Twisted Strings of Fate
Chapter 26
Wouldn't it be nice to have a musical interlude sometimes in life? In a play, it always happened after an intense, dramatic scene to indicate the halfway point of the story. Then the audience can get up, walk around, and stretch their legs. Once the audience is back, the orchestra plays a medley of songs, slowly bringing everyone's minds back to the playwrite's imagination, immersing the audience into a different world.
Yeah, having a musical interlude would definitely have been nice to cushion me against one adventure after another.
Charity looked around the backyard at the gossip leaping from one beak to another. And she rewound through the last few minutes, wondering what they thought of her. First, Fenton introduced her to his mother, María. Then he and María had an argument. When the argument was over, Fenton only stayed with Charity for a few minutes before racing off, leaving the lovebird to her own devices.
Fenton's family already thought that they were dating. Did they think this might be some sort of break up? Or were they gossiping that Fenton may have run away rather than deal with what was going on with his mother? And what was up with María? She had acted so cold toward Charity that something was going on. Whatever it was, the whole family knew it by the forced smiles and questioning glances.
The situation would have already been an amazing dumpster fire, but to add oil in the mix, Fenton had gone to save the day as Gizmoduck, leaving her armed with only a Bluetooth translator that didn't pick up social cues or slang. And with not even a cent to her name, she couldn't call a cab. She could call Launchpad to pick her up, but what would Fenton think of her for deserting his family's party?
She may be mad at him, but that didn't mean she was going to leave. Hoping that the time would go by quickly, she picked up her plate and went back into the house for dessert. Maybe if she ate slowly enough, everyone would avoid her until Fenton returned.
No such luck. When she came back with several cookies, some pudding, and a few other samplers of sweets she didn't recognize, her table was filled with Fenton's male relatives who had tossed him into the air. They must have given all the little ones a turn and were now talking loudly and jovially to each other.
Charity went looking for another table. Most of them were filled up, but she could take a corner unobtrusively.
"Yo, chica. Come back. We didn't mean to kick you out of your table," the man she recognized as Antonio called. "Come sit with us."
It was then she saw that there was one chair open right next to Antonio, giving her only two options: accepting the chair and being surrounded by a cloud of testosterone or snubbing them and perhaps getting on the bad side of Fenton's family. It didn't seem like much of a choice.
Blowing out a tense breath, Charity accepted the seat, finding herself shoulder to shoulder with Antonio and another of Fenton's cousins. They all tended to wear the same style of clothing: button-up shirts that revealed too many chest feathers and pecs because one or two buttons were left open. Gold chains hung from several necks and every guy—even the thirteen-year-old—sported some sort of mustache. Eyebrows waggled and several slicked back their hair.
Charity smiled politely and went on the offensive. "I know I won't remember anyone's names, but how about some introductions. I'm Charity Loveatte."
The boys were all eager to have some limelight, even extending past their name to their job or what grade in school or college they were, some even adding hobbies or what kind of car they drove. They leaned in, creating their own atmosphere around Charity that was stifling.
"So, Charity, tell me," Antonio started, putting an arm around her chair, "what is a beautiful chica like you doing with a patito like Fenton."
That earned a few chuckles from half of the cousins, the other half frowned at Antonio.
"Well, first, we're just friends," Charity said. And because she didn't like how Antonio spoke of Fenton, she added in a deeper tone, "Very very good friends. And second, he's been helping me with a problem I've been having."
"Do you need any more help?" one of the teenagers asked. He flexed his muscles. "I'm really strong."
The man sitting next to the teen squeezed the bicep. "Ni tanto, chamaco."
"Not quite there yet, kid," Charity's ear piece said.
"No, I'm good," Charity said with a smile. "I have more than enough help."
"Are you sure?" Antonio pushed. "What is he helping you out with? If you need some added muscles, we'll help la chica de mi primo. Any friend of Fenton's is a friend of ours."
Charity didn't need the Bluetooth to know that Antonio referred to her as "Fenton's girl." And it didn't go over her head that she was practically being hit on by a dozen men at once with their wide smiles. They were preening worse than peacocks.
"Thanks, but my problem is more of a philosophical and esoteric enigma. Fenton's the right man for the job," Charity said, still trying to keep things friendly.
A few of the men frowned, maybe trying to figure out the big words, but others were grinning and nodding.
"Primo is a genius," one said proudly. "He works for Mr. McDuck."
"Yeah…Got a fancy job in a lab," another said. "Hey, do you think he could get Gizmoduck's autograph for me?"
"Didn't Tia María say he helped make Gizmoduck?"
"Que calimex!"
"Que asombroso. Whoa, I knew he was a science nerd, but building robots like that. Amazing."
"¿Se recuerda cuando él contruyó el robót?"
"Don't you remember when he built the robot?" the translator said.
"The one he blew up." They kept switching back and forth from English to Spanish.
"No, the one that he battled with. Órale! That thing was cool."
Charity nibbled on a cookie, happy just to listen to the conversation, glad for the translator. The way Fenton acted around his family, she wondered if he knew how much they admired him. Perhaps he only saw the teasing and missed the compliments.
"Estudiaría la ciencia yo si me sacara una chica como ella," one of the teens said.
It took a lot of concentration not to react as the translator said, "I would study science if a girl like her took me out."
"No dejes que tu Tia María te oye decir eso. Ya está enojada como es," a guy in his mid-thirties said
Translation: "Don't let your Aunt María hear you say that. She is already angry as is."
Charity wanted to ask about this, but she didn't want to reveal quite yet that she could understand them. It was kind of fun pretending to be ignorant.
"Los cerebros no ganan chicas como ella. ¿No le escuchaste? No son una pareja," Antonio suddenly said, his voice raised, his tone derisive.
"Brains don't win girls like her. Didn't you hear her? They are not a couple," came the translation.
"Dude, like anyone believes that," someone said in English.
Back to Spanish from Antonio. "Si fuesen una pareja, no nos habría dejado tirarlo en el aire. Todavía tiene un pico virgin." He grinned.
"If they were a couple, he wouldn't have let us throw him in the air. He still has a virgin beak."
"Sin duda. Sí tuviera yo una chica tan caliente como ella, no le dejaría sola. Que sexi!"
"Undoubtedly. If I had a girl as hot as her, I wouldn't leave her alone. How sexy," the Bluetooth said.
"Fenton es un cerebrito. Todavía no ha besado a una chica y es un adulto," one teenager said.
"Fenton is a geek. He hasn't kissed a girl and he's an adult," was the translation.
"¿Se puede llamarlo un hombre sin haber besado una chica?" Antonio said after letting a few of his cousins talk.
"Can you call him a man without having kissed a girl?" the translator said.
Charity suffered through each comment that the mechanical voice spoke, feeling not only cheapened by them discussing her but also indignant on Fenton's behalf. She noticed that it wasn't all the guys at the table making these kinds of comments. More than half kept quiet, letting the more boisterous of the group talk.
It was obvious that Antonio was the ring leader here. She wished that someone would speak up on their cousin's behalf, but no one did. She didn't blame them. She had known girls that were bullies in high school, and some girl had found a place in the clique by picking on others least they become the next target.
"Por donde quiere que vaya, es óbvio que él no está lista por una chica real. Tal vez le muestra a ella como es un hombre real," Antonio said.
"Wherever he went, it's obvious that he's not ready for a real girl. Maybe I should show her what a real man is like."
That was when Charity had had enough. She may be an idiot when it came to high school Spanish exams, but she remembered enough to say one line. She spoke slowly but deliberately, hoping that she didn't sound dumb compared to their rapid-fire Spanish.
"Sí vez un hombre real, múestramelo." She smiled in satisfaction as the group reacted to her words as the translation echoed in her ear. "If you see a real man, show me."
A few were gaping at her.
"She understood us this entire time," a teenager said, looking shameful.
"Híjole." That one her earpiece couldn't translate.
"Es brava esa chica."
"That girl is brave."
"Ten cuidad, Antonio. No sé sí puedas atrapala a esa chica."
"Take care, Antonio. I don't know if you can catch that girl."
Laughter and jokes rose from the cousins except for Antonio who sat with a mixture of embarrassment and anger on his face.
Charity picked up her plate and stood, this time speaking in English. "Oh, and just for the record, I have kissed Fenton. It just wasn't on the lips," she said in a sultry tone before making her exit.
She could only imagine the expressions she left behind, hearing voices talking over each other in English and Spanish. Let them make what they would of her words. They were technically true. She had given Fenton a kiss on the cheek. Not exactly the steaming insinuation she led them to believe.
And this also blew away any chance of convincing the family that she and Fenton weren't dating. But she didn't care. The way those guys were talking about their cousin, she would have made-out with the scientist in front of everyone just to show them.
Retreating into the house, she dumped her disposable dishes into the garbage and looked for the most isolated area of the house she could find without infringing on the owner's privacy. She found a room just off the kitchen that was entirely empty except for a couch, a TV, and a tiny, old woman in a recliner. Her eyes were closed, and she was as still as the dead except for the rising and fall of her chest.
This must be Fenton's abuela. As long as I don't wake her, I can hide out here, Charity thought. And to make the time pass, she could tinker with the cell phone Fenton gave her. Having never owned one before, she had a lot to learn as well as program the few numbers she had memorized. She retrieved it from her bra, having no pockets or purse in which to hold it. It was a terrible place to keep it, but she really didn't have much of a choice
However, she didn't paid too much attention to the couch before sitting. When she sat, there was a loud, rude noise from the plastic covers rubbing together that sounded like cartoon farts. With eyes wide open and muscles preparing to run, Charity watch as the little, old lady snorted and jerked a little before lapsing back into silence.
After turning down the volume, Charity opened up the contacts to program Launchpad, her parents and her grandparents' phone numbers. She also sent her best friend a text, letting him know about her cell. It would be great to finally chat with him via modern technology for once.
Almost immediately, she received a text. However, it wasn't from whom she thought. The number was unlisted and the message was cryptic.
Your stepfather would never have thought to pack a skirt. Your welcome.
As she read it, Charity felt a chill run down her spine. But the text was right. Her stepfather wouldn't have searched the back of her closet for it. So how did the skirt end up in her pack? And who was texting her?
Another text came in, almost as if reading her thoughts.
I'm watching out for you. Make sure those four take very good care of you.
Charity's beak pressed tightly together. She had hoped that once they hadleft Ithaquack, things wouldn't be so crazy, but it seemed that a bit of Ithaquack had followed them.
"Ah .. me dormí. ¿Joaquin, me puedes? …oh…no eres Joaquin."
Charity looked up as her earpiece translated, "Oh, I must have dozed off. Joaquin, can you please get—Oh, you're not Joaquin."
"Uh…I'm sorry," Charity said with an apologetic smile. "I'm not Joaquin. Oh, right. She doesn't understand English. Uh…Siento…No moleste." Charity cringed because she was sure that wasn't quite correct. She must sound like a Spanish cavebird. She stood up to leave.
"No, por favor sentáte. Quédate." Fenton's abuela gestured for Charity to sit down again. "No te reconozco. ¿Quíen eres tu?" She pointed at Charity.
"No, please stay. Sit. I don't recognize you. Who are you?" was the translation, although it wasn't necessary by the old woman gestures.
"My name is Charity. Uh…mi nombre Charity. I'm Fenton's amigo," Charity said simply.
"Ah, tu eres la chica que María mencionó. Eres muy bonita. Es muy triste que no me entiendes."
"Oh, you're the girl that María was talking about. You're so pretty. It's too bad that you can't understand me."
Fenton's abuela started rocking in her chair, a rhythmic squeaking in the background. She rambled on in Spanish, and Charity listened closely to the translation."
"I wonder where my little Fenton is. He was such a good little boy, always gave me hugs and kisses whenever he came to visit. I never had to ask him. And he would listen to my stories, even when this old woman would become forgetful and repeat them over and over again."
Charity smiled. She wondered if she should tell the little, old lady that she could understand her. Perhaps learning that Fenton invented such a device might make his abuela even more proud of her grandson. But then again, it seemed like the grandmother didn't want a conversation but an audience.
"Fenton is a lucky boy to have found someone so pretty. Your hair is gorgeous. I used to have hair that long when I was a girl. My husband loved my hair. He would weave flowers into it when I wasn't paying attention, and when I would brush it out at night, the petals would float around me."
Charity smiled at the beautiful image. She wished that she could understand Spanish so she could hear the story's intonations instead of the robot voice in her ear.
"Oh, how I miss my Matteo. He was such a handsome man even in his old age. He lived each day as if it were a gift. He was a handyman by trade, and he could do anything with his hands. And I do mean anything. I loved the way they felt when he held my hand, when he ran them through my hair and into my feathers."
Charity tried to be polite, but the words no longer sounded like they should come from a sweet, old lady. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's probably a wrong translation or something, Charity thought.
"My Matteo was filled with love, life and vigor. Oh, was he vigorous. Of course, a man like mine worked hard and he liked to play hard, too."
Nope, Charity thought, feeling her cheeks burn. There's no mistranslating that.
"There's a reason I had seven children. It's a wonder that we didn't have more. He couldn't keep those hands off of me. Oh, I do miss those hands."
"Uh…you know, maybe I should tell someone you're awake," Charity said. She shuffled through her inventory of Spanish words for help. "Uh…Yo voy…uh…hablo no siesta," Charity stumbled through the incomplete sentence. How had she managed chewing out Fenton's cousins yet couldn't manage a simple phrase around his dirty grandma?
Fenton's abuela gently took Charity's hand. "No, quédate conmigo. Tienes una cara bondadosa. Es bueno tener alguien aquí."
"No, please stay with me," the translated said. "You have such a kind face. It's nice to have someone sit with me."
I'm such a sucker," Charity said, sitting back down.
"Oh, my little Fenton is so lucky to have a girl like you," the translator kept at its job. "When you take him into your bed, make sure that you preen the feathers at the back of the neck. Nothing gets a man in a mood better than that. And with that petite, curved beak, you will drive my grandson crazy. Of course, the family would prefer that you're married, but I won't tell if you decide to jump into things. That reminds me of the time Matteo had me pinned in the backseat of his—"
Charity raised her hand with the pretense to play with her hair, but instead pulled out the Bluetooth, giving Fenton's abuela a cheerful smile now that she couldn't hear whatever smut she was rambling. It was only then she realized there was a reason the elderly duck had been left in this isolated corner of the house. The young and influential minds of the dozens of ducklings shouldn't be subjected to such material.
However, with no understanding of the Spanish language, she could easily give Fenton's abuela what she needed: company.
At two o' clock, Darkwing entered Negaduck's jail with a glass of water and two more pills. For the past three hours, the black-masked duck had been tossing and turning on the cot. He hadn't uttered a sound, but by his stiff beak, he must be biting back groans. The blanket and cot were soaked in sweat, and the red cape and wide-brimmed hat were on the ground, cast off for comfort.
"It's time for your next dose," Darkwing said, his voice soft.
Negaduck's eyes opened, and for a few seconds, his face was filled with unadulterated rage. But the muscles in his face relaxed, and his expression was a mixture of confusion and contempt.
Helping the older duck sit up, Darkwing watched carefully as Negaduck put the pills in his mouth and gulped down all the water. He then waited for Negaduck to open his mouth to show that the pills were indeed gone.
"Is there something else I can get you?" Darkwing asked.
Huddled in his blanket, Negaduck rasped, "I-Is Charity back yet?"
Darkwing frowned. This had been the third time he had asked that question, and it was just as strange to hear it from Negaduck as the first time. "I don't think so." It hadn't been that long since she left.
It was as if Negaduck had no more strength in him. His head dropped back onto the cot, closing his eyes. His breathing became slow and rhythmic as he fell into a restless sleep.
"There's more to this situation then you're telling me," Dr. Hoggins said, putting away her phone. She occasionally started a conversation with Darkwing, but it never went longer than a few minutes. This was the first time she set her phone aside, giving him her full attention.
"There's a lot we can't tell you," Darkwing said.
"What about the girl, Charity? I'm guessing she's in the thick of things," Dr. Hoggins pondered. "What is her relationship with Jim?"
"It's complicated," Darkwing said, finding he didn't want to talk to a psychiatrist about Charity. Psychiatrists had a way of getting to the truth of things. If they started talking about Charity's relationships, what would Dr. Hoggins decipher from just a few facts.
"She really cares about him," Dr. Hoggins said. "That point is clear. But I don't understand how everyone got mixed up with Jim Starling."
"I guess you'll have plenty of questions with your first session with him," Darkwing said.
Dr. Hoggin's voice remained neutrally congenially. "I'm sorry if I've brought up a sore subject. It's just that I was told that my patient has threatened violence towards everyone in this house, you and the girl included. Yet she cares for him. And so do you."
Darkwing nodded. "How much do you know about Jim?"
"Well, I'll admit I was in a hurry, but I have done some research," Dr. Hoggins said. "His greatest and longest lasting role as an actor was during the TV show of Darkwing Duck some fifteen years ago. It lasted two seasons before it was canceled. After that, Jim rarely took on any acting roles, but he did write over a dozen Darkwing Duck novels and made many appearances at conventions and fan events celebrating Darkwing Duck. He's obviously fixated on the role, especially after his psychotic episode at Mr. McDuck's filming studio."
Darkwing nodded. She had the gist of Jim's background.
"And he's not the only one fixated on Darkwing Duck," she said pointedly.
Darkwing lowered the brim of his hat. "I was a big fan as a kid. I guess it rubbed off on me permanently."
"To take on the persona, to risk your life fighting crime with that name, I would guess you're more than just a fan. The show was more personal to you to make such a lasting impression," Dr. Hoggins said.
Like Darkwing thought, psychiatrists had a way of getting to the truth.
"And Charity?"
"She's a fan as well," Darkwing explained succinctly. "That's it."
"I think that's a lie," Dr. Hoggins said. "She's more than that. And you're very protective of her."
"We're not your patients," Darkwing said, hoping he didn't sound snappish. "Charity and I do care about Jim Starling and want him to get better. We'll both do everything to make sure that happens. But our personal lives shouldn't be a factor."
"I apologize," Dr. Hoggins said, waving a hand. "Psychiatrists are snoopy by nature. Perhaps I should have been a detective. Of course, I don't want to stick my snout where it doesn't belong. I just want to know what kind of support Jim has in regards to friends and family. The fact that you both are victims of his violent episode yet are still here speaks volumes to your dedication to him. I hope that you're willing to stay with him to the end."
"I can't speak for Charity, but I…I'll be around until I'm not needed anymore," Darkwing said. "If it brings the old Jim back, I'll do whatever is needed."
"That's good. Those who battle mental illnesses need a good support system," Dr. Hoggins said. "And I hope you mean what you said, because he's going to struggle with this for the rest of his life."
Darkwing looked sad. "His entire life?"
Dr. Hoggins nodded. "There is no cure, only a way to manage the symptoms. Most mental illnesses are like that. There will be good days and there will be bad days. Are you willing to stick with him for that long?"
Darkwing had to wonder. If he was asked that months ago, back when he was working on the set of the Darkwing Duck movie, still drunk on the idea of living up to his hero's name, hoping that Jim Starling would see his acting and they would meet and talk and perhaps become friends in a manner, then he could have told the actor how much he really meant to Drake Mallard, the young boy who missed his father and was looking for a role model to look up to. But that was before meeting Charity, seeing her handcuffed in a dilapidated subway station, before watching Negaduck carry an unconscious young girl with such carelessness, and wave a chainsaw with reckless abandon and murder in his eyes.
But Jim wasn't Negaduck. He wasn't the villain that Darkwing had been imagining him these past few days. When he had been healed by Selene, there was clarity and rational thought in his actions and words, and the violent, homicidal Negaduck abated. Wasn't that a clear indication that Jim could be redeemed? And if that was the case, as Darkwing Duck, a hero who was living up to a legendary name, wasn't it his duty to make sure Negaduck never returned?
"You've not seen the TV show, have you?" Darkwing said with a smile. "Then you'd know that Darkwing Duck never gives up, he always gets back up, and he won't turn his back on someone who needs him."
He just hoped that Jim Starling didn't still hate him once the treatment was in full effect.
"Then it seems as if my patient is in good hands," Dr. Hoggins said. "And it's time that I have a break. I need to stretch out my legs." She stood up. "I'll be back."
Darkwing increased his alertness as the doctor left. He may have hopes that Jim Starling was getting better, but that didn't mean he was going to relax his guard. Negaduck may be a shivering mess, but that didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous.
"Pathetic."
Darkwing looked up. Negaduck's eyes were open, glaring with open hostility.
"What's pathetic?" Darkwing asked.
"You are," Negaduck growled, then started coughing. "All that talk of being my fan and trying to live up to the name of Darkwing Duck and supporting me through my illness. You're even more of a fake than I thought."
"I wasn't lying," Darkwing said. He felt angry because of what Negaduck had done in the past, but he also felt pity because of how far Jim Starling had sunk. "I will do what it takes to help you. But I'm also going to protect everyone from you."
Negaduck laughed. "Anything to impress the girl."
"I'm not doing this for Charity."
"That's a bunch of bull."
Darkwing crossed his arms and refused to say anything more. There was no use to talking to Negaduck. He only wanted to get a reaction with his words.
"Fans," Negaduck spat. "You're a fan. She's a fan. That tall guy's a fan. I've got fans coming out of my ears. You should do yourselves a favor and find a different role model. I'm finished. You should throw me into a dark hole and leave me to rot." Negaduck looked at his hands.
Lifting his head, Darkwing thought there was a different tone to Negaduck's voice. Could that be…remorse?
"We're not giving up on Jim Starling," Darkwing said. "I'm not giving up on anyone that has the potential of doing some good."
Chuckling and coughing at the same time, Negaduck sat up, leaning against the wall. "With a cheesy line like that, you could have been a writer for the show. The audience loved sentiment like that. Back in those days, heroes were heroes. None of this darker side of people and all that moral gray areas. Black and white, that's what Darkwing Duck was like." There was a smile on his beak.
A chill ran through Darkwing's spine, the same chill when he finally met his hero. "That's what I liked about Darkwing Duck, too. It was because he was good right to the core."
Negaduck was breathing hard. "It was rubbish. It was why the show was canceled. A waste of time."
"That's not what you said before," Darkwing countered. When Negaduck looked up at him, he continued. "In an interview, you said that working on the Darkwing Duck series was the best time of your life. Not only because you got to teach children what it was like to stand up for what you believed in, but because of the people you worked with on the set. You said that it was like being in a family."
"I said that?" Negaduck asked, tilting his head up. "I don't remember. But some guys from the old days, they sometimes called up to check up on me and reminisce about the show."
"Do you remember Calvin Mallard?" Darkwing asked on a whim. A part of him wondered if it was a good idea, but he really wanted to know.
"Calvin? Oh, Cal Mallard. It's been such a long time since I heard that name," Negaduck said. He rubbed away some sweat from his brow, leaving his mask crooked. "We could have been twins. The best stunt double I've ever worked with."
"You refused to work with anyone else," Darkwing said.
"Yeah. I couldn't. Not after the accident," Negaduck said, his gaze distant. "He's the reason I started doing my own stunts. I couldn't let something like that happen again." He chuckled. "I wished he had been with me when I was Darkwing Duck. He would have liked those stunts."
"Yeah, he would have," Darkwing said with his own smile.
Negaduck's eyes slid down, a concentrated beam narrowed onto Darkwing. "You look a lot like him."
"I had the right look for Darkwing Duck. It's the reason I got the part in the movie."
"Cal spoke a lot of his son," Negaduck said. "The only thing he loved more than performing was his family. I remember seeing them at the funeral."
"They were really grateful that you came. It meant a lot to them," Darkwing said, using words to distance himself from his identity. Not that it mattered. If Jim Starling was sane, he could have figured out Darkwing Duck's identity after the movie studio incident.
It may have been stupid, but he wanted to trust Jim Starling with this secret. He had been wanting to tell the actor just how much his role as Darkwing Duck had meant to him and how it connected him to a past that was gone forever. He was giving Starling the means to destroy him if that was his wish.
"Don't tell me these things," Negaduck growled. He shoved his fingers into the feathers on his head and pulled a few out. "Stop talking. Don't tell me things that confuse me."
"Confuse you?" Darkwing repeated. "I'm not trying to confuse you."
"Yes, you are," Negaduck accused, jumping to his feet. He grabbed the bars and started shaking them. "I hate you. I hate you. You stole my role. You stole what should have been mine." And just as suddenly as the fit came upon him, Negaduck calmed down, backing away from the bars. "What have I become? What have I done? You should hate me. I deserve to be locked away forever. Chain me to the walls before I try to hurt anyone again."
"What is going on?" Dr. Hoggins returned, looking as if she had been running.
"We—we were just talking," Darkwing explained. "And then he went nuts." He bit down on his words, not intending the pun.
"Well, I expected violent outbursts eventually," Dr. Hoggins said. "Jim, please calm down. Everything is going to be fine. Why don't you rest?"
"You can't let me out. Not ever," Negaduck told Dr. Hoggins. "I should be flung into a dark pit. Tartarus. I was so close to it. The Ferryman would know the way. Float me down the River Styx."
Dr. Hoggins shivered, her face growing worried. "Jim, listen to me. You weren't responsible for your actions. You weren't in control."
"I could lose control again." Negaduck looked afraid, shivering where he stood beside the bars. "I can't be trusted. That's why she cursed me, but she wants chaos. I can't be chaos. Charity? Is she back yet?" He looked almost desperate for the answer of that question.
"No, she hasn't returned," Dr. Hoggins said. "But she will be soon. How about you go back to sleep? When you wake up, she'll be back."
Negaduck nodded. He jerkily returned to his cot, wrapping up tightly in the blanket before falling asleep.
"Was that because of the side effects?" Darkwing asked in a hushed tone.
Dr. Hoggins sighed. "I'm not certain. On one hand, in less than one percent of those in the testing phase experienced delusions and depression, but this seems different to me. He's showing remorse and guilt for his past actions, but all that talk about Tartarus and the River Styx was nonsense. I don't suppose you know if he's been reading Dante's Inferno?"
Darkwing's smile was sad and knowing. "It's kind of one of those things that only makes sense if you were there."
"So it will remain a mystery to me," Dr. Hoggins said with a shake of her head. She glanced at her watch. "Almost three o'clock. About eleven hours into the treatment. Usually there's some sign that the medicine is working, but that outburst may have been a bad sign."
"No, I think it's working," Darkwing said hopefully. "When you were gone, he said…some things. He didn't sound like Negaduck."
"Well, let's hope you're right."
Fenton's abuela rambled on and on. Charity smiled and nodded and occasionally put the Bluetooth back in to check if the old woman had changed subjects to something more appropriate. No luck, but that didn't matter. She looked so happy just to have someone to talk to.
"Abuela, no se debe contar esos cuentos a chicas tan jovenes." In the doorway, stood a tall, male duck that looked to be a few years older than Charity. Unlike the other males in the family, he wore clothing that covered his chest and was clean shaven.
"Joaquin, que gusto verte. Ven a sentar conmigo," Fenton's grandmother said.
Charity quickly put her Bluetooth back in.
"Abuela, no soy Joaquin. Soy Rafael. Recuerda, hijo de Carmen."
"Grandmother, I'm not Joaquin. I'm Rafael. Remember, Carmen's son?"
He entered and held out a hand. "¿Por qué no vienes a sentar con la familia. Ya hablaste con esa chica por un tiempo adequado." He winked at Charity.
"Why don't you come and sit with the family? You've taken up enough of this young lady's time."
"Ella es tan bonita. Muy exótica. Sí trajeras una chica como ella a la casa, tu padre habría sido furioso Joaquin." She chuckled.
"She's so beautiful. So exotic. If you brought a girl like that home, your father would have been furious, Joaquin."
"Soy Rafael Abuela."
"I'm Rafael, Grandmother."
Charity followed as Rafael helped his grandmother to a chair in the living room, several ducks around the house calling out greetings to the elderly woman.
"Ahora, guarda tu lengua abuelita. Recúerde, hay niños presents," Rafael said as he shook a finger at his grandmother.
"Now, behave little grandmother. Remember, there are children present."
The abuela cackled but immediately started calling to some of the smaller children to her.
Rafael spotted Charity and walked over to her. "Charity, right? I'm Rafael. Fenton sent me a text to keep an eye on you until he could get back. He was pretty worried about you."
"I thought I was doing okay by myself," Charity said.
"I'm sure you were," Rafael said with humor twinkling in his eye. "From what my mamá has told me, you can handle my family well enough. Antonio is still sulking."
"Good," Charity said. "I haven't had so much machismo thrown around since watching my high school's football team."
Rafael laughed. He gestured toward a pair of chairs in the corner. "Do you want to sit down and talk? I can try to keep the vultures from circling again."
Charity gave him a half-smile. "Look, you're a nice guy, and I know I'm not dating Fenton so you think I'm available, but I'm not really in a—"
"Whoa, whoa, Senorita," Rafael said with a laugh. "You didn't look close enough. I'm taken." He held up a hand, featuring a ring.
Charity's eyes widened and she covered her face. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She grimaced, wishing she could disappear.
"Hey, I'm flattered. I'm not such a bad looking guy," Rafael said with a smile. "But look over at the dinner table. See that beautiful woman stuffing her mouth with chimichangas. That's my wife."
Charity looked where he was pointing to a female duck with darker and redder feathers who was shoveling food into her mouth, her stomach sticking out enough that she could lay an egg any day now. Several women surrounded her and patted her belly.
"Again, I'm sorry. It's been a crazy day," Charity said, taking the chair Rafael offered.
"I get it," Rafael said. "My family isn't for the faint of heart. Although, you must be pretty special to Fenton for him to ask you to come with him."
"We're not dating."
"I know. Can't you be special to him and not be his girlfriend?" Rafael said, holding up his hands in defense. "I'm just glad that Fenton has someone. He doesn't make friends easily."
"You sound like you two are close," Charity observed.
"Well, we're a couple of dweebs according to our cousins," Rafael said. "When we were kids, during family get-togethers like this, we'd find a corner somewhere and exchange comic books."
"I didn't know Fenton read comics."
"He doesn't like to talk about it. He gets teased a lot just because he's small and smart, and he already feels set apart because he's an only child and because of what happened with his dad."
"Why? What happened with his dad?" Charity asked. She guessed this might be a sore subject, but Rafael mentioned it first.
"You don't know?" Rafael asked, sitting up straight. He rubbed his head and said something untranslatable in Spanish. "It's no wonder you've had a hard time. And Fenton didn't explain it to you?"
"Explain what?" Charity asked with a shrug.
"That Fenton's father ran off with a lovebird."
Charity felt something drop inside of her. Things clicked in place. The cold smiles, the sneaking glances, and María's attitude toward her, it all had to do with her appearance.
"I'm sorry about how they've treated you. It's not right, just because of who you are, but it's hard to displaced personal prejudices," Rafael said. "Fenton should have warned you."
Charity closed her eyes. "I don't think he knows. He even got in a fight with his mom."
Rafael's face hardened. "Tia María promised she would tell him. He knows that his father left him, just not the details. But I guess it may have been for the best. If he knew that his father was shacking up with a lovebird well…he maybe would have missed out meeting you."
Charity smiled.
"Anyway, it's about time this family realizes that not all lovebirds are home-wrecking hussies."
"Who's a home-wrecking hussy?" Rafael's very pregnant wife asked, taking the seat next to her husband, still eating off her plate.
Rafael leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek then her neck. "I was just telling Charity all about my family's dirty laundry."
"Oooo, gossip," Rafael's wife said, setting her plate on her stomach. "My favorite."
"Charity, this is Alana," Rafael introduced.
"And you're Fenton's 'not-girlfriend'," Alana said, using air quotes.
Charity wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or just making a joke. "Yeah, that's me. Although I've given up trying to convince anyone otherwise."
"Maybe you should just give in and become his girlfriend," Alana suggested with a grin.
"Alana," Rafael said in a warning tone.
"What? I'm just helping things along. Fenton's an adorable marshmallow, soft and fluffy and squishy, and I'd like to know why he brought along a girl who refuses to date him," Alana said, stuffing her fork in her mouth.
"Aye-yai-yai, and I'm supposed to be his primo and look out for him," Rafael said. "You don't have to listen to Alana. All those hormones are making her loca. Ow!" He rubbed his arm where Alana had hit him.
Charity gave the woman a smile. "I haven't refused to date him," she said.
"So, he hasn't asked you?" Rafael asked. "Maybe I should give him a pep talk. We'll rectify that problem immediately." He winked at Charity.
"No. Don't. It's just at this time, I can't date him. I can't date anyone," Charity said. "My life's too messy and complicated that getting into a relationship will just make things worse. If Fenton wants to ask me out, he hasn't out of concern for me."
Alana's eyes filled with tears. "Awwww, he's such a sweetheart." She brushed at her eyes, hiccupped and continued eating. "Don't look at me. It's the hormones."
"Oh, so you can blame the hormones but I can't?" Rafael asked.
"Of course. They're my hormones. I know exactly when I'm being influenced by them," Alana rationalized.
Charity chuckled at the couple. They were adorable. She could tell that they were madly in love. She longed for the day when her curse would be broken, and that she would have a chance to have that same kind of happiness.
"Tio Rafael. Tio Rafael," a small child cried out.
A gaggle of girls raced into the room, most with faces filled with distress.
"Teresa, what is going on? What's with these tears?" Rafael asked.
"You have to tell the boys that they have to let us play," Teresa said. "They brought squirt guns and water balloons and they're having a water fight, and they said we couldn't join even though there's enough for everyone. The boys just wanted to have two guns and said girls can't shoot."
"Okay, calm down. Did you talk to your mamá and papa?" Rafael asked.
"They're too busy. Tio, make them let us play," Teresa demanded.
The other girls were nodding their heads and chirping their agreements.
"Sorry, babe. I've got to go save the day," Rafael said, kissing his wife.
"Go kick butt," Alana said through a mouthful. "Take some reinforcements." She pointed at Charity.
The little girls turned to the lovebird, their wide eyes questioning and hopeful.
And for the first time, Charity finally put those Spanish Youtube videos to good use.
"Vamos a ser peligroso," she said in her best Darkwing Duck voice.
Not long after talking to Negaduck, Launchpad came down to relieve Darkwing of guard duty. Dr. Hoggins, having been on watch for over twelve hours, requested a large order of coffee, looking a little worn around the eyes. Darkwing was happy to oblige, although when he passed by the door to the garage, he could hear through the cracked door someone shouting obscenities.
"Rassa frassa no go stupid piece of junk!" was one of the more understandable and appropriate of lines.
Darkwing stuck his head in, seeing Della Duck laying on the ground surrounded by tools, and trying to use a wrench on a motorcycle. "Need some help?" he asked tentatively.
Della jerked, knocking her head against the engine. "Ah phooey," she shouted before crawling out from under the bike. "No, I'm good."
"Are you sure?" Darkwing asked. "It sounds like you're trying to kill that bike. Hey, is that a Harley?"
"Yeah," Della said, standing up. "Do you know something about bikes?"
Darkwing leaned against the doorway. "Well…I owned a Goldwing until a couple of months ago. Before that, I had a Rebel and a few dirt bikes. So…yeah, I know a little about bikes."
"How about fixing them?" Della asked, waving the wrench in his direction.
"I know a little. Mostly from watching Youtube videos. Maybe you could teach me a few things as I help?" he suggested.
"Pull up a slab of cement and get over here," Della said.
Remembering the hot cup of coffee in his hand, Darkwing rushed back into the basement to deliver the drink then returned. As the two worked on the bike, getting dirty and greasy as they repaired and cleaned, it became obvious that Della was figuring out things as she went as well.
"I'm better with planes," Della explained when they stopped to look up a video on how to take off a certain part. "Planes make more sense. And the parts aren't so small."
"Do you not ride your bike that often?" Darkwing asked.
"It's not my bike. It belonged to my husband," Della said, her voice going soft. "That's why it looks like nobody has ridden it in ten years."
"It's still in good condition," Darkwing noted. "I think if we give it an oil change and put in fresh gas, it'll run." He looked for the right size of wrench and started working on a stubborn nut. "What happened to your husband?"
"He died from an aneurism a few months before the boys were hatched," Della explained. "He was supposed to pilot the Spear of Selene with me. The doctors said he was healthy enough to fly into space, but then it happened. They said that the aneurism was undetectable, like a ticking time bomb in his head that was just waiting to go off."
"I'm sorry," Darkwing said, still working out the nut.
"It was over ten years ago," Della said, running her hand across the bike's gas tank. "He really loved this bike. He would take me everywhere on it. It was like flying without a plane. We had our first kiss on this bike." Della smiled. "I guess that's too much information. Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Darkwing said.
"The boys remind me of him every day, and I thought it was about time I fixed this thing up and sell it."
Darkwing pulled away from the bike, looking aghast. "Sell it? Why would you do that? This thing is a classic."
"I don't know how to ride it," Della said with a shrug. "I guess I should have learned, but I liked flying planes too much. Would you like to buy it?"
Darkwing considered it. The reason he sold his Goldwing was because he needed the money. Right now, he was renting a house in St. Canard, living mostly on his savings. He had made enough money as an actor, but St. Canard wasn't exactly Hollywood. Most acting gigs there were for local commercials or live theater. His job at the rubber ducky factory had been enough to pay most of his bills, but he found out they had just fired him. With everything going on, he forgot to call in and pretend to be sick.
Unemployed, it probably wasn't a good idea to buy a Harley. But it was so tempting.
"You know, maybe I'll hang onto it for a little while," Della said. "It's bringing back some old memories. Maybe next year I'll sell it." She gave Darkwing a knowing look, as if she guessed he wanted it but couldn't pay for it now.
"Let's see if we can get it running first," Darkwing said with a smile. "And if you want, I could give you a lesson. Everyone should learn in my opinion."
"Or you can give Charity a lesson?" Della suggested with a sneaky grin.
Darkwing laid back down, not replying.
"Aww, I don't even get a little reaction," Della said with a pout. Then she noticed that Darkwing looked grim. "Did something happen between the two of you? Did you have a fight?"
"Kind of," Darkwing said, finally getting the nut loose. "Hand me the pan."
"I know it's not any of my business, but do you want to talk about it?" Della asked, doing as asked. "I know I've been gone from Earth for a decade, but I am a girl and I kind of know about some of these things."
Darkwing sighed as oil dripped into the pan before telling about the conversation he had with Charity the night before. Normally he wasn't so open with new people, but after Della had told him about her husband, he decided that she would be a sympathetic ear. Plus she wasn't afraid to get oil under her nails.
After hearing all the details, Della shook her head. "Right, I almost forgot how complicated your love triangle is—or whatever you can call this. Well, to be honest, she kind of has a point. Having you around is like holding a glass of water to Charity and telling her not to drink. After a while, she's going to get thirsty." Della laughed at the crude double meaning of her words.
"I'm not trying to make things difficult for her," Darkwing said as he pulled out the filter, releasing more oil. "It's just that…I think that…I can't…"
"You like her, don't you?" Della guessed, handing a rag to Darkwing so he could mop up an oil spill.
"I can't. I shouldn't. I keep forgetting that she's vulnerable and anything I do will be taking advantage of her." Darkwing watched a few black droplets fall. "I almost told her last night. I wanted to tell her. It would have been stupid to put that on her with everything else she's dealing with."
"Love is messy, even if a curse isn't involved," Della said kindly. "But I also agree with you. You can't tell her that you like her. At least, not until the curse is broken."
"I know. I just want to fix things," Darkwing said. "Do you have a new filter?"
"Hang on. Scott had a box of spare parts. I think I saw them over here." Della scrounged around the garage and came back with a heavy box. "Good news. He had a couple handy, although they're ten years old."
"As long as they're still in the box, they should still be good," Darkwing said, taking the offered part.
Della watched Darkwing work for a while before saying, "I think I know how you can patch things up with Charity."
"How?"
"Well, she only fell in love with you because of the whole Darkwing Duck thing, right?" Della said. "It's not you or Jim Starling that she's been fawning over all this time but Darkwing Duck, a fictional character. And here you are in the flesh, acting the way you are."
"I think both you and Charity have established that I'm too sexy," Darkwing said smugly. "There's not really anything I can do about that."
"The one thing I loved about my husband was that we were friends first," Della said. "He wasn't just my lover, he was my best friend. Help her get to know the real you so she can be comfortable around you."
Darkwing mulled over her words as he put the motorcycle back together. He recalled a moment on Ithaquack, when he and Fenton were running from Artemis. Fenton had said something that made him stop and think.
I don't need my other identity to remind me that I'm a hero. I'm Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. It's me that makes Gizmoduck great, not the other way around.
He wondered if he relied too much on Darkwing Duck for his own self-worth. Or more importantly, did he rely on his heroic persona to feel Charity's love? Even though Charity fell in love with their alter egos, Fenton was comfortable being around her without his suit. He didn't need to be Gizmoduck all the time. But Darkwing had been constantly wearing his costume for several days—well, not the exact same costume, he had brought extras—but he always had to be Darkwing Duck.
"You're awfully quiet," Della said as she watched him add new oil to the motorcycle. "I guess I must have hit the right note."
"Yeah, I think so," Darkwing said. He put the oil cap back on. "Well, shall we see if we can get her started?"
The tank was empty, but Della said her uncle always kept extra on hand for emergencies. She found the gas can, and they filled the small tank up.
"Cross your fingers," Darkwing said as he straddled the bike, turned the key, and pressed the starter at the same time that he revved the engine. It sputtered a little before growling to life, the power of the bike vibrating underneath him.
Della cheered. "You're not a bad mechanic."
Darkwing shrugged as he turned the engine off. "Only with bikes. When I was a teenager, some days all I would do was ride my dirt bike. And since my step-dad refused to help me pay for anything that had to do with motorbikes, I either earned the money myself or I learned to fix them."
Della turned away from Darkwing, lifting up a black, leather jacket. "This was my husband's. It looks like it will fit you. I want you to have it."
Darkwing knew how much leather jackets cost. Not only was the leather real, but it was an official Harley-Davidson jacket. "I can't take this."
"I'd rather see it go to someone who I know will use it. I think Scott would like you if he met you," Della said. "Besides, you should wear something other than a cape and spandex when you take that bike for a test drive."
"Attacamos!"
The boys stopped in the middle of their play, realizing they were surrounded by their female relatives. Armed with buckets as well as party balloons filled with water, the girls fell upon the boys and soaked them more than they already were. Once their ammo was empty, they fled as the boys turned their squirt guns upon their assailants.
The girls ran back to Rafael who had the hose running and filling more buckets for them to use. Meanwhile, Charity was filling up whatever balloons left in the bag they had found in the kitchen. Rafael and Charity loaded up the girls with more ammo as fast as they were coming until the boys brought the fight to them. With the strongest weapon, Rafael turned the hose on the boys, not caring who go in the way.
Soon, the fight turned to everyone against Rafael, the boys finally relinquishing their extra squirt guns to their new allies. At great personal risk, Charity snuck up from behind and slammed a large party balloon over Rafael's head, only to get the hose full blast in her face.
The adults who had been sitting at the tables, retreated to the safety of the house to watch the outcome of the skirmish. The sliding glass door remained open so that kids could race in, dripping water as they ran, to fill up their empty, plastic guns at the sink and go back outside.
Fifteen minutes into the war, Charity was cornered by Rafael and several kids who sprayed her down. She screamed, dodging one way then another to get out of the line of fire.
"Charity!" a voice called out from a distance. There was the sound of a gate opening and closing.
"Fenton?" Charity shouted back, holding out a hand to stop any water from spraying in her face.
"Míralo. Está seco. Atácalo!" Rafael shouted to the children, pointing to Fenton who had just returned.
Charity didn't have the Bluetooth in her ear anymore—it was carefully wrapped in a plastic bag with her phone and tucked into her bra.
Seeing the mob of children coming at him, Fenton raced along the fence with surprising speed, dodging children and projectiles of water. However, he changed directions quickly when Rafael came at him with the hose, heading to Charity.
She didn't know what to make of his tactics until he dodged behind her and held her as a shield.
"Fenton!" Charity protested.
"You're already wet," Fenton said, pushing her forward to meet the spray of the hose.
Finding herself between the two men, Charity ducked, trying to escape getting any more wet. Fenton abandoned her as a shield and wrestled with his cousin for the hose. The geyser from the nozzle moved back and forth between them, the children forming a circle and shouting excitedly. Just as the two men had fallen to the ground and were rolling around did the hose suddenly dry up.
"Niños, ya basta. Vengan accá a secarse."
The adults were spilling out of the house, working together to put the tables away and arrange the chairs in a big circle.
Rafael and Fenton untangled themselves from the hose and helped each other back up.
"Chamako," Rafael said, ruffling Fenton's dripping hair.
"Viejo," Fenton replied, pushing on his cousin's shoulder.
"Vengan ustedes dos. Fenton, Venga a tocar la guitarra de tu abuelo," Carmen shouted.
Charity looked up to Fenton. "What are they saying?"
"Don't you have my translator?" Fenton asked.
"I took it out for the water fight. Stand right there for a moment," Charity said, forcing Fenton to turn his back to her. Ducking behind him, she reached into her bra and pulled out the bag with the Bluetooth device. She put it back in her ear. "There we go." She appreciated that Fenton didn't ask about what just occurred.
As they joined the circle, Fenton took a guitar from Carmen. Several other adults had guitars of different styles and other instruments. The children pulled out maracas from a box, and after a few minutes of tuning and testing, they started playing. María and Carmen bobbed to the rhythm, then started singing in Spanish, Carmen a soprano, María an alto.
Rafael stood up first, offering his hand to his wife, who took it. They began dancing, Alana's steps fast and light for her condition. Others joined in, mostly the adults with partners although several children danced either together or alone.
Charity smiled and clapped with those who remained in their seats, although during the second song, one of the young girls pulled her into the circle to dance. They were joined by two other girls, and they spun around and around, jumping to the rhythm. For the forth song—a slow one—one of the teenage boys shyly asked Charity to dance. She accepted, swaying the steps of the "High School Shuffle."
"Okay, Chamako, let someone who knows how to dance have a turn." Antonio stepped in for the fifth song, and although his smile was smooth and his eyes wandered, he didn't do or say anything ungentlemanly toward Charity. In fact, he was a great dance partner, even teaching Charity the easy steps to the Salsa.
Charity didn't know men could move their hips like that.
Soon, she found herself being passed from one dance partner to another, sometimes mid-song, smiling and laughing with her partners. All the spinning and dancing quickly dried out her clothes. When a springy tune started up, she found Rafael's hand offered as a dance partner, Alana sitting down, out of breath. The two danced in a skipping kind of waltz.
"Okay, primo, you're turn," Rafael said, taking the guitar from Fenton and pushing him into the circle.
Without hesitation, Fenton grabbed Charity's hand and twirled her as the new song picked up tempo and changed genre, sounding more country. Fenton led her in a series of complicated swing moves, spinning her around and around and occasionally picking her up.
Charity knew little about dancing except what she had seen on TV and exercising to Zumba videos, but the way Fenton led her from one move to another, she found herself knowing what to do most of the time. Sometimes she stumbled or turned the wrong way, laughing at her mistake. When that happened, Fenton would take the time to teach her, and they would go through the steps slower.
One song bled into another, ranging from different speeds and styles, each with their own dances. It seemed as if the entire family knew all the right moves and steps, looking like a group of professional dancers. Colors swirled as Charity followed Fenton's lead around and around in the grass, amazed at the whole family's skill.
When Rafael led the musicians into a slow song, Charity found herself out of breath and relieved that she would be given a reprieve for the moment. As the notes of the guitar strummed the melody and one of Fenton's uncles sang, she recognized the tune as one of Elvis Presley's. The children and single cousins moved out of the circle, leaving only couples.
Fenton took one of Charity's hands in his, and put his other hand on her hip before leading her into a waltz.
"You're a wonderful dancer," Charity said.
"Comes with the territory," Fenton said. "The Cabreras have always been dancers. Tia Carmen and Tio Angelo danced professionally. Mamá met my father in college in a ballroom dance class. She taught me everything growing up."
Charity recalled what Rafael told her about Fenton's father. Her eyes found María, who was glaring in their direction. It wasn't her business, but did Rafael want her to tell Fenton? She could decide that later. Now wasn't the moment.
"I'm sorry to have left you for so long," Fenton said.
Charity looked back up at Fenton and smiled. "It's okay. Crisis averted?"
"Crisis averted. You can see everything on the news tonight," Fenton said. "I hope my family didn't give you a rough time."
"Ah, no," Charity said, giving him a wry grin. "I only got hit on by several of your cousins…at the same time. And then your grandmother gave me some sex advice. And I think I started a war between the genders."
Fenton laughed quietly, spasms wracking his chest as he suppressed it. "I'm so so sorry," he said between chortles. "I…I can't imagine."
Charity laughed, too. "I have to admit, it's been interesting. You're lucky to have so many people in your life."
"Does your family do anything like this?" Fenton asked.
Charity shook her head. "Mostly it's just me, Mom, and my step-dad. On Mom's side, I have five sets of step-aunts and uncles and some cousins, but they live too far away that we only get together at Thanksgiving. And my step-dad's not close to his family."
"There are some days that I would envy your quiet family. Some of mine can be a pain, but I love them," Fenton said.
They lapsed into silence for a moment, waltzing in a circle. Fenton started singing along to the song. Charity listened to Fenton's soft and smooth tenor voice that complimented his uncle's bass, ignoring the English translation. She felt Fenton's hand move to the small of her back, pulling her closer. They danced with his cheek brushing against her hair. The twirling and twisting from the lively songs before had been enough to dry them out mostly, but Charity could still smell the dampness of his feathers. She breathed it in, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the moment.
"Not my girlfriend, basura."
Charity opened her eyes, realizing that the song had ended. Another fast song had started up, but it seemed both she and Fenton hadn't realized it until a voice spoke nearby. It was Antonio.
"She's not," Fenton said quickly.
"Really? Then how about giving someone else a chance to dance?" Antonio said, pushing his way between Charity and Fenton.
Sensing the potential of this turning into a scene—and perhaps that's what Antonio wanted—Charity stepped away. "Actually, I'm worn out. I need to sit down." She spoke in earnest. Even after the slow song, she needed a break.
"Or maybe we should leave?" Fenton suggested. "I've taken up enough of your time."
Charity nodded.
"It appears both father and son has the same tastes in chicas," Antonio said with a grin. "If Fenton leaves with her now, we might not see him again."
The musical instruments fell silent, the singing abruptly ended. The children, sensing the tension, stopped their play.
A man stood up from his chair and slapped the back of Antonio's head before talking to him tersely in Spanish. A few others joined in the lecture.
Fenton—expression changing rapidly through many emotions—fixed his gaze on his mother, who folded her arms sternly. He had picked up on Antonio's meaning.
Charity didn't know what she could do, not wanting to make the situation more volatile than it already was. However, she didn't need to do anything.
Fenton went to his mother, spoke a few words to her in Spanish before kissing her cheek and giving her a hug. "I'll be back home tonight late, Mamá," he said. He then went to aunts and uncles, and gave their cheeks kisses and hugs. He bent down and did the same to his grandmother, the elderly duck saying something in Spanish and pinching his cheeks. Whatever she said must have been about Charity because his abuela winked at the lovebird and Fenton's cheeks turned bright pink.
The children, seeing that the pair was leaving, followed them to the gate, waving goodbye and shouting, "Vamos a ser peligroso."
"You weren't kidding about those Darkwing Duck Spanish episodes," Fenton said, taking out his cell phone and quickly texting a cab company for a ride.
"I never kid about Darkwing Duck," Charity said. She placed a hand on Fenton's arm. "Are you okay?"
Fenton looked bewildered. "Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, that caught me by surprise, but it's not like I care what kind of woman my father ran off with. I'm more worried about you. I'm sorry that I brought you into that mess. If I would have known, I would never have—"
Charity shook her head. "They were kind, well, most of the time. And I actually knew about your father."
"You did?"
"Yeah, Rafael told me. He thought your mom told you everything," Charity said. "Please don't be mad at them on my account. No harm was done."
Fenton ran his hand through his hair. It had already looked funny after the water fight, but the gesture smoothed it out a bit, giving him a more wind-swept look.
Charity's heart flip-flopped, thinking how handsome he looked that way. She pushed her feelings down.
"I'm not really mad. There's no point in getting angry at my family," Fenton said. "It's just that if I knew, I could have handled today a bit differently."
"Namely not bringing me?" Charity asked. "I'm glad I came. It was a nice break from almost dying several times."
Fenton raised his hand and took back the gesture, as if he was going to touch her cheek. Instead, he took her hand. "Thank you," he said.
A few minutes later, a cab came for them. They drove in silence although Charity held Fenton's hand, feeling as if he needed the comfort.
Just as McDuck Manor came into sight, the sounds of the cab were interrupted by the roaring of a motor. Coming up fast behind them was a motorcycle. As it passed, the rider rode side-by-side with the cab and looked at the passengers. He gave them a nod before speeding ahead through the gates of McDuck Manor. Although most of his face was covered with a helmet and visor, Charity recognized the shape of the bill.
"Wait, that was…" Charity said, sitting up. She finished her sentence in a whisper. "Darkwing."
The motorcycle buzzed up the hill, circled the fountain, then whizzed pass the cab again. When the cab stopped, Charity and Fenton got out. As Fenton paid the driver, Charity watched the motorcycle fly back out the gates, speed down the road, made a quick U-turn and come back. As he skidded to a halt, his back tire left a skid mark.
"It's almost your turn to watch Negaduck, Fenton," the rider said, the voice obviously Darkwing's. He turned to Charity and held out his hand. "Care to join me for a ride."
Charity glanced at Fenton. Once again, she felt the pressure of being between them. After the day she had, she couldn't help but feeling unfaithful if she accepted Darkwing's invitation.
As if he could read her thoughts, Darkwing said, "Please. I just want to talk to you. About last night." His tone was softer and almost inaudible over the bike's engine.
Fenton pushed her forward, perhaps guessing why she was hesitating. "I don't suppose you have another helmet?"
Darkwing produced one that was strapped to the back. It was only a head cover with no visor.
Charity put it on, adjusting the chin straps.
"This time, you get the back seat," Darkwing said with a smirk, patting the seat.
She smiled at the memory. She swung a leg over the bike. It was only then she remembered she was wearing a skirt. Not exactly the best for riding a motorcycle, the material bunched up and revealed a lot of her leg.
However, before she could change her mind—or even suggest she change into pants first—Darkwing revved the bike and it shot forward. Charity gripped Darkwing tightly, feeling his solid body under the layers of leather. Her heart and stomach did cartwheels as they flew out of the gates and onto the road, her hair and skirt whipping behind her.
This was so much more thrilling than her last motorcycle ride, remembering how slow they had to go underneath the Audubon Bridge.
"Faster!" she shouted, drunk on the feeling of doing something mid-level dangerous and trusting Darkwing to keep her safe.
He glanced back before obliging, going a lot faster than the posted speed limit. Turning off the road, they merged onto a highway that ran along the beach, the road going higher and higher along the cliffs. The sun wasn't low enough to be setting, but it reflected off the water, making stark white ripples. Seabirds flew in flocks, looking for something to eat in the surf.
They traveled along the road for about five minutes before Charity remembered Aphrodite's spell on Negaduck. They hadn't gone far, but she didn't want to push the limits. She tapped Darkwing's shoulder and pointed to a rest stop that sat on an overhanging cliff. There was a patch of grass and a picnic table for travelers to use.
Darkwing nodded and turned off the highway. Coming to a halt, he kicked the stand in place and shut off the engine.
Charity jumped off, her heart still pounding. She had to walk off the jittery feeling of having a powerful engine between her legs and going so fast with no walls around her. She couldn't help jogging to the grassy area, looking beyond the cliff to the ocean a hundred feet below. There was a rail set up to prevent anyone from falling off.
"It's so beautiful," she said loudly, turning around to see if Darkwing was following. Her smile fell as she saw it wasn't Darkwing. Well, it was him, but without his mask. And somehow, that made him seem like a stranger to her, even though she had seen him without it once.
Drake's smile was uncertain, and he ran his hand through his hair. "I kind of thought that perhaps a wardrobe change was in order," he said. "You made a good point last night."
"I'm sorry," Charity said. "I didn't mean to yell at you."
"But you were right," Drake said before she could say anything more. "So, maybe we can start over. Hi, I'm Drake Mallard. Totally not a super hero. Ordinary, unemployed actor." He held out his hand.
Charity smiled and took it. "I'm Charity Loveatte. Totally not a cursed damsel in distress. Ordinary, unemployed fanfiction writer."
Drake chuckled at her imitation.
"So, no more Darkwing Duck?" Charity asked, leaning her back and elbows against the rail. "What if I miss him?"
"Well, I'm sure he'll be around if he's needed," Drake said. "But I thought you might be a little tired of heroes for now. Maybe what you really need is a friend?"
"I could use another friend," Charity said with a smile. She wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you."
Drake returned the hug. "You're welcome."
Scrooge returned to his mansion after going to his money bin and pretending to work, trying not to pick up the phone to make another call. He couldn't help feeling anxious. He wasn't the type to wait around for something to happen. He was Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck in the world; he didn't have to wait for anything unless he wanted to.
Yet for almost twenty-four hours, he had heard nothing from Gladstone Gander. Where was that good-for-nothing boy?
When he returned home, he checked the machine for messages. Nothing. He shouldn't call again, but he couldn't help himself. He picked up the receiver and spun the dial of the rotary phone angrily. As the dial tone went through, he heard the sound of "Luck Be a Lady," by Frank Sinatra playing within the room. Looking up, he saw Gladstone lounging in a chair, snoozing.
"Gladstone! Why didn't you tell me you've arrive?" Scrooge shouted, as he shook his nephew awake.
"Huh? Oh, Uncle Scrooge. You're back," Gladstone said, stretching and yawning. "Lucky for you, I won a free first class ticket to Duckburg soon after receiving that 'Urgent' message from you. So when I arrived at the mansion, I was completely surprised that you had stepped out for the day."
"Why didn't you answer me? I called you dozens of times?" Scrooge shouted.
Gladstone pulled out his cell phone. "I had to turn it off on the plane, duh." He smiled and shrugged. "At least it gave me time for a nap. I hate sleeping while traveling. So what's the emergency?"
Uncle Scrooge counted to ten before explaining the whole situation with Charity and needing help to find the Orb.
"Scrooge, helping someone outside of the family?" Gladstone asked with a sly smile. "Don't tell me you've become a philanthropist."
"Hardly," Scrooge sniffed. "She's a friend of Launchpad's, and you know how fond I am of the boy."
"Fond enough to keep him around after crashing so many vehicles," Gladstone said with a nod. "You're extended family just keeps getting bigger and bigger, uncle. Yet you seem to never want to spend any time with one of your own blood relatives unless you need help."
"It's you who keeps wandering the world without a permanent address," Scrooge said, pointing a cane at Gladstone. "You know where to find your family if you wish it."
Gladstone rolled his eyes at their old argument.
Scrooge also shook his head. "Let's not get into this. Since you were able to get back here so quickly, that must mean you're supposed to help us."
"Now, uncle, you know that's not how my luck works. It could mean a lot of things," Gladstone said with a smug grin. "Perhaps it just means I'm going to win something really nice while I'm here, or meet an old friend that owes me money, or because some talent searcher needs me to pose for their modeling agency."
"Oh, for the love of haggis," Scrooge growled. "It's not like I'm asking you to do something hard. It'll take you all of three seconds to help us."
"Three seconds of work for a ten-hour plane ride!" Gladstone exclaimed. "Do you know what I was doing before you called me? I was going to be a judge for a Swedish swimsuit contest."
"Oh, your life is so hard," Scrooge deadpanned. "Look, lad, we may not have a lot in common-"
"You've got that right."
"But one thing I thought we had in common was that if we saw someone in trouble that we wouldn't hesitate to help them," Scrooge said. "Am I wrong?"
Gladstone crossed his arms but didn't say anything.
"You're not the only one who drops everything to travels half-way across the world to help a relative in need," Scrooge said, reminding Gladstone of that time in China.
Gladstone sighed. "Do you at least have a picture of her? I want to see the face of the person who ruined my day."
Scrooge did. He had asked Louie for one for his records. Quackfaster insisted on complete and detailed records from all their adventures.
After looking at the photo at a few angles, Gladstone said, "She's a cute, young bird." Not that he hadn't seen dozens just like her or better looking. He had been hoping to find something special about her that had his uncle jumping through hoops, but the photo didn't provide any clue. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"
Uncle Scrooge walked over to his globe, spinning the sphere. "Just point."
With a bored look on his face, Gladstone covered his eyes and jabbed a finger at the globe, which stopped in rotation. Peeking through his fingers, he gave the island he was touching an interested eyebrow raise.
Uncle Scrooge leaned over. "Tokyolk? Well, that does narrow it down quite a bit. Well done, Gladstone. If you want to stick around and meet the lass, she'll want to thank you for your help."
Gladstone looked back down at the photo he was still holding. Perhaps my luck did lead me here to help…
"You're going to need more of my help," he said to his uncle. "Tokyolk is a big place."
"Oh?" Uncle Scrooge said with a smile. "Changed your mind? Who's the philanthropist now?"
Gladstone smiled. "Oh, don't you worry about my reputation, Uncle. It'll be intact. But for my aid, I'm going to ask a few favors. And I want no questions asked—and I do mean no questions asked. And the top of that list is that I want an entire evening with this young lady."
Please read Author Notes for an important announcement.
(Author's notes: With a heavy heart, I'm sad to announce that I'm taking a month-long hiatus writing Twisted Strings of Fate. It took me a long time to decide this, but I felt that it was my only option. At this point in my life, I have a lot of things that are causing me anxiety, and I haven't been able to write. Normally, I have five or six chapters in reserves, and I'm down to two. In a month, I'll be less stressed and have a lot of things resolved. I have a convention in about three weeks, which is the only way I make money being a stay-at-home mom. My mother, who has been living with us for the past few months, has bought a house and will be moving in around the same time. On top of that, I've been having health issues (yeah, it's going to be a tough month.) I feel really bad because a lot of you have been so supportive of my writing and I love getting reviews from you. Seriously, I check my email several times on Wednesday to see if anyone's written to me.
However, good news. Chapter 26 marks the halfway point of the story. So think of this hiatus as the end of Season 1. Season 2 will begin in four weeks on Sept. 28th. I thought it would be better to have my hiatus right here in the story rather than during a cliffhanger.
Also, being at the halfway mark, I'd like to ask everyone who reads the story to vote on their favorite ship for Charity (out of curiosity and because I'm interested). This vote will not change my mind about the ending. I have the ending of TSoF completely planned out. I just want to see who the favorite is. So in your comments somewhere, say Fenity (Charity X Fenton) or Gizity (Charity X Gizmoduck) if you're on team Fenton or Darkity (Charity X Darkwing) or Drakity (Charity X Drake) if you're on team Drake. Or for those who are thinking outside of the box (or whatever) Launchity (Charity X Launchpad) for team Launchpad (My husband is on this team), or Starity (Charity X Starling) or Negity (Charity X Negaduck) for team Jim Starling if you're into it. LOL
I'm sure Charity will be thrilled to know the results. I know Louie will need the information for...things. )