, and prevented a car from being stolen,” Storkules listed out. “Where lies something horrible?”

“I looked like an idiot because of that purse snatcher!” Donald snapped. “And he keeps getting away!”

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll catch him eventually, Don,” Mickey assured as he looked up from paint samples that were spread out on the table in front of him. “But I’m with your lovers on this one. You can’t let one little frustration ruin your whole day. Remember? You literally saved lives? That’s not easy, despite how you made it look today.”

“See?” Daisy said, gesturing to Mickey, nodding. “You’re the only one quick to count today as a loss.”

“Okay, okay, I see your point,” Donald admitted grudgingly. “I just… I’m trying not to fixate on it, but I can’t stop thinking about this one guy. He’s just some common petty street thief, and yet he’s gotten past me and pretty much every cop in this city. How? Why? This isn’t fair! Catching this guy should be like—”

“Shooting fish in a barrel?” Minnie offered innocently, batting her eyelashes to suggest that it wasn’t as innocent as she meant it to be.

Donald glowered at her. The less reminders of how he had dangled from a fish hook, the better. “Taking candy from a baby.” He finished, folding his arms over his chest.

Daisy walked over and wrapped her arms around Donald’s neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll get him, babe. We have total faith in you. In the meantime, we’re going to celebrate the victories you have had, whether you like it or not.”

“However, we do prefer that you take pleasure in our celebration,” Storkules said, coming over to place one hand on Donald’s shoulder, kissing the top of his head.

“I guess it depends on what you had in mind to celebrate,” Donald said, allowing himself a small smile.

“Let me put it this way,” Daisy said, hooking an arm through Donald’s. “I told the kids to meet us at Clarabelle’s.”

Donald’s smile grew. “Alright, then, I think I can definitely take pleasure in this celebration, then.”

*****

“She’s eating snakes!” Fenton screeched as he leaned into the laptop screen, watching the security camera footage of the woman sitting on the counter of the occult shop eating from a take-out container with chopsticks. Then he blinked and backed away from the screen. “Oh. No. False alarm. It’s just pad thai.”

“It’s not your fault that snakes look like noodles,” Drake said from where he lay on his stomach on the couch, his head to one side to watch the screen, his voice nasally with congestion.

“Yummy noodles, not danger noodles,” Fenton mumbled. “Noodle. It’s a funny word. Noodle. Noo-dle. Nooooooooodle.”

“Noodle,” Drake said in agreement, giggling slightly. “Noooooodle.” He giggled harder and took on an Italian accent, “Mama mia, I’mma Italian chef ghost and I say ‘Boo-dle!’.”

“Spooky noodle,” Fenton giggled. “Spooooky noooodle!”

The two of them laughed hysterically at their own jokes, Fenton tipping over and landing on his side on the floor. They laughed until they both only let out the occasional giggle.

Then, in the silence, Fenton asked, “Wait, why were we laughing again?”

Drake thought for a moment. “Dude, I was hoping you knew.”

From where she had been listening to the exchange from the kitchen, Gandra sighed and turned off the burner under the pot of water she had been waiting to boil.

Spaghetti was officially off the menu for tonight.

Chapter Text

Day Four

Gyro didn’t usually sleep, but of course the one night he wanted to succumb to darkness and enter oblivion and forget the world existed for a few hours, his insomnia was at its strongest.

He hadn’t left the lab, and maybe that was part of his problem. He should have returned to his apartment, an extra effort to put the day behind him, instead of just doing his usual routine of grabbing a blanket and laying on the chaise to doze off just long enough to pretend like it was a full-night’s rest.

But all night he had laid there, in the dark and quiet and in pain—well deserved, in his opinion—hearing his own voice telling Della she was a waste of space and hating himself more and more.

He really didn’t mean it…

The lights eventually automatically became brighter, indicating that the sun had risen once more, a new day had begun.

But would Della come back today?

When Dr. Akita had unapologetically said something hurtful to Gyro all those years ago, Gyro always showed back up the next day, dutiful intern that he was. Granted, he was under contract to do that. Same as Fenton and Gandra and Manny; they’d all signed the dotted line that made them officially McDuck Enterprises’ employees, and Gyro’s interns.

Della hadn’t.

Wow, she wasn’t even getting paid for this, was she? At least she could have gotten some cash out of him being an absolute—

There was the sound of the elevator doors opening and Gyro shot upright.

“Della?” He called out, hastily grabbing his glasses and shoving them on his face, turning to look, his shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment as Boyd came into the lab. Not that he wasn’t happy to see Boyd, per se, he just… had hoped it was Della.

“Good morning, Dr. Gearloose,” Boyd chirped in greeting as he entered the lab. Then he frowned, coming closer. “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look like you feel well.”

“I feel horrible, which is fitting, because I am a horrible person,” Gyro said, laying back down on the couch.

“You’re not a horrible person,” Boyd said as he gently put a hand on Gyro’s brow. “My sensors aren’t indicating that your temperature is higher than usual,” He observed. “Are you in any pain?” Then he saw Gyro’s bound wrist and he went around the couch to Gyro’s other side, his eyes wide with alarm. “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell and sprained my wrist.”

“How long has your wrist been wrapped?”

“Since yesterday.”

Boyd unwrapped Gyro’s wrist and frowned at the swelling, which seemed to have gotten worse without Gyro realizing.

“When was the last time you put ice on it?” Boyd asked as he folded the bandage carefully. “And did you put your arm over your chest while you slept?”

“Sometime yesterday afternoon, and no.”

Boyd nodded, taking a seat on the couch at Gyro’s side, and moved Gyro’s arm so that it was placed across his chest, then tenderly wrapped his hands around Gyro’s wrist. “The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook says that you should elevate and ice a sprained limb as often as you can to reduce the swelling. I’m going to adjust my internal temperature to make my hands cold.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Gyro told Boyd, shivering slightly as Boyd’s small hands turned cold around his throbbing wrist.

“You don’t feel well,” Boyd reminded him. “You’re always taking care of me to make sure I’m fully operational, so why shouldn’t I do the same for you?”

Gyro tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. How was it possible he made this sweet little cinnamon bun too pure for this world? Oh, right, he did it in another lifetime.

“As much as my wrist does hurt, that’s not why I said I feel horrible,” Gyro admitted. “I… I made a mistake.”

“You used to tell me that mistakes were learning opportunities,” Boyd informed him brightly. “Remember?”

Yep, Boyd had definitely been assembled in a different lifetime.

“I said something horrible to a… someone,” Gyro said, unsure if he could call Della a friend anymore. They had been friends. Were they still friends? Della wanted that, so desperately. And Gyro… It didn’t matter what Gyro wanted. “I was angry and I said something hurtful and… I wish I hadn’t said it. I didn’t really mean it, but I said it anyway.”

“Did you apologize?”

“Yes, but I can apologize until I’m blue in the face and it doesn’t make what I did any less shi—um, awful.”

Boyd didn’t seem to catch his half a swear word, and Gyro felt a bit relieved. Since when did he care who heard him swear enough that he self-censored? Since when did he care that Boyd heard him swear?

“Then maybe what you need to do is use actions instead of words to show that you’re sorry.” Boyd suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, sometimes it’s not enough to say you’re sorry. Because you can say sorry and not mean it. So maybe what you need to do in this case is show that you mean what you say. It doesn’t make it better, you can’t take away the hurt that you caused, but it can be a way to acknowledge that you did hurt that person and that you won’t do it again.”

Gyro could admit, there was some merit to the idea.

“I’ll think on that one,” Gyro told Boyd. “Thanks. So, what exactly brought you by this morning? Something wrong? If you need a repair, I can only promise fixes with software at the moment.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine! I didn’t come here for a particular reason,” Boyd admitted, looking a bit shy all of a sudden. “I just… wanted to visit. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Gyro said, a bit confused, sensing there was something Boyd wasn’t saying. “You sure everything’s okay? Something happen at home? Doofus wasn’t trying to make you take a bath in maple syrup again, was he?”

“No, no. I just hadn’t seen you in a couple of days and wanted to say hi.”

“And you got stuck listening to me talk about my problems while I’m laying here like a sad sack.”

“I don’t mind. I’m glad I could help you feel better.”

Seriously, why was this kid so sweet? Gyro couldn’t encourage him to keep coming back. Because Gyro didn’t know what he had done that made Boyd turn out the way he did, but he didn’t want to tempt fate and screw him up like he had all his over inventions if he kept hanging around.

“Hmm. Speaking of that, if you could actually let go of my wrist now, that’d be great. I kind of can’t feel my fingers from the cold.”

“Oh!” Boyd quickly released his hands from around Gyro’s wrist. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Gyro said, wiggling his fingers and sitting up. The elevation and Boyd’s cold hands had done wonders for the swelling and his wrist was starting to look like a wrist again. “If you help me wrap it again, I should be okay for a while.”

Boyd did just that, and was finishing the wrapping when the elevator doors opened again and Gyro whipped his head around, heart thudding slightly.

And, to his relief and amazement, Della ding-dang Duck stepped out of the elevator.

She stood in front of the elevator for a moment, staring at Gyro, who stared back at her. Della reached up and rubbed her arm a bit sheepishly, saying,

“I, uh, I wanted to come check in on you.”

“Thank you,” Gyro said. “Especially after…” He swallowed. “I really am sorry. About what I said yesterday.”

“I know,” Della said, coming over to join Gyro and Boyd. She frowned when she realized that Gyro’s legs were still draped in a blanket. “Did you sleep here last night?”

“I usually sleep in the lab,” Gyro said. Not that he usually slept at all…

Della frowned slightly, looking him over suspiciously. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Gyro couldn’t help it, he rolled his eyes and said, “You sound like Maria.”

Della smiled faintly. “Everything I know about being a mom, I learned from Maria Gearloose.”

“Don’t tell her grad students that, or they’ll call child protective services on you,” Gyro said warningly.

Della laughed. “Does she still have that ‘Tears of My Students’ mug Natasha got her?”

“She makes sure to bring it to every single thesis defense she sits in on,” Gyro said, a small smile cracking on his own face.

“I’ve missed your sisters,” Della said, a bit wistfully.

Gyro missed them, too. He could still feel the letter in his pocket, Maria’s name on it. It was like the ink was made of lead, making the paper weigh more than it actually did.

He missed Della, too. He had been missing her even when she was right there in front of him.

And, until recently, he thought she hadn’t missed him at all. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she still didn’t. He wouldn’t miss him, really. He had no idea why she would.

“Want to go get some breakfast?” Gyro asked before he could stop himself as he threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the couch.

“Uh, sure?” Della said, looking a bit surprised and confused. “But don’t you have important science stuff to do today?”

“Maybe later,” Gyro said. “After breakfast. A, uh, friend-date breakfast?”

A smile spread across Della’s face, and she nodded. Gyro felt relief; she recognized the gesture for what it was, and just with that it was like the air was becoming clear between them. Or, getting there at the very least. Behind Della, Boyd beamed and gave Gyro two thumbs-up in approval.

“Sure,” Della said, offering her hands for Gyro to take to get up. “A friend-date breakfast.” She turned to Boyd and said, “Would you like to come, too, Boyd?”

“Oh, no,” Boyd said, suddenly looking shy again. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your friend-date.”

“Well, how about I send you towards the boys and Webby so you can have your own friend-date?” Della suggested.

Boyd nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you. Are they at the mansion?”

“Nah, they’re chasing Duck Avenger around town,” Della said. “Send Louie a text, and I’m sure he’ll respond with where they are.”

Boyd’s eyes brightened at the mention of the Green Nephew’s name and he nodded. “Sending him a text right now! Bye, Della! Bye, Dr. Gearloose! Enjoy your friend-date!”

With that, the boy ran towards the elevator.

Now it was just Della and Gyro, sans the extremely cute and friendly buffer that was Boyd.

You can do this, Gearloose. It’s just breakfast.

“Shall we?” Gyro said, gesturing for them to follow Boyd’s lead.

“We shall,” Della said.

*****

“So we’re in agreement?” Fenton asked.

Drake nodded. “There really is no other viable conclusion.”

They looked at each other, then back at the screen, depicting a shot of the local occult shop owner, a heavily pierced, tattooed, and dyed raven by the name of Ebony Way.

“She’s a vampire,” They said together.

Gandra came out of the kitchen with refilled water bottles and a new bottle of cold medicine. Having heard their declaration, she said,

“Guys, please. I know your sanity is gone, but for the sake of mine, please go back to watching the Suleimongoose the Magnificent soap opera instead of the Sunset movies.”

“No time for movies or soap operas,” Drake said, going over to his backpack and, to Gandra’s surprise, started pulling out pieces of his Darkwing Duck uniform.

“Yes, we’ve got heroing to do!” Fenton declared, throwing a hand in the air and shouting, “BLATHERING BLATHERSKITE!”

Gandra watched as Fenton continued to stand still like a statue, while Drake tried and failed to pull his uniform on, backwards and inside out.

“Huh,” Fenton said after a moment. “Doesn’t usually take this long…”

“Your suit is at the lab with Gyro, because we knew that you’d eventually say ‘blathering blatherskite’ while sick and the last thing Duckburg needs is a sick Gizmoduck, or you crashing around delirious in the suit,” Gandra reminded him. “And neither of you are leaving this house.”

“You’re not the boss of us!” Drake said, voice slightly muffled as he tried to put his head through an arm hole.

“Yeah, we’re heroes! We must do our duty!” Fenton declared. Then he giggled. “Heh. Duty.”

Drake, still wearing most of his costume over his head, also giggled and repeated, “Duty…”

Gandra wondered what it meant that, in terms of behavior, her patients had progressed from toddlers to five-year-olds… Hopefully it meant that they were getting better.

“Okay, what kind of ‘heroing’—which is very much not a word, by the way—were you two going to do?” Gandra asked.

“So, you know how we’ve been looking at all that footage of the occult shop, looking for Morgana?” Fenton said, now looking under the couch for… something. Gandra hoped he wasn’t expecting to find his Gizmoduck armor under there.

“Uh huh,” Gandra said, turning her gaze over to Drake, who gave up on trying to put on his Darkwing Duck uniform and instead grabbed his blanket and tied it around him like a cape.

“Well, we finally have enough evidence to prove once and for all that Raven Way is a vampire!” Drake declared, running about the room so that his blanket-cape fluttered behind him.

Gandra blinked. “Um. What? How exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

“Listen, listen,” Fenton said, holding out his hands. “So, Raven doesn’t leave the store. Ever. She comes in before sunrise, and doesn’t leave until after the sun sets.”

“Okay?” Gandra said.

“And!” Drake said, waving a hand in the air. “We saw her drink blood!”

“You watched her drink blood.” Gandra repeated, not quite sure she believed that.

Fenton nodded and grabbed the laptop, shoving it in her face so that she saw a still of Raven Way sitting on the counter of her shop, drinking something through a clear cup with a straw.

“See?” He said. “She’s drinking blood! One of her employees brought it for her!”

“That’s… a cherry slurpie.” Gandra said.

“It’s blood!” Fenton insisted, shrieking slightly.

“And!” Drake added. “We watched her and her staff get pizza. You know what she didn’t eat?”

“Garlic bread!” Fenton and Drake both said at the same time.

“You know who loves garlic bread?” Drake asked, then answered his own question, shouting, “Everyone! Everyone, except vampires!”

“Maybe she’s trying to watch her carb intake,” Gandra suggested. “Besides, she’s wearing a lot of silver jewelry for a vampire.”

“You’re thinking of werewolves,” Drake said. “Easy mix-up.” 

Fenton nodded eagerly. “We asked Violet to double-check.”

Well, that explained why Gandra got a ‘Everything okay over there?’ text from Violet just a bit ago.

“So all of your ‘evidence’ points to Raven Way being a vampire…” Gandra said, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

“Precisely!” Fenton exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “We connected the dots, Gandra!”

“You didn’t connect shit,” Gandra told him flatly, looking up to glare at him.

“We connected them!” Drake insisted with a wide-eyed look, one hand against the whiteboard, pointing at Gandra with the dry-erase marker.

Gandra pinched between her eyes, squeezing her eyes shut as she took a few deep breaths, then said, “Fenton, can I speak with you in private for a moment?”

“Oooh, speak with me in private, yeah, sure,” Fenton said, nodding as Gandra grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him towards Rosa’s room. He called over his shoulder to Drake, who was staring at the white board intently. “Someone’s in trouble! Wait, hold up, it’s me. I’m in trouble. I don’t know why I said that…”

Gandra sighed and swung Fenton so that he was in front of her, doing so strategically because she knew he’d fall backwards onto the bed, sprawled on his back with his arms and legs outstretched, giggling as he did so, staring up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan, commenting,

“Ever noticed how a ceiling fan looks like a guy doing a cartwheel? He just keeps on cartwheeling. Go, cartwheel man, go!”

“Suit.” Gandra said sharply, folding her arms over her chest.

“Right, right,” Fenton said. “Look, I don’t think I can really move right now and every single muscle hurts, so just do whatever you want but please be gentle.”

“Fenton, just what the hell did you think I meant when I said I wanted to speak with you in private?” Gandra demanded. “No, I take that back, I do not want to know.”

“Oh,” Fenton said, suddenly looking very distressed.

Gandra took a deep breath, trying to summon more patience to replace what her boyfriend was quickly expending. “Fenton, why are you giving me a kicked puppy look?”

“You don’t love me…” Fenton whimpered.

“Why do you think I don’t love you?”

“You aren’t gonna kiss me…”

“No, I absolutely am not going to kiss you. You’re sick, snotty, and gross, and do you even remember the last time you brushed your teeth? Because I sure don’t. So heck no, I’m not kissing you. But it is a testament to how much I love you that I will, indeed, kiss you again—and kiss you a lot—when you finally get better.”

“Oh!” Fenton’s eyes lit up, instantly happy again.

“But we do need to talk,” Gandra said, sitting down on the bed beside Fenton.

“’Bout what?”

“This investigation you and Drake are doing… it’s got to stop. You were fine at first, but I just had to actively stop you two from breaking quarantine to stake a woman—”

“Vampire.”

“Innocent woman who just has a taste for the macabre and is doing her best to run a small niche business,” Gandra said firmly. “This isn’t doing you or Drake any good, trying to force yourselves to work to follow a lead that never existed in the first place.”

“But Drake’s so happy,” Fenton protested, sitting up. He pointed out the open door, saying, “Look at him! He’s having a great time!”

Gandra looked through the open door, where Drake was writing on the white board.

“I think he started trying to write Morgana’s name, but got stuck after making a ‘M’ so now he’s just drawing a mountain range,” Gandra said. Then she grimaced as, suddenly, Drake’s forehead hit the white board, the marker falling out of his hand. Even from the distance, she could hear him snoring slightly. “Fenton, neither of you are well enough for this. You two just need to sit tight and rest, okay? If you keep trying to force yourselves to work like this, you’re just running the risk of being sick longer because your bodies aren’t getting enough time to really rest and recover.”

“’Kay…” Fenton grumbled. “So, what?”

“So, you need to go and tell Drake the truth. Like you probably should have in the beginning of all this.”

“Drake would have killed me if I told him four days ago that I lied to him and got us both sick as a result.”

“Oh, great, you are lucid!” Gandra said, half-sarcastically, half-relieved. She had hoped she’d only have to have this conversation once. Unless that short term memory thing kicked in... “And look at it this way: Drake can’t kill you if he can’t take more than three steps without having to sit down from a dizzy spell, right?”

“Yeah…” Fenton mumbled, shoulders hunched in. He sighed and got to his feet. “I’m going to go tell him.”

“Make sure he’s actually awake before you start talking,” Gandra called after him.

Fenton trudged into the living room and poked Drake in the shoulder.

Drake awoke with a start, jumping slightly and falling into a fighting stance, shouting, “Ha! Thought you could pull a fast one on Darkwing Duck, huh? Not today! Gotta be faster than that to get one over the terror that flaps in the night!” Then he blinked and smiled. “Oh, hey, it’s you. Okay, come on, hurry, let’s get out of here before Gandra catches us. Listen, I know you love her, buddy, but I’m starting to wonder if she might be one of them, if you catch my meaning.”

“Drake,” Fenton said. “Gandra’s not a vampire.”

At least, he was pretty sure she wasn’t… Had he ever seen her eat garlic bread?

He shook his head, remembering what he came over here for.

“Right, so, we could go out and see if Raven Way is a vampire,” Fenton said. “Or, I have a better idea. We take some more cold medicine, eat popsicles until it kicks in, and then take a good solid nap for a couple of hours.”

“No way,” Drake said, swiping his arm over his beak, sniffling slightly as he bent to pick up the dry erase marker. “This is our biggest break yet! There’s no way that Raven Way can’t be connected to Morgana!”

“Right, but, uh, there’s a good chance that she’s… not.” Fenton said, playing with his hands slightly, nervously.

“How can there not be a good chance?” Drake said, going back over to the board, studying it. “I mean, obviously the information that led us here is good.”

“I, uh, have some reasons to doubt that the lead I had was good.”

“Nonsense,” Drake insisted, drawing on the board in a random pattern. “That’s the fever talking. You wouldn’t have been keeping an eye on Black Arts or brought it up to me if you didn’t think it was a good lead.”

“Okay, um, except, there’s just one, teeny, tiny thing,” Fenton said, holding his thumb and forefinger apart by a smidge, smiling sheepishly. “I know that it actually is a bad lead. A very bad one. Because I made the lead up in the first place.”

Drake paused, the tip of the marker making a screeching noise on the white board. He stood still, not turning to Fenton. For a moment, Fenton thought that he had fallen asleep standing up again, and then Drake turned his head towards Fenton.

“What,” Drake said in a low, blank voice. “Do you mean you made the lead up in the first place?”

Fenton swallowed, which he regretted because it made his throat hurt and he rubbed at his throat, croaking out,

“I mean, I kind of invented a lead? There was never any buzz about Black Arts Beagle at the occult shop, no mysterious strangers in black and red, nothing. I just… kind of… lied. To you. And said there was.”

“Never?” Drake repeated, voice painfully calm. “There was never a lead?”

“Never.” Fenton confirmed, shrinking a little.

Drake simply stood there and stared at Fenton for a long moment. His face was blank but his eyes were fiery as he lifted a hand to point at Fenton, snarling out,

“I am furious. I am outraged. I am disgusted. I am… in desperate need of a nap. And when I am done with that nap, I will bring the full force of my wrath down upon your head.”

And, with that, Drake stomped over to the mattress, laid down on it, and drew his blanket over his head.

Fenton hadn’t known it was possible to aggressively take a nap until that day.

But he had a feeling that Drake was not going to wake up in a better mood.

*****

Duck Avenger reached up and adjusted his hat. Today. Today was the day.

He was going to get his hands on that no-good purse snatcher.

And he was not going to let anyone or anything get in his way.

He was not so focused on the streets that he didn’t notice a small child with rockets in his feet land on the roof behind him; rather, he just cataloged it in his surroundings, along with the conversation that followed.

“Hi, Boyd.” Huey said.

“Hi, guys!” Boyd greeted. “What’s going on?”

“At the moment, not much,” Louie answered. “Duck Avenger’s lying in wait to catch a purse snatcher.”

“And I’m going to nail it this time!” Duck Avenger declared.

“Oh, can I help?” Boyd asked brightly. “When he starts running, I could cut him off so that he’s cornered.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” Duck Avenger said. “Should be any moment now, he’ll fall for my trap…”

Down below, said trap was skipping along the sidewalk.

“La la la la la,” Webby sing-songed as she swung the purse in her hand slightly. “I’m just a little girl, carrying her mom’s purse, full of money and jewelry! Boy, I sure do hope that I can get this to her without any problems, like someone trying to take her purse from me!”

Okay, so some days it was hit or miss on where his trap rated on the subtly scale and today it was a zero, but this had to work… 

Take the bait, take the bait, He thought, willing the thief to pop out of whatever shadowy corner he had put himself in. This has to work.

“Duck Avenger,” Storkules’ voice said in his ear from the earpiece he wore. Storkules and Daisy were situated across the street, Storkules in uniform but not near a police car, waiting to slap cuffs on this guy when Duck Avenger finally—finally—got him. “Perhaps the thief has become aware that his usual territory has become compromised. He may not appear at all.”

“He’ll show,” Duck Avenger insisted. “He’ll show.”

And then he grinned and adjusted the zoom on his binoculars.

A young male swan, hood up over his head, reached up to scratch his face, the sleeve of his jacket pulled down just enough to reveal a lobster tattoo.

Bingo.

Quick as lightning, dark as a roll of thunder, the storm that was Duck Avenger was going to get his man.

If Webby recognized the thief, her subtly level had gone back up so that it didn’t show on her face. She didn’t slow her pace, pretending to look around as she walked.

And then the thief walked right past her.

Instead, he ran straight ahead, knocking into a man, stealing the laptop bag off of his shoulder and running as the stunned man called out “Hey!”.

Duck Avenger was ready, swinging into action, aiming just right so that he could land in front of the thief.

Duck Avenger smirked as he landed in a crouch, straightening.

But then he saw the gleam in the thief’s eye.

And then Duck Avenger saw stars as the bag hit him in the face.

Again.

“Catch ya later, Dork Avenger!” The thief called as he jumped into a car that had pulled up to the side of the road, door flung open by someone on the inside. With a squeal of the tires, the car sped off down the street.

Great. He had friends…

And he had gotten away with the bag.

Duck Avenger pursued, running, but he was no match for a speeding car, especially as he was up against traffic. He tried to navigate, swinging from roof to roof, over lanes of traffic, past lights red and green…

Only to fall to his knees as he watched the car get on the interstate, joining a sea of fast-moving vehicles.

He had mentally logged the make and model and color of the car, but he had been focused on that alone. It was too common of a combination, and without having taken notice of the tag number, he couldn’t put out a BOLO.

His thief was gone. Possibly for good.

He had just gotten to his feet again, still staring at the interstate access ramp when Huey, Louie, Boyd, Webby, Daisy, and Storkules caught up to him.

“Art thou alright, Duck Avenger?” Storkules asked, realizing that Duck Avenger was standing very still.

“Well.” Duck Avenger said, staring straight ahead. “I can’t possibly be any worse.”

And, then, of course, he realized he spoke too soon. Because his head suddenly felt very warm. He knew exactly why his head was suddenly warm. Did he know how it happened? No. Did he care? Also no.

Because this was just. His. Dumb. Bad. Horrible. Luck.

“Um, Mr. Duck Avenger?” Boyd said hesitantly. “You’ve got… Um…”

“Your hat’s on fire.” Louie stated plainly.

“It’s fine,” Duck Avenger said reflexively. Numbly. A wide smile plastered on his face. “This is fine. Spontaneous combustion is a perfectly natural phenomenon, children. Everything is fine.”

They all stared at him for a long moment before finally Duck Avenger reached up and grabbed his hat and threw it on the ground, stomping on it and shouting, “Everything is not fine! Everything is a disaster! I haven’t even officially been a superhero for a week and I’m already washed up!”

“You’re not washed up,” Daisy insisted. “You’re just experiencing a few—”

“These aren’t a few little hiccups!” Duck Avenger yelled, throwing his hands in the air. Then he dropped his head into his hands, saying, “Why? Why did I think I could actually do this? Why did I put all my hopes into thinking that maybe, just maybe, this could be a job I could actually do right? That I couldn’t possibly screw up? That I could be good at something for once in my life? That I could be as good of a hero as Gizmoduck and Darkwing?”

“You are a good hero,” Huey said, stretching out a hand to comfort Duck Avenger, but he turned away, shaking his head, shoulders slumped.

“I’m not,” Duck Avenger said despondently. “I’m just not.”

And, with that, he pulled out his grappling hook, shot it at the nearest building, and swung away, clearly wanting to be alone.

*****

Della pushed open the door to the cafe, watching Gyro out of the corner of her eye as they joined the line for the front counter.

“Tell me what you want, and then go get us a table,” Gyro said, his own eyes on the menu board.

“You can’t carry two drinks and two plates of food with your wrist, I’ll do the ordering, you get the table,” Della countered.

“Unless you’re getting to-go, they bring the food to your table here,” Gyro said. “And I may not be able to do much with my dominant hand, but you’re the one who is literally limping and can barely stand on her own two feet.”

Della scowled. That little… “No, I’m not. I’m not limping.”

“You are and you’re trying to hide it, but I saw the face you made getting out of the car. You had to psych yourself up to put your weight on your foot.”

Damn. He was good.

Gyro turned to her, his face and eyes blank as he said, “I’ve got it. Della. Just tell me what you want.”

Della sighed. “Blueberry muffin and a caramel mocha. Large. Extra whip.”

Gyro nodded. Della reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled ten dollar bill, handing it towards Gyro.

He refused to take the bill.

“Gyro.” Della said cajolingly, waving the bill slightly at him.

“I’m paying.”

“Chivalrous but uncalled for. I can pay for my own breakfast.”

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Gyro, shut up and take my money.”

“No.”

“I’m not moving until you take it, and then we’ll be stuck at the table closest to the bathrooms. Or just vacated by a suspiciously sticky child. Or under a vent that makes you feel like you’re in the tundra. Or—”

Gyro snatched the bill out of her hand, saying, “Fine, but this is going in the tip jar.”

“I can live with that.” Della said, going to find a table.

She wouldn’t admit it, but it felt good to sit down. She chose a table with more chairs and space than they really needed, so that she could sit in one chair with her back to the wall and put her leg up on another chair, taking some of the pressure off her residual limb, though she refused to take off the prosthetic. Mostly because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to put it back on if she did.

“Stupid weather,” Della grumbled, glaring at the sunny day outside. It was hot and humid, and the combination was not good for her leg, making her limb swell.

“The two of us make quite a pair in the Society of Swollen Extremities,” Gyro commented as he took a seat across from her, dropping a stack of napkins onto the table.

“Be grateful you’ve only got to deal with it for a few days,” Della said. “Because this sucks.”

Gyro inclined his head to look at her leg. “Do you use any sort of compression on your residual limb? Like a sock or something?”

“Probably should,” Della admitted. “It wasn’t bad while I was on the moon. No gravity, no real changes in the atmosphere and elevation. It’s only since I’ve been back that it’s been a problem.”

“Does it swell and hurt when you fly?” Gyro asked.

Della grimaced. She loved flying, but she hated the pain that she had started to associate with being behind the wheel of her beloved Cloud Slayer. “Yeah.”

“What does your orthopedist say to do when you’re flying?”

“I, uh, don’t have an orthopedist?”

Gyro arched an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, you are in no place to judge me!” Della said, pointing a finger at him. “Mr. I-Don’t-Need-A-Rescue-Inhaler-Even-Though-My-Lungs-Have-Always-Been-Shit.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a wonder you’re not in constant pain, though, given the nature of your amputation and the fact that you have raw metal literally rubbing against your skin all day every day.” Gyro paused, then asked, “Have you at least let Elise take a look at your leg? Make sure everything’s good there?”

“She gave me a quick look-over when Femme Fatale’s stupid magnet affected my leg,” Della admitted. “Elise did mention that she was concerned about my skin, but I just added massaging lotion on my leg to my nightly routine.”

Well. When she remembered to, at least. She definitely remembered on bad days, because it felt good to work her fingertips into the aching muscles.

“And, like I said, you’re in no place to judge me,” Della reminded him, folding her arms over her chest.

Gyro shrugged. “You know how I feel about medical professionals.”

She did know. He hated them. Mostly because the aforementioned shitty lungs meant he had spent a lot of time with medical professionals when he was a small child, and a combination of a needle phobia, often being in sensory-overload, gender dysphoria that grew stronger as he got older, and neither of his parents having been the type to offer much in the way of comfort when he had been scared, stressed, and sick had only made that hatred worse. Maria, only four years older than Gyro, had always been the one to hold his hand, to soothe him, or distract him when he had an asthma attack. However, having been a child herself at the time meant that Maria wasn’t always allowed to be at his side; Della knew of at least one time that the two had been forcibly separated, so that was another checkmark in the trauma column.

None of Gyro’s hatred towards doctors had stopped him from pursuing a medical transition, though, which had surprised Della. But as long as Gyro was happy, she was happy. Even if he had nearly broken her fingers from how hard he gripped her hand the first time he got a T-shot.

Gyro pulled a pen out of his pocket and held it loosely in his hand as he started to doodle on a napkin. “What you need,” he said. “Is a new prosthetic.”

“Hey, now,” Della said defensively. “Beverley is a lovely lady who has served me faithfully well over the last decade.”

Gyro looked up at her, arching another eyebrow at her. “Beverley?”

“Dude, I named a lot of things when I was on the moon. Crippling loneliness will make you want to personify everything. I even named my reflection. Esmerelda and I had a lot of staring contests back in the day. I once didn’t talk to that bitch for a week because she refused to admit she cheated,” Della said, waving a dismissive hand. “Though I will say that there were a lot of rocket parts that were not given the most flattering or family-friendly of names.”

“I can imagine,” Gyro said with a slight nod, then he turned back to his doodle. “Anyways, Beverley has served you well, but mostly while you were in an unchanging environment. As you mentioned, the changes in atmosphere—due to either the weather or elevation or other factors—have an impact on your body, namely your residual limb and your blood vessels. What you need is something that will adjust to those fluctuations automatically, providing you the most comfort. Compression when you need it, less pressure when you don’t, that sort of thing. Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you drag your leg some, even when you’re not limping. You made Beverley while you were on the moon; no gravity means that you don’t have to worry about the combined weight of the final product. Not to fat-shame, but Beverley put on some weight when she came to earth. You could probably crush a watermelon with your thighs from having forced your leg muscles to deal with the unexpected weight on a daily basis, not to mention the unexpected and rigorous challenges that come from returning to adventuring on a regular basis.”

“Note to self, add a watermelon to the grocery list,” Della said. Because, yes, she was going to try to crush a watermelon with her thighs. For science. “Alright, you’ve got a lot of valid points. But what are you going to do with all of those observations, my dear Mr. Holmes?”

“Well, Watson, I’m thinking something along the lines of this,” Gyro said, turning the napkin around and pushing it towards her.

Della looked at the napkin, seeing what Gyro had designed.

A new prosthetic leg.

For her.

“I, uh, I’d like your input,” Gyro said, not meeting her eye. “And your help. Making it. That is, if you even want it. You seem rather attached to… Beverley.”

Della smiled. “I think it’s time for Beverley to move on. She’s ready to take the next step in her career. Get it? Step?”

“Yes, yes, I got it,” Gyro said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “So, intern, you’ll help me?”

“It’d be my pleasure, boss!” Della said.

A staff member arrived with their drinks and food, apologizing for the delay, and the two dug in.

“Man, this is good,” Della said around a mouthful of muffin.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Gyro said as he sipped his coffee.

Della couldn’t help but grin. “Still not a fan of muffins, huh?”

“They are simply wannabe cupcakes,” Gyro insisted. “But not only that, the imposters have forgotten that the most important part of being a cupcake is the frosting. Why would anyone eat a cupcake without frosting? Muffins are therefore the world’s most useless, unappealing food in the world.”

Della smiled. There had been a lot of things that had been different when she came back from the moon. In a lot of ways, Gyro was one of them.

But it gave her an odd sort of comfort to know that, as much as Gyro had changed, he was still the same Gyro she missed and remembered and loved.

*****

Three Hours And One Very Aggressive Nap Later...

“HOW DARE YOU?”

Fenton’s eyes snapped open, waking from a dead sleep to see Drake standing over him, seething with rage, snarling in Fenton’s face.

“How dare me? How dare you!” Fenton yelled back, sitting up too quickly and falling off the couch. From where he now lay on the floor, his brow furrowed and he said, “Wait, what did I do again?”

“You,” Drake hissed, standing over Fenton. “Lied to me. About the lead with Black Arts Beagle. And Morgana. And had the gall to continue to lie to me, leading me on this merry little wild goose chase that you knew would lead nowhere and yet! Yet! You continued to feed me false information and work with the world’s most absolutely useless information! How could you do that? How could you look me in the eye and lie to me?”

“I was just trying to help!” Fenton yelled, pushing himself up.

“Help? Help with what?” Drake demanded, throwing his arms wide. “Help Grizzlikoff make us look like incompetent fools? Help waste our time when we could actually be making progress in trying to figure out where Negaduck is now, and what his plans are, and where he’ll strike next?”

Fenton growled and got to his feet, pointing a finger in Drake’s face, saying, “No, helping you get out of your funk, to make you feel like you were being useful, because otherwise all the terror that flaps in the night was doing was stomping around being angry at everything and everyone and throwing a temper-tantrum!”

“Oh, I was throwing a temper-tantrum, was I?” Drake snapped. “So you’re saying this is all my fault, huh?”

“Well, you taking your bad mood out on everyone certainly weren’t helping!” Fenton yelled back, throwing his arms wide. “I’m frustrated, too, Drake! I’m frustrated with Grizzlikoff, I’m frustrated with Negaduck, I’m frustrated with feeling like I’m letting down the city, but you want to know what I’m the most frustrated about? You! You taking out all your frustration out on me! Whenever something goes wrong, whenever Grizzlikoff prevents us from doing our jobs, I’m the one who gets yelled at, by you! I’m the one who gets the angry recap session, even though, guess what? I. WAS. WITH. YOU. THE. ENTIRE. TIME! Forgive me for having some semblance of self-preservation because I couldn’t stand taking the brunt of one more of your venting sessions!”

Drake’s face grew even darker and he said coolly, “Well, guess what? You’ll never hear another complaint out of me, because I am never speaking to you again!”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Fine!” Fenton yelled at his back. “I’m never going to speak to you again, either!”

And then he went and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Gandra stepped out of the kitchen and looked around the empty living room and sighed.

And, just like that, they were teenagers… 

*****

“Morning, Gosaroonie!” Launchpad greeted brightly from the kitchen table, morning cup of joe at his side and newspaper in hand, as Gosalyn entered the kitchen, grumpy and stomping her feet slightly.

Usually, she liked Launchpad’s silly nickname for her, but she had heard it so much in the last few days that it was starting to get on her nerves.

“Hey,” Gosalyn greeted blandly, going to the cereal cabinet and opened it up.

And she blinked.

“Um, Launchpad?”

“Yes, Gosaroonie?”

“Where’s the cereal?”

“Why, it’s right in front of you, sweetie. Do you need to borrow your pop’s glasses?”

Gosalyn turned around and gestured to the cabinet. “Launchpad. This is not funny. Where’s the cereal?”

“There’s three boxes of cereal right there,” Launchpad said, getting up to pull one out of the cabinet, putting it in her hands. “Here ya go!”

“Launchpad,” Gosalyn said, patience barely restrained. “We don’t buy this stuff.”

“Yes, we do. Obviously, we do. It’s in the cabinet.”

“No-oo,” Gosalyn said, slowly. Maybe there was some credibility to Dewey’s
“Launchpad was abducted by aliens” theory. “This is raisin bran. Old people cereal. You and Dad both say it is. So where’s the Captain Crunchies that we do buy?”

“First of all, it’s not old people cereal,” Launchpad said, taking the box out of her hand, opening it to pour some into a bowl for her. “It’s part of a balanced breakfast. And I’m your dad this week, so if I say it’s not old people cereal, it’s not old people cereal. Besides, I threw away the Captain Crunchies.”

“You did what?” Gosalyn exclaimed, her voice squeaking slightly. “Why?”

“Do you know how much sugar and artificial colors are in Captain Crunchies?” Launchpad said, going to the fridge to get out the milk, pouring it over the cereal. “That’s not healthy for a growing kid. No daughter of mine is going to be eating that much processed junk. Here.”

He held out the prepared bowl of cereal, which Gosalyn took one look at.

And then she started rushing to open cabinets.

Sure enough, there were gaping spots where things were missing.

“Launchpad!” She cried out. “Where’s all the junk food?”

“In the trash, where it belongs,” Launchpad declared.

“Why?” Gosalyn demanded, throwing her arms in the air. “We didn’t even have that much to begin with!”

“It’s not healthy,” Launchpad said. “Now, eat your cereal and if you want something for a treat, have an apple! An apple a day keeps the doctor away, you know!”

“Then I definitely don’t want an apple,” Gosalyn said, folding her arms over her chest. “Because I think I need Elise to come over.”

Launchpad’s eyes widened and he quickly set the bowl on the counter, dropping down onto one knee in front of her, putting his hand on her forehead. “Are you feeling alright? Does your stomach hurt? It doesn’t feel like you have a fever.”

Gosalyn shoved Launchpad’s arm away. “Not for me, for you! You’re acting like a crazy person all of a sudden!”

“Now, none of that back-talk, young lady, or I’ll take away your privileges to listen to Howdy Doody for a week!” Launchpad said, wagging a scolding finger at Gosalyn.

“Are you even hearing yourself?” Gosalyn demanded, throwing her arms wide. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous, Launchpad! You’re acting like… I don’t know!”

“A dad!” Launchpad said assertively as he stood upright again.

“No, that’s most definitely not what you’re acting like!” Gosalyn said. “All this week, it’s been ‘because I’m the dad’ or ‘it’s what dads do’ but, guess what? Nothing you have done is at all like anything Dad actually does, so I have no idea where you’re getting all these delusions or why you even think you are a dad!”

Even in her anger, she saw the expression on Launchpad’s face. A little bit of panic, a lot of hurt, and, to her surprise, anger, all of which combined with Gosalyn’s frustration like a baking soda volcano to create an explosion.

“That’s it, young lady!” Launchpad shouted, pointing at Gosalyn. “You are grounded!”

A look of absolute fury was on Gosalyn’s face, her fists clenched as she screamed back at him, “You can’t ground me because you aren’t my dad!”

With that, she ran from the room, thundering up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her.

Silence echoed throughout the house.

With a heavy heart, Launchpad sank into one of the kitchen chairs, dread and hurt filling his entire body, only able to stare straight ahead.

Upstairs, Gosalyn slid down to the floor, her back to the door, regret and guilt flooding her and she let out a small sob, pressing her face to her knees.

What have I done? They both thought at the same time.

Chapter Text

Day Five

“Here?” Webby asked, glancing over at Huey, who nodded as he looked at his cellphone.

“According to the GPS on Duck Avenger’s belt, this is where we’re going to find him,” Huey confirmed, tucking his phone into his pocket, looking at Louie, Webby, Boyd, Storkules, and Daisy.

Daisy sighed as she looked up at the awning. “Of all the pizza places in the city, he had to choose Peg-Leg Pete’s Pirate Pizzeria?”

“I mean, as far as pizza places to have a mental breakdown in, this is a fairly classy establishment,” Louie said, shifting slightly on his crutches. “Now can we get inside already? Walking with crutches is exhausting.”

Daisy pushed open the door to the pizzeria and they strode into the restaurant. The entire place was dark and nautical themed, and behind the counter shaped like a boat there was a large, grizzled dog—the Peg-Leg Pete in question—who wore a dingy white apron stained with what they hoped was pizza sauce and cleaning some large tankards with a cloth.

“Seat yourself,” He called out a bit gruffly.

“My good fellow, we art looking for a companion that we believe is already seated in your fine establishment,” Storkules said. “Doth thou know where we might find the man known as the Duck Avenger?”

Peg-Leg Pete jerked his head to a corner, saying, “If you mean that weirdo in the costume, he’s back there. And you tell him he’s not gonna get another three-meat supreme outta Pete until he settles his tab!”

“We’ll do just that, sir,” Boyd said as they made their way to a back booth, where Duck Avenger was seated at a table designed to look like a ship’s wheel, surrounded by empty pizza pans and tankards. They caught sight of him right as he finished chugging down the last of his most recent tankard.

“Barkeep!” He called as he thumped the glass onto the table. “Another!”

“Oh, no!” Peg-Leg Pete roared, turning to point a stubby finger in Duck Avenger’s direction. “I’m cuttin’ you off! No more root beer for you, ya freak!”

“Come on, man! Have some sympathy for a washed-up superhero!” Duck Avenger shouted back.

“You’re not washed-up,” Daisy said as she slid into the booth.

“I am, Daisy!” Duck Avenger insisted, pounding his fists on the table, then putting his head against the sticky tabletop. “I couldn’t even last a week! I’m not good at this hero stuff like Gizmoduck and Darkwing! And I never will be as great as they are! I’m nothing but a huge, utter failure!”

“You’re not a failure,” Huey said, putting a hand on Duck Avenger’s arm. “But you’re not a great hero.”

“Huey, you’re kinda sucking at this whole pep-talk thing,” Louie said, arching an eyebrow at his triplet as Duck Avenger made a noise akin to a whale in distress.

“No, no, listen,” Huey said, waving his hand slightly. “It’s just, DA, you’re so focused on being a great hero like Gizmoduck and Darkwing that you’ve forgotten that they weren’t always great heroes. Remember? Gizmoduck once set all the money in the bank on fire. And blew up a helicopter. And Darkwing’s first big story in the news was when he attacked some movers thinking that they were robbing a house. And everyone thought he was Gizmoduck’s sidekick. The point here is, you’re focusing on trying to be on the same level as the other two heroes while forgetting that you’re just starting out, and that they struggled to get to where they are now.”

“Not to mention,” Webby added. “You’re trying to do everything all by yourself. You’re getting run-down and pulled in so many different directions with many different crimes because there’s only one Duck Avenger. The same thing happened to Gizmoduck before Darkwing came to town.”

“Not just that, but you’re one person trying to do the work of three people,” Boyd added, nodding slightly. “That’s hard to do, not only physically in the moment, but emotionally and mentally.”

Daisy smiled at Duck Avenger and said, “Remember, this is why Darkwing and Gizmoduck wanted you—and you specifically—to join the hero team. Because they knew they needed an extra person. They needed help, and they wanted help from you. You’re experiencing the reason why Duckburg needs three heroes. Not one, not two, but three. All of whom have something valuable to bring to the team, and all of whom are going to have their own successes and failures.”

“Look on the bright side,” Louie said, smirking slightly. “Your failures so far haven’t gotten you stuck in quarantine with the Canine Cold, has it? Unlike two very experienced superheroes. Not to name names or anything…”

Duck Avenger smiled faintly. “No… Haven’t screwed up that badly yet.”

Storkules placed his hand on Duck Avenger’s shoulder. “You are going to do great and magnificent things, Duck Avenger. You are providing a great service, and we wish to support you and aid you however we can.”

“Yeah, you’re the hero, but we’re your team!” Webby said enthusiastically.

“We know you’re a great hero, and we’re ready to do anything and everything to prove it, even if the only person we have to prove it to is you,” Daisy added.

Duck Avenger’s smile grew. “Thank you,” He said. “For having faith in me when I don’t have enough faith in myself.” He stood up, hands on the table, a grin spreading across his face. “Okay, team, let’s go catch us a purse snatcher!”

*****

Gandra stood in front of the couch, her arms folded over her chest, scowling at Fenton and Drake. The two were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, each tucked up into the corner and not looking at each other, or Gandra.

“Okay, come on, you two,” She said. “Are you really going to let this silent treatment thing go on for much longer?”

“He knows what he did!” Drake snapped irritably.

“Gandra, tell Drake—” Fenton started to say.

“Oh no,” Gandra cut him off, making exaggerated X motions with her arms. “Nope. We’re not playing that game, Suit. I’m not a carrier pigeon, and I’m not getting involved with your passive-aggressive nonsense.”

“Why should I talk to someone I can no longer trust?” Drake demanded. “No, I’m not wasting my breath on him.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not going to run the risk of being yelled at!” Fenton snapped. “Yep, Fenton screwed up yet again just trying to be helpful! Why does he even bother?”

“You know, you could at least apologize!” Drake said, turning around to glare at Fenton.

“Fine!” Fenton yelled, turning around to glare at Drake. “I’m sorry that you are ungrateful when people are trying to help you!”

“You weren’t trying to help me! You were just trying to help yourself and get me out of your hair!”

“Well, at least you’re talking to each other,” Gandra sighed.

“I’M NOT TALKING TO HIM!” Fenton and Drake yelled, then both turned their backs on the other again with huffs, folding their arms over their chests.

“Glad we got that straightened out,” Gandra said dryly. “Come on, you two are friends, remember? Are you both seriously going to let this fight ruin a great friendship and partnership?”

“I don’t know that stranger on the other side of the couch!” Fenton declared with a pout.

Suddenly, Drake straightened and he quickly turned around, saying, “Wait, hold up, say that again.”

Fenton glanced over his shoulder and said, “Don’t even bother trying to talk to me, sir, my mother told me not to talk to strangers!” And then he stuck his tongue out at Drake.

To Fenton and Gandra’s surprise, Drake grinned, slapping his hand against his thigh.

“That’s it!” Drake exclaimed, grabbing hold of Fenton’s shoulders, making him turn around too. “Remember what Black Arts said? When we first confronted him?”

Fenton’s brow furrowed. “That… Ebony Way could teach you some tricks with your smokebombs?”

Drake shook his head. “No, not that. About Ma Beagle telling her boys to not talk to strangers?”

The memory flooded back into Fenton’s head, and his eyes went wide. “After what happened with Bruiser and the man in the sewer!” Then he slapped a hand to his forehead, saying, “Wait a second. When Quackerjack first showed up, he disappeared on us. M’ma, Storkules, Webby, and I chased him and he just disappeared out of nowhere. We looked in the nearby shops he could have gone in, but the only other option was a manhole that led to the sewers. We didn’t look there because he couldn’t have gotten the manhole cover up and recovered in the time it took. But if he had help….”

“From Negaduck!” They both said at the same time and then high-fived.

“It makes sense!” Gandra said in agreement, coming to sit on the coffee table in front of them. “We know that Negaduck or Morgana was in contact with Quackerjack before he got arrested, because Morgana’s spell broke him out of jail. If he wasn’t in contact with them before that day, that would have been the most likely opportunity for the two to have met and recruited Quackerjack.”

“It also makes a lot of sense of how Negaduck was getting away and around town without being seen as much when he was on the hunt for a gold necklace,” Drake added. “But what happened with Bruiser?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Fenton said, smiling. “And it’s an actual good one this time.” He looked at Drake and said, “That is, if you still trust me…”

Drake took a deep breath, and nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

*****

“Dewey, now what exactly is so urgent?” Scrooge demanded as Dewey dragged him and Mrs. Beakley to the front door of the Mallard-McQuack household.

“Gosalyn called me in tears,” Dewey said. “And then, while I was on the line with her, I got a call from Launchpad, also in tears. All I could get out of the two of them is that they had a fight and that it was bad, and I need, like, actual adults to help me fix this.”

Dewey opened the door to the house and it swung open with a creak.

The usually bright and cheery house was… dark. It had taken on its inhabitants’ moods.

Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley exchanged a glance, suddenly understanding that this was much more serious of a matter than they had first believed.

“I’ll go find Gos,” Dewey said, heading up the stairs.

“Launchpad?” Mrs. Beakley called out as she entered the foyer. She looked in the kitchen, seeing no one, then turned to peer into the living room. “Launchpad!”

“What?” Launchpad said despondently from where he sat slumped in the armchair, wearing a stained white tank-top and holding a can of root beer. From the pile of cans behind him, it wasn’t his first.

“Er, is everything alright, lad?” Scrooge asked, knowing the answer was most definitely a ‘no’.

“Sure. Everything’s great,” Launchpad said sarcastically, drinking from his can. He apparently emptied it, because he frowned at the can, then tossed it over his shoulder where it joined the others with a clank. Then he reached down beside the armchair and pulled out another, popping the can open. “Just me. Over here. Being the deadbeat dad I am.”

“You are not a deadbeat dad,” Mrs. Beakley said with a sigh as she came into the room, standing in front of Launchpad. “Why would you think that?”

“Gosalyn hates me,” Launchpad said softly. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be her dad. I should have known I’d be horrible at it.”

“Come now,” Scrooge said as he perched himself on the coffee table. “Don’t you think that’s a wee bit extreme? So you and Gosalyn had a little tiff, it’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just a tiff,” Launchpad argued. “It’s a look into exactly what will happen if Drake’s gone longer than a week. Of course she doesn’t see me as her dad. I’m not good enough to be her dad. And I never will be. I messed up, and Gosalyn hates me, and now I’ve let down her and Drake.”

“That is pure and utter nonsense. You have not let anyone down, and you are most certainly good enough to be Gosalyn’s father,” Mrs. Beakley declared, anger suddenly on her face. “Now, Launchpad, where on earth would you get this ridiculous idea that you wouldn’t be able to properly parent Gosalyn?”

Launchpad’s gaze slowly slid towards Scrooge.

Mrs. Beakley followed his gaze.

Her eyes narrowed on Scrooge, who smiled at her sheepishly. 

“Of course,” Mrs. Beakley said coldly. “He could only get such a foolish idea straight from a fool’s mouth.”

Scrooge scowled at her, but then sighed. “Launchpad, I’m sorry that I put doubts into your head. Of course, you are a great parent to Gosalyn.”

“I’m not,” Launchpad said, his eyes watery. “She told me I’m not her dad.”

“Well, of course you’re not her dad.” Scrooge said.

“McDuck,” Mrs. Beakley said warningly, a growl in her voice as Launchpad shrank deeper into the chair.

Scrooge reached over and put his hand on Launchpad’s knee. “From the moment you met her, before she was even Drake’s child, you have loved Gosalyn. And you have always been there for her. You were at Drake’s side throughout the entire adoption process. You were the one who readily said that you’d accept custody of her if something happened to Drake to prevent her from returning to that orphanage, to make sure she had someone to always care for her. You have shared just as many hugs and have soothed as many tears as Drake has. You have been by Gosalyn’s side through thick and thin, and she knows that you love her and that will never change. You are not her dad. You are not a substitute parent. You can’t be a substitute for what you’ve always been, and you always have been her parent just as much as Drake has. In fact, I’d say you’re something greater. You are her Launchpad. And she needs you.”

“Uncle Scrooge is right,” Said a soft voice from the entryway. The three adults turned to see Gosalyn standing there, her hair a loose mess, her eyes red and puffy, her fingers curled on the hem of her sleep shirt, Dewey beside her. Gosalyn blinked away tears, saying, “Launchpad, I’m sorry that I yelled at you. That I did something that made you think you weren’t good enough to be my dad. That you felt like you had to prove it or something. I love you, Launchpad. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Launchpad said, getting to his feet to approach Gosalyn. “I just… I panicked. I love you so much, and I want everything that’s good for you. And maybe I overdid it this week. But I did have something to prove. I wanted to prove that we’d be okay on our own, if we ever had to be. Just… It’s always been in the back of my head since we started this superhero thing, but especially more lately with F.O.W.L and Negaduck and… I just wanted us both to know that we’d be okay.”

“Of course we’d be okay,” Gosalyn whispered, throwing herself at Launchpad, who caught her and picked her up, holding her close. “We’re going to be okay. I always know I’m going to be okay, because I’m lucky enough to have a dad and a Launchpad.”

Launchpad kissed the top of her head. “And I’m lucky to have a Gosalyn.”

Dewey smiled with a small sigh of relief as his great-uncle put his hand on his shoulder and Mrs. Beakley smiled approvingly beside them, reaching out to gently ruffle Dewey’s hair.

The house immediately felt brighter.

Day Six

Della felt immensely proud of herself. Not only had she and Gyro had a good full day and a half of working together on her new prosthetic, which was coming together nicely, but she had also gotten him to agree to leave the lab for lunch.

Sure, part of the reason she had easily convinced him was that he needed some special parts that were at a store at the mall, so it was easy enough to talk him into getting lunch in the food court. Still, she managed to drag him into a few other random stores while they were there, and they even split a cinnamon roll for dessert.

Part of her was a little worried that he only agreed to mall shenanigans and playing hooky from work for a while because he still felt guilty for saying something hurtful to her the other day, but he also seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, and she took it as a sign of victory when he was the one to suggest they investigate a store that had just opened called ‘It’s a Punderful Life’.

Inside the store, they found that everything that was sold had something to do with puns. Shirts, mugs, random knick-knacks, everything had a pun or a double-meaning. They wandered around, laughing and rushing to show the other various things.

While Gyro was looking through a rack of science-themed t-shirts, Della wandered into an area with plush toys.

Then, she saw it.

The best thing she had ever seen.

And she knew that Gyro had to have it.

She met Gyro at the cash register, and she shoved the bag with her newest purchase into his hands.

“I got a present for you,” Della said in a sing-song voice, grinning from ear to ear.

“I feel like I should be scared,” Gyro said warily, reaching into the bag and pulling out the plush toy.

His brow furrowed for a moment as he stared at the square-shaped rooster in his hand.

“I had a feeling you could find a good use for this,” Della said. “You know. In case the posters and kingdom-wide shame still don’t work on your idiot-in-shining-armor and his sassy maiden.”

And then Gyro put the pun together in his head, an evil grin spreading across his face.

“I love it,” Gyro declared.

Sorry, Fenton and Gandra, Della thought to herself. But I couldn’t resist.

Gyro was going to have a lot of fun with his new Cock Block.

******

Minnie Mouse was many things.

An amazing friend. A phenomenal seamstress and designer. A doting and supportive girlfriend. Sassier than you would expect from someone so small and bedecked in polka dots.

And, right now, she made phenomenal purse snatcher bait.

She walked down the street like it was a catwalk, dressed in her favorite red dress, with a matching bow with sequins, red heels, and white sunglasses.

But, most importantly, was the black designer purse she wore on one arm, her other threaded through Mickey’s arm.

“Ugh, darling, I thought you said that this wouldn’t be a working vacation,” Minnie said with an indignant sniff.

“I told you, sweetums, I’m a very busy man,” Mickey said, taking on a self-important air as he flicked a non-existent spec of dust off his sleeve.

“You promised me,” Minnie whined. “A fun relaxing vacation. I want to go to the beach.”

“Baby, I promise, this meeting will only take fifteen minutes. It’s pretty much a done deal. I just need to sign some paperwork and then I’ll have a nice new bonus to buy you a beach,” Mickey said. He made a big show of kissing her cheek as she pouted.

“Fine!” Minnie huffed. “I’ll be waiting! And if you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m divorcing you!”

With that, she went and sat on a bench, setting the bag beside her and pulling out her phone.

From a distance, Duck Avenger shook his head, but grinned. When he had asked Mickey and Minnie to play bait for him today, he hadn’t expected them to get very into it, creating elaborate personas and backstories. He definitely hadn’t expected them to be such great actors.

Then he saw him.

The purse snatcher.

He didn’t even have a hood on today, not even something that covered his tell-tale tattoo. He was strutting through the street, walking like a king. He was untouchable.

Or so he thought.

Not today. Today, he was finally going to get caught.

Because today he wasn’t just facing Duck Avenger, but an entire team ready to help take this one petty thief down a peg or two or three.

As if on cue, the purse snatcher walked past Minnie’s bench, quickly grabbing the bag where it sat beside her.

“Hey! Stop, thief!” Minnie screeched, though if he had looked behind him, he would have seen her smirk.

As it so happened, he didn’t.

He was running down the street at full speed, knocking people out of the way, only to skid to a stop as a little boy with rockets in his feet—rockets, of all things!—dropped out of nowhere, holding out his hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

“I don’t think that belongs to you, sir!” The boy declared.

“Yeah, it totally clashes with your outfit,” Said a young girl from behind him, the purse snatcher whirling around. He scowled, recognizing her from a few days before, she was with that Duck Avenger hero...

The purse snatcher turned and ran into the street, horns honking and brakes screeching as he crossed to the other side.

He was almost to the entrance to the old subway, an easy hop over the broken boards, when suddenly something went up to block that path—were those crutches? Yes, they were crutches, one in the hands of a boy in red, the other in a boy in green, the cast on his foot indicating that he was the owner of the crutches.

“Think again,” The boy in green taunted with a smirk.

The thief was now getting frantic. He turned, only to see a tall, golden-haired cop heading their way.

With a curse, the thief took off running towards the alleyway that led behind the movie theater…

And he was making it, he was almost home free, he was on a new street… No way he was gonna get caught.

And then he came face to face with Duck Avenger.

He knew exactly how to handle this guy.

He took off running, Duck Avenger on his heels.

Duck Avenger had the advantage. He had the fresh legs. He had the determination. He had a great support system behind him.

But, more importantly, he finally had the faith in himself that he had what he needed to do the job.

Right when Duck Avenger expected, the thief turned and swung the bag backwards…

But this time, unlike the other times in the past week when they’d been in this exact scenario, Duck Avenger was prepared.

The thief wasn’t expecting the bag to hit a shield, or for Duck Avenger to use his other arm to grab hold of his arm, yanking him so that his arm was pinned behind his back and forced to the ground on his stomach.

“Hey! Come on, man!” The thief said, struggling. “Let me go!”

“Nope!” Duck Avenger said proudly. “Sorry, pal, but your luck has run out. The storm has caught up to you.”

“Smile!” Daisy called as she rushed up, camera in hand.

Duck Avenger did just that, grinning.

The purse thief just scowled and continued to struggle before finally going slack.

It was over.

He had lost.

And Duck Avenger was triumphant.

“Way to go, DA!” Huey said as Duck Avenger received exuberant high-fives from the kids as Storkules put the handcuffed thief—whose name, of all things, was Percy Snatcher; Duck Avenger and Storkules were both sure that he was making it up… until he sighed and told them to look at his ID—into the back of a squad car.

“You did it!” Webby squealed.

“No,” Duck Avenger said. “We did it. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

“This is going to look brilliant on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow,” Daisy said, showing everyone the photo she had taken. “I’m almost done with the article, and it’ll hit the presses tonight.”

“I can’t wait to read it,” Duck Avenger told her.

Then, they all glanced up as something flew overhead.

“Is that a drone?” Huey asked, his brow furrowed.

“Appears so,” Boyd confirmed.

Duck Avenger frowned at the drone, wondering where it came from.

And then he caught sight of a familiar logo, red on the white of the drone.

What are those two up to now? He wondered. More importantly, does Gandra know what they’re up to?

*****

Gandra did, in fact, know what they were up to.

In fact, she was the one flying the drone.

The drone flew into the junkyard full of Beagle Boys, all of whom were back on their feet after their stint with the Canine Cold.

None of them expected the drone to come into their territory, though.

For the most part, they were confused. One of them went to get Ma, who did not have the patience for this nonsense and she was about to start hitting the drone with her handbag when a screen appeared, revealing…

“Ugh. It’s you two,” Ma groaned at the sight of Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck. “We’re outta quarantine.”

“You’ll forgive us for not taking risks,” Darkwing said. “But this is urgent. We need to talk to Bruiser.”

Ma scowled and pointed at the screen, shouting, “My boy did nothin’ and you can’t prove nothin’!”

“Double negatives aside, ma’am, Bruiser’s not in trouble,” Gizmoduck said. “We just need Bruiser to tell us about the man in the sewer.”

The Boys started whispering amongst each other. How’d they know about the man? Why did they want to know about the man? Why was it urgent?

Ma jerked her head and Bruiser came forward, looking a little nervous.

“What do you wanna know about Sewer Man?” Bruiser asked.

“Can you tell us what happened when you encountered him?” Darkwing asked.

Bruiser nodded, but frowned and sighed. Clearly, he had told this story many times before. “I was walking home one day. It had been rainin’ that morning, puddles everywhere, and some truck drove past me and got me wet real good. I was soaked. I was trying to wring out somma the water, this crazy man poked his head outta the sewer beside me and asked me if I wanted to get revenge and become liquidated.”

“Liquidated?” Darkwing repeated, perking up. “Or Liquidator?”

“Does it matter?” Bruiser asked. “I didn’t wanna get turned to juice! I ran away as fast as I could!”

“Can you describe the man?” Gizmoduck asked.

“Uh… older duck, yellow coat, red hat. And a mask.” Bruiser frowned.  “Come ta think of it, he looked familiar. Like that supervillain you two and the Duck Avenger were fighting. And that lady who convinced me, Big Time and Burger to rob that deli that one time.”

The two heroes exchanged a glance and looked excited.

“How long ago was this?” Darkwing asked.

“Coupla weeks? I dunno. Before he kidnapped Mayor Owlson and that reporter.”

“Bruiser, thank you for your time and this information.” Gizmoduck said.

“If ya got what you wanted, LEAVE!” Ma Beagle shouted.

As Gandra flew the drone away, Fenton switched off the screen and took off his helmet.

“So Negaduck is still recruiting,” He said. “And you recognized that name?”

Drake untied his mask and nodded. “Liquidator. Part of the Fearsome Four. It fits the pattern. Megavolt, obviously, and then he turned Downey into Quackerjack. Same costume and everything.”

“So, Liquidator. What’s his story?” Gandra asked.

“A corrupt businessman with a water bottling factory who accidentally got turned entirely into water,” Drake said. “Bruiser would be a good fit for that role, physically at least. And Morgana’s got the magic to help him along, even if he doesn’t actually turn into water.”

“What about the fourth member of the Fearsome Four?” Fenton asked as he finished getting himself out of the torso of the Gizmoduck armor. “Obviously, it wasn’t a Negaduck or a Sorceress. And you and Launchpad said that Morgana’s character, Splatter Phoenix, was more of a cameo role.”

“Hmm. Number four is Bushroot.” Drake said. He frowned. “Honestly, I don’t think we have to worry too much about Negaduck trying to find a Bushroot.”

“Why not?” Fenton asked.

“Bushroot was a villain but… kind of a lame one, honestly,” Drake said, waving his hand about. “His story is that he was a prominent botanist that got poisoned by some radioactive plant growth serum he was developing and turned into this plant-duck-thing. He was a lot more ‘save the trees’ than ‘destroy the city’. In his solo episodes, he mostly just caused a couple of strange disturbances, but he was more of a joke than anything else. Producers mostly pushed for Bushroot to be the villain of the after-school special type episodes about the importance of recycling and eating vegetables. Even when he teamed up with the other three, he wasn’t exactly evil, and got bossed around a bit by the other three.”

“You don’t think Negaduck would love a pushover for a minion?” Gandra asked, closing down the computer now that the drone was safely back in their hands.

“Anything Bushroot could do, Morgana can do with magic,” Drake responded. “And make it even bigger, scarier, and more diabolical. Nah, I think we’re safe.”

“So we need to be on the lookout for potential candidates for Negaduck to offer the chance of becoming the Liquidator to,” Fenton said.

Drake grinned and leaned back into the couch, putting his ankle on his knee and his hands behind his head. “Well, would you look at that?”

“Look at what?” Fenton asked, looking around.

Drake’s grin grew. “Your fake lead did manage to go somewhere after all.”

Fenton grinned. “Glad you trusted me?”

“Yeah, but don’t get any ideas. Next time you lead me somewhere with ‘Danger, keep out’ signs clearly posted, you’re going in first.”

“… That’s fair.”

*****

“This was a good idea,” Gosalyn commented as she and Launchpad found a table at Hamburger Hippo as they settled into their first Launchpad-Daughter Date. “Way better than fishing.”

“Definitely have a better chance of getting something to eat,” Launchpad agreed, a bit nervous about the real reason he wanted to have this outing with her. While they had both apologized for their behavior, and that hug had done them both a lot of good, they had still been walking on eggshells around each other, and Launchpad knew the two of them needed to have a talk now that cooler heads were prevailing. “Hey, Gos, we need to talk about a couple of things.”

Gosalyn paused with a fry partway to her mouth, then she nodded and ate the fry. “Yeah, I figured we did.”

Launchpad took a deep breath and said, “We need to talk about the movie thing.”

Gosalyn’s brow furrowed. “The movie? You mean Duckthulu Three?” Launchpad nodded. “What about it?”

“We both messed up,” Launchpad explained. “And, well, Mr. McD pointed it out to me, and he was right about that. I shouldn’t have given you permission to go see the movie without talking about it with Drake first.”

“Wait, hold up,” Gosalyn said. “You went to crazy town the last couple of days because I went to see a movie?”

“A PG-13 movie,” Launchpad corrected. “And you’re twelve.”

“Yeah?” Gosalyn said, still looking confused. “Violet’s twelve and her dads took her to see a PG-13 movie. I mean, it was about the life of some scientist, but it had cuss words in it, and Duckthulu Three didn’t.”

“Let me ask you something,” Launchpad said. “Did you ask your dad if you could go see Duckthulu Three?”

“No,” Gosayn said, shaking her head slightly.

“Why did you ask me instead of him?” Launchpad continued to prod.

“Because there’s no way Dad would have said yes,” Gosalyn said. Then her eyes widened at the realization of what she said. “Oh!” She exclaimed, then her shoulders slumped and her face grew sad. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Launchpad said, nodding.

“I asked you, because I knew I’d get the answer I wanted out of you instead of Dad,” Gosalyn whispered. “I took advantage of you. I’m sorry, Launchpad, I really am. I won’t do it again, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Launchpad assured her. “Like I said, I messed up on this one, too. I should have talked with Drake before I gave an answer. And I’ll be honest, it’s easy for me to say yes, and for me hard to say no. I have trouble saying ‘no’ to people in general, but it’s really hard when it comes to you. But a movie you’re not technically old enough to see is very different from a cookie before dinner, you know what I mean?”

Gosalyn nodded. “Okay, but I guess I still don’t quite understand why it upset you so badly. What made you turn into Super Dad?”

Launchpad hesitated. He hadn’t figured it out until last night, lying awake in bed alone and wishing Drake had been there to realize why he had felt so hurt and determined and worried in the first place.

“I think… No, I know I wanted to be respected. As your parent,” Launchpad said slowly. “Drake’s your dad. He’s got the paperwork that makes it legal and everything. I’m your guardian, but only when Drake’s not around. And when he is, I’m just your dad’s boyfriend. I just… I think I wanted that same respect and recognition, the same acknowledgement that I could be your dad in the same way Drake is.”

Gosalyn set down her burger, folding her hands in her lap, but she managed to meet Launchpad’s eyes despite the faint hint of tears in her eyes. “Launchpad… if Dad… well, if Dad didn’t come home one day, and you did have to get full custody of me… Well, I don’t think I could ever call you ‘Dad’. Dad’s always been my only Dad. I mean, obviously, I had a bio dad, but I never got the chance to know him as a dad, so he’s not ‘Dad’. You know what I mean?”

Launchpad nodded. “I get what you mean.”

Gosalyn took a deep breath and continued, “So Dad is really the only person I feel like I can call ‘Dad’. And if you got custody of me, then, yeah, basically you’d be my dad, but you’d always be Launchpad to me. Is that… Is that okay? Would you like me to call you something else?”

“No,” Launchpad said. “That works. And I know I can never replace your dad. I’d never want to replace your dad. But, at the same time, I need to know that I can act as your dad.” He paused, then said, “I love living with you and Drake. I get to see you both more, and I know that this means things are really getting serious. I have no plans to go anywhere. I don’t want to. I have never been happier than in the last year with you two. But I know it involves other serious things. You are part of my life as much as Drake is. The three of us, we fit together perfectly. We can’t have one without the other. But we also have a lot of adjusting to do with every big step we take, and me moving in was one of those big steps in a lot of ways. Me being around more means I can more easily step in to that parent role if needed. But I need to figure out how to do that, and when.”

“I’d say I’d help you figure that out, but I guess as the kid, I can’t,” Gosalyn said.

Launchpad smiled at her. “No, you can’t. That’ll have to be between me and Drake. The most important thing is that we both love you and want what’s best for you, and that you know that.”

“I do know that,” Gosalyn said, nodding, smiling. “I’ve always known that. Since the day we met, I knew that.” Her smile grew bigger, into a grin. “So. You and my dad are serious, huh?”

Launchpad nodded. “Very serious.”

“Thinking of marriage serious?” Gosalyn asked innocently.

Launchpad’s cheeks turned pink and he played with the straw in his milkshake. “It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind… a time or two… or three…”

“Are you going to propose?” Gosalyn demanded, her eyes bright.

“Eventually. When the time is right.”

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know. Adjustment period, remember? One thing at a time.”

“You know, some people would have proposed first and then moved in together,” Gosalyn pointed out.

“Hmm, then it sounds like your dad should have proposed before asking me to move in,” Launchpad pointed out.

Gosalyn shrugged her shoulders. “Touché.”

“It’ll happen,” Launchpad assured her. “I promise. And I’ll tell you before I do.”

Gosalyn nodded. “I can live with that.”

And she couldn’t wait for that day to come… 

Day Seven

“So? Verdict?” Gyro asked as he watched Della walk back and forth on the lab floor, occasionally jumping or lunging, testing out the new prosthetic she wore.

Della turned to him, beaming. “It’s perfect!”

It was some of Gyro’s best work yet. Sleek and simple, based on the design of Beverly, but with different material. Lighter, yet durable. Inside, the prosthetic cushioned Della’s residual limb, adjusting easily to fluctuations of swelling, and included a cooling system. It was certainly much easier on her skin. They’d even gotten whimsical and painted flames on the side.

He could see clearly that Della was moving easier and faster, her steps lighter, and definitely quieter. In everything but color and level of shininess, this new prosthetic mirrored her flesh and blood limb.

Gyro smiled, pleased with himself and their work, going to make a note when he suddenly felt a pair of arms be thrown around him. His surprise turned into another smile as he returned Della’s embrace.

“Thank you,” Della said, grinning up at him. “Thank you so much, Gyro.”

“You’re welcome,” Gyro told her.

Della released him from the hug, and then ran across the room, leaping onto a table with ease, throwing her hands into the air as she landed and yelled, “Look out, world, Della Duck is coming for you!”

Gyro smiled as he watched her.

Why had he put off reuniting with Della for so long? Why hadn’t he thought to make her a new prosthetic for so long? Why didn’t he—?

And then he remembered.

Two words that were seared into his soul.

Transmission lost.

Three eggs without a mother.

A best friend who upended his life to be the only parent those three eggs would know for ten long years.

The man who believed in him and gave him hope for a future broken and hopeless.

Della was gone.

His fault.

His fault.

His…

...

Your fault.

He couldn’t let her near him. Not again.

If he did, one of them was going to get hurt beyond repair.

Gyro turned his back on Della, walking over to the window, staring at the expanse of ocean beyond.

“Working with you this week has been… surprisingly pleasant. Enjoyable. Fun, even.” He said, his voice stiff.

“It has been,” Della agreed. He heard her jump off the table, landing with ease.

“But it can never happen again.”

“Right, right, I know, your real interns are going to want their jobs back. I know, I know, I’m the best and can’t let them feel intimidated by my epicness.”

Gyro didn’t say anything, which Della took as an opportunity to continue speaking, saying, “We’re just going to have to get together and have fun out of the lab more often, then.”

“No.”

Gyro watched Della’s reflection in the glass, her face falling into a confused frown as she stared at his back.

“No?” She repeated.

“No. Never again.”

Della blinked, staring at him in dismay.

He turned his gaze into an upper corner, away from her reflection. The hurt there.

“But, Gyro,” Della said, a slight pleading in her voice. “We had fun. It was like old times.”

“Yes, this week was particularly nostalgic. But it’s over now. We’re back to reality,” Gyro said, watching a school of fish swim past. “As it should be.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

“I don’t believe you,” Della said, shaking her head slowly. “No, I can’t believe you. Why are you like this?”

“Because I don’t have time for your games, for getting myself trapped in Della-land,” Gyro said coolly. “I can’t keep doing this, Della.”

“Can’t keep doing what?” Della demanded. “Having fun? Have a life outside of this lab? Have a friend?”

“Yes. All of it,” Gyro snapped. “My work is too important. My research, my inventions, my lab, this is my life. It’s always been my life.”

“Well, your life sounds lonely.”

As it should be.

It was better that way.

It was safer that way.

For the sake of everyone he’d ever cared about, that was the way things needed to be.

Gyro took a deep breath.

“Della Duck,” He said, turning to look over his shoulder at her, fixing her with a cold, hard glare. “You’re fired.”

Della’s face turned red with anger and she pointed at him, shouting, “You can’t fire me! I quit!”

With that, she stormed towards the elevator, tapping her foot impatiently. When the doors opened, she turned back around and marched back towards Gyro, saying, “I take it back! You fired me! I get a severance package if you fire me!”

And then she marched herself back to the elevator and disappeared.

For the first time that week, Gyro was finally, truly, alone in his lab.

And he felt absolutely miserable.

******

“Feel better?” Fenton asked as Drake came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel on his head.

“Oh, incredibly. Nothing like a good, hot shower to make you feel like a living being again,” Drake said, hanging the towel around his neck as he started to assist Fenton in the clean-up of the living room. He tossed a blanket destined for the laundry into a basket and said, “Listen, I… I want you to know that I heard you. When you said that I took my anger and frustration with Grizzlikoff out on you. And I’m sorry for making you my venting outlet, and I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could tell me to knock it off. I’ll keep that in mind in the future.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. And I’m sorry for lying to you,” Fenton said. “It was a bad idea from the beginning, and not just because it was a waste of time. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust like that. And that I got us sick with deliriously high fevers for a week.”

“I forgive you for both,” Drake said. “Because, at the end of the day, no matter what, I know without a doubt that you’ve got my back, and that I’ve got yours. But what I don’t get is, why did you keep trying to sell me on this so-called lead after we knew it was a bust and got sick?”

“Oh, that,” Fenton said, a bit sheepishly. “It’s just… You started talking about having to be alone while sick, and, well, I didn’t want you to be alone. Because I’ve seen you when you’re not all there mentally and feeling crummy and think you’re alone, and it’s—”

“A pathetic sight?” Drake suggested with a self-deprecating smile.

“I was going to say, not good for your mental and emotional health, which would definitely impact your physical health,” Fenton said with a shrug. “But, yeah, a little pathetic too.”

Drake nodded. “I won’t lie. I’ve missed Launchpad and Gosalyn this week. A lot. I’m going to be so glad to see them again. But, weird as it sounds, I’ve also enjoyed this week with you.”

Fenton grinned and embraced Drake, who returned the hug, the two clapping each other on the back.

“You two done with the bromance moment?” Gandra asked wryly as she leaned against the entryway to the kitchen. “Because Elise will be here any minute to see if you two can step into the outside world again.

“For now,” Drake said, releasing Fenton. “Thanks for keeping me alive this week, Gandra. And making sure I didn’t drown. And only did a couple of stupid things.” He paused, then added, “And I’m sorry for thinking you were a vampire.”

“Eh, I’ve been called worse.” Gandra said with a smirk.

“Point is, I will be owing you favors for the rest of my life,” Drake said.

“Oh, I know. You both will,” Gandra said, her smirk growing. “Because I didn’t just keep you two idiots alive this week. I’ve gathered enough blackmail material to get whatever I want out of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

With a slightly evil cackle, Gandra turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen.

Needlessly, Drake and Fenton exchanged a glance to confirm what they already knew.

They were totally and completely screwed.

*****

“We’re framing this,” Scrooge declared as he grinned at the front page of the Duckburg Times where he sat on the couch, Huey and Webby on one side of him, and Louie and Boyd on the other, all four kids leaning over to read the newspaper along with him.

Where he stood behind the couch, reading over his uncle’s shoulder, Donald blushed. “Aw, Unca Scrooge, don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“Nonsense!” Scrooge said. “It’s brilliant. And a great way to celebrate your first week as Duck Avenger! May they all be as successful as this one!”

Daisy put her arm around Donald’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “We’re going to celebrate all victories, great and small.”

“Verily,” Storkules agreed, resting one hand on Donald’s shoulder. “For they are yours.”

“More importantly, this one is ours,” Donald said, looking around the room, grinning down at the kids. “I can’t take sole credit for this, and I won’t. I needed help, and I’m glad that you all were there to help me—not just in catching this crook, but being there for me when I was down. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Hey, we’re always here to tell you how amazing you are,” Louie said.

“Yeah, and now we’re going to be able to collect proof of your amazingness more easily!” Webby said. “Uncle Scrooge is right, this is going in a frame.”

“I want a second copy,” Huey said. “There’s a scrapbooking badge I’m itching to get my fingers on…”

Suddenly, they all jumped at hearing the front door slam and watched as Della marched into the hall, fists clenched at her sides.

“Della?” Donald called. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is not alright!” Della exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “Gyro and I made this super cool prosthetic and actually had an amazing time together and being friends again this week, and you know what that no-good licorice lover did? HE FREAKING FIRED ME!”

“Dr. Gearloose did what?” Boyd exclaimed, his eyes wide. “But…”

Whatever he was about to say, Della didn’t stick around to find out, storming away.

Scrooge sighed and passed the newspaper to Huey. “Use this for your scrapbook, lad. We’ll get another one to frame.”

Scrooge got up and walked out of the room, following Della’s path.

He found her in the kitchen, stomping about and slamming cabinets as she found comfort food. He did notice that, despite her stomping, her footsteps were softer, quieter. Scrooge stood back and observed Della for a moment and her movements.

“Rather remarkable piece of equipment you got there,” He said.

“It’s great,” Della grunted as she rummaged through the freezer, pulling out a carton of ice cream. She took it over to the counter and—instead of serving herself up a dish—proceeded to dump syrup and sprinkles and gummy bears into the carton. “It’s perfect. It doesn’t even feel fake, you know? It’s the best thing that has ever been invented. And instead of celebrating this massive victory and totally awesome advancement of science and technology and medicine, Gyro fires me!” She slammed the silverware door, taking her spoon and sticking it into the carton. “Like, I didn’t expect he’d add me to the roster. He’s got his real interns back. But he for real fired me! There was no need for that!”

She took several bites of her ice cream, Scrooge watching in silence, his heart breaking slightly as he saw his niece’s eyes flood with tears of frustration and hurt.

She swallowed a bite and stared at her carton. “What am I doing wrong, Uncle Scrooge?”

Scrooge sighed and stepped further into the kitchen, getting out his own spoon to stick into the carton. He took a bite of the concoction and said, “Della, can I be honest with you? Give you some piece of information that will, perhaps, provide some better insight into Gyro’s mind?”

“Yeah,” Della said. “Please. Because I sure don’t have a clue what’s going on in his head anymore.”

“The floors at the Money Bin that we renovated. The one for the infirmary, and the office, and the training hall, and Minnie’s studio. Do you remember what they were before?”

Della thought, then shook her head. “No. I don’t. Sorry.”

Scrooge took a deep breath, then said, “Laboratories for McDuck Enterprises Research and Development.”

“No, that can’t be right,” Della said, shaking her head. “Five floors? For Research and Development? But Gyro’s always been on the bottom floor. That’s where the lab is.”

“Yes, that’s where Gyro’s always been. And that’s where the lab is.” Scrooge emphasized the singular. “Gyro has always preferred that space since he started in Research and Development. He wasn’t always the head of that department. He worked under someone else when he first got hired.”

“I remember Dr. Featherly,” Della admitted. “She was nice.” She frowned. “Wait, what happened to her? She’s not, like, dead, is she?”

“No, no,” Scrooge said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Alive and well. She took a teaching position at a university on the east coast a number of years ago. We still keep in touch.”

“Phew,” Della said, shoulders slumping with relief. Then she thought more. “Wait, so there were more scientists. How many more?”

“Nearly two dozen.” Scrooge confessed. “After the Spear of Selene… the company experienced an economic downturn. Partly because I devoted so much of the company’s funds searching for you. Many in Research and Development felt discouraged, which is entirely my fault, not because I blamed them for the lack of success, but because I was not allowing them to do the job I hired them for. They were brilliant minds who wanted to create and do. I offered them the freedom to do just that under my employ, and then I took it away from them. So, one by one, they left. Different companies, different universities, different opportunities. All of them. Except for the last man standing.”

“Gyro,” Della whispered with realization.

Scrooge nodded. “For many years, Gyro wasn’t just the Head of Research and Development, but the entire department.” He was quiet, then said, “Only thing he has ever complained about is a shrinking budget. Not working alone, not the reduction of space. He’s never missed a deadline no matter how tight it was. He’s never taken a sick day and rarely requests time off. For that matter, he’s never disappointed me. But that lab is his entire world. He’s built himself a bubble down there. And it’s not healthy for him. I’m ashamed to say that I hadn’t realized that until after your boys came into my life. That was why I forced him to take an intern in the first place. I thought that, maybe, if he had more help, it would take some of the pressure off of him, allow him to leave the lab more. Instead, not much has changed. In fact, I’d say it’s gotten worse than ever before, especially in the last few weeks.”

Scrooge was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I think I lied to you, lass.”

“About what?” Della asked.

“That I could give you a better glimpse in Gyro’s mind,” Scrooge said. “Instead, I’m finding I’m just as lost as you are. I’m worried about him. He’s been acting moodier and more closed off than usual. Hasn’t even burst into my office to show off a new doohickey in weeks. He looks exhausted, but he keeps on pushing, and I’m terrified he’s going to push himself over an edge someday. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.”

Della smiled softly. “Then let’s figure it out together, Uncle Scrooge. You and me, we’ll figure out what’s going on inside that big brilliant brain of his.”

Scrooge smiled in agreement and reached over to cup her cheek. “That’s my girl.”

*****

“Dad! You’re home!” Gosalyn exclaimed, rushing forward with a grin to throw her arms around Drake as he dropped his bag on the floor. He instantly dropped to his knees to receive her, wrapping her tightly in a hug.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Drake said, kissing her face. “I’ve missed you so much, baby girl.”

“We missed you, too, Dad,” Gosalyn said, pulling back, letting Drake use her shoulder to get back up to his feet as Launchpad came into the hallway, scooping Drake into a hug.

“Welcome home,” Launchpad said, kissing Drake’s head.

“Good to be home,” Drake said, then kissed Launchpad on the beak. The kiss was long and deep, and when they finally broke apart, it was with large grins on their faces, their foreheads touching. They parted slightly to allow Gosalyn to join them as she called out,

“Family hug!”

“So?” Drake said as they went upstairs, Launchpad having slung Drake’s bag over his shoulder. “How’d everything go this week?” He frowned as Launchpad and Gosalyn exchanged a look. “What? What happened?”

“We, uh, we had some problems,” Gosalyn admitted.

“But we’re working on solving them,” Launchpad said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Drake’s head. “Especially now that you’re back, and we can talk some things over as a family.”

Drake looked a little confused, but he smiled. “I like the sound of that. Alright. Fill me in on what happened in the lives of my two favorite people in the world while I was out of my mind.”

And so the family of three—a dad, a daughter, and a Launchpad—went and made themselves cozy in bed for a long talk.

*****

Boyd stepped out of the elevator, looking around for any sign of his creator.

“Dr. Gearloose?” He called out. “Dr. Gearloose!”

“What now?”

Boyd spun around at seeing Gyro emerge from his office, and ran forward.

“Dr. Gearloose, what happened?” Boyd asked.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Gyro said with a sigh as he walked past Boyd, going over to a workstation. “Historically speaking, a lot of things have happened.”

“What happened with you and Miss Della?” Boyd asked, following in his wake. “She said you fired her.”

“Oh, great. She’s going around throwing a tantrum and now I’m the bad guy,” Gyro drawled as he started tinkering with some pieces of metal.

Boyd stared at him, his brow furrowed. “I just don’t understand,” He said. “You two… you went on a friend-date. You said you were sorry. You wanted her to know you were sorry. And then you worked together, and built something together and now… you just fired her?”

“I didn’t exactly hire her to begin with. It’s a symbolic firing.”

“You still fired her. That was—”

“Mean? Hate to break it to you, kid, but I am mean.”

Boyd shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re not mean.”

He couldn’t reconcile the idea that the man in front of him was a mean person. Not like Dr. Akita. No, Dr. Gearloose was different. Sure, he could be snarky, and a little cold, but he wasn’t mean.

Gyro turned to Boyd, something cold and harsh in his eyes. “Boyd, I’m not the nice guy you once knew, and the sooner you accept that, the better off you are. Do you actually need something?”

A little self-consciously, Boyd gripped his elbow—he still remembered Dr. Gearloose’s gentle touch and soothing, reassuring voice and affectionate smile when a trial run didn’t go as planned and his arm fell off, Dr. Gearloose carefully piecing him back together and ruffling his hair, reinforcing how real he was—and said, “I just, I wanted to check on you. See if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Gyro said, turning his back to Boyd once again. “Go away.”

“How’s your wrist? Does it still hurt? What about the swelling? Did you remember to—”

“Boyd. I. Am. Fine. Now go. I’ve got work to do, and I don’t have time for chit-chat.”

Gyro wasn’t fine. That’s why he wasn’t looking at him. Boyd knew this. He could feel it. Boyd didn’t have a real heart, but that didn’t make him any less of a real boy, or the pain he felt in his heart any less real.

Still, Boyd swallowed and decided to retreat.

Because he had a feeling that, the longer he stayed, the more Dr. Gearloose was just going to try and prove it to Boyd that he was a mean person.

*****

“Mi bebe,” Rosa crooned as she held Fenton’s face in her hands. “My poor, sweet, dumbass of a bebe.”

Fenton sighed, his face still slightly squished in his mother’s hands. “I missed you, too, M’ma.”

Rosa smiled and patted his cheek, kissing his forehead before releasing him to embrace Gandra.

“I am so sorry for all the trouble he caused you,” Rosa said, pressing a kiss to Gandra’s cheek. “Probecita, having to put up with my sick idiot of a son and his nonsense.”

“I’m standing right here, M’ma,” Fenton said. “I can hear you.”

“Good,” Ross threw over her shoulder, then turned back to Gandra. “So? Be honest with me now. How bad was it?”

“Well, I got to hear Fenton sing,” Gandra said. “And I think I could appreciate his singing if I heard it again. As long as he doesn’t sing anything from either of the Frozen movies. Or at three in the morning.”

Rosa sighed. “It’s always three in the morning with him, I swear.”

“Want to hear the recording I made of Fenton and Drake sounding like deranged bats while vocalizing to ‘Into the Unknown’?” Gandra offered.

“Please no,” Fenton groaned.

“I would love nothing more,” Rosa said, wrapping her arm around Gandra.

“How did the sergeant’s exam go, M’ma?” Fenton asked, desperately trying to divert the conversation.

“Taking the test was the easy part, now I just have to wait for the results,” Rosa answered. “But Grizzlikoff’s going ahead and letting me start with the Superhero Unit in the meantime. And I see what you are trying to do, pollito, but it’s not going to work.”

“Yep, good try, Mr. I’m-Sexy-And-I-Know-It,” Gandra said with a smirk. “But I’ve been waiting all week for this moment. And no one is going to stop me from giving your mom the highlights reel of ‘stupid things Fenton has said or done while sick’.”

Fenton groaned and put his head in his hands.

He’d learned a valuable lesson indeed: lying to one of your best friends only leads to your girlfriend and your mother taking great delight in making fun of you...

*****

Two Days Later...

In a united front, Darkwing Duck, Gizmoduck, and Duck Avenger strolled into the police station, where Chief Grizzlikoff was waiting for them in the lobby.

“You better not be wasting our time again, Chief,” Darkwing Duck said, narrowing his eyes. “Or taxpayer dollars.”

Grizzlikoff scowled down at Darkwing. “Your cape is a waste of taxpayer dollars.”

“And your birth certificate is a waste of paper.”

Gizmoduck put a restraining hand on Darkwing’s shoulder, but looked at Grizzlikoff saying, “You said that it was urgent, Chief. You have to understand our position, given that last time we were summoned to the station on such short notice and with the utmost urgency, it was a case of crying wolf.”

Grizzlikoff huffed and said, “Fine. I apologize for that stunt. It was unprofessional, uncalled for, and harmful to the department as a whole, to include you three. And I can assure you that, this time, we do have something incredibly valuable.”

“A new lead on Negaduck?” Duck Avenger asked.

“Even more valuable.” Grizzlikoff said.

“How much more valuable?” Duck Avenger pressed.

“To the tune of fifty-four point six million dollars.”

All three heroes stared at him.

“That’s… incredibly specific,” Gizmoduck said.

Grizzlikoff gestured for them to follow him to the elevator. Once they were inside, he explained, “Do any of you pay particular attention to international crimes?”

“No, we’ve got bigger problems locally,” Darkwing admitted.

Grizzlikoff nodded. “Typically, I do as well. But in this instance, we’ve been forced to look beyond the city limits.”

The elevator dinged open and Grizzlikoff led them to a brightly lit evidence room that was surprisingly guarded by two uniformed officers.

“This was found at our shipping and receiving dock this morning,” Grizzlikoff said as he walked to the table in the center of the room, which also had several officers standing around it protectively. “The tube it was packaged in had a note that addressed the contents to Darkwing Duck, Gizmoduck, and Duck Avenger.”

The three heroes stared down at the painting on the table.

“Is… is that…?” Darkwing said, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“A Pelicanaso?” Duck Avenger exclaimed. He lifted his head and looked up at Grizzlikoff. “Now I remember. The Victoria and Albatross Museum in London was robbed a few weeks ago. It was all over the news. The only thing stolen was a Pelicanaso. Is this…?”

“We don’t know for certain,” Grizzlikoff said. “The FBI’s involved, and there will be an armed escort to fly it to the National Gallery in D.C. All hush-hush until it can be proven to be the real deal. Charlotte Pekin from St. Canard is on her way down to give it a preliminary check for damage and authentication.”

“I’ve worked with Charlotte before, she’s one of the best,” Darkwing said with a nod. “Can we see the tube it was in?”

Grizzlikoff nodded and led them over to a nearby counter, where the tube—already marked with an evidence number—lay. It was a plain cardboard tube, with a glaring white rectangular sticker that had the heroes names printed on it, clearly done using a computer.

“No discernable fingerprints, or distinctive markings,” Grizzlikoff said.

“Anything else?” Gizmoduck asked.

Grizzlikoff hesitated, then said, “The postcard.”

“The what?” Darkwing asked.

Grizzlikoff showed them to the next piece of evidence. “This is the strangest part of it all. The postcard is from the Victoria and Albatross gift shop. It displays this exact painting. And some sort of coded message.”

He showed them the message, which did look like a bunch of gibberish, as if someone had splattered alphabet soup all over the back of the card.

“Can we take this?” Duck Avenger asked. “For our analysis?”

“Get Sabrewing or Cabrera to sign it out, but don’t see why not,” Grizzlikoff said. “It was addressed to you three anyways.” He looked at the three heroes strangely. “Do any of you have any idea who would steal a painting from halfway around the world and then bring it to you?”

The three heroes exchanged a look. Then they all shook their heads.

“None whatsoever,” Gizmoduck admitted.

Which meant that the real question was, was this person a friend or a new foe?