Note: Anyone else stress writing right now? Just me? All righty then, carry on!


The Pond

Ow.

That about summed up the first thought that came to Duke's groggy mind. Following that, his sense of smell triggered on, and was assaulted with the metallic odor of dried blood. He grimaced, first from it, and then from the dull ache that seemed to have invaded every single muscle.

What the hell happened?

There was a mechanical purr near him, or maybe around him—he wasn't sure—but it kept letting off the occasional computerized beep. And even with his one good eye still closed, he could feel the brightness of the fluorescent lighting blinding him from above.

The sterile feel of cold, board-straight metal beneath him was the final clue to his location: he was on the Medicom. From the pain and the smell, not to mention his utter confusion at the situation, he realized it was probably necessary.

That didn't stop him from outwardly groaning, though.

"Duke?"

He turned his head to the voice instinctively, and hissed at the sudden sharp throb that erupted from his shoulder. So, on top of the dull muscle ache, he had a shoulder injury too? Wasn't that just fantastic, he bitterly mused. Fighting through the zinger, Duke took a few seconds to open his eyes, the blurry shape in front of him a weird projection of red and purple.

"Mal?" he asked. His voice croaked and he had to clear it loudly, which snowballed into a coughing fit.

"Easy, Duke," she said, and he suddenly felt her hand on his arm. "You're on the Medicom." In conjunction, the machine alarmed and Mallory pulled away.

"Wha' 'appened?" the gray mallard questioned between subsiding coughs.

"Lucretia happened."

A flash of memories rushed to the forefront, making Duke sit upright. The Medicom alarmed again, Mallory yelled his name, and the throb in his shoulder erupted into a shooting agony. He ignored it all, his eyes searching the room.

"Where's Tanya?!"

"Calm. Down," Mallory instructed sternly, one hand on his arm again and the other on his back. "You're still hooked up to the machine."

"Where is she?!" he demanded again, already knowing the answer and angrily trying to find the tubing he could feel along his forearm.

"They went after her," the redhead assured him, then immediately chastised, "Duke-!"

But it was too late. The ex-thief successfully found the catheter and promptly ripped it out. He shoved Mallory's hands off him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The Medicom was fully blaring now, error messages flashing on the monitor nearby.

The weight of his legs felt like lead, and his attempt to actually pivot on the gurney turned into a mental battle. He had told his body to move, and was expecting to be facing a different direction by this point in time, but a quick glance down told him that his lower appendages had not budged. He hadn't swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Innate fear rose to the surface. He had been able to sit up without issue. Why couldn't he move his legs?!

The siren noises slowly stopped, causing Duke to look over at Mallory. She was at the computer, clicking off all the messages that seemed to be yelling at them. When silence finally returned to the room, she whipped around and glared at him, breathing heavily.

Her expression quickly transformed into worry, however, and before he could even process it, she asked, "What's wrong?"

An idle thought made Duke wonder if he had actually become that easy to read. His hands went to the sides of the gurney, before another flash of pain made him favor his left shoulder instantly. Gritting his teeth, he explained, "I can't move my legs."

His teammate's eyes widened, and she turned to look back at the Medicom's monitor. "It must be the snake poison—"

Mr. Viper was very generous with his snake poison.

The memory was an echo of the temptress' voice, but was real enough that Duke flinched from it. He'd been stabbed in the back of the shoulder, a knife coated in poison that had numbed everything. He remembered the feeling of his tongue thickening inside his mouth, and his lungs struggling to expand for air…

How had he survived?

"—yet, which is why it may still be hard to move your legs."

Duke realized, belatedly, that he had spaced out while Mallory was talking. He looked back at her and saw her cross her arms.

"You didn't hear a thing I said, did you," she stated instead of asking.

He absently reached for his shoulder, testing its limits. "Lucretia stabbed me wit' snake poison, and I'm guessin' my legs are still recoverin'." He paused and watched Mallory's eyebrows raise. "Not rocket science, Mal. Now where did they take Tanya?" he interrogated less forcefully, using his good hand to start massaging his calves. Maybe, if he got the blood circulation going, he could hurry up whatever healing was left.

"Viper's research lab," she answered, "and the Medicom was still working at clearing the poison. We can—"

"There's no time," he interrupted.

She snorted. "Right. You gonna crawl after her?"

"If I have ta," he retorted without missing a beat. "All part of bein' a team, eh Mal?" he asked poignantly.

She glowered at him, her hands balling into fists even with her arms still crossed. "Can it, L'Orange."

"Ya know what? No, McMallard. You were the one that went rogue."

"And saved Buzz in the process!" she bit back. Duke's thoughts shifted abruptly when he realized he hadn't even asked about that. On his same line of thinking, she added, "Not that you care."

He nevertheless felt a rush of indignation. "A'course I care! Why is it always a damn competition fer you?" His hand was roughly massaging his legs now, fervently wishing he could stand up and face her properly. "We're a team, Mal. All of us. Ya always got on my case about my 'misplaced' loyalty ta da Brotherhood, but here you are leavin' everyone in the dust to be da 'Special Forces' hero!"

"I'm no damn hero, Duke!" she yelled, her arms uncrossing and harshly moving with her words. "We're the ones that put Buzz in danger in the first place. He's my responsibility!"

"No, he's our responsibility!" the ex-thief hollered right back. "Meybe, if you realized d'ere's more ta life than duty, I wouldn'ta gotten stabbed!"

She looked hurt at that response, and a part of Duke instantly regretted those choice of words. He didn't actually think that, but he also couldn't bring himself to state so.

The lull between them lingered for a long, tense moment, before she bitterly said, "It's not about the service, Duke. I disregarded orders for the first time in my life to get to that kid, because I knew there wasn't any time." Her gaze had fallen to the floor as she spoke, but looked back up purposefully when she asked, "You're going to tell me that you wouldn't go after Tanya right now, with or without the rest of us?"

They both knew the answer to that question. Duke felt his fury dissolve as he thought about Tanya in the hands of those two deceitful ducks. Another feeling began to rise, then, something much stronger, and one he had been desperately trying to push away.

"It's not about duty," Mallory reiterated quietly, her head hanging down, "it's guilt."

The gray mallard stopped massaging his legs, his eye squeezing shut as that same guilt took over his senses. He took a deep breath, finally glancing up at the redhead to give her a sarcastic smirk.

"I guess … I guess we got somethin' in common, after all."

She adamantly shook her head. "No, Duke. You didn't fail Tanya."

"Like hell I didn't," Duke argued. "I was so caught up in da past that I didn't see the signs. I shoulda known Falcone was lyin' through his crooked beak."

Her hands went to her hips and she scowled at him. "And I should've kept a closer eye on Buzz."

"You couldn't 'ave known, Mal."

"Well, you sure as hell couldn't have known about Falcone, either."

Duke looked ready to retort, but paused as he made eye contact with Mallory. By all accounts—combined with that expression she wore—there was no winning this argument with her.

To be fair, there was no winning the argument with him, either.

He sighed. They were a lot more alike than either would ever be willing to admit, especially when it came to loyalty ... and love.

"Sorry," he replied instead, "about what I said earlier." He motioned to his injured shoulder and added, "D'is ain't yer fault."

"Just like it's not yours."

"Mal—"

"Duke," she interrupted purposefully, but didn't continue.

He let out an annoyed growl. "You're impossible."

"So are you."

There was silence between them again, before Duke couldn't help but smile at their unwinnable debate. "Yer all right, Mal. A little uptight, but all right."

She only smirked at him.

With the tension between them dissipating, Duke let out a disgruntled breath, resuming his one-handed leg massage, and was only slightly disturbed that he couldn't feel it all that well. "So now what?" he finally asked.

She glanced at her COM. "Well, they left about an hour ago, and from here it's a … three-hour trip, less if we gun it."

"On a duckcycle? Yeah, definitely less." He grimaced as he tried to move his legs again to no avail. "Ya gonna be my knight in shinin' armor?"

Mallory rolled her eyes at him. "You better hope this stuff wears off by the time we get there, or you'll be SOL."

He grinned again at her sass. She walked over to him and pulled his legs to the side of the gurney, allowing them to hang while Duke himself used his good arm to stabilize himself. His grin floundered, however, when he saw her grimace.

His expression then turned into an outright frown when she instinctively grabbed her ribcage.

"Whoa," he said to get her attention, "what's with yer side?"

She shrugged him off. "It's … nothing. Just got banged up."

Duke's frown did not dissipate. Her battlegear seemed fine, and he didn't see bandages anywhere, but he had a feeling Wildwing left her here to heal, not just watch over him.

"Nothin' like my poisonin' nothin'?" he probed.

Mallory took a deep breath, slowly releasing the air she'd inhaled as she carefully changed position into something more comfortable. "…Something like that," she finally replied. She didn't offer any more explanation than that and, truth be told, Duke didn't feel like pushing the subject.

They both knew their limits.

"Duke?"

Her voice was more cautious this time as she looked at him. He wordlessly let her know he was listening with a head nod.

"Did … did you know that Lucretia was Tanya's cousin?"

Boy, did that answer a lot of questions.

"I … had my suspicions," he admitted, "d'at d'ey were related, 'nyways." He saw Mallory quirk an eyebrow at him and elaborated with, "It didn't make sense how Tanya knew her, when she'd been so untraceable back 'ome."

"I guess she was always in the shadows," the redhead finally agreed. "I just wish Tanya had told us."

Duke tilted his head. "How'd e'eryone find out?"

Mallory let out a breathy laugh. "Dive being his usual nosey self." She left Duke on the gurney and started heading towards the exit. "Surprisingly, one of the only successful secrets he's kept, I think."

"Mal?"

She glanced back at him.

"What's d'ere endgame?" Duke asked, his good arm still trying to knead his legs awake.

She shrugged. "Time travel, I guess. Or an alternate dimension, I'm not sure. But if they can already open Dimensional Limbo to bring Lucretia back, there's no telling what they'll do next."

Duke watched her open the infirmary door and creased his brow in confusion. "'ey, where are ya going?"

"To get the duckcycle," she responded as she rounded the corner. "I sure ain't carrying your sorry butt to it!"

The gray mallard chuckled as she disappeared, only to hear a high-pitched squeal that was most definitely not Mallory.

Before he could even call out, he heard Mallory's exasperated, "Phil!"

"WHY IS THERE BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR?!"

"Phil—"

"WHERE IS EVERYONE?! ARE THEY ALL DEAD?! AM I IN DANGER … AGAIN?!"

"Phil!"

"I knew it! I knew I should've paid up my life insurance premiums—OOMPH!"

There was a muffled scuffle of some kind, one of which Duke amusedly listened in on, until Mallory rounded the corner again. The redhead had Phil in an armlock, and one of her hands was securely covering the heavyset manager's mouth.

"Hey, Phil," Duke nonchalantly greeted, still sitting in his spot on the gurney.

Phil's eyes worriedly looked at Duke, widened at the bloody sheet that was still strewn about the Medicom, and then let out a garbled scream when he saw more blood covering the laboratory next door. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head, but Mallory propped him back up and swiftly slapped him across the face.

"Phil! Get ahold of yourself!"

Their team manager's facial expression went from pale, to shock, to anger, and finally settled on forced calm. He straightened his obnoxious purple and yellow-starred tie, then brushed his pony-tailed brown hair away from his face anxiously.

"I'm cool, it's cool, I'm good," he said, finally acknowledging Mallory's demand, or possibly just telling himself that. Duke was never quite sure. The manager took a deep breath and looked at Duke. "Please tell me you two aren't the only ones left."

"Love ya too, Phil," Duke remarked.

Now that he was back in control of himself, Phil actually looked miffed at the two ducks. "Is this about that eagle fella that escaped?"

Mallory rolled her eyes. "Yes, Phil, the 'eagle fella'."

"But, where is he?" he interrogated. "Give him back to the Brits, so we're all on good terms again!"

Duke could practically see Mallory grinding her teeth. "It's not exactly that easy—"

"Yes it is!" he interrupted. In full tirade-mode, Phil started pacing, hands exuberantly expressing his words. "Do you know how many celebrities are coming from there, to your wedding?"

"Oh stars," Duke groaned.

"Don't you STARS me, boobie!" Phil pointed accusingly at him, before turning to Mallory. "You promised!"

"Technically, Wildwing—"

"The agreement was made. Dotted line SIGNED!" he nearly shrieked the last word. "It's in ONE WEEK, boobalas. I thought the plan was to do it quickly!"

Mallory rubbed her face tiredly. "It was the plan, Phil. Past-tensed."

"But, but … you don't just CANCEL a wedding!"

Duke, still sitting on the gurney and watching the heavyset man pace, shook his head. "Fer the last time, it's not a wedding."

"Well, whatever you call it—"

"Bindin' ceremony."

"—okay, fine, binding ceremony," he mocked and air-quoted, "but we agreed it would be PUBLIC. There are NEWS STATIONS broadcasting this!"

"I can't," the redhead said, turning and walking away, "I just can't right now with this."

"Where are you going?!" he demanded.

"To get my puck-launcher."

Phil blanched. "W-why?"

She reached the doorway and whirled around. "When I get back, you better be gone, Phil. That's the only warning you're getting from me." In a blink she disappeared around the corner.

"FINE!" he hollered at her and crossed his arms defensively. "Didn't want the stupid wedding, anyway … with all the sponsorships, the red carpet, the publicity…" he paused, then weakly added, "the royalties for years to come…" He let out something akin to a whimper, then sighed. He glanced over at Duke, who was still watching him with a raised brow. "Are … are the guys really in trouble?"

The gray mallard let out a sigh. "Yes."

Phil didn't reply, but eventually nodded and grumbled, "New record." The team manager was quick to start walking towards the exit, most likely in case Mallory made good on her threat. Before Duke could question the random statement, however, Phil called over his shoulder, "I think it's been like, three months since you guys saved the world. Longest streak yet!" When he made it to the doorway, he cautiously checked both directions.

Seeing the coast was clear, he gave Duke a suave smile. "Save the guys, don't get any black eyes, call my cell if you need a real hero," he adjusted his tie for good measure, "and be back in time for the biggest party in Anaheim!" Seeing something down the hallway, Phil yipped and ran the other direction, his voice echoing down the path with, "Carrie Underwood RSVPed!"

Mallory came back into the infirmary a moment later, wheeling a duckcycle along with her. Her eyes were shooting daggers in the direction Phil went, a puck-launcher in one of her hands and a puck bazooka strapped to her back.

Duke chuckled. "You weren't kidding around, Sweetheart."

"That man is insufferable."

The ex-thief watched as she pushed the bike next to his Medicom and added, "Don't worry, we'll make sure yer face stays pretty for da weddin' pics."

"Correction: you both are insufferable."