(Author's note: Sorry for the long hiatus and for not giving you the heads up. I had a convention and been working out some health issues. Thank you everyone for your support.)

Blue Waltz

Chapter 4: Dolente

Sept 11

Charity stared at the photo of the nine-year-old girl that had been placed in a home only a few months ago. This little girl's foster family had just called DCF to report that she was missing. The parents had called the police the day before because the girl hadn't returned from school as she should. Foster kids were high risk as runaways, but the girl's—Jessica's—social worker was insistent that she wasn't the type to run away. She had been happy with her foster home and made friends with the other foster child that family had taken in. There was absolutely no reason for Jessica to run away.

And Jessica wasn't the first. In the past month, several fosters kids had disappeared much like Jessica. And unlike the usual runaways, these kids were younger. Most were between the ages of eight and twelve. The youngest was a six-year-old, missing since last week.

Sometimes, when a foster child went missing, the police were hardly useful. The minute they heard the word "foster," they brought up the idea that the child was simply a runaway. Each and every time, Charity had to practically argue herself blue—more blue than she was—that it didn't matter if a child was missing or a runaway. They had to be found!

However, the police couldn't say that now with so many young children disappearing more often than usual, and foster parents and DCF shouting at them to do something. Especially since the media had caught wind of the story and it was being circulated on the front page of newspapers and on news channels, giving it more attention.

And yet, more children were being abducted each week and none had been found yet.

With a sigh, she took Jessica's picture to the corkboard that hung in clear view of every social worker and visitor, reminding them of the faces of the missing children. Finding a corner, Charity pinned Jessica's shining face to the board next to several others. A sharp pain pierced her heart as she thought of the endless hunt for missing children. And it was a sad fact to live with that most missing children who were found often were picked up by the morgue. The chances of finding these children alive dwindled by each hour.

But why were so many going missing recently? Were they all connected? Or was this all coincidence? At least the police were more onboard with these newest cases than before.

Feeling a heavy load on her shoulder, Charity returned to her office and took a moment hiding her face in her hands. On days like these she contemplated quitting. How could she work day after day, and through all her hard work and determination, so much harm was being done to children every day? She may save one or two a week; meanwhile dozens were being abused and hurt, some living on the streets doing unspeakable things just to get by. Was she really making a difference?
She couldn't save them all.

Just when she was pushing back the first of the sobs that were threatening to overwhelm her, her fax machine beeped and started printing. Grabbing a tissue from a box, Charity carefully dabbed at her eyes so not to smudge her mascara before looking at the papers that the fax machine was vomiting out.

At least something is going right, she thought as she scanned the papers. The first were the forms that Drake Mallard needed to fill out with each section neatly penned in with all the information. At the bottom of the pile was a copy of his W-2.

"It's no wonder he was reluctant to talk about his job," Charity murmured to herself.

According to the document, Drake Mallard was a Security Guard at SHUSH. She didn't know that much of the organization except that it was similar to the FBI, a government law enforcement group that mainly dealt with terrorists. If Drake Mallard worked for SHUSH, he might not have been able to legally talk about his job.

It lifted her spirits that Gosalyn and Drake Mallard's case file would close quickly, a happy ending for the two. She had to take her victories where she could get them. Taking out Gosalyn's file, Charity put on her glasses and started typing the new information into the computer just as someone stepped into her office.

"Just one minute," she said, as she continued typing out a line.

However, her "one minute" was too much for her guest to wait because she was interrupted by a loud throat clearing. Looking up, Charity frowned as her eyes locked onto a gray mouse with a thin, curving mustache wearing a dark blue, Italian suit that was far too nice for someone who worked for the state.

"Mr. Musman, it's always a pleasure to see you down here," Charity said, the chill in her voice not matching her words. "What can I do for you?"

As far as her opinion went, Duncan Musman was the worst person to be in charge of DCF. As the Department Head of DCF, Duncan's job was more of an overseer than a caretaker. Charity liked it when he was pretty much absent from his position and performed the most basic tasks that were required of him. It was then that she could run DCF how she saw fit, and things moved along easily. It was when Duncan decided to be more involved that Charity was suspicious of his motives which usually involved catering to the rich and powerful.

And if Duncan Musman deigned to come down from his ivory tower to mingle with the social workers, something was up.

"I don't suppose I could get a cup of that delicious office coffee while I'm here?" Duncan said with a smug smile.

Charity glowered and not just because of the sarcasm. She was still smarting after the last altercation she had with Duncan that involved returning a young girl to her physically abusive father because he just so happened to play golf with the mayor. When it came to Duncan's hand on DCF, she fought him tooth and nail even though he won almost every time. It haunted her every time a wife suffering from black eyes and broken wrists were returned to their husbands because they were too scared to run again or the children given back to toxic and neglectful homes because of their last names.

There was always the hope that the law would be on her side, but sleazy, soulless lawyers could twist anything their way. And the worst thing about it was that an abuser wouldn't change even with the warning that came with being caught the first time. Oh, they would promise to change, that the abuse wouldn't happen again. Instead, the abuser only learned how to control their victim even more.

"You look like you're working too hard, Charity—"

"It's Ms. Loveatte, Mr. Musman," Charity snapped, setting about reorganizing her desk. Her workspace was already just how she wanted it, but she needed to do something with her hands or she would be tempted to do something violent. "Just get on with it."

"Perhaps there's something I can get for you?" Duncan said, smiling. The more Charity treated him with rudeness, the more he seemed to enjoy it. "There's a little room in the budget, and a working woman such as yourself deserves something nice."

"If there's room in the budget, then I would like another social worker, please. Preferably someone who doesn't cater to criminals and accept bribes," Charity said, removing her glasses. It was obvious who her quip was referring to.

That wiped the smile off of Duncan's face, and he crossed his arms defensively. "It has come to my attention," Duncan began, his voice changing to all-business, "that your office may have been a little lenient with a case. A child is in danger and should be seized immediately."

Out of everything, this wasn't what Charity expected. It was usually the complete opposite of Duncan's goals. "I find it hard to believe that one of my social workers made a mistake and someone in your office caught the problem before I did," Charity defended, taking her turn to cross her arms.

What is he up to? she thought.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," Duncan said with a shrug, his smug smile back. "But as Head of DCF, it is my duty to inform you of these mistakes when I can and have you rectify them."

"I'll look into the matter immediately," Charity said completely serious. Whoever this child was, if Duncan was concerned about their well-being, it must be serious. Not that she wasn't still suspicious of his motives. "If you could give me the name of the child, I will investigate the case myself."

"I don't have a name. Just a few pictures," Duncan said. From his breast pocket, he pulled out the photos and tossed them onto Charity's desk.

Charity put her glasses back on before picking them up. As she flipped through the series of black and white photographs, her face grew more and more shocked and worried. "Where did you get these pictures?" she asked.

"A concerned citizen brought them to my attention," Duncan replied. "And I'm aware that the girl in those photos has recently come into DCF with her father. As you can see, it is evidence of child endangerment, neglect and abuse."

As much as she hated to admit it, Duncan was partially right. Each photo featured the masked vigilante that St. Canard was proud to claim—most of the time—who was Darkwing Duck. And right next to him was the round face of a familiar duckling.

Charity had so many questions, the least of which was what was Gosalyn Mallard doing running around with Darkwing Duck at night? Unfortunately, the answer to that wouldn't be found in the room. Instead, she directed her more pressing questions to her boss.

"How long have you had these photos? And more importantly, why weren't they turned over to me once they were sent to you?" Charity demanded. As if she could find the answers elsewhere, Charity looked on the back of the photos and saw a telephone number jotted down.

"That's not important," Duncan said, snatching the one photo with the number and tucking it back into his pocket. "This is obviously a cry for help, one where we need to take this poor child this instant."

"I don't see the need," Charity said.

"Am I wrong, or are you taking a different stance on child endangerment?" Duncan accused.

"I take child endangerment very seriously," Charity said in a hard tone. "But I don't see how this could be connected to neglect and abuse. With such little evidence, I don't see the justification in taking away a little girl from a warm and loving home just because of these pictures that may well be taken out of context."

"Ah, I'm guessing you know who this little girl is," Duncan said, reaching out and tapping a photo.

"I'm the case-working for Gosalyn Mallard," Charity said. "And I have thoroughly investigated her father and home, and I have seen nothing more than a parent needing a reminder of what is and what isn't appropriate for his daughter."

"Did you inform Mr. Mallard that letting his daughter run around with a vigilante isn't healthy?" Duncan asked.

"I assure you, I will have words with Mr. Mallard about his daughter's after-dark choices, but last I heard, it wasn't unlawful nor neglectful for a child to perform good deeds," Charity said, mentally scripting what she would tell Drake once she could get on the phone with him.

And if she were to ever meet Darkwing Duck, she was going to give him an earful on letting a child follow him around.

"I'll have to disagree with you," Duncan said. "If Mr. Mallard isn't aware that his daughter is sneaking out at night to spend time with Darkwing Duck, that is considered neglect. Ignorance is no excuse. And if Mr. Mallard is aware that this is going on, that is abuse."

In a way, Duncan was right if you stretched the definition to the fullest extent.

"That may be true, but that's still not enough to seize the child," Charity put in. "Not only is Gosalyn not in immediate danger, but it is DCF's policy to give second chances. And as the social worker on this case, I've seen no evidence other than a mild case of neglect, and I do not recommend pulling Gosalyn from Drake Mallard's custody. He has already complied with most of my requests and has shown a willingness to change and do everything he can to retain custody of his daughter."

"I'm sure he has," Duncan said with a sneer. "But I really must—"

"Have any charges been taken out on Darkwing Duck?" Charity asked.

"What?"

"Obviously if anyone is responsible for child endangerment, it is Darkwing Duck," Charity said, hoping to turn this proverbial duck hunt away from Drake and Gosalyn Mallard.

"It is not in DCF's best interest to make a spectacle of St. Canard's resident vigilante. He's considered quite the celebrity, and it wouldn't do to put a black mark on the hero's shining record," Duncan argued. "Imagine the circus act the press would make of it. Would you want to put the child through that kind of grief?"

Again, Duncan was right. Bringing Darkwing Duck up on the charges would involve the press. However, knowing Gosalyn, the spunky girl might actually enjoy it.

Charity shook her head. She was ending this conversation now. It was a ridiculous notion, and she was too busy to put up with any more of Duncan's crap.

"As the supervisor of DCF and Gosalyn's case worker, I do not recommend seizing the child nor do I see that it is the best interest of the child," Charity said with finality. "And whatever you are after, I'm going to do everything within my power to make sure it doesn't happen."

Duncan's smile disappeared, but he didn't look in the least bit cowed. "Charity, I—"

"Ms. Loveatte," Charity snapped.

Duncan continued on as if Charity hadn't spoken. "We both know that you owe your so-called 'power' to me. You're only a supervisor. I can have your power removed."

And there it was. He was threatening to fire her. He had done this before, but Charity had called his bluff a few times. She had to be careful, knowing that if it was more to his advantage, he would have her removed permanently from DCF.

"Don't test me this time, Charity," Duncan said. "I'll do it. And then I'll find someone more malleable to take your place. You're not completely irreplaceable."

And that was it. Everything was on the table. She had shown her hand, but he had a higher one. She either had to fold and let him win this time or quit. But if she walked away, it would mean that someone would replace her as supervisor of DCF, perhaps someone with fewer scruples than she had. More than likely, Duncan would find someone who would cave into his demands regularly.

Was she willing to let that happen? Or could she sacrifice Gosalyn so that she could remain in a position to help countless other children who needed her? If she stayed, she would be making yet another compromise and Duncan would win. But then again, she could also be in a position to keep an eye on Gosalyn and make sure she was placed in a great foster home. She could even find a way to help Drake Mallard fight the charges in court and get his daughter back. She would also be able to watch Duncan and find out why he wanted Gosalyn in foster care.

It seemed that remaining at DCF had a lot more pros than cons while quitting would still mean that Duncan would win and nobody would remain that could possible fight against him.

"I don't know why you're doing this or whose money your taking for their dirty work," Charity hissed, "but I'll comply. Under protest."

"See that it's done by the end of today," Duncan said, putting his hands in his pocket. "There's a police escort waiting for you outside."

"Get out of my office," Charity shouted, pointing to the door. When Duncan casually strolled out, she slammed the door behind him, barely missing his thin tail.


Their trip to DCF was a wakeup call for Drake. It was similar to the time he had quit being Darkwing Duck to be a full-time parent, which had nearly gotten him and Gosalyn and a dozen other children killed. But this time, Drake set limits. He cleared away everything regarding Darkwing Duck and his cases back to his lair on the Adubon Bridge. Whenever Gosalyn was home, he was a parent, not a hero. For the hours between school getting out and bed time, Gosalyn had his full attention.

Every day that week, Gosalyn came home to the third degree about what she did at school, if she was behaving and if she was keeping up with her school work. Drake called up her teacher and had a long chat with Mrs. Chickpea, assuaging her fears that he wasn't an absentee father. He also made a deal with the Muddlefoots—to his chagrin—to let Gosalyn stay nights with them, which meant she would sleep on their couch instead of her own bed at least until better arrangements could be made. The Muddlefoots reactions focused mainly on the revelation that Drake had a job as a night security guard.

"This is such a crap deal," Gosalyn growled as she sat at the table after school with her homework spread out. Not only had she not been out with Darkwing Duck for several nights, but she was beginning to resent the Muddlefoots just as much as her dad now that she was forced to spend her nights with them.

"It's for the best," Drake said. "And Ms. Loveatte is right. You shouldn't be left home alone, at least until you're a little older."

"But I wasn't left home. I've always been with you," Gosalyn said, looking sad. She hadn't wanted that to ever change.

"And that's also for the best," Drake said. "You shouldn't be following me into danger every night. If something happened to you, I don't know what I would do."

"But you need me," Gosalyn whined. "How many times have I saved your butt?"

Drake frowned. "Not as many times as I've saved yours." When Gosalyn gave him her sorrowful eyes, he added gently, "Oh, Gos, I loved having you with me, but I never should have allowed it to happen in the first place. It's not safe. I'll just have to learn to save my own butt from now on."

It would certainly take some getting used to. The last few nights, he had actually missed his daughter joining him as Darkwing. She was surprisingly insightful and ingenious for her age. But he couldn't take the chance of DCF finding any reason to take Gosalyn away. He just wouldn't let that happen.

As Drake was helping Gosalyn with her math homework as well as keeping an eye on the spaghetti on the stove, the doorbell rang.

"Launchpad, could you get that?" he called, knowing his friend was in the living room reading that book, Pinocchio, that they had picked up at the crime scene last week. Concentrating on his daughter and dinner, Drake almost missed hearing Launchpad call from the front door.

"Hey, Drake. You might want to come here." His tone sounded shaky, which could mean anything from a solicitor to the girl scouts knocking on their door.

Drake turned off the burner on the stove before following after his friend. "What is it, Launch…pad?" Drake paused in mid-sentence as he saw Ms. Loveatte standing on his stoop with a pair of policemen behind her. "What's going on?"

Charity held out a document. "Mr. Mallard, this is a court order saying that I must take Gosalyn Mallard into DCF custody," she said, her mouth tight.

"WHAT?" Drake shouting, ripping the paper out of her hands. He tried to read it, but his eyes moved too frantically at first. He took a few breaths before taking in the words.

"But why?" Launchpad asked.

"Mr. Mallard, please ask your daughter to come outside," Charity requested.

"No, you can't take her," Drake insisted. "I'm doing everything you told me to do. I didn't send all the paperwork, but I can show you." Drake had never felt so desperate.

"I'm afraid that new information has been brought to DCF's attention and has found that this household is unfit to raise a child." Her voice sounded bitter. "If you aren't willing to bring Gosalyn out, then I'll have to ask you to stand aside so that the officers can retrieve her."

"I'm here."

Drake turned. Of course, Gosalyn followed him. She must have been listening the whole time.

"Gosalyn." Charity's voice turned softer. "I'm sorry, but you have to come with me."

"For how long?" Her voice was so small and scared.

"I don't know. That is for the courts to decide," Charity said. She held out her hand.

"You said you wouldn't take me away from my dad," Gosalyn said, her soft voice turning accusatory.

"I know, and I'm sorry. The law says I have to take you," Charity said.

"Can I say goodbye first?" Gosalyn asked.

Drake saw it in the lovebird's face that she wasn't supposed to allow this. He recalled when studying law in college that children seized from an abusive home are to have no contact with the parents. Before Charity could say anything, Drake pulled Gosalyn into a tight hug.

"I'm going to get you back," he whispered fiercely.

"I'll be brave," Gosalyn whispered.

Drake felt a drop of moisture as Gosalyn kissed his cheek. He watched as she threw her arms around Launchpad's neck and kissed him as well. Then she took Charity's hand and allowed herself to be led away.

"Can we pack her a bag of clothes and some of her things?" Launchpad asked.

When one of the police officers nodded, Drake moved to go back inside.

"I'll do it DW—I mean, Drake," Launchpad said, fudging over his nickname, which showed just how shaken up the pilot was.

"Don't forget her homework," Drake said, his eyes not leaving his daughter. "It's on the kitchen table."

Drake was only vaguely aware of things around him: the officers shifting in place, neighbors rubber-necking from the sidewalk, the Muddlefoots calling from their side of the fence, then Launchpad coming back out. The officers he vaguely recognized from the 27th precinct. As Darkwing Duck, he tried to get to know as many officers and detectives on the force as he could, which made collaborating with the police much easier. But the two that were standing in front of his house were almost strangers to him.

Charity put Gosalyn in the back of a compact sedan before returning with some papers. "Mr. Drake, you might want to read through these carefully. They are copies of all the legal documents as well as an explanation of the due process of DCF. A court date will be scheduled within seventy-two hours when this case will be brought before a judge. I suggest you get a lawyer."

Drake looked up into Charity's face, glaring. He had thought she was a caring person, an understanding social worker with how she had helped him and Gosalyn out before, but was that all a lie? Had she just been biding her time before taking Gosalyn?

He knew he was finding anyone to blame, but losing his daughter made him desperate, angry and irrational. He was a good father. What was happening was wrong.

And there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing Darkwing Duck could do.

He took the papers but didn't look at them.

At that time, Launchpad handed over Gosalyn's school bag and a suitcase. "Could you give her this bear? It's been my favorite since I was a kid. And this photo?"
Charity took the bags and gently accepted the sentimental tokens, her stern face slipping to sorrow. "Of course I will. I also want you to know that the Department of Children and Family will be investigating this case in depth. I will personally scrutinize each detail and get to the truth of things. You have my word."

With her arms filled, she marched to her car.

Through his grief, Drake couldn't help but wonder about her words. They were odd. The detective in him wondered if they were a threat or a promise to help him. But in his grief, he wasn't that concerned about which.

As Charity drove off with Gosalyn, Drake raced to the sidewalk. Gosalyn watched him from the rear window, her messy red hair framing her face and her arm waving one last goodbye.

"Wh-what do we do, DW?" Launchpad asked, putting an arm on Drake. "What's going to happen to Gosalyn?"

"I'll tell you what we're going to do," Drake said, putting his game-face on. "We're going to get her back." But the truth was he knew little about the laws regarding child abuse and DCF. But ignorance never stopped him before. "We have a lot of research to do, LP."