A/N: First multi-part fic! :D

Moonlight bathed the landscape, lush green blades of grass and long stemmed wildflowers danced in a cool, spring breeze. The sweet scent of newly bloomed blossoms laced the wind and teased his nose. In the distance, he could hear the almost melodic chirping of crickets, the music of a babbling brook just beyond a quaint wooden fence and a thin tree line that separated the farm from a forest. Starlight dappled a clear, almost black velvet sky, twinkling and shimmering. There was a peaceful still over the meadow, a comforting blanket that should have wrapped anyone present in a cleansing serenity.

Instead, Launchpad McQuack cringed as another white blossom was crushed beneath his foot, a flurry of petals and leaves and dirt and grass flying up in his wake. The only thing he was feeling was an unsettling wave of nausea and panic. Oh, and a sharp cramp in his hamstring! Oh, pain. Lots of pain!

"Run. Just keep running!"

Hazarding a glance over his shoulder, then eighteen year old felt his brow furrow. His eyes narrowed on the young woman running just beside and behind him. In this light, her blue eyes glowed, a mix of amusement and adrenaline dancing in those orbs. The soft light highlighted her wheat colored hair with browns and gold. Her white cotton dress, a flattering a-line that she saved for special occasions and church, made her look almost angelic. Almost because he doubted angels would dare to be seen with grass stains and specks of mud on any of their clothing or with a tangled mess of wild curls sitting upon their head no matter what the situation. If anything, those wheat curls were hiding a pair of tiny red horns and he was tempted to slow his gait just to see if there was a tail protruding from her backside.

He finally found his voice when the angry bellow of a bull echoed behind them. Much to his dismay, the bastard was gaining on them. "How do I let you talk me into these things?" he huffed.

His legs started to ache, a twinge of pain traveling through his calves and thighs; the field was a hell of a lot bigger than he had initially thought. With a sharp intake of breath, Launchpad shook his head, clearing his mind of any stray thought. Right now was not the time to be wondering if his football coach would be disappointed to find out his first string running back was winded after a brisk jog. Never mind that he had wolfed down two cheeseburgers, a large fries and a chocolate milkshake only a half hour before Little Miss One-of-The-Guys dragged him out here and hadn't planned on doing any running. He hadn't planned on doing any physical activity after…

Okay, well, no. That was a lie or he wouldn't have bothered tucking a box of Tic-Tacs into his jacket before picking up Marty.

A breathless laugh brought him back to the moment. "You can be pissed off at me after we hop the fence, babe," she replied, managing to wink playfully at him. "I'll totally make it up to you."

"Martina, I swear—oof!"

It was the most insignificant movement. The toe of his boot just scraped the top of the dirt wrong, digging just a centimeter too deep that it was caught on some invisible root. Something in his ankle popped and snapped and he went down hard. A strangled yelp of pain fought the thick knot lodged in his throat as he dug his fingers into the moist dirt.

Martina slid to a stop, wheeling about with her arms outstretched in a failed attempt to catch him. "Launchpad, are you alright?"

"What are you doing? Keep running," he grunted, struggling to keep his voice level. He pushed himself up on his feet and wobbled as tears threatened to leak from the corners of his eyes. "I'm fine." She opened her mouth to protest when another bellow sounded and this time, he could feel the ground trembling beneath him. He managed a quick glance over his shoulder before the angry beast roared again. The bull had lowered its head, twin horns racing toward him. Balanced precariously on his good foot, he shoved Martina to the side and out of harm's way.

Then, he braced himself to take a hit that never came.

He found himself stumbling sideways suddenly and just barely out of the bull's path as it barreled onward and rammed it's massive head against the steel fence. His back hit something solid and stiff and before he could register that it was the fence, he scrambled over it. Panting, he fell against the fence and wiped the sweat from his brow before sweeping matted strands of red hair back and out of his face. Blinking, he turned his attention away from the animal and to Marty, who stood off to the side, her arms wrapped around her torso as she stared down at the ground. A thin sheen of tears covered her eyes, the tan feathers on around her eyes and on her cheeks damp. The panic and nausea that had been tearing him apart was replaced with a sudden rush of guilt. If there was anything more uncomfortable than watching a girl cry, he hadn't witnessed it yet. She trembled, taking in a shuddery breath as he hobbled forward to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Something in her eyes flashed, a dam of some sort broke within her, but not one of tears. Not tears of sorrow, anyway. Her face contorted into an angry glare and she shoved him away. "Idiot," she snarled. "What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!"

He hopped back, steadying himself on his good foot. "Wait just a minute! You're mad at me now?"

"Damn straight I am," she snapped. "Don't ever ask me to leave you behind again! Not ever!"

Launchpad snorted derisively. "Are you seriously angry because-"

She stomped forward, fisting her hand around his dirtied shirt front and yanked him closer. He found himself hunched over uncomfortably, the end of his bill brushing against hers as she glared at him. Swallowing thickly, he ignored the heat rising to his face and was silently thanking the powers that be that he had feathers to cover up the red that was spreading across his face. How much would she hate him if he faltered just the tiniest bit, slipped forward and accidentally kissed her? He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes narrowed. The idea was dashed as he felt the very core of his being freeze under those intense blue eyes. He knew better than to try anything when she was this upset. "Promise me," she hissed.

"This is ridiculous-"

Her gripped tightened. "Promise me!"

"I promise…" he mumbled. He felt her grip loosen on his shirtfront. He straightened, placing some weight on his throbbing ankle. It was swollen and aching, but thankfully not broken. With a wince, he leaned against the fence and rubbed the back of his sore neck. Why did he allow himself to be abused like this?

"Hey, McQuack."

"Yeah?" Launchpad grunted in response, not even bothering to lift his eyes.

"Thanks for saving my butt." She caught the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward again. His muscles tightened in response and he squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the thought of being barked at again. Then her bill was pressed against his. Launchpad's eyes snapped open wide and then slowly closed again, a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her hands left the collar of his shirt, flitted over his shoulders and slipped into his red hair, tugging him closer. A shiver ran down his spine as a soft sigh escaped her bill.

As suddenly as it happened, it ended. She broke away, inhaling deeply before her eyes flicked up to meet his. She gave Launchpad a pat on the shoulder as if she were congratulating him on a great game. Then she wandered away in the direction of his parked pick-up truck, combing her fingers through her short hair. Dazed, he fell against the gate, taking greedy gulps of air and grinning…

"Earth to Launchpad! Hell-ooo…"

Launchpad blinked rapidly, squinting as the bright midday sun and clear blue sky suddenly filled his vision. A frigid wind with the promise of an especially cold winter buffeted his face and hair, the crisp smell of freshly cut grass and something smoky (Probably a grill. Herb loved to barbeque no matter what season, after all) bombarding his nostrils. Out of habit, he swiped at the end of his bill with a gloved hand, willing the urge to sneeze to leave him. It didn't work. "Whoa. Now, that was weird," he muttered as he massaged his temple. He could feel a faint pulse of pain just behind his eyes and he groaned softly at the thought of the impending headache. Slowly, the pulse of pain in his head spread and he felt his limbs ache dully. "What happened?"

Drake appeared suddenly in his line of sight, waving a hand in front of his face. "Y'know, when I said go long, I didn't think you'd actually get this far," he said, the hint of amusement beneath his concerned tone. "You alright, LP?"

Launchpad managed a weak nod. "Awesome."

"Come on, let's get you up," Drake sighed, taking a firm hold on Launchpad's wrist.

With a sharp intake of air, the pilot was sitting up and taking in his surroundings carefully. Splintered wood and broken branches littered the lawn around him. Herb was on his right, stomping on a charred piece of turf while his beloved grill laid toppled over on its side just behind and beside him. Somewhere on his left, he could hear Gosalyn and her friends exchanging hushed giggles and whispers. "Boy, that was some catch, Launchpad!" Herb laughed.

"Too bad he was totally out of bounds," Gosalyn pointed out as she peeked over the remains of the fence.

Drake scoffed. "What are you talking about? He had already made it into the end zone," he countered, folding his arms across his chest. "So, we won."

"In your dreams," she spat. "We won! Sophie has photographic evidence!" She turned and motioned to the platypus standing a few feet away.

Still massaging his right temple, Launchpad's gaze followed Drake as he strode over to the gaping hole in the fence where Gosalyn stood, a beat up football tucked under her arm. "Sophie, put the camera down! He intercepted your throw to Sophie, ran down field and made a touchdown," the older mallard explained curtly. "Therefore, we win!"

"He missed the end zone completely and crashed into the fence," she snapped. "LP went airborne those last five feet! His feet never touched it!"

The pilot tilted his head slightly, confusion etched on his face. "Huh? I did?"

"Shush, LP," Drake hissed, then turned back to Gosalyn. "It still counts!"

"It does not!"

Launchpad rolled his eyes and with a grunt, lifted himself onto his feet shakily. A hand fell on his shoulder, steadying him. "Thanks, Herb," he mumbled with a grateful nod. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure what had happened. He remembered running but not across the yard and not for a football. He could still hear the echoes of the bull bellowing behind him and airy laughter…

He lifted his eyes to see Morgana approaching. She paused, readjusting the collar of her knee length black coat before allowing her gloved hands to flit over her face and into her loose hair, pulling it back into an effortless ponytail. She stopped at the hole in the fence, waving her hand over the broken boards. The white boards trembled for a half second, lifted into the air and flew back into place. Her hand dropped and she managed a halfhearted smile at the pilot. "Not even in a plane," she laughed. "And you crashed."

He managed a grin. "What can I say? I have a knack for it."

"Obviously," she smiled sweetly.

There was a sharp whistle behind him and Launchpad turned to look. Drake tossed the football at him, clapping his hands together. LP fumbled with the ball for a moment before getting a better grip on it and automatically tucking it close to his chest. "Okay, so according to the ref," he began, motioning to Binky who was handing out cookies and glasses of lemonade to the kids. "We lost. I think its because Honker was on Gos' team, but still."

"Aw, maybe next time, DW," Launchpad said. "Man, my head is killin' me-"

"Which is why we're having a rematch right now! Kick off is in two minutes so you might want to clean the blood off your forehead, LP," Drake continued, pounding his fist into his palm. "We have to show these kids how it's really done!"

Launchpad blinked in surprise, touching his aching forehead gingerly. He winced and a curse slipped from his mouth. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the pads of his fingers, stained bright red. "Whoa, when did that happen?"

"Probably when you hit the fence with your face," the shorter drake replied nonchalantly. "Morg, you're playing, too."

Morgana sighed, tugging the trim of her black gloves before folding her arms across her chest. "Dark, why do I have to play? You know I don't understand most of these games."

"Oh, honeybunch," Drake chuckled. "Don't worry about it. It'll be easy. We'll just have you go downfield like usual. You just catch the ball when we throw it to you."

Eyebrow delicately raised, Morgana let out a quick huff of air, disbelief flashing in her green eyes. "You mean 'if' you throw the ball to me."

Drake frowned, opening his mouth to reply when Launchpad spoke up. "How long has my head been bleeding, you guys?" he slurred, handing the ball back to Drake. "Because I'll be honest, there's like six of ya right now…"

Morgana cringed. "Maybe, we should take you to the hospital," she suggested. "You probably have a concussion, dear."

Launchpad managed to shake his head and instantly regretted it as the pounding in his head intensified. "Nah, maybe just need some juice…"

"Or a transfusion," the witch murmured.

He nodded lazily. "That might help, too."

She laughed weakly. "Go get cleaned up. We won't start without you."

Tossing his head back, Launchpad examined the gash on his forehead in the bathroom mirror. He frowned, leaning over the sink so that he was as close as possible to the mirror and brushing back his unkempt red hair from his face to better assess the damage. It wasn't as bad as it looked, but the crimson stained feathers above his right eye and along his temple were enough to cause concern. He exhaled loudly, groaning in frustration as he dropped back and away from the reflective surface. After all the times he had been able to walk away unscathed from every sort of vehicular disaster imaginable, a simple picket fence was what finally broke his streak.

Launchpad shrugged it off and reached into the cabinet beside him to retrieve a box of gauze and rubbing alcohol. Without much thought, he opened the bottle, poured a bit of the liquid on a good sized piece of a gauze and inhaled sharply as he dabbed it against the open wound. He hissed in pain, but continued. It wouldn't do him any good if he left the cut untreated. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to wander, ignoring the deep burning sensation.

Images of Martina crashed through his mind like the ocean against the rocks. She was laughing and dancing in the bleachers, cheering on the football team as her short wheat hair spilled over her face. She was scaling the trellis outside his bedroom window and scaring him half to death popping the pane out of the frame in order to get in. Why had she done that again? He knew the reason. It had hovered in the back of his mind for a long while, but it just seemed out of reach at that moment.

"I wonder what she's doing now," he muttered out loud. He peeled the now red stained gauze away from his feathers, flinching as he glanced at the gash in the mirror again. "Jeez, that's a lot deeper than I thought."

"Ouch! You're probably gonna need stitches for that."

More out of habit than anything else, he nodded. "Yeah, you're probably ri-what?" His gaze darted away from his own reflection to the shadowy figure hovering near the doorway.

With a start, Launchpad spun around to face the doorway. The time he had spent with Darkwing, perusing case files and patrolling the streets almost every night had taught him to size up strangers quickly. Male, mallard, six foot two, buck eighty and dressed… like a ninja?

"Huh?" was all he managed to get out before there was a blur of movement and sharp pain at the base of his skull that brought him to his knees. He toppled forward on the cold bathroom floor as his vision blurred and it became harder to keep his thoughts from feeling disconnected and slipping into a pitch blackness piece by piece. The last clear thought he had before he passed out was what the hell kind of ninja was six foot two? That was just too tall for a ninja…

The lights in the gym were about to go out.

Marty had heard the thunder earlier, felt the trembles from its angry rumbles in the hollow of her chest as she walked quickly down the dirt road from her farmhouse to the high school. At the time, her only thought was a silent plea to keep the rain at bay until she could make her way into the gymnasium with her hair still in neat curls and her party dress still dry. As she reached the doors, it seemed as if the dingy gray clouds above had taken pity on her and would hold off their downpour. The torrential rain came with a thunderous snort of mean-spirited laughter, drenching her completely. All in all, it had been a mistake to wear white that night. The cat calls and wide-eyed stares she received as she entered the decorated gym were proof enough. From the door to the bleachers should have been a trail of tears and bloody teeth, but Launchpad had swooped in before she could even ball up a fist. With his usual friendly smile, he had placed an arm around her narrow shoulders and led her away from the crowd and to the privacy of the bleachers to dry off. She released a sigh, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered, huddled at the very top of the bleachers. The guy was a regular knight in shining armor and he didn't even realize it.

An arm fell around her trembling shoulders. Her eyes tracked over to Launchpad as a soft smile played on her bill. He returned her smile before removing his arm from around her shoulders and slipping off his dark gray dress jacket. She resisted the urge to blush as he draped it around her. He swept her damp hair back and out of her face, still smiling gently as a weak giggle escaped her mouth. Instinctively, she leaned into his touch. His hand lingered for a moment, fingers tangled in her hair and she wondered if tonight he'd get brave enough to close the distance between them. Lord knows, she had given him enough chances to kiss her and she wasn't about to initiate it this time. Nope. She had already kissed him twice. Granted, they had only been thirteen the first time and the second was only a week ago, it was still his turn. His hand fell away from her hair suddenly. He cleared his throat loudly before a sheepish grin slipped onto his bill. At this rate, though, they would be attending their ten year reunion before that happened. With an annoyed sigh and a well-practiced roll of her eyes, Marty visibly wilted and looked away.

Figures. "McQuack, you're killing me," she muttered.

He blinked dumbly at her. "Huh?"

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, LP," she replied casually. Her eyes drifted away from him and to the open floor below. The gym was teeming with high school seniors and teachers, the center of the room filled with rocking and wiggling bodies. Laughter and unintelligible chatter filled the room, competing with the rhythmic and melodic sounds coming from the DJ table set up at the far end. Lights danced across the room, picking silver glints in the disco ball that hung from the rafters. The lights flickered as thunder rumbled again. This time, she could hear the square window panes rattling above them. Any minute now, the electricity would go out. She just knew it would and the gym would be filled with girlish screams and records scratching. Her eyes drifted back over to Launchpad who was busily nodding his head to the music and humming.

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to overlook the painfully obvious romantic atmosphere just because the DJ was playing "Take Me Home Tonight". She nudged his ribs gently. "Hey," she smirked as he paused and glanced at her. "Go ask Jenna Flockhart to dance. You're not soaked."

"I'm really sorry, Marty," he sighed, bowing his head slightly. "I knew I should have picked you up."

"Quit that. You didn't make it rain, LP," she replied, snuggling against him for warmth as another shiver racked her body. "I mean, unless you did some silly rain dance before getting ready for prom."

"Well, no, but still…Loopy might have…"

"Launchpad," she half laughed, half scolded. "Stop it. It's fine."

He sighed. "But you haven't danced at your own prom yet," he muttered, looking away.

Marty straightened, frowning thoughtfully. "Neither have you."

"Heh, true," he chuckled nervously. "Then again, I have two left feet. I wasn't really planning on dancing…"

"Then, you should definitely dance with Jenna," she snickered. He threw her a sidelong glance, brow furrowed loosely as he frowned. "Oh, cheer up, big guy. I'm only kidding."

"Uh-huh," he replied, biting back a smile. "So, why exactly do you not like Jen again?"

Without answering his question, she stood up, slipping her slender arms into the jacket's sleeves before offering Launchpad her hand. He blinked at her, his eyes darting from her hand to her face. "Well, how about dancing with me, then?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Seriously?"

Marty tilted her head. "What do you think?" she grinned.

He returned her smile with one of his own, crooked and boyishly handsome. She couldn't fight the quick flutter of excitement that rippled through her chest as he made a move to take her hand, the tips of his fingers just brushing against her palm.

That's when the lights in the gym finally died…

Marty's eyes fluttered opened. She blinked, lifting her hand to block out the bright sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. Somewhere behind her, the shrill buzzing drilled into her ears and she swung her other arm behind her, slapping the alarm clock. Dazed, she glanced at the made up side of her bed, still as neat as it had been before she fell asleep last night, and frowned as realization hit her. She rolled onto her back and stared at her ceiling.

"Of all the lousy dreams…" she grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut.

Knocking interrupted her attempts to drift off again, persistent and urgent sounding. Still, it irritated her and she threw her blankets off huffily. She stalked out of her bedroom and crossed the living room to stand before her front door in a over-sized t-shirt and shorts. She growled, smacking the door with an open palm as she barked, "Hold your horses, jackass!" Glowering, she flung the door open.

A thin she-duck filled the doorway, her brow knitted together loosely as a frown turned the corners of her mouth downward. "Martina, it is four in the afternoon," she exhaled, running her hand over her thick auburn curls before readjusting the solid black headband holding back her bangs. "Why are you still dressed like that?"

Marty rolled her eyes as she fell against the doorframe. "My bedtime is a lot earlier than yours obviously, Summer," she muttered.

"Uh-huh. Why do you smell like a brewery?"

"Summer, cut the mother hen act," Marty sighed. "What's going on?"

Summer's gaze softened suddenly and Marty couldn't help but remember when Director Hooter had taken her aside last year. She had always thought he had the kindest, saddest eyes she had ever seen. They sat out on the bureau's steep steps and he told her about her father's passing. (She had just returned from a mission in Hong Kong.) Normally, she would have shrugged it off in front of anyone else, but at that moment, she simply allowed her head to drop on his shoulder as the tears spilled forth. Marty blinked, her arms falling to her sides as she moved out of the doorway to let Summer into the apartment. She inhaled slowly. "So, lay it on me."

"They found him," Summer said simply as she walked over to a couch. She sat down, grabbing a throw pillow and fluffing it before Marty shot her a pointed look. She tossed it to the other end of the couch and clasped her hands together in her lap.

Marty's brow furrowed loosely. "What do you mean 'they found him'? Found who?"

"Don't pretend that you have no clue who I'm talking about, Marty. You know exactly who Wade is picking up."

"Oh god," Marty groaned, tugging at her hair. "Not Wade. Oh, anyone but Wade. Please, tell me you're wrong about Wade."

Summer only shook her head. "Gryzilikof sent him out this morning."

Marty bowed her head, covering her face with her hands. "Oh no."