Fate Is The Fowler
The moon was still high in the clear night sky over St. Canard as a motorcycle raced up one of the main support cables of the Audubon Bay Bridge and disappeared into the tower at the top. Once inside the secret lair of the city's watchful protector, the bike skidded to a halt and its driver removed his helmet in favor of his usual gray slouch hat. An exuberant young girl sprang out of the vehicle's sidecar followed by a significantly more subdued pilot sidekick.
"We sure taught Megavolt a lesson, huh?" the red-haired duckling said, dancing excitedly and swinging her fists.
Darkwing Duck was still sitting on the Ratcatcher, quietly seething over the night's events. "We?"
Launchpad held his hands up defensively as Darkwing hopped off the bike and stalked toward them. "Now DW-"
"We didn't do anything," Darkwing said, pushing past Launchpad. "I short-circuited that demented dynamo while you were doing your best to get fried to a crisp! What did I tell you about tagging along when I'm on a case?"
"Oh come on, Dad," Gosalyn sighed.
"I told you to finish your homework and go to bed. For sneaking out of the house and continued disobedience in general, I'm grounding you for a month."
Darkwing threw his hands up in exasperation. "You can't keep doing this, Gos. Do you have any idea how dangerous my work is?"
Gosalyn crossed her arms. "Aren't you the one always saying, 'Let's get dangerous'?"
"Getting dangerous is for heroes and their sidekicks, not children!"
"I am not a child!"
"Yes you are!"
"No I'm not!"
"Back me up here, Launchpad!" Darkwing and Gosalyn said in unison, both turning to glare at the pilot.
"Uh, you know, I think I'm gonna stay out of this one," Launchpad said as he took a few steps backward. After a night of facing off against a psychotic super villain, he was just too worn out to referee another shouting match between the two hot-headed ducks currently staring him down. Instead he went and sat in one of the chairs in the corner of the tower.
"I'll see you guys back at the house, okay?" Launchpad hit the button that activated the transport mechanism and was whisked away.
Darkwing returned his attention to Gosalyn. "I don't want any more interference from you when I'm working; I mean it!"
"But how else am I supposed to train for my future career as a hero? Don't you think I should learn from the best before I go solo?" Gosalyn asked sweetly in a blatant attempt to appeal to Darkwing's ego.
He sighed and tiredly rubbed his forehead. "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by adopting you."
Gosalyn looked like she'd just been punched in the gut. "What?"
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that, but what about you? Wouldn't you have been better off getting adopted by a regular couple instead of a weirdo in a mask? That way you could've had a safe, normal life and a real family. If my influence on you ever got you hurt-"
"Dad," Gosalyn started, but Darkwing shook his head.
"Gos, you came this close to getting zapped tonight," he said, remembering all too vividly how he'd barely managed to knock her out of the path of a lethal bolt of electricity from Megavolt's ray gun. "If I'd been five feet further away, you would've been killed, do you understand? We wouldn't be having this conversation right now because you would be dead."
Darkwing grimaced. "I can't stand even thinking about it. If anything happened to you, I'd- I'd just lose it. I'd go berserk, permanently."
Suddenly an image of Darkwarrior Duck flashed across Gosalyn's mind, and she stared blankly in mute shock at the revelation.
Darkwing smiled sadly. "I don't mean to rain on your parade, kiddo, but this is serious. It's not a game," he said, kneeling down and wrapping his arms tightly around her.
"I know I can't always stop you from doing what you want to do, and you have no idea how proud I am that you'd want to follow in my footsteps... But I'm begging you not to, sweetie."
Darkwing let go of Gosalyn and rose to his feet. "It's not a game, and it can get much worse than you think."
Gosalyn's eyes were shining with unshed tears as Darkwing headed for the small dressing room he used to change between his civilian clothes and crime fighting attire. She'd never told him about what she'd seen him become in an alternate timeline without her, and the realization that she still had the power to turn the person she cared about most into a merciless killer felt like a vise tightening around her heart. Even though she'd already seen the proof in that dark future, it was hard for her to believe just how much she meant to him.
Gosalyn angrily scrubbed away her tears before they could run down her face just as Drake, now wearing his usual sweater vest, emerged from the changing room. She ran to him and caught him off guard with a silent hug. He hoisted her up in his arms and carried her toward the transport chairs.
"Let's go home."
Fast-forward twenty years into the future, where mid-morning sunlight was shining through the breakfast nook windows as Drake Mallard sat at his kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He skimmed the headlines, finding none of them particularly interesting. Setting the paper aside, he glanced at the plate of half-eaten breakfast on the other side of the table. How his daughter managed to operate on a perpetually empty stomach was beyond him.
Gosalyn had moved back in with Drake years ago after the accident that ended his career as Darkwing Duck. He had been in hot pursuit of his evil look-alike, Negaduck, who'd taken to the rooftops in his effort to escape being brought to justice. The criminal had jumped from a building and Darkwing had followed, neither of them realizing just how far away the next ledge actually was.
Darkwing had grabbed onto Negaduck and reached for his gas gun which was already loaded with a grappling hook, but the villain knocked it out of his hand, ready to die if it meant taking his do-gooder nemesis with him. The pair struggled as they plummeted to the ground nearly a hundred feet below. The fall had killed Negaduck almost instantly, and Darkwing had landed atop him, gravely injured. He'd broken his back and sunk into a coma for over a month. The doctors hadn't expected him to live, but he was strong, strong enough to come back from the brink of death.
The first thing he'd seen when he finally opened his eyes was Gosalyn peering down at him. Drake would never forget the terrified look on her face as she'd whispered, "Dad?" She'd been warned that he might have suffered lasting brain damage, that he might not recognize her, might not even be able to speak. Then he'd blinked several times and croaked, "Hey, Gos; time for me to get up?" and she'd finally allowed herself to sob, overcome with relief.
Launchpad had come to visit as soon as he got the news that Drake had woken up. He had quit the crime fighting business and moved away years before, had gotten married, and was busy raising a family of his own. After his release from the hospital, Drake had insisted that he'd be just fine living by himself, but Gosalyn wouldn't hear of it.
Drake finished the last of his coffee and picked up Gosalyn's leftovers. Stacking both of their plates on his lap, he turned his wheelchair away from the table and headed for the kitchen sink. As he rinsed the plates and utensils, he felt a twinge of regret over how things had turned out. Not for himself—he'd come to terms with that long ago—but for Gosalyn. He hadn't wanted her to put her own life on hold to help care for him, and he wasn't exactly thrilled about the terrible things she had to see every day because of her work. Feeling like he couldn't protect her anymore was one thing he'd likely never be able to accept, but he could at least take solace in knowing that she was making a difference in the world without putting her own safety on the line the way he had when he was an active crime fighter.
As he wheeled himself out of the kitchen and down the hallway, Drake paused to look up at a picture on the wall and couldn't help the proud smile that came to his face. Its simple black frame belied its importance to him as evidence of a parent's job well done. A photo of Gosalyn, mortarboard on her head and diploma in hand, smiled determinedly back at him.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in St. Canard, a balding middle-aged goose napped peacefully in a worn recliner. Normally he'd have left his modest house on the east side of the city for work hours ago, but he'd quit his mundane office job without even giving notice as soon as he'd gotten ahold of his late wife's life insurance money. She had somehow managed to drown in the bathtub; it was a terrible shame, really.
The man's blissful dreams of spending his newfound wealth on an ocean cruise to some tropical island getaway were rudely interrupted by a loud knock at his front door. He tried to ignore it at first, squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling a curse, but whoever it was only knocked again, louder this time. He sighed, got up from his chair, and shuffled into the foyer.
Hesitantly, the goose opened his door, and standing on the front stoop were two rather unfriendly-looking individuals. One was an older lanky avian with a wry grin, the other a female duck with piercing eyes and red hair cropped close in a pixie bob. The goose swallowed hard.
The woman held up a badge hanging from a chain around her neck and said, "Gosalyn Mallard, Homicide Division. Are you Cygmund Anser?" When the goose nodded, she gestured toward her companion. "This is Det. Warbler. Can we speak with you for a minute?"
-fin-