Forever Young
By Zebeckras
Author's Notes: So I've made it to the third rewrite! :D This one starts out with a bunch of text but it'll get more actiony than the previous fic, I promise. Just wait for it for a little bit. :) Ummmm... not sure how quickly this will go, I do have more written that I need to polish, I'm gonna try to be regular in updating this, standard stuff... Please review if you like this! I really need it to keep my momentum going. :) Thanks everyone, and enjoy!
In the early morning, on a Tuesday, Michael Jennings woke up in his cell and waited for the sound of the bells. After a few moments, he heard it; it always came.
The bells heralded the coming of his captor, who had been keeping him imprisoned for the past four days now. Michael, along with his various fellow prisoners, sat in silence as the jingling came closer.
At age 42, Michael Jennings had a business degree and pulled in a six-figure salary; he was near the top of the ladder in his company, a trusted advisor to the CEO, and he negotiated with a variety of other people - vendors, fellow businessmen, and your general everyday drones.
The one person he didn't seem to be able to negotiate with was the person who was holding him here. The jingling grew louder and then the figure came around the corner. He was grinning; he was always grinning. With his huge smile fixed, the criminal sang out, "Heeeey kids, what time is it?"
Michael kept silent, but the various people surrounding him obliged the jester. "It's Quackerjack fun time," they answered in a tired, unhappy unison.
"That's right!" said the jester, far too animated for this early in the morning. "And today you all get your choice of your very own fun-fun-FUN toys!" He reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of harmless-looking objects: a frilly fashion doll, and a teddy bear. "Now, admittedly, I was thinking more of the girls when I went with this one," he said offhandedly, indicating the doll, "but there's really no reason to adhere too strictly to gender roles now is there? So - line up!"
No one moved.
Quackerjack's smile slipped a notch or two. "Oh come on guys, how do you know if you'll like it until you try it?"
Michael and the others knew better by this point than to try any of Quackerjack's toys; they all looked harmless at first glance but they all had some kind of psychotic twist to them. He remembered seeing that teddy bear the first day he'd been there; it had some kind of switchblade hidden in it. And he didn't know much about the fashion doll but he was willing to bet it was rigged, too.
His smile now becoming a frown, Quackerjack began to look ominous. "What is WITH you guys? You're kids! Kids love toys!"
"Are you out of your mind?" Michael snapped at last. He stood up, rising to his full height - which just now was only about two and a half feet. His voice hit a pitch that he hadn't been able to reach since he was seven, which he supposed he now technically was. "We're not children! We're adults and you... DID something to us! You know that!"
The clown's expression turned a little pouty, and he turned aside for a moment. "Yeah, but I was hoping you didn't."
"RRGH!" Michael sat back down, enraged. There had to be a way to deal with this guy, but he'd tried every negotiation tactic in the book and nothing seemed to work, so now he was just down to angry outbursts. He'd been cooped up for too long.
"Listen," announced Quackerjack, looming over the room of adults-turned-children, "like it or not you guys are all kids now. And kids play with toys. So. PLAY."
There was a pause, and then all the young adults rushed forward to claim a toy. Michael was the last, and he glared at Quackerjack as he gripped the fashion doll and slowly drew it out of the clown's grip.
"Wonderful!" Quackerjack said gleefully. "Now, I'll just leave you all to have fun."
He left, and once he'd disappeared from view they all heard the lock turn in the door, trapping them again in their cell.
Michael sighed and looked at the doll in his hands. It looked like a normal girl's toy - shapely, vapid, and perfectly content to wear tight-fitting all day. He considered it for a few moments, turning it over and over, then his finger brushed a little button on its back and he had to hurriedly toss it aside as it breathed fire at him.
He sighed and wondered how much longer it would be until someone came and got them.
There are many ways in which a hero can protect his city.
The most obvious way, of course, is to defeat the denizens of darkness as they come forward, deducing their diabolical intentions and nullifying the nefarious nogoodniks before they can bring their plans to fruition. After a lifetime of experience, Darkwing Duck had mastered this ability and could do it in his sleep. In fact, he had, but that was another story.
A lesser-known protection, however, is the dedication to constant vigilance. Constant vigilance is what allows the very best heroes to not only thwart the very worst plans of the very worst villains as they unfold, but to act preemptively, eliminating threats before they have a chance to strike. Constant vigilance is the way in which the very best vigilantes monitor potential subjects and catch them before they are able to perpetrate any wrongdoing.
Constant vigilance, and a healthy dose of intuition, are among the weapons at the disposal of the peak heroes of the world - the creme de la creme, if you will.
Darkwing Duck's intuition had led him to watch a certain newcomer into his life very closely. He was, in fact, ready to place her on the "constant vigilance" list. At first glance, Beth Webfoot was harmless: shy, bespectacled, and interested only in hardware and the occasional babysitting gig. But after a series of odd events, all of which had seemed to involve her in one way or another, Darkwing's intuition had begun to tell him that this woman needed watching.
She seemed to attract supervillains like a magnet, for one thing. There was that, which of itself was suspicious, but add to it the fact that she was worming her way into his family life... coincidence? How big of a coincidence would it have to be for an honestly harmless woman to meet him, get hired to babysit his daughter, and via totally-unrelated means bump into not one but two of his most dangerous arch-enemies?
That would be one big coincidence, Darkwing believed. Too big.
Plus there was something about her that just bugged him.
A generic background search hadn't turned up any information, and as a result Gosalyn and Launchpad were telling him he was being irrational. So, all that meant was that Beth Webfoot was very, very crafty - and probably using an alias. He'd have to probe deeper.
Some might say that it was faulty logic for Darkwing Duck to allow a suspected supervillain to babysit his daughter several nights a week, but Darkwing believed in the wise old adage, "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer." He was on guard, and so he didn't believe Gosalyn was in any genuine danger. From what he could see, Beth was sounding him out as much as he was sounding her out. He was confident that he'd be able to track her movements well enough to know before she was about to strike.
Meanwhile, he had the advantage: surprise, and foreknowledge. She clearly had no idea that he knew, and while he was being cagey, he could also play her like a fiddle and find out whatever he needed to know.
It was a Tuesday night when he decided to gather information. If the preliminary background check had failed, he would just have to get as much on her as he could, and look at it from every angle. With that in mind, in his Drake Mallard guise, he sat himself down next to her on the couch and began.
"So, Ms. Webfoot," he said, his tone confident and straightforward, "would I be correct in assuming that 'Beth' is short for 'Elizabeth'?"
She straightened up slightly and smiled at him. "Um, yes! You're exactly correct," she said. "A-although I guess, when you think about it, there aren't really many other names that Beth is short for, are there? But still you never know so I understand why you asked."
At this point, Drake was starting to suspect that the stream of ongoing mindless chatter from her was an intentional front. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but gave no other sign of suspicion. "Riiiiight. So, moving on, do you happen to have a middle name?"
Beth looked at him in surprise for a second, and he was just wondering if he'd pushed too far too fast and given himself away, when she blushed slightly. "W-well, it's Marilynn, actually."
"Marilyn? Like Marilyn Monroe, huh?"
"Yes, exactly! Only it's spelled with two 'n's at the end so it's not exactly the same - b-but you're not interested in how I spell a name I never even use," she finished, chuckling nervously.
"On the contrary," he said, making a mental note of this information, "I am interested. Very interested."
Beth leaned forward, again looking surprised and pleased. "R-really?"
"Oh yes," Drake answered. He leaned forward as well, and propped himself up on one elbow against the couch. "Do tell me more about yourself, Ms. Webfoot... Favourite colour, favourite animal... where you grew up... any prior police records..."
She laughed, presumably at the last one, and went on to tell him everything. In great, extensive detail. Over the course of fifteen minutes he learned a whole lot about very little, mainly - despite his efforts at steering the conversation - about her background in retail. She probably was onto him.
After answering two or three questions and then devolving into a rambling monologue that seemed to be mostly about her boss, Beth failed to make any point that Drake could identify. He was stuck nodding, uttering the occasional "Uh-huh" and "Absolutely", and ultimately feeling his eyes glazing over. Was it just possible that she didn't actually notice the effect she was having? After all, the Muddlefoots were the much the same... But this would be such an effective form of torture that it just raised Drake's suspicions even more.
"...And Henny said that it wasn't worth chasing him down over 21 cents, and I guess she's probably right, but it was just going to stay with me all day if I hadn't given him the correct change and really, you know, what if he'd come back and been upset that I'd given him the wrong amount? I know, I know, it's less than a quarter but you never do know, but then Henny said that I'd wasted company time going after him once he'd left the store, and I just thought, it's like I can't win either way, you know? Should I give him his money, should I let him leave, do you know that song 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?' It's by the Clash, and I don't normally like that kind of music but I heard it once on the radio and I thought 'Oh my gosh, that's ME' because it basically goes -"
"What?" Drake said suddenly, as if in response to something. Beth fell silent instantly. He sat up straight, looking like he was listening to something, then called "Be right there!" and turned back to Beth. "Sorry, I think I'm needed in the kitchen. Y'know, you should probably go upstairs and check on Gos and her homework, really enjoyed the chat and I hope we can do this again next year!"
"Oh - yes, me too, we could... um...thanks!" She was just trailing off as he left the room, escaping through the door into the safe haven of his kitchen.
The only person there was Launchpad, who had definitely not called him, but Drake was reasonably sure that - despite his partiality to Beth - he could count on some backup from his sidekick in this case.
"Hey DW - hot dogs are just about done," Launchpad announced, being in charge of dinner for the evening. "You want anything on it?"
"Make me one with everything, LP," said Drake, sinking wearily into the chair at the kitchen table, "I earned it."
"Really? Whatja do?" Launchpad asked as he retrieved about five different bottles and jars from the fridge, then piled them onto the counter next to the bag of hot dog rolls.
Drake let his head rest in his hand, as though he were trying to massage his brain back to life. "Just had a full interview with you-know-who out there, to try to get some more information to go on."
Launchpad rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "DW, for the last time, she's NOT a bad guy!" He checked the hot dogs, turned down the flame underneath the burner, and then addressed Drake again. "You're wastin' a lot of energy on nothin'!"
"I beg to differ," Drake said flatly. "If she's harmless, then Dr. Slug should be celebrated as a philanthropist. I just spent twenty minutes listening to her go on, and I'm telling you LP, there is evil underneath that drab exterior. There has to be, because nobody can actually be that boring."
Launchpad frowned, his expression indicating a bit more displeasure than before. "That's not -" The next word, Drake was sure, would have been either "nice" or "fair"; Launchpad was a staunch defender of Beth, and he seemed to share Gizmoduck's idealistic beliefs that "fair" applied outside to life outside of the playground. But the sentence was never finished, because as he was speaking the words, Launchpad's eyes skipped from Drake to something behind him, and he bit off his comment.
Drake swallowed, and reluctantly turned in his seat; Beth was standing in the doorway, her hand clutching the frame in a manner that suggested she was keeping herself upright this way, but although there was a slight flush to her cheeks, her face was almost impassive. There was absolutely no doubt that she'd heard his last comment; the only thing that wasnt certain was just how much she had heard before that.
An awkward moment fell among the three of them, and Drake shifted guiltily in his seat. As Beth turned her attention toward the ground, Drake returned his to the kitchen table. The tension between them was almost palpable. He had to say something - he knew that - but nothing that came into his head seemed right. In books and TV shows, a person overhearing others talking about them just left - usually without anyone even knowing they'd been there. Naturally, Beth was just standing there, like she was waiting for something.
Waiting - or maybe completely aware of how awkward her presence was making things. Maybe this was intentional. He reminded himself that Beth was no ordinary babysitter (or hardware clerk or whatever she called herself) - and, depending on how much she'd overheard, it was possibly that she knew that he knew.
With his mind racing this way, Drake almost didn't notice when Launchpad broke the silence that had built up around them. With a forceful cheerfulness, Launchpad said loudly, "Oh, hi Beth! Uh, so, how's it goin'?"
It was an incredibly lame attempt to pretend nothing had happened, but at the same time, Drake realized that might be the best way to go. At best she might believe it, and at worst, she might not know that they knew that she knew they knew. Wait - Drake frowned to himself. Was that right...?
Beth, meanwhile, answered in a weak voice. "Oh... um... g-good. I-I guess."
"Yeah? Great! Me too. So, uh... lookin' forward to babysittin' tonight?"
"Um..." Beth's voice shook, and grew quieter. "I-I think m-maybe I should... go home..."
Drake fought down another surge of guilt by reminding himself that he was being manipulated by a diabolical genius. If he turned to face her, he might lose his resolve; much better for him to avoid eye contact.
Launchpad reacted strongly, which did not surprise Drake. "No, don't go! Look, Beth, you didn't hear what you thought you heard. Drake didn't mean - well..." He looked beseechingly to Drake, who shook his head slightly in an effort to convey his suspicions. Launchpad's eyebrows went up in surprise for a moment, and then knitted together slightly.
From the doorway, Beth said, "I-I'm sorry..."
Distracted from Drake, Launchpad looked at her swiftly. "You don't have to apologize!" he said, an edge of something unspoken creeping into his voice. "C'mon Drake," he said imploringly.
It figured: Launchpad would end up buying the 'damsel in distress' act and forget to pay attention to the guy with the crimefighter's instincts. Drake grit his teeth together and tried to make eye contact so that he could get it through to Launchpad that they were being played, but it was no good; his sidekick was too distracted, and just kept looking back and forth between them. Drake was well aware that he'd have to say something, in any case, but without advance communication, Launchpad probably wasn't going to like it. Still, it had to be done.
Stiff-shouldered, Drake turned partially towards Beth and said, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"Um, okay," Beth said in a near-whisper. Drake couldn't see her well from his angle, but she appeared to be talking to the doorframe. She started to slip out of his line of vision. "Um, I'll just... um..."
There was a loud *bang* on the table in front of him, and Drake jumped in surprise and looked up to see Launchpad staring at him. No - glaring. Drake was taken too much aback to do any more than blink for a moment, during which time Launchpad said, "What kinda apology was that?"
"It was-" began Drake, who wasn't about to take this kind of situation from his own sidekick; but Beth managed to cut through his voice despite the softness of her tone.
"No, no, it's okay - he doesn't have to apologize at all!" She looked from Drake to Launchpad, both of whose attention was firmly on her, and she took a timid step back. "I'm... I'm fine," she said tremulously. "He didn't do anything... wrong."
Ignoring Drake for a moment, Launchpad stepped toward her and took her by the hand, drawing her into the room. "Wait here a sec," he said in an undertone, and then he surprised Drake again by putting a hand to her cheek, just for a moment, as she cast her eyes downwards again. "Ill be right back - don't go anywhere, okay?" She nodded, still looking at the floor.
Then Launchpad turned back to Drake, and said, "I gotta talk to you." There was unmistakably no room for argument in his tone, and although Drake didn't intend to let Launchpad start ordering him around, he did feel it was utterly imperative to avoid any sign of dissension in front of Beth.
Coolly, he replied, "Fine. Ms. Webfoot," he said politely as he got to his feet, "please excuse us for a moment." Launchpad had already started for the living room, so Drake stepped out after him. Once they'd cleared the door, Drake began, "Okay, listen LP-"
"What's your problem with her?" Launchpad asked, spinning to face Drake and pointing a finger decisively in his direction.
Drake was taken aback, and for a moment all he could do was stare at his sidekick, blinking and frowning as his temper flared in the face of this unfair accusation. Launchpad seemed to be waiting for an actual answer, so a few moments passed before Drake recovered enough to answer. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means, DW. You haven't given her a chance even once since you've met her. An' now you've really hurt her feelings, and for what? What'd she do?"
"Don't fall for that sweet and innocent routine, Launchpad - that woman is-"
"No she's NOT!" Again, Drake stopped cold, because talks with Launchpad just were not supposed to go this way. Launchpad didn't cut him off, he didn't yell, and he didn't question Darkwing Duck's instincts. All these things together were such unexplored territory with the pilot that Drake found himself getting equally angry and unnerved. Launchpad lowered his voice and continued, but the anger remained audible. "You don't have any proof about that, you just decided it an' you're stickin' with it 'cause it's easier than admittin' that you're bein' a jerk!"
"YOU don't have any proof that she's NOT a supervillain!" Drake shot back, maintaining the same high-intensity, low-volume tone as Launchpad, as he bristled over the term 'jerk'. "All you have is a 'gut feeling', so don't give me this baloney about believing what I want to believe! I'M the one with the hero's instincts here, sidekick!"
"Yeah, but if you knew her..."
"Oh, give me a break. Just because you see someone for ten minutes at a time every couple of weeks doesn't make you bosom companions. Why do you even care?"
Frowning, Launchpad pointed again, this time at the kitchen door. "Because maybe you didn't notice, or maybe you just don't care, but she likes you. She's a good person, but she's shy, an' she's tryin' every day to get you to notice her just a little bit but all you ever do is complain about her an' accuse her of stuff."
"And that's another thing!" Drake said angrily, refusing to quail under this list of inaccuracies, "she barely knows me. Why should she care enough to try to get me to notice her? Unless she has ulterior motives, that's why!"
"Or maybe she's just nice!" Launchpad shouted, and then stepped back, shutting his mouth again. He crossed his arms. "Look DW - just look at it this way. If you don't believe she's innocent, then pretend for a sec that ya do. Pretend she's just an ordinary lady, who never dealt with supervillains or any'a that stuff before. Now think about how much she's been through the past coupla weeks. She's been robbed, stalked, kidnapped, an' she's babysat for Gosalyn five times now. And she keeps comin' back."
Drake had to pause and concede that this was, indeed, a lot for your average non-superheroic citizen. "But nobody's making her."
"Exactly," said Launchpad emphatically.
"Sooooo, doesn't that make you suspicious?" Drake let the statement hang in the air for a moment, certain that the implications would finally sink in.
Instead Launchpad shook his head. "No. It makes me think she's lonely."
Seeing he wasn't going to win Launchpad over with any grandscale arguments (and unable to think of any more at this point anyway), he averted his eyes and grumbled, "Look, she wasn't even supposed to hear that anyway."
"Well, she did," Launchpad said. "An' you're just makin' excuses now 'cause you feel bad."
He was not. Frowning, Drake said, "I am not. She needs to learn not to come bursting into someone else's kitchen. Maybe she can use this as an object lesson."
"Drake..."
Steeling himself, Drake tried for a few moments to stare Launchpad down - which should have worked, but Launchpad was inordinately stubborn just then and Drake himself was beginning to harbour doubts. He was sure he shouldn't have doubts, but he did, and they seemed to be just enough to keep him from being able to get through to Launchpad. He tried, though.
Launchpad stared back, not moving, and that was so unnerving that Drake finally snapped. "OKAY!" he said, in a half-shout. "Okay, you win, Ill talk to her."
With a smile, Launchpad relaxed. "Aw, good. That'll make her feel a lot better."
"Ooooh, just what I want to do," Drake snarled in a sing-song. Just to make it clear that he was doing Launchpad a favour, and not caving in, he added, "But I'm not letting my guard down for a second, you understand?" Launchpad rolled his eyes, and Drake turned to go back into the kitchen, still fuming. He hesitated for just a moment with his hand on the door.
This could actually work to his advantage, he recognized. The longer she was unaware of his suspicions, the longer he could keep her nearby so that he could watch her. Friends close, enemies closer. Losing that now could mean losing his only lead to take her down.
He swung the door open and stepped into the kitchen, where Beth was still standing near the sink, hugging her elbows in towards herself. Maybe it was the way she was standing, but she seemed to be all elbows and shoulders, made up entirely of angles.
She lifted her head to look at him as he entered, and then looked down again quickly.
To be continued! Sorry for the awkward cutoff point. :P