(Author's notes: The story takes place after the second season, a few months after the moon invasion. This story is rated T for violence, blood, some romancy stuff, and light swearing.)

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 1

I was ten when I found my first love. My friends had talked about their crushes, boys they met in the halls or were cute or popular or nice. Some had "celebrity crushes," either actors or members of bands. These crushes were fleeting and often ended with they found someone new to daydream about.

But I wasn't like my friends. My mom would often say that the people in our family should be picky about whom we fall in love with; our family tended to have a longevity for loyalty. At the time, I didn't know what that meant, but I knew I was different from my friends.

Then one day, I sat on the couch with my mother's head in my lap as she shook with pain in her stomach and head. It was a Saturday, and she promised to take me to the park, but after seeing how she felt, I didn't mind staying home. I was used to it.

Dad was gone, which was just fine with us, so we ordered delivery and watched TV.

I flipped around the channels, trying to find something to get my mom's mind off the pain. And then he appeared. My sense of beauty at that age hadn't quite developed as far as others, but Mom said he was handsome. Perhaps he defined the word for me after that day.

As the show progressed, my mom sat up, laughing at the funny parts. In those days, she hardly laughed. Most of the time, she seemed miserable, always taking aspirin for headaches and throwing up in the toilet. Soon, we both were actively watching, trying to guess what would happen next. The channel must have had a marathon since we watched all day. It had been a miracle that it distracted my mom enough that she baked a cake, an apology for skipping the park.

My mom was everything to me, and I couldn't help but see the star of that show as my own personal hero. It was the happiest day we had had in a long time. It was the first time I remembered my mother being that happy, to have the strength to pretend she wasn't in pain even if it was for just a few hours.

And I loved him for it.

My friends didn't understand how I could love a fictional character. It was weird. I didn't care. I loved him anyway. I was finally like my friends, now knowing why they giggled and smiled at the names of their crushes. My heart quickened just like theirs. My cheeks burned. In a way, it made me feel normal to finally have my own crush.

I was in love with Darkwing Duck.

Not long after that, I noticed the bruises on my legs and arms, unsure where I got them. Kids get bruises all the time from playing around, small and innocent. But these were large, black, and ugly, forming in placed I was certain I hadn't gotten hurt. They came so frequently that the school was concerned.

That's when Mom took me to a doctor who told me I had Cushing's Syndrome. He explained how I could get hurt easily and not know it, warning that I had to be much more careful in my play.

I did, but I kept getting more bruises and cuts and other pains no matter how cautious I was. It wasn't until a couple of years after my diagnosis that they started to abate. I kept getting them, but far and few between. I believed that I had managed my condition.

But I was wrong.

On top of all that, Darkwing Duck, the TV show that my mom and I had a solid connection to, was canceled.

"Alright, lads and lassie. Is everyone packed? Dewey, did you grab the sword that hangs over the fireplace in the second floor study?"

"Uh…I grabbed a sword from one study," the young duck said, holding out a glowing sword.

"Which study?" the elderly Scottsman asked patiently. "Was it the study with the green carpets and the suit of armor in the corner?"

Dewey's eyes rolled upward as he recalled his memories. "Uh…I think the carpets were green but I don't remember the suit of armor."

"Oh, for the love of…" Scrooge rubbed his face. "There must have been a suit of armor in the corner. How many studies do I have on the second floor with green carpet?"

Dewey shrugged.

Louie broke in. "You have a lot of rooms in your mansion, Uncle Scrooge, and they all look the same."

Dewey held out the sword. "Does it matter which sword I grabbed? This one is awesome. It should be helpful in our adventure."

"Depends on the sword," Scrooge said, adjusting his specs. "If that is the Sword of the Jackal King, then it will lead us to the Cassiopeian oasis in the farthest, driest, most deadly desert on Earth. Without it, we could travel for days, become lost and die of thirst, leaving our bodies to scavengers until our bones sink beneath the sand."

The triplets eyes widened.

"Let's make sure we get the right sword," Huey said, carefully taking the sword out of Dewey's hands.

"Sorry, Uncle Scrooge," Dewey said sheepishly. "I didn't know the sword was so important. I thought we just needed any old sword."

Scrooge patted him on the head. "That's alright, lad. Although, come to think of it, if Webby were here, she would have known exactly which sword I was talking about."

"Where did you say Mom took her and Mrs. Beakley?" Louie asked.

Scrooge shrugged. "Eh, they went on some 'Girl's-Day-Out' trip. Probably to the mall or the spa or something." Scrooge waved his hands sarcastically just to show what he thought of such outings.

Hundreds of miles away, Della wrestled a tentacle of the dreaded kraken, which had Scrooge's yacht in a tight hug, trying to drag it down into the ocean's depths. "See, girls. Isn't this relaxing?" she called out before biting down on the rubbery flesh.

Mrs. Beakley jammed a harpoon into the large gun on the deck for such occasions. When you work for Mr. McDuck, it is surprising how many harpoons you go through. "Webby, hand me the jar."

The young girl, deftly dodging tentacles left and right, tossed a glass jar to her granny as carelessly as if she were handing ingredients for a cake.

Mrs. Beakley poured a generous dollop of the contents of the jar onto the harpoon, took careful aim, and fired. The harpoon sunk into the kraken's flesh. While the harpoon was nothing more than a pinprick for the monster, the goop had a more powerful effect.

Within seconds, the tentacles dropped, as lively as dead slugs, and the kraken sank below the surface.

"What was that stuff?" Della asked, jumping back on deck.

"Kraken muscle relaxers," Mrs. Beakley said, showing the jar. "Mr. McDuck never goes sailing without it."

"Ahhh, what fun is that?" Della said, scuffing her metallic foot against the deck and folding her arms in a pout.

"Oh, there's sure to be more fun coming. Remember, krakens always come in twos," Mrs. Beakley said.

Just as if her words were the dinner bell, another kraken rose out of the water, arms flailing and wrapping around the boat.

Webby whooped and raised her hands in the air. "Best Girl's-Day-Out ever!"

"Here's the right one, Uncle Scrooge," Huey said, returning with a second glowing sword.

"Aye, that's it, lad," Scrooge said, taking the sword. "You boys need to understand that not every tool is the right fit for the job. Pick your tools wisely, and you'll be kings when you get older."

Both Huey and Dewey grinned at their great-uncle's words of wisdom, but Louie merely nodded as he scrolled through his phone.

"Now then, let's get the plane loaded and we can head out on our adventure," Scrooge said, pointing his cane forward like a band leader's baton.

As the four ducks loaded the red plane, they noticed that they lacked one member of the expedition.

"Where's Launchpad? We're burning daylight," Scrooge grumbled, glaring at the pilot's empty seat.

"There he is." Huey pointed through the windows to where the tall duck was pulling out of the driveway in a dinged up, old Pontiac that he owned. The poor car had so many dents and scuffs, it was a wonder it still had any paint.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scrooge shouted, racing out of the plane toward Launchpad's car before he could make it out of the gates.

"Good morning, Mr. McD," Launchpad said, waving and smiling as if the elderly duck wasn't glaring icily at him.

"Where are you going?" Scrooge repeated, hooking his cane over the open window.

"It's Wednesday, Mr. McD," Launchpad explained.

Scrooge put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "Oh, that's right. You're day off. Well, can't you come with us just this once?"

"That's what you said last Wednesday. And the one before that. And the one before that," Launchpad said, still smiling brightly.

"Really?" Scrooge looked to the triplets for help.

"He's right," Huey said. He pulled out a cell phone, looking up his great-uncle's schedule "In fact, it looks as if Launchpad hasn't had a day off in months."

"Way to go treating your employees," Louie said, smirking at his uncle.

"Wh-I-ah," Scrooge stumbled over an excuse before clearing his throat. "You're absolutely right, Launchpad. I'm sorry. Take the day off. And I promise not to let it slip again."

"Thanks, Mr. McD. You're the best boss in the world." Launchpad drove forward, nicking his car against the gate with a horrible grinding sound before turning into the street.

After the banged-up car disappeared, Scrooge leaned over to Huey. "Put that in my schedule, please."

"Already on it," Huey said, typing away.

"Then what are we going to do for the day?" Dewey asked, staring off into space. "I'm already geared for an adventure. My nerves are coiled like a spring. My wild instincts need some way to vent. What are we going to do?" His voice continued to build until he was shouting and shaking Louie by his hoodie.

"Turn it down a notch," Scrooge said, walking back to his mansion. "We're having a day in."

"Wohoo," Louie cheered, running after Scrooge and beating everyone inside.

Huey and Dewey followed, the latter trembling with nervous energy.

"What does Launchpad do with his days off?" Huey asked when he was side-by-side with Scrooge.

"I don't know. Every Wednesday morning, he leaves and doesn't come back until evening," Scrooge said. "He's never said anything about it before."

"Whoa, you don't think he actually has a life or something," Louie said, sarcasm biting his words.

"Do you think he's doing his own adventures? You know, like solo missions?" Dewey asked, acting like an addict without a fix.

"Oh, don't you bother him. He's entitled to his privacy," Scrooge said. "Now, everyone rest up because tomorrow, we'll definitely go on an adventure!"

"Yay," Huey and Dewey cheered.

"Yay," Louie echoed a few beats behind his brothers with less enthusiasm.

Launchpad knocked on the familiar white door, holding his hat in his hands and beaming from ear to ear. He waited patiently, listening for footsteps. When the door opened, his smile grew. "Hey, Mrs. L! It's me. Launchpad."

The female lovebird that opened the door faced Launchpad with a disapproving scowl. "I know who you are, Launchpad." She stayed where she was, letting silence keep the distance between them.

After a while, Launchpad asked, "Is Charity home?"

With a sigh, the lovebird stepped back, opening the door wider. "Yes, she is. Come on in." Her voice spoke volumes of her reluctance to say those words.

"Thanks, Mrs. L. Is she in her room?" Launchpad pointed up the stairs that were just right of the front door.

"She is, but she's not feeling well," the lovebird said. Unconsciously, she rubbed her arm which was bandaged.

"Is she sick?"

"No, she…hurt her head. And twisted her wrist. Thank goodness she didn't get a concussion this time." She glared at Launchpad, her eyes like daggers.

"Then it's a good thing that I brought her something to cheer her up," Lauchpad said happily, holding up a plastic bag. "I'll just go up. Nice to see you again, Mrs. L." He skipped up the stairs, still smiling.

The house was just as familiar to him as his own, walking down the hall to the room farthest from the stairs. A sign with flower and unicorn stickers hung on the door with the word "Charity" painted in pink with the skills of an elementary child. Other signs were taped around the door, one saying, "Warning: Danger Area" with a picture of Darkwing Duck's face on it.

Launchpad took a moment to look at the door, drinking in the memories and the nostalgia of it, only noticing one difference to the décor. A picture of Gizmo Duck had been taped, positioned so it looked as if he were holding a sign that said, "Nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it."

Then he knocked.

"Come in."

He burst in, shouting, "Surprise! It's me!"

"Launchpad!" the voice squealed in delight. Flinging aside her Darkwing Duck comforter and sheets, Charity jumped out of bed and into Launchpad's arms. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me anymore."

Launchpad knew the routine. He caught the female lovebird in his arms and swung her around, both of them acting like they were five instead of their actual ages. Only a few years younger than him, Charity, even at twenty-five, was light enough that he effortlessly spun her around and around until they were too dizzy to stand.

Falling onto her bed, Charity laughed as the room spun around her. "What happened, Launchpad? I missed you so much."

Charity was the splitting image of her mother. Both lovebirds had black faces, white feathers starting at the neck and slowly turning blue the lower they went. Both had curly hair although Charity kept hers long, past her shoulders in a blue and white halo, while her mother had clipped hers short and manageable. The only other difference between Charity and Mrs. Loveatte was that the older lovebird was shorter and somewhat plumper.

"Mr. McD needed me," Launchpad explained. "He's always busy, sometimes he forgets when I have a day off."

Charity chuckled and ruffled the feathers on Launchpad's head. "You have such a good heart. You can't say no to him."

"Well, today I did," Launchpad said, sitting up.

"That means a lot. I know how much you love flying him around the world." Charity sat up, too, crossing her legs.

"I wish you could come with us. Flying is the best," Launchpad said, his voice rising in volume. "The sky is where I belong. Did you know that prehistoric birds once could fly without needing machines? True fact."

"Well, they would have to since airplanes weren't invented," Charity joked, making Launchpad laugh.

"Maybe I could ask Mr. McD if you could come…" Launchpad said.

Charity's face sagged a bit, and when her smile vanished, her eyes looked hollow. "You know I can't. It's…too dangerous."

"Yeah, but if I promise not to crash, it wouldn't be dangerous," Launchpad suggested.

Charity's smile returned. "Yeah, like you could keep that promise." She punched his bomber jacket's arm lightly. "Enough of that. What did you bring me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" Launchpad said, feigning ignorance.

Charity bounced on her bed. "Oh, don't you start that. You always bring something. What is it?"

"Okay. Okay," Launchpad started, holding up the plastic sack. "From the darkest, depths of Duckburg, in my adventures, I have found treasure beyond description. It came from the Temple of the Ice-Cream Parlor where a secret, never been tasted flavor had been invented for those of the discretional palates. I have braved through traps, vicious monsters, and deadly plants to bring you this most holy of snack. Behold."

He unwrapped the plastic sack, presenting a carton printed with dark colors and the face of the newest crime-fighter of St. Canard.

Charity's gasp lasted a full minute as she held the ice-cream carton as if it were a priceless relic. "Darkwing Duck is a flavor! He's a flavor! Oh my gosh, this is the best." Without waiting, she popped the top off and sniffed. "Yeah, I don't know why I did that. Ice-cream doesn't have much of a scent."

"Then you must partake of it with your mouth," Launchpad said, handing her a plastic spoon, keeping one for himself.

Together, they dipped into the purple-colored ice-cream, it softened by the length of Launchpad's trip. They both put the spoons in their mouths at the same time, smacking down on the cold treat.

"Hmmmmm. Grape flavor, but that was a given. There's not many purple flavors. But there's also dark chocolate chips and something else." Charity rolled her tongue around, chewed some more, and swallowed. "And raisins?"

"Bingo." Launchpad took another bite. "It hurts my heart that it doesn't taste that good."

"Yeah. It kind of has a bitter after taste, too." Charity shrugged, eating more. "Well, not everything can be as awesome as Darkwing."

"I hear ya."

They ate a few more bites.

"Do you want to watch some episodes?" Launchpad asked.

"Uh…Does Darkwing always get back right up?" Charity replied.

"Yes, he does," Launchpad shot up, pulling out the VHS he always carried around.

"No need, LP," Charity said, rushing to a bookcase and pulling something out. "I have it all on DVD."

"What!" Launchpad shouted, snatching the box set out of the female's hands. "When did this come out? Are there any extras? There's bloopers!"

Charity smirked, hands on her hips. "That's what happens when you're too busy with work to come see your best friend. They released it a few weeks ago. Mom got it for me for my birthday."

"Whoa, never-before-seen scenes. And Jim Starling interviews. And the writers talk about the missing epi—Wait, your birthday?" Launchpad looked up from his obsession. "Oh, no. Did I forget your birthday?"

"Yeah. It's no big deal," Charity said with a shrug and a smile. "I know you're busy. Don't worry about it."

"Well, that just means I'll have to get you something special." Launchpad went over to the TV on the opposite wall of Charity's bed and put in one of the discs. "Hey, maybe I can get the real Darkwing come see you."

Charity laughed. "Don't even joke about that," she said, settling on her bed with her pillows propped against the headboard and making room for Launchpad. "You'll break my heart."

"I'm serious." Launchpad took a flying leap and jumped on the bed.

Charity winced. "You mean you know Darkwing Duck? I know you've meet Jim Starling, but you couldn't possibly know the real Darkwing?"

Launchpad's eyes widened. Yeah, that wasn't something he was supposed to talk about. "Uh…Well, Mr. McD has a lot of connections. I don't know. Maybe he can pull some strings or something?"

Charity smiled. She looked away, her cheeks reddening. "You would do that for me?" She looked up into his eyes.

"Yeah. You know I'd do anything for you Charity. I love you."
Charity's smile deepened, her blush deepening.

"Like a sister!" Launchpad added louder, then grinned.

Charity grinned right back, hugging him. "And I love you, too, Launchpad."

Reaching over to her nightstand, Launchpad picked up the remote and turned on the TV. "Which episode should we watch first?"

"The Valentine's Day one, duh," Charity told him, taking another bite of the ice-cream.

"We always watch that one," Launchpad complained, but only a little.

"It's my favorite," Charity defended. "It's so beautiful how he and Morgana can never be together because she won't ever give up being evil."

"Aw, you and your chick-flicks," Launchpad said, pressing play on the episode.

"Don't you knock the chick-flicks. I know you secretly love them," Charity teased, tapping his beak. She snuggled up to his side and settled in to watch the show.

As the theme song played, Charity said, "If you want to give me something special for my birthday, can I make a request?"

"Anything for you, Charity. Just ask."

There was a pause. "Mr. McDuck is always adventuring and finding ancient relics and magical items, right?"

"I guess. It's sort of a hobby of his."

Another pause. "Would it be possible for you to ask him if I could talk to him? Just for a little while?"

Launchpad shifted. "I could ask. Mr. McD is a great guy. I don't see why not."

"Then that's what I want for my birthday. I just want to talk to him for a few minutes."

"I didn't know you were a fan."

Charity didn't reply.

During the episode, they were quiet as they watched, eating the ice-cream more because it was there than because it was good. Near the climax of the story, when the ice-cream had been set aside to melt, a snuffling sound occasionally could be heard over the sound of the TV.

"You okay, Charity?" Launchpad asked.

There was a pause, and Charity rubbed her beak. "It's this episode. It always gets to me."

Launchpad looked down at his friend, noticing for the first time something underneath the sleeve of her sweater. He pulled the fabric away, seeing a familiar brace around her wrist, binding the joint tight.

Charity didn't say anything.

"Your mom said you weren't feeling well," Launchpad said.

"She exaggerates."

Launchpad remembered the bandage on Mrs. Loveatte's arm as well. "Did your mom get hurt, too?"

"Just a burn," Charity muttered, her tone telling she didn't want to talk about it.

Launchpad rotated his arm and put it around Charity, drawing her closer. "You need to take better care of yourself. You and your mom are so clumsy."

"I know," Charity said softly.