Imagine Coldplay: I know! It's a shame the show is coming to an end! I really would have liked seeing those two on screen more often.

The Not-So-Ultimate Writer: I'm gonna say Dewey did tell them, but it was quick, and he didn't bring it up very often. Eventually, it was just slowly forgotten, and Dewey's job was dubbed "the office". No, it's going to be just Webby, and don't worry, he'll meet his family soon.

rosiesj: Will do, appreciate the review! :)

DaDweebking: As it should :)

Emerald: Right? I am sad that the show is ending, but a little annoyed at Disney. They told SVTFOE that they had 4 seasons to work with, but they shafted DuckTales? Now they're rushing storylines, and it's just… unprofessional. No, there are no grandkids you should know about. And no, I didn't know about TV Tropes, I'll check it out

Ninja: Oh, you'll learn what happened to Max alright ;))

Boss Teal: It was totally underwhelming!

Lilbree: Thank you! :))

Guest: :)))))

ooo

Dewey ran his eyes over the finished letter, critically studying the carefully scrawled ink: sure, it had taken him the entire weekend of endless drafts and considerations, but it was finally finished. Finally crafted, and ready to be offered to her. He'd poured his heart out, trying his best to confess everything, and in some ways it felt as therapeutic as it was terrifying. He turned the paper over in his hands, double-checking his final paragraphs, reading over his final plea to her:

So there you have it. Everything. My soul bared to you in the hardest letter I've ever had to write.

I miss you Webby, so desperately but if you can never forgive me and never want to see me again, then I understand and respect that. To be honest, it's what I'm expecting but just in case any part of you wants to see me again. Whether it's to throw things at me or shout at me, it's only fair I give you that opportunity.

It's the least you deserve after everything.

So, I'll be by your local Starducks, at 7PM Saturday night. It sounds like a line from one of those god-awful romance movies you used to make me watch but I need to give you the chance, the decision, as to whether you want to see me again. I'll be there, ready to face all and every consequence for my past actions, but as I've said, if you can't bring yourself to see me, or have no desire to, I respect that, and I'll promise to stay away from you.

I'm so sorry for all the pain and heartache I caused you.

Sorry for everything.

Love,

Dewey

With a long exhale, Dewey folded the thick paper, and placed it into the waiting envelope. Staring at it one last time, he sealed the envelope, before he lost his nerve. Flipping it over, he picked up his pen and neatly wrote her name, savoring each letter in case he never got to write or say it again. Webby.

He gazed down at it.

This really was it.

It was terrifying to think his whole future was dependent on the contents of this little envelope, that something so ordinary looking could be so important. It was hard to believe that after all these years of guilt and hiding, he was finally going to face his demons. He was going to put it all out there, and risk breaking whatever was left of his heart… but if it meant hers healed, that she was finally able to have closure then he had to do it. He'd put her through hell, deserted her, walked out on her.

He deserved whatever she gave him.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, still fighting his rising nerves. He briefly played with the idea of tossing the letter into the metal bin, and forgetting all about this, going back into hiding… but he couldn't do that to her. Not again. It wasn't fair to her. As scary as it all was, he had to stop running.

Dewey finally had to face the music.

A noise from the next room caught his attention, and he cracked open an eyelid, seeing movement on the other side of the office door.

"Honker!" he called before he could stop himself, his stomach lurching then tightening.

He could do this, he had to do this. For her.

Moments later, his assistant stuck his head through the door. "I was just heading out for lunch… did you want me to get you something, Dewey?"

"No, that's… uh fine," he was too nervous to eat, too nervous to do anything right now.

There was a long pause.

"So…?" Honker tried.

"Look, I'm uh," Dewey cleared his throat, his heart speeding up, "I'm in meetings the rest of the afternoon, and I wanted to give you this," with shaking hands, he picked up the sacred envelope, staring at it once more before forcing himself to hand it to him. "For Gosalyn," he croaked.

He held his breath, watching as he glanced curiously at it.

"Is this what I think it is?" he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Maybe," he said cagily, fighting the urge to snatch it back off him: if that letter left the office, then this would all become real. This was actually happening after all this time.

Honker silently studied his boss for a moment: since the revelation on Friday night he'd been less distant and cold. Still, it was weird to see him so edgy and anxious. So human.

"I'll make sure she gets it," he finally promised. "And for what it's worth? I think you're doing the right thing," he offered him a smile, before turning and leaving in what seemed like slow motion.

"Yeah," Dewey whispered as he watched the envelope slowly disappear from view.

There was no going back now.

ooo

Saturday Night: 6:45PM

Dewey paced in front of the fountain, his heart beating rapidly. 15 minutes. Just 15 minutes.

His pacing quickened.

In 15 minutes, he might get to see Webby again! Even if she yelled at him, cried and called him every name under the sun, he would get to see her. See the face that had haunted him for 5 years. The face he couldn't ever forget, or run away from no matter how hard he'd tried. She was always there, in the front of his mind.

Dewey had to focus on getting to see her—he couldn't let himself get his hopes up that she would be pleased to see him. He knew the likelihood of that was incredibly thin, and his heart right now was incredibly fragile. In those last months he'd spent with her, all those years ago, his heart had slowly become a little more broken each day. And then when he'd left, instead of healing and repairing, it just got colder, and harder until about a month ago… when he'd found himself back at his apartment.

He glanced at his watch: 6:51PM

9 minutes.

Pushing down his anxiety, he continued his pacing, aware but not caring about the looks he was getting from a few people also around the fountain. Were they waiting for someone too? Were they waiting for the most important moment in their lives? God, he could feel the pressure, feel the tension radiating through him. His shoulders were heavy, his stomach tight with anticipation.

He was grateful he had written the letter, written down all his horrible confessions for her to read in advance. At least when she turned up, she would know everything. His wouldn't have to tell her anything she didn't already know. He wouldn't have to see fresh disappointment and confusion in her beautiful features.

She finally knew everything.

6 minutes.

It was getting close. He couldn't decide if he wished time to go faster, so he could get it over with, face his judgement and learn his fate. Or wish for it to stretch out longer. At least in these next 6 minutes, he still had some hope to cling to. Could still believe that maybe somehow she'd be able to forgive him. In 6 minutes that hope may be squashed for good by reality's boot.

He pictured her angry face, her blazing eyes as she cursed at him, told him she never wanted to see him again, that she hated him…

He could still change his mind and run, again, he still had that choice. She didn't know where he was living, he could run and hide for another 3 years. When she turned up his options were gone… she'd always been able to outrun him.

Dewey shook his head at his negativity, letting out some long breaths as he tried to calm his shattered nerves. He could do this. He had to do this. He owed it to her, and he wouldn't run. He had to give her this chance.

He glanced at his watch: less than 5 minutes.

What if she was early? Webby was always super organized and punctual. What if she was only moments away? Or already here? He stopped pacing long enough to look around, to scan each face, each person in the near vicinity. Reassured that she wasn't there yet, but knowing that any minute she could be, he decided to stop his pacing and take a seat, perching on the edge of the cold concrete fountain. His fingers started to tap with pent up energy, his knee bouncing up and down.

He had no idea what he was going to say to her. 'Sorry' wasn't nearly enough for what he'd done, but he prayed that his letter had shed some light on his reasons, that she realized he had never meant to hurt her, or any of them. He'd been selfish, horrible and beyond stupid… but he'd been in love, and love made one act crazy. He felt crazy right now, beyond crazy. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tense and anxious in his whole life.

Automatically he looked down at his watch, swallowing as the dial showed 7PM.

Showtime.

Letting out another deep breath, he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He knew he'd be a complete mess when he saw her, but he had to try and keep a little composure until then. He heard some loud voices, and snapped open his eyes. Had she brought Lena and Huey, all three of them wanting answers… or blood? But it wasn't them. He scowled as the noisy teenagers came closer, passing him without even looking at him, laughing and being annoying. Right now he resented them and their carefree life; he briefly wondered if by the time they were his age, they would have screwed themselves up as much as he had.

Once they were out of earshot, he looked around again before checking his watch:

7:03PM

Maybe she was running late? He shook his head frustrated, at his thoughts: 3 minutes wasn't late.

Neither was 5 minutes.

10 minutes.

Did that count as late yet? A little, but he had to cut her some slack. It was a huge bombshell to drop on her, and she was entitled to be a little late. His eyes looked in the vague direction of her apartment. He couldn't see it exactly, but lots of illuminated windows filled the landscape, and it was easy to picture her in one of them. Maybe she was nervously babbling away to Lena, or that Boyd guy that lived beside them now. Maybe she was trying to decide what to wear, or what handbag, or shoes would complement the outfit… he remembered how she used to fuss over the little things.

10 minutes soon turned to half an hour.

Part of his stomach started to sink, but a larger part told him to hang on in there, to have faith in her. She would come, even to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. She would come.

People around him slowly left. One by one. Some were collected by other people, others just wandering away randomly. Some got replaced, some didn't.

An hour passed but he told himself to wait, to keep the hope.

An hour and thirty. He had to wait, he had to. She was on her way, just delayed.

Two hours. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Two hours thirty. He tilted his face up looking at the now dark sky, as he tried to keep the tears from falling. Slowly, the cold realization was forcing itself upon him.

She wasn't coming.

She actually wasn't coming.

He wouldn't even get to see her, not even once. Not even to say sorry to her face, to hug her, to tell her that he needed her so desperately, that he was so lost without her, empty. She was denying him his chance, it seemed so cruel, and Webby had never been a cruel person. But after what he'd done… he could understand. The scars still ran deep, and he deserved anything she wanted to give him.

He slowly stood up, a numbness starting to spread through him. He vaguely tugged his jacket around himself tighter, in a vain attempt to hold off the chill before stuffing his cold hands into his coat pockets.

She wasn't coming.

He swallowed back the tears, forcing himself to walk as fast as his shaky legs could manage towards the exit. He wanted to be in private when he broke down. He knew he'd break down; it was just a matter of time.

How could both Gosalyn and Boyd be so wrong? Both had said she'd want to see him, and he'd been so desperate to believe that, to cling to that shred of hope.

He was an idiot, a complete fool for believing she could forgive him, that she'd want anything to do with him! She'd probably moved on. Didn't want anything to do with him. Had she even bothered to read the letter that he'd spent so long agonizing over as he poured out his heart?! Exposed his deepest fears and confessions? Or had she simply glanced at it, realizing who it was from then merely shrugged, and balled it up, tossing it into the trash?

He deserved it. He deserved all of it, and he knew it but it didn't make it hurt any less. Didn't take away the pain. The pain that she hadn't shown up, that he'd never get to speak to her.

It was over.

He'd never felt so lost.

ooo

Ooooohh, the angst! I wonder why she didn't show up to see him?

–Jordan ;)