A/N Hey, guys! Sorry for making everybody wait for a long overdue update. That wasn't my intention, I promise, but it's just hard to write when you've hit a wall. Stupid writer's block.

Disclaimer The Mighty Ducks (c) Disney. Chloe Blake Winslow (c) Takara "Taka" Matsudaira.

Ducks of a Feather Flock Together

Chapter Four

"Smells good," I can't help but comment, entering Goldberg's Delicatessen.

Mr. Queen holds the door open for me, waits for me to enter the small restaurant, then follows me in. "And it tastes even better," he compliments with a chuckle.

The restaurant is definitely small, that's for sure, but comfortable and homey. There are a few tables here and there that can only hold about two, maybe three, people comfortably. The front counter isn't that high for once, so I can actually see above it this time. (Yeah; I'm short. Sue me.) The front counter has examples behind the glass; prime meats hang from the ceiling in the back of the store; a spice rack's off to the side; and there's even a picture of their son... the Mighty Ducks goalie? What the heck! What is this? Is this Mr. Stalker-Man's idea of a joke? Because I'm not laughing.

"Was this Tibbles' idea?" I ask defensively. I don't like being used. Who does? It's probably the worst feeling in the world. Right up there with being betrayed.

Mr. Queen is taken aback by my sudden change in attitude, and that of my outburst. I point to the picture that's next to the cash register of the Mighty Ducks' goalie, Goldberg. Then it dawns on him why I'm suddenly so mad.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. His silence speaks volumes.

I walk out, or more like stomp out, but I don't care. I hate being used. I don't honestly know what for, but that doesn't mean that it still doesn't hurt.

Mr. Queen follows me out, shouting at me to stop so that he can explain why Mr. Stalker-Man did what he did. Except I don't. I finally lose him somewhere along the way. I don't know how long I've been running, but it's my stomach that stops me. I find myself in front of station Engine "Avalanche Mountain" 61. It's just as I remember it, but it doesn't look like anyone's home. Engine 61 is nowhere to be seen. They must be on a call.

Crossing the street, I stop at the closed front door, hesitating before opening it. Slowly letting myself in. I can clearly remember the last time I was here. That was the first time Avalanche Mountain lost one of its own. I still feel guilty feeling relieved when it wasn't Patrick that got caught in the fire, but that was the captain of the time that died. That's why I haven't been here since then.

Until now.

I find myself staring at the wall, that's lined with pictures of past and present firefighters, including Patrick and Hercules. They haven't changed at all, by the looks of it, they still look the same from the last time I saw the both of them.

It seems like the captain's office is still vacant when I walk in. Looks like Patrick hasn't moved on either. It's still relatively empty of anything personal. Except I find an old picture of Patrick and that of the late captain on the desk. He was Patrick's mentor. In picking it up, I can't help but get a little teary-eyed. If I'm still having trouble coping, I can't even being to imagine how Patrick's doing. I haven't seen him in so long, though, so I don't really know.

The front door closes shut downstairs, signaling someone entering the station, relieving me of my momentary stupor. I start to panic, looking around wildly for a place to hide. Then I hear the resounding thumps of heavy boots, walking up the stairs. I don't want to be discovered. That's the last thing I need, especially right now, what with joining Team USA and playing in the Jr. Good Will Games and all. I've got too much on my plate as is. I don't need anymore drama in my life.

It's Lionel Hawkins and Tyler.

Mickey Tyler. Patrick's best friend. And Avalanche Mountain's own Probationary Firefighter.

Now I'm really panicking. I'm screwed if Tyler finds me. That boy can't keep a secret. I call him a "boy" because he's "a kid at heart," so he tells me. And he acts like one, too. Literally. Believe me. He does. He says that if he had a choice, he'd stay a kid forever. Less responsibilities, hence why he's still a probationary firefighter after three years of being on the job. He never takes anything seriously, but he does care about his job so I guess that's why he hasn't been fired.

Yet.

He looks a lot like Patrick, but has lighter hair coloring and darker blue eyes. He's not as muscular, but has that puppy-dog look about him instead that just makes you melt inside.

Then there's Lionel Hawkins.

He's sorta like the father figure around here, always making sure the crew is well taken care of and is at their best. He's also Avalanche Mountain's own personal cook, although the last time I tasted his cooking it wasn't edible in the slightest except I didn't tell him that. I wouldn't even have had called it food for that matter. But everyone's too afraid to tell him that his cooking's horrible... chickens. I'd tell him, but what's the point if I do? It'd mean more coming from one of the crew. He's a big African-American man, with a beer belly and a balding head. He has a laugh that's contagious, making everyone else around him start to laugh just for the heck of it.

It's not him I'm concerned about. It's Mick. Like I said earlier. That's his nickname. Mick. Cute, right? Well, I think it is. But he's much too old for me, and he's more like my brother than anything. We pick on each other like a brother and sister would at any rate. It's kinda our thing, you know? Picking on one another. That's how I know he'll tell Patrick if he finds out I'm here. Can't have that... now can I?

I duck behind the desk, just as they come upstairs. I can hear them talking to one another. I watch them through the window. Lionel is checking the mail before he gets fed up obviously, throwing it across the table in his frustration. But I don't think his frustration is due to this morning's mail. Yup. Very unlikely.

Lionel says, "No is no. What about no don't you get, son?"

"But what if we were to... oh, I don't know... let's say... get a call in Taylor Falls?" It's Mick. He's wanting to go to Taylor Falls. But why? For a night out on the town maybe? It is a tourist destination, after all. But Taylor Falls is where Summit Valley is located; Avalanche Mountain's sister station, but is much more popular. Why'd anyone from station Engine 61'd want to go there is beyond me. It's hard to know with that boy sometimes.

Again with the "boy."

The old man rubs at his temples after he sits down, apparently trying to get a hold on his ever-growing frustration towards the probationary firefighter. "I don't know how many times I have to say it. The answer's still—" His chair swivels a little bit, stopping him mid-sentence when he sees that the door to the vacant captain's office is ajar. He's now making his way over to said office, confusion clearly written all over his face.

My eyes widen in panic. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I knew that I had forgotten something! I forgot to close the damn door! Now they'll definitely find me! How can one simple mistake lead to such disastrous results!?

"I thought that I closed this," he says more to himself than to anyone else, but that didn't mean that Mick didn't overhear.

And feeling obliged to speak, the man says, "It's not that I don't understand the answer, it's just that... I don't understand why you don't want to see her. I bet Blake would be happy to see us! Why wouldn't she? We're awesome! And I bet she misses us." He then adds as an afterthought, "I bet she misses... you too, you know."

They enter the supposedly vacant captain's office, and are now dangerously close in finding me and that of my makeshift hiding spot under the late captain's desk. They stop just before said piece of furniture, and I hold my breath as I watch their feet shift around the room as they both look the room over for anything suspicious or out of place.

I have to get out of here, before anyone spots me! I think frantically, looking around wildly for an escape route, but still making sure I'm well out of sight.

In moving further back underneath the desk, afraid of being discovered, when Lionel comes closer, I hold my breath in anticipation. The pounding of my heart in my ears is deafening. Hands over my mouth. Scared to death. He's so close now...

"Look here, kid," Lionel says, turning around and facing Mick, grasping his shoulders and holding him at arm's length. "I know you miss her. I do, too. Believe me. I really do."

Mick groans. "I hear a but coming."

"But... I think it's best for everyone, especially for her, if we don't push our luck. I know. I can't believe she's here myself. But let's not push it, okay? The last thing we want to do is to upset her if she sees us when she doesn't want to. And anyway, she needs to focus on hockey right now. She is playing in the Jr. Goodwill Games, after all. We don't want her to lose her focus now, do we?"

Good ol' Lionel. He always knows what to say.

Hopefully Mick will listen, but I highly doubt it. He never listens. That's another reason why he's still a probationary firefighter. He can't take orders. Always putting himself, and the others, at risk because of it.

Mick hesitates, trying to make up an excuse to go see me at Taylor Falls, but comes up short and sighs in defeat instead. "You're right. When you're right, you're right. And I sure as hell don't want her to lose her focus!"

"Atta boy!" Lionel suddenly exclaims, his voice bouncing off the walls of the mostly vacant office. I jump, accidentally of course, but I still hit my head on the desk. I rub my head, biting my tongue as I try to keep myself from screaming at the sudden pain.

Ouch! That hurt! I can't help but think. No duh, Sherlock!

He slaps Mick on the back, the poor boy loses his footing and stumbles, but doesn't fall. And instead continues as if nothing happened. "I mean, have you seen those Iceland Vikings play? It's like they're actual vikings and have no respect for their opponents at all, let alone the game itself! Team USA will definitely have to up their game if they want to win against them."

I listen like a bat, their voices carrying downstairs, signaling that's it time to make a swift exist. Luckily every captain's office has a fire escape of its own. In opening the window, I quickly climb down the rickety old ladder that leads down to the side of the building and onto the side street, but about halfway down the ladder broke. The bottom half lying on the ground.

I don't know what I was thinking in coming here. Not that I had intended on coming here in the first place, it just sort of happened.

"Did you hear that?"

Lionel. Great. He must've of heard the ladder creak. I panic. In my haste, I look down at how high I still am off the ground. Not that high, but just high enough to where, if I jumped, I'd probably break something or another. And that's out of the question. Because then I couldn't play the game I love. Or for Team USA for that matter.

But what choice do I have? It's either jump, or get caught and have to explain myself. Yeah. That's so not happening.

I hear him approaching the office. It's now or never I guess. I prefer never, but we can't always have our way, right? I turn around, mindful of where I step. One wrong move and it would all be over, one way or another. Taking hold of the ladder in a vice grip, my knuckles turn white but I pay no mind to my hands, as I steel myself by looking down one last time before closing my eyes in a desperate attempt to mentally prepare herself for what it is I'm about to do.

"It's not that far down. No," I chat myself up, obviously stalling for time. "No, no, no. Not that far down at all. I can do this. I have to do this." I take a deep breath. "Enough stalling, Blake. You can do this. You've faced tougher obstacles than this. This... is nothing. Nothing at all. On the count of three. One... Two... C'mon, Blake, c'mon! You can do this!" Another deep breath. "THREE!"

I let go of the ladder, jumping down to what I hope is not my death.

A/N I know where I want this story to go, it's just hard getting there, especially with writer's block... Ugh! Anyway... Do you guys think it's a coincidence that there just so happens to be a street named "Hendrix" here? I couldn't help but laugh when I saw it, it made me think of this story... maybe that was the jumpstart that I needed. Hmmm...

Reviews are much obliged! Flames'll be burnt to a crisp. ^_^