The rolling cell door rattled as a portly officer opened it and lumbered forward, a clipboard in his hands.

"Gosalyn Mallard?" he asked in a monotone voice, the convicts and criminals stuffed into the cell sending a wave of sharp glares at him. "Heh," he chirped nervously, sinking behind the clipboard. "Gosalyn… Mallard?"

"Here!" Gosalyn called back, kicking and elbowing her way from between two thugs, who did their best to move aside for her in the over packed cell. She strode happily to the officer's side, spinning around and waving at the merry bunch. "I'll see you around guys, yeah? Remember—"

"It's not what you are, it's who you are!" the group chorused with a delighted wave to the teen. "Tootle-loo!"

With a contented sigh, Gosalyn lead the way out of holding area. Startled at his new loneliness, the cop jumped and followed after her quickly.

"Y'know," she sighed, putting her hands on her hips and leaning on one as the officer locked up another door behind them, "those ruffians really aren't all that bad, just a little rough around the edges is all. Hah, guess that's why they are called 'ruffians,' I just thought of that. Now, if you want to see the real definition of bad, you should meet my – hiii, Dad!"

Drake Mallard, windbreaker jacket on, arms crossed with one foot tapping quickly, glared at his daughter. She offered a nervous giggle.

"So nice of you to come?"


Outside the police station, the sun was beginning to set and the skyscrapers around them cast the duo into darkness, Drake lead the two to the lemon, jamming the key into the passenger side door and unlocking it.

"ONE day, Gosalyn! ONE! DAY!" After throwing the door open for her, he stormed around to the other side and repeated the procedure, beating a fist into the roof for emphasis as he snarled at her. "We've been back in St. Canard for one day and I've already been called to the police station to pick up my under-age daughter from containment!"

Finally climbing in, he slammed his door shut, turning to face the teen who had slunk into the car as well. "I thought you said St. Canard would be different! What happened?!"

"Dad-!" Gosalyn argued desperately, "there was this kid – and these bullies and – and – I had to help him!"

The car sputtered to life as Drake turned the key, the two putting their seat-belts on. "No, Gosalyn, not that, EVERYTHING else! You… you broke into the old studio?"

As if deflating, Drake turned to Gosalyn with a broken, betrayed expression. She blinked, and - crossing her arms defensively - turned forward in her seat.

"It-it was unlocked..."

"You caused property damage!"

"Everything was already broken when I got there anyway!"

"And you crossed a police line and entered a crime scene!"

Opening her mouth to argue, Gosalyn clipped it shut and sat back in the car with a defeated pout. "It's not like anyone cares about that crummy old studio anyway."

"That's not the point," Drake growled, turning the key and waiting for the lemon to sputter to life. "You broke the law, Gosalyn, and you disobeyed me! I told you to leave all this Darkwing stuff alone!"

"Not like you ever gave me a reason."

"You mean, besides me telling you to?"

"No! More than that!"

"So obeying your father doesn't mean anything anymore, does it?!"

"That's not what I said!"

"That's what it sounded like!"

"I just want a reason, Dad!"

"And I just want you to stay out of trouble for one day, but I didn't get that, now did I?"

Gasping slightly, Gosalyn huffed and turned towards the window with a growl. Her face was hot and her ears were ringing, and if her father tried to say anything after that, she didn't hear it. The tears threatening to burn her eyes were much too distracting.

"Some hero. At least I was brave enough to actually do some good."

His hands clenching on the steering wheel, Drake turned to Gosalyn in shock, mouth agape. Scoffing and shaking his head, he turned back to the road. That kind of remark deserved grounding for sure, he was sure of it. And as the heat between them fogged the windows and began to cool, he readjusted his grip. The leather squeaked in protest, and he pulled his hands off and sat back. One hand ran down his face and across his neck, and he scratched the back of his neck.

He hated being mad at her, and he hated her being mad at him. But more importantly, he hated that he had caused it.

Fighting with each other was the worst possible thing that could happen in their small world. Father and daughter alike were equally headstrong, impulsive, and hot-tempered, always had been, and each one lacked a few emotional foundations due to their traumatizing childhoods. It was a scarring lesson for the family to learn, but the two-weeks long battle that ravished the small household after leaving St. Canard revealed two things: one, Gosalyn had a crippling inability to express her emotions, especially through words, leaving her only her misdirected accusations and physical outbursts to get her feelings out. And two, that Drake was completely oblivious to any and all emotional cues, leaving him utterly useless in helping his little girl realize and express what she was feeling properly. The war had been a long one, with Gosalyn unable to express her fear and anger about the move, and Drake being completely oblivious of the affects it was really having on the ten-year-old. The whole thing had left deep scars on the two ducks, scars that were still healing, even five years later.

Drake knew, after slowly piecing the puzzle that was Gosalyn Julifeather Cavanary Waddlemeyer-Mallard together since adopting her, a picture that was far from complete, that Gosalyn's biggest fear was one day becoming the "problem child" label she had been given at a young age. After getting in trouble, her first impulse was to play the situation down to a significantly smaller severity than it really was to protect her reputation. She never did it out of lack of respect for the act or consequences, she understood those perfectly, and that's what drove her fear. Punishments were permanent in the teen's mind, and could never be wiped off her record. The more marks she amassed the closer she would be to becoming just another unfortunate result of a broken adoption program, a label and fate that she could never control or escape no matter how hard she tried.

Thankfully, fear was one of the few emotions Drake could empathize with. He had lived most of his life controlled by it, cowering away from the emotional traps of the spiders that filled the world. To protect his sensitive soul, he learned, early on, to build walls, and to maintain them at all times, no exceptions. Emotional maturity at his age was almost unheard of, but he hated seeing his baby girl hurting more than he was terrified of making himself vulnerable. Additionally, learning that it was his own inability to connect with and help the struggling girl were all of his deepest fears realized. So, he was trying. It wasn't easy, a few therapists here and there, like their beloved family-councilor back in Boxer, had helped, but each Mallard struggled for the sake of their family.

Nonetheless, they were certainly no perfect family by any stretch of the imagination, and they both had very powerful compasses. A teen that struggled to express her emotions paired with a walled-up old duck that lacked all ability to read emotional cues and connect with people on that level was a combination doomed by many to fail. And they had been told so before, many times. But Drake and Gosalyn Mallard were headstrong if nothing else, and weren't letting their family, or intense bond they had with each other, go anywhere without a bloody, serious fight.

They both secretly hoped it would never come down to that. Not again.


At the trailer park, the sun finally reaching the horizon and streaking the world in long shadows, Drake stomped on the emergency break and stormed out of the car after jamming it into park. The windows of the old lemon rattling as he slammed the door behind him, making Gosalyn wince. Turning in her seat to watch her dad stomp up the steps and jam the key into the trailer door, Gosalyn quickly pushed her door open and called after him.

"Dad! You know, that kid from the studio was a big fan of… yours... of Darkwing's."

Finally getting the door open, Drake paused long enough to slump forward and sigh, wiping a hand across his face. "Sometimes I wish you weren't."

Stunned, Gosalyn jammed herself back into the seat, arms crossed with a pout. She watched Drake disappear into the trailer from the corner of her eye and somehow suppressed the urge to run after him. "Yeah but… but I'm your biggest."


Gosalyn yawned, stretching her arms out over the second-hand textbooks she had piled around her. The previous evening had been a quiet and tense one, and besides Drake making sure she would get her schoolwork done for the day, they hadn't spoken all night. Drake had poured himself over his old laptop all night, looking for jobs, reading scripts, maybe even doing a little writing, and Gosalyn had kept herself occupied with her schoolwork and some quiet TV watching on her shattered smartphone.

Now, after the restless night, she was trying to get a jumpstart on her homework, hoping that her efforts might help sooth her dad's temper. Apologizes had never been her forte; for all his emotional dumbness, Drake was always better at them than she was. While he could voice them easily enough, and had learned to initiate the uncomfortable emotional talks a long time ago, despite his own hatred of them, Gosalyn usually tried to express her remorse through her actions. She hated talking about her feelings. And often couldn't. Though it was never clear if her Dad picked up on her message, it was the best she could do.

Even the best intentions could be forgotten, however, especially when she was trying to wrestle her way through her math homework.

"Daaaaaaad!" She wailed loudly, slumping backwards in the round window seat. "How do you divide by a negative fraction? With the top part negative?"

"Wot?" Drake's head poked into the main trailer from the curtain that separated the bunks from the rest with a frown. His tooth brush was in his mouth, and he stepped to the sink, spit, rinsed, and, leaning on the cupboard, stared at her in confusion. "You don't divide by a negative numerator, you have to flip it." Having cleaned his mouth, and the sink, Drake stepped out of the thin hallway, foot hooking the rolled-up hockey net shoved in the small closet across from the sink and vanity. He kicked his foot loose and stepped forward, the rollerblade under his other foot sending him to the floor with a crash. "Ow."

"You and me both," grimaced the teen, messaging her forehead as she stretched out over the books.

Drake Mallard did three things when he and Gosalyn left St. Canard: emptied his bank account, which caused quite a distress for his banker, and bought a trailer, the first one he found that would leave enough in his pocket for his family's trip to who-knows-where. The beat up old thing was a relic from the 60s, and still had the neo yellow-green paint on the outside and the psychedelic decorations on the inside. Near the front of the trailer were two bunk beds, barely twin in size, with a fabric curtain separating them from the rest for a little privacy while the two slept or needed space from each other. Gosalyn always got the top bunk, it was her first choice. Beyond that, with just enough space for a book or pair of socks to fall, was the toilet on the left side and the shower on the right, each in their own wooden cupboards that thinned the narrow space between them to a one-duck only hallway. The toilet and closet, divided in half, were enough to equal the space of the shower, so at least it was all even. The middle of the trailer on the right side - opposite the door - was an antique fridge, kitchen countertop, a sink, and a few cabinets beside the shower, which opened up to the back of the trailer where a round table was snuggled against the round bench seat. The back wall of the trailer was frosted glass windows, and it curled around the table and bench. On the left side, after the toilet and closet, was a pile of boxes and sports equipment, and the only door. Past the door was the other end of the table and bench.

The Mallards had one dented metal chair which pulled up to the table, and an antique wooden chair which was covered in storage, and not much else. A few pots and pans, a hot plate, and electric skillet for cooking, and a small microwave for everything else stocked their cupboards, but the most copious item they had was Gosalyn's equipment for every sport from hockey to softball. Most everything could be stored easily enough, but the collapsible hockey nets, a purchase Drake had made as soon as they parked their trailer for the first time, were the exception. They didn't have a home, and the two ducks just lived around them.

Drake sighed and walked to Gosalyn, turning the dented metal chair backwards to sit on it. Gosalyn knew what was coming, and recoiled, slumping against the green floral-printed bench with a guilty expression.

"Gosalyn," Drake began, gently bookmarking and shutting the math book that sat between them and pushing it aside, "I'm sorry for what I said last night."

The teen diverted her green eyes to her lap, and Drake crossed his arms on the table.

"Gos?"

"Okay," the teen squeaked.

"I'm sorry for blowing up at you last night."

"I know," she mumbled.

"You know I try to give you freedom and space, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you know we don't helicopter over each other, right?"

"Sure."

Drake sighed again, and Gosalyn immediately wilted. She hated that she couldn't she be better at talking to her dad about these things like a normal teenager. They both knew it was hard enough for Drake to begin with, but she never seemed to make it any easier for him, no matter how bad she felt about it.

"You know that I know that you don't like being punished, right? I know it seems permanent to you, but I know you know better, and are trying really hard to change it. Did you know that I see you trying?"

"No … do you really?"

"I do." Standing, Drake scooted onto the bench next to Gosalyn and playfully poked her side. "And you know that I'll never stop loving you or stop being proud of you, right?"

"Yeah – Dad! Yeah, yeah - I know it! Haha!"

"Well then you know furthermore that I'm proud of you for scaring away those bullies, right?"

"Yeah – yeah, Dad! Yeah, I know!"

"Good," the mallard smiled, stopping his poking and flipping her ponytail. "No more trespassing or getting arrested, alright?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"And you'll stay away from the Studio, yes?"

Stumped, Gosalyn frowned up at her dad, the older Mallard cutting her off before she could protest.

"Gosalyn, I'm serious. Stay away from the Studio. And all things Darkwing Duck related. Do I make myself clear this time?"

"Okay… I guess."

"Good, then it's your turn."

"Rats," she groaned, sitting up in the seat and curling her legs under her. "Here goes…. I know I shouldn't have… left?"

Drake shook his head with practiced patience.

"Oh… what did you say last night…? Oh!" Sitting up, Gosalyn faced her dad, who leaned one arm over the back of the seat to open up to her. "You know I know better than to trespass, right?"

He nodded.

"Dad!"

"Okay, okay, yes, I know," he held his hands up in surrender.

"Good. Um, you know I know better than to get in fights, right? Because I didn't! I just scared them off!"

"I noticed," he poked the edge of her bill, "and I do know that."

"Dad! … And you know that I… that I don't like being picked up by the police all the time and … And I don't like you … I don't like being in trouble."

"I know that," Drake nodded.

"Then you know that I'm … I don't like it and I don't like making you mad or scared. And I … I'm sorry I did? I'm sorry I did. Made you mad. And scared. And got in trouble."

"I do know that." Brushing her bangs from her face, Drake smiled at her. "And I know that you don't mean to, and are trying really hard to get better. And I'm very proud of you for that. You know that, don't you?"

"I do… I love you Dad," Gosalyn blushed, leaping into Drake's open arms.

"I love you too, Gossy. What do you think needs to happen now?"

The teen pulled back, rolling her eyes back in thought. "Uuuuuum, maybe home arrest for the rest of the week?"

"Fair enough," Drake offered his hand for a shake. "And homework done before lunch for the rest of the week too."

"Fine," she sighed, shaking the hand.

"Welp, now that the sucky-parts of parenting are out of the way…" Hopping off the seat, Drake grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door.

"Dad!" Gosalyn cried, offended.

"Kidding! Anyway, now that that's done, I'm heading out to grab some 'move in grub', and was wondering if you, Miss House Arrest, would like to join me."

"You mean it?" the teen smiled, quickly stacking her school books and dropping them on the seat next to her. "Do I ever!" Hurrying after her dad, Gosalyn snatched her letterman off the hook near the door and slammed it closed behind her.


The shopping center, a chain they had never been to, had great overhead music going for it if nothing else. Dancing and singing to the classic rock down the aisles, the two collected their groceries, which mainly consisted of Gosalyn putting her favorites in the cart and Drake putting them back on the shelves. Once in a while, however, he'd shrug and let her keep something, because everyone deserves a special treat every now and then. Gosalyn was in charge of keeping track of the prices of everything they collected, which meant taking pictures of them. At the checkout, they put their heads together to whittle away at their haul, eventually leaving with everything they would need for their celebratory meal, and something to hold them over until the next paycheck, all while staying, somehow, in budget. Despite all the returned groceries, it was a success in Gosalyn's eyes, so she insisted on treating them both to the closest StarDucks, which Drake never turned down.


While Drake sipped on his coffee, Gosalyn scratched her head, scribbling furiously over her math problem on the coffee shop's napkins. So far they hadn't been recognized by anyone, not that Gosalyn would have noticed, but Drake did let her give her name for their orders instead of his own. He wasn't exactly expecting trouble, but he and the city had an unique relationship that Gosalyn might never appreciate, so he kept his ears and eyes open for any trouble. But the streets downtown had been emptier and quieter than he ever imagined St. Canard could be, and it was unnerving. Even the old "Fresh Takes" grocery store had empty shelves and barely any fresh produce to speak of, its old claim to fame in the water-logged city. At least there was a Starducks left, one of the last marks of St. Canard's golden age left. Drake even remembered when it came to town. Darkwing has been asked to cut the ribbon at Town Hall that opened the new business district where more recognizable national chains had out-bought the local mom-and-pop places. It hurt the local folks, but the wave of tourists and new business-people certainly didn't complain. The Starducks even had a picture of the event framed in some dusty old corner of the restaurant behind a plastic plant, and Drake tried not to stare at it too long.

His own plastic smile and puffed up chest gave made him shiver.

After a few moments of her wheels turning, Gosalyn squawked in triumph, pulling her father from his thoughts and back into the quiet coffee shop. He blinked as she handed the napkin to him triumphantly, presenting it under his bill with a smirk. He grinned himself and took the napkin. After just a brief scan, however, he pulled his red pen from his jacket, and clicked it open.

"Aaaaah rats," Gosalyn whined, snatching her smoothie off the table and flopping back into her seat. She slurped unhappily while Drake marked on the equation and handed it back after a few scribbles.

"You forgot a parenthesis," he smiled and the teen yanking the napkin from him.

"What?! Where?!" her eyes finding the mistake, thanks to his generous scribbling, she threw it back on the table with a snarl. "Double rats! I'm never going to get it!"

Drake finished his long slurp of his drink, swallowing with a happy grin and leaning on his elbows. "Yes, you will, you just have to remember your playbook."

"News flash, Dad," she narrowed her eyes at him, "you can't use sports metaphors to solve everything in life."

"Well, I tried," the mallard shrugged, sitting back in his chair and mixing his coffee with his straw. Glancing over his shoulder, Gosalyn choked on her smoothie suddenly, coughing and vaulting onto the table. "Slow down there, Gonzales," the older Mallard frowned at her, sitting up a little straighter.

"Speaking of news flashes," she wiped her bill, pointing at the television that hung in the shop's counter. Drake turned to it, a frown shadowing his face.

"Hey," he called to someone behind the counter, "excuse me? Could we turn that up some, please? Thank you." Gosalyn stood quickly and followed her dad towards the TV, stopping next to him.

"…considering yesterday's... incident, we are increasing security at DW Studios effective immediately."

Apparently, St. Canard's favorite news station was holding a personal interview with a blond-haired ferret in a cheap suit, sporting a smug grin. Darkwing Duck flashed across the screen in big letters, and Portia Featherly smiled at her victim, something in her eyes sparkling.

"Who's this clown?" Gosalyn asked and Drake crossed his arms.

"Officer Slick Adder," he identified the ferret on screen, who was practically winking at the interviewing duck. "Well, apparently he's 'Senior Detective', now. Met him a long time ago. Wasn't a fan, either of us. And that's you they're talking about, young lady."

"Wow," she smiled up at the TV, "keen gear!"

"No, it's not! Now hush!"

"Has the incident at all affected the case, Senior Detective?" Featherly asked, and Drake noted how Adder seemed to sit up a little straighter at the title. He grimaced involuntarily. Adder was always a character who believed he was worth everything the world was failing to give him, and was pretty impatient in receiving it. But apparently he had set his ego aside long enough to become a detective. And senior detective at that.

Oxford's recruitment levels must have been down lately.

"…We are pursuing a few new leads in the investigation, unconnected to yesterday's incident, but will not be disclosing their identities at this time. Sorry, Miss Featherly."

"How do you know all these people?" Gosalyn slurped at her smoothie and glanced at her dad.

"Uh," Drake blinked, his mind faltering for a moment in recalling a single specific memory he shared with the rodent. But he could feel a specific memory knocking, but seemed to have forgotten which door to open. "I've... when you live and work in one place your whole life, you tend to know people," he stumbled while combing down his head fathers, but a sneaking glance at Gosalyn next to him told him that she was, at least, convinced. "Now hush!"

"But—"

"Hush!"

"Now wait a minute! If he's just a Detective, why is he holding this personal interview and not a full press conference? And shouldn't the actual Chief of Police be doing this instead?"

"Gosalyn! Hush!"

In the middle of Drake scolding his daughter, the story ended, cutting back a young, redheaded dog lady, who shared the screen with Featherly. The young lady had long red hair and bangs that waterfalled over her shoulders and face, and silver piercings in her ears.

"Oh great, now we missed it," the mallard grumbled, motioning to the TV. "Thanks, Gos."

"Who is that?" the teen motioned to it, and her and her father read the nameplate. "Roxanne Rose Dane?"

"She must be new," sighed Drake as he returned to their table. The story had ended and he hadn't learned anything about the official investigation. And something was buzzing at the back of his head now, and he couldn't quite place what it was. "You don't normally see Featherly share the screen with anyone. Actually, you never see it."

"That was Detective Slick Adder," the redhead smiled, something about her soft and creamy voice immediately making Gosalyn smile. Roxanne was young, eager, and sounded kind, unlike the stiffly grinning, wrinkle-faced duck next to her. Featherly's forced sign of companionship made the creases at the corners of her eyes somehow worse, beyond even the help of her heavy make up.

"That was Senior Detective Slick Adder," she bit with a smile in Roxanne's direction, "Miss Dane. It's best not to forget the proper titles of your guests, my dear."

"Uh-of course." Roxanne's smile faltered, a small blush replacing it. Gosalyn recrossed her arms and scowled, quite unhappy with Featherly for completely unnecessarily humiliating the poor girl. But Roxanne seemed to be taking it in stride, and when Featherly refused to continue the story, she whimpered at her strongest apology. "My apologies. Senior Detective Slick Adder, thank you for that exclusive interview. Though Detective Adder is reluctant—"

"Though Senior Detective Adder is reluctant to share any additional information on the new suspects…"

"Wow," Gosalln whistled, "Featherly is green in several ways, it seems."

"… this channel has acquired exclusive footage from the day of the fire just a few days ago, of what appears to be a suspicious individual sneaking into the old DW Studio just minutes before the fire broke out."

"Finally," the teen heard her dad huff from behind her, "someone in this town knows how to run an investigation."

"Uh, Dad?" she muttered, twisting around to catch his attention. The mallard, frowning at her, glanced to the TV and choked on his coffee.

The "exclusive footage" was a snapshot of an individual who bore an uncanny resemblance to Darkwing Duck himself, over-sized bill and purple suit and all, sneaking into the old studio.

"This channel has confirmed that this individual is none other than washed-up Darkwing Duck leading actor and leading writer - Drake Mallard. Whom, according to alleged reports, has just recently returned to St. Canard."

Frozen on the spot, Drake stared at the screen.

"Hehe," Gosalyn shrugged, "too bad someone in this town knows how to run an investigation."