Chapter 7

Bushroot was back at his greenhouse, sobbing. Spike was doing his best to cheer up his master by offering him fertilizer, sunlamps, water spritzers, a pillow, his favorite toys. Everything. But Bushroot was inconsolable.

He'd done everything he could, but he'd been too late! Darkwing was hurt too badly to be of any help now. If only he'd arrived at the warehouse sooner!

But he didn't know Quackerjack and Liquidator would team up with Ammonia Pine. It seemed obvious now, what with Pinescrub being her specialty and all, but Bushroot had never considered the possibility that Pine would operate outside of FOWL. After all, this crazy idea of flooding the bay with corrosive chemicals and sinking ships without claiming responsibility or loot didn't sound like FOWL's usual world-domination schemes.

Oh, what a mess!

-

Flashback to a few hours ago...

The plants had told Bushroot where Darkwing was taken and Bushroot had his trees carry him to the warehouse. He had gone there hoping Darkwing had already defeated the Fearsome Three and that all there'd be left for him to do was seal off the Pinescrub. His environmental concerns had fled upon hearing a gunshot. Panicking, Bushroot had scrambled behind one of his fir trees. The trees formed a shield around him with their branches.
Suddenly, someone crashed through a window, tumbling to a stop a few feet in front of the watching plants. Bushroot heard the person struggling to rise. He knew that voice... He peeked around and saw a familiar shade of purple in the grass. Oh my gosh! It was Darkwing Duck!
The crime fighter was curled in a fetal position, cradling his side and visibly shaking. His rapid gasps sounded hoarse.

Bushroot stretched out a hand to help him up, but he hesitated. He knew his opponent. Darkwing wouldn't accept help from him. He'd just aggravate his injuries further. And he'd clearly been through a struggle. His jacket still had some soap bubbles and soot clinging to it from Ammonia Pine' and Megavolt's attacks. One side of his hat was smoking. His cape was dripping, thanks to Liquidator. And there were numerous tattered and torn places on his cape and sleeves that showed the handiwork of Quackerjack's toys.
Bushroot sighed. If he had been there, he probably would have contributed to the damage. His plants fed off of his excitement and he liked letting them do what they wanted. It was a way of avenging all those plants that were butchered or forced to wither away from neglect and it felt good. But when all the excitement was over and done and Bushroot was on his own... Well, the plants didn't say much when all they needed to focus on was photosynthesis.
His attention returned to Darkwing as the crime fighter pushed himself up on his knees and groped for something in his jacket.
"Good," Bushroot thought. "Maybe he's calling for help."

But it wasn't meant to be. Darkwing's hand fumbled on the device he was using like he was losing focus. Bushroot frowned. If Darkwing didn't get help... He didn't finish that thought. They both heard shouting. Darkwing glanced over his shoulder at the warehouse. He painstakingly crawled to the trees and collapsed with a heavy sigh.

Bushroot stared at the crumpled crusader in shock for a moment. He'd recognized Ammonia' and Quackerjack's voices. They were arguing about the shooting. It sounded like Quackerjack was the one who had shot him. And from the sounds of it, neither Quackerjack nor Ammonia were above shooting the crime fighter again... Whoa! That was a big change for Quackerjack! Bushroot wondered what had set his former teammate off so badly...
Looking again at Darkwing, Bushroot realized he couldn't just leave the duck laying there for his teammates to find. They'd probably torture him some more and kill him in the process. Bushroot wasn't above using force or acting violently when he felt threatened, but...even a mutant plant duck has to have some standards. Besides, if he helped Darkwing now, maybe Darkwing would help him save the plants by getting rid of the Pinescrub. Well...maybe not the plants, but the hero would be willing to set aside their differences of opinion to save St. Canard...
Acting quickly, Bushroot asked some vines to spring up from the ground and form a hammock around Darkwing's body. The trees picked him up and carried both Bushroot and Darkwing away from the the warehouse grounds.
Bushroot told the trees to head back to the greenhouse and settled back for the ride. Or at least, he would have relaxed but after only covering about a city block in distance he glanced back at the limp mallard and had everyone stop. He had the trees lay Darkwing on the ground again while he summoned several different medicinal shrubs from the soil. He looked over the duck's injury and put a compress on it. He bemoaned the fact that he hadn't thought to treat the injury sooner... Why did he always have to mess up on important things? No, no. Now wasn't the time for self pity. He had to get Darkwing some help! But how was he going to do that? He couldn't just walk up to the hospital and say "Hiya, folks. I'm off super villain duty today but one of my best friends shot this guy." They'd have him surrounded with cops faster than he can grow a weed. And that wouldn't Darkwing a bit of good.
He was wondering if he should leave the crime fighter here and send the paramedics out to pick him up when the Ratcatcher drove up. Bushroot was startled at first until he realized Darkwing had summoned the bike with a transponder. That was clever... But he was still faced with the same predicament.
Bushroot could care for the crime fighter's superficial wounds himself, but the bullet wound might turn septic. He could leave an anonymous call to the paramedics and give them Darkwing's location. Or he could simply let Fate and the GPS technology in the Ratcatcher guide the hurt hero home and trust that Darkwing's friends and family would find him. The last seemed like the fastest and safest choice for both Darkwing's sake and Bushroot's.
Bushroot sat Darkwing in the driver's seat and asked a vine to hold him upright like a safety harness. He asked another vine to hold the compresses against the entry and exit wounds on the duck's back and ribs. He then looked at the Ratcatcher's onboard computer and pressed the HOME icon. The bike revved up and took off, disappearing down the street.
Bushroot watched it sadly, wishing he'd had the courage to do more. Sighing, he had the trees take him home.

Just as he walked into the greenhouse, his plant telepathy told him the vines that were with Darkwing were burning. The Ratcatcher had driven into the bay. Bushroot was horrified that his plants were suffering, but determined to help Darkwing regardless of the cost. He begged the writhing vines to rinse the chemicals off of the duck before leaving. They did as he asked, finding a sink to rinse themselves in and a bucket to douse Darkwing with. Darkwing moaned and started stirring. The vines quickly fled out a window, falling to the street and getting crushed under a passing semi. -

Present time, Bushroot's greenhouse

Bushroot sighed wearily. He was certain that his hesitation had cost Darkwing his life and that there was no hope left. The city's plants and inhabitants would die along with their hometown hero. Unless… Maybe Darkwing Duck's innovative crime-fighting techniques didn't have to die with him. Maybe that little thing Bushroot had been working on in the lab just might be the answer. It was time to get physical!


Darkwing squinted painfully in the light. His equilibrium was spinning off-kilter, giving the dizzying sensation of floating in the ocean. His left eye resisted opening. He had enough sense to realize he was in a hospital bed, reacting to pain medication. His memories swirled in a soupy fog as he tried to piece together his last cognizant thoughts.

Darkwing vaguely remembered hearing the gun go off and feeling searing pain as he fled. He'd jumped through a window and summoned the Ratcatcher with his pencil microphone. He didn't remember driving back, but he recalled hitting water as the Ratcatcher entered the underwater tunnel and being too tired to do more than fall off the bike. He had felt even more water douse him and tried to identify the source, but his injuries had overwhelmed him and he blacked out. He later came around to the sound of Launchpad's voice and tried to get his senses back in order, but he was too cold and tired to move. Launchpad had picked him up and the increased pain and dizziness flooded his senses until he faded into oblivion…

As Darkwing lay there in the hospital, listening to the irritating blip of the heart monitor, his crime fighter senses started tingling. His ears picked up the faint whisper of an exhaled breath and the rustle of clothing. He turned his head and located the source of the sounds. The shape looked familiar...small and neatly attired with thin gray hair.
Breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn't in a FOWL torture facility or an enemy's lair, he licked his lips and called out softly.
"Hello, J. Gander..."

The owl rose from his chair.

"Greetings, Darkwing. I'm glad to see your keen observational skills are still functional. You gave us quite a scare, you know."

Darkwing swallowed with some difficulty. Hooter summoned a nurse to bring in a drink while Darkwing silently tallied the number of hits he'd successfully dodged, trying to rebuild his confidence. The nurse returned with a can of Ginger ale and some crackers, promising she'd bring something more appetizing if he could keep these down.

Darkwing automatically reached for the cup and grimaced. His right wrist and shoulder were encased in bandages, with only his elbow moving freely. Using his left instead, he focused on getting the cup to his beak without dropping it. It started to slip from his grip, but J. Gander caught it before it spilled.

"You might do better with a straw," J. Gander smiled gently. Darkwing managed to replace his scowl with a forced smile.

"Thanks, but I'll make do."

Settling back against the pillow, Darkwing let his mind drift. He couldn't remember much about the case, but there was some important detail waiting to be recalled. J. Gander politely offered to let him rest, but Darkwing held up his uninhibited hand.

"Wait. If you can spare the time, I'd really appreciate the company. Hospitals kind of give me the creeps."

J. Gander had to smile at that. Darkwing had quite an unusual array of experiences that other people would call "creepy." Experiences such as gaining spider powers from a radioactive bite and dating a witch in a graveyard. Hearing the fearless crime fighter admit apprehension was quite a change from his usual bravado. Hooter pulled his chair alongside the bed.

"My work can wait. I've already cleared my schedule."

"Thanks, J. Gander," Darkwing murmured warmly. He genuinely appreciated the director's choice of friendship over professionalism.

"Just so you know, you're located in a S.H.U.S.H. infirmary, not a regular hospital. In fact, aside from a few unlucky agents recovering from the tidal wave ordeal, you are the sole patient stationed here. It is mainly my presence that is keeping the staff from tending you more closely."

Darkwing was unfazed.

"Exactly why I asked if you could stay. I don't want to nod off or wake up with those vultures hanging over me. I assume my sidekick is otherwise occupied?"

Hooter refrained from commenting on how those "vultures," as Darkwing had so termed his team of attending surgeons, physicians, nurses, and specialists, had saved his life.

"Yes, Mr. McQuack left a while ago to tend to other matters. I've already informed him you're awake, so he should arrive within the hour." After giving the mallard a chance to process this information, he brought up the question he'd been dying to ask. "Darkwing, did you learn anything about Neptunia?"

The duck took a moment to rewind his memories and nodded affirmatively.

"Yes and no…I didn't get a chance to assess her condition myself, but Quackerjack showed me footage of her release after they caught me. I believe it was genuine and not made up for my benefit…"

Hooter sighed, looking at his folded hands.

"We're lucky then. They must have kept their bargain and released Neptunia without torturing her any further…Hopefully she was able to swim out to a calmer part of the ocean."

Darkwing nodded, biting back the grimace the motion caused.

J. Gander motioned to a button attached to an IV drip containing pain medication.

Darkwing smirked wryly.

"Thanks, but I'll save that for later. I don't want my brain in anymore of a fog than necessary."

J. Gander smiled.

"I understand. Can I get anything for you, Darkwing? A magazine or crossword puzzle perhaps? Or I can turn on the TV…"

Darkwing's brows furrowed in thought, before he lurched upright, upsetting the tray and Ginger Ale.

"Of course! The tidal wave! J. Gander, the reports said the water left a soapy residue on the pier, did they not?"

"Indeed." J. Gander moved the tray out of danger and steadied the drink.

"Then my initial hypothesis had one fatal flaw! The Fearsome Fi…I mean, the Fearsome Three, teamed up with a FOWL agent… The countess of clean, Ammonia Pine!"

Darkwing normally would have stood to hold up a triumphant finger for his proclamation, but his limited mobility refrained him. He settled back before explaining.

"She is using the Three's powers to fill up the bay with cleaning detergent so they can lay waste to St. Canard! I never would have guessed it, but Pine seems to be working independently of FOWL this time. All it took was one chance meeting with the Liquidator."

J. Gander could hardly contain his excitement.

"You're saying, the Three found a new Fourth member?"

"It would appear so, but I know Quackerjack, Liquidator, and Megavolt. They won't tolerate Ammonia's methods for long. I'm certain they're using her plan to forward their own for city conquest and capital currency."

J. Gander inched away.

"Darkwing, you've just handed us a vital piece of information. I'll return as soon as I relay this revelation." J. Gander rushed to the door.

Darkwing sat up.

"Wait! What about Launchpad?" he called breathlessly.

J. Gander didn't pause.

"He'll be here soon!"