Dangerous Games: The Second Move
by Tinselcat
Rated: PG-13 for a little violence
Summary: DW investigates
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack is a creation and property of myself.
Note: okay, so originally this fic was just going to be a mystery with a nice chunk of self-reflection for DW, but I decided to combine this one with a slash fic I was planning on doing, about Bushroot and Steelbeak. Granted, this fic is going to be longer and more complicated than I originally planned for, but let's just say the plot is that much thicker. So, anyway, here's the forewarning for some slash which will be coming into the story.
***************** ******************
Drake shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen, his morning auto-pilot bringing him straight to the coffeemaker. The back of his mind warned him that this was Launchpad's coffee, and should be labeled toxic and hazerdous to your health, but his brain was still asleep.
"hey dad!" gosalyn's voice came from the living room.
"gnnmm." he grumbled, pouring the thick sludge at the bottom of the pot into a mug.
"dad! C'mere! Quick!"
he took a sip of the coffee, and promptly fell over.
"daddadadadadaaaaad!! Look at what's on the news!"
dusting himself off, he stood up and stepped cautiously away from the dark brown puddle that was industriously eating a hole in his kitchen floor. "I know what's on the news, gos. 'Darkwing Duck saves the day once again", I was at that gang fight last night, or don't you recall staying up until I got home against my expressed wishes?"
"this is something else dad. There was a big explosion at the University of St. Canard"
curious, Drake padded into the living room and looked at the tv while gosalyn turned up the volume.
". . . explosion at 12:47 last night," came the voice of the morning newscaster, "here's the footage taken from the scene," the picture on the screen changed from the reporter to a smoking building, surrounded by sirens and flashing lights. The side of the Life Sciences building was completely blown away, revealing innards of torn wiring, scorched tables and broken glass glittering like confetti.
The reporter whom the camera was following wound her way through the various vehicles, avoiding the wary cops who were guarding the perimeter. "so far there have been reports of only three injuries, no deaths, though firemen are still sweeping the scene." The reporter hurried up to the open back of an ambulance where a figure sat, huddled in a blanket. "miss! Miss, were you at the site of the explosion? What can you tell us?" the reporter thrust a microphone toward the beak of the trembling duck woman. The medical technician tried to wave her away, but was distracted by the gashes on the victim's face.
"w-what?" the woman raised her head.
"oh god. . ." whispered Drake, recognizing her, "that's Dr. Quack. . ."
"what can you tell us about the explosion?"
the scientist blinked uncomprehendingly, still in an obvious state of shock, "I. . . I. . ."
"how close to the scene were you?"
"uh. . ."
"can you tell us exactly what happened?"
"s-someone blew up my lab. . ." were her only words before a policeman ushered the reporter away.
"reporting live from the University of St. Canard, this is-"
Drake took the remote and muted the tv.
"isn't that that lady who made the time machine?" asked gosalyn, munching on her toast.
"yes, it is. She was kind of a nutcase." He sat down beside his daughter.
"what do you think happened?"
he stood back up, striking a pose, "Darkwing Duck is about to find that out!"
"can I come?"
"no."
****************
Darkwing sped down the street on his Ratcatcher, feeling exposed and a bit vulnerable in the daylight. He much preferred racing about at night, when shadows could hide his movements, to running about where anyone might see him. ignoring his misgivings, he pulled up beside the site of the explosion, exchanged his helmet for his fedora and ducked under the yellow 'crime scene' tape. He marched up to the nearest police man, who towered over his diminutive frame, and, with some difficulty and jumping up-and- down, tapped him on the shoulder.
"eh?"
"who is the officer in charge of this case?"
"oh, Darkwing Duck, huh?" the cop drew himself up, creating a veritable wall in front of the intrepid hero, "I'm afraid dis is police business. civilians aren't allowed on the scene. I'm gonna have to ask you ta leave." He pointed, with a log-like arm, to the perimeter.
"I think not! would you dare detain the daring doer of dashing deeds?"
"nope, but I don't have any problem with kicking a puny cop-wannabe in the tail!"
"I'll have you know that I-" he didn't have a chance to finish as he was plucked up easily by the scruff of the neck. He waved his arms wildly, "put me down, you stupid oaf! Don't you realize who I am? I'm-"
"Darkwing Duck! Jeezus, took you long enough to get here." an German shepherd, who Darkwing supposed was the head investigator, in a long trenchcoat trotted forward, "you can put him down, Mac,"
"The chief isn't gonna like this. . ." growled Mac.
"I don't give a damn what the chief likes. He can kiss my furry tail, put the damn duck down."
Mac grumbled and dropped Darkwing on the ground.
Darkwing drew himself up and brushed the dirt off his uniform, "hmph, is this how you treat preservers of the law around here?"
"I'm a preserver of the law, you're lucky the chief isn't here to chew you out for investigating the scene. Technically, you are a civilian."
Darkwing muttered to himself, but didn't contradict the detective.
"anyway, I'm Detective Rollins, heading the case. I figured you'd be here sooner or later. To tell you the truth, I think we'll need your help with this one, whatever the chief may think. The guy's got a stick so far up his ass, it's lodged in his esophagus." Grumbled Rollins, leading Darkwing over to the shattered building, where several uniforms with tweezers and plastic bags were bagging evidence. Darkwing felt a twang of sympathy for the injured scientist as he saw an officer bagging the twisted remnants of her wire-framed glasses.
Darkwing turned back to Rollins, "I don't recall seeing you in St. Canard before."
"just transferred here from Duckburg," He grunted "didn't take long for me to find out about your reputation."
"ah, I suppose my fans have once more been gushing over my daring deeds and dashing good-looks, as well as my superior intellect and arrest record. . ."
"most people seem to be under the impression that you're a first-class nutcase."
"what?!"
"in fact, Dr. Grant, the criminal psychologist at the precinct, thinks you ought to go in for some serious counseling."
"damned back-stabbers. After everything I do for *them*!" grumbled Darkwing. He nearly plowed into Rollins when the detective abruptly stopped.
"here's the origin of the explosion. We're standing in what used to be a supply closet."
Darkwing nodded and surveyed the circumference of the damage from where he stood. "limited range of damage, I'd say."
Rollins nodded, "yeah, but pretty destructive in and of itself. I recognized the remnants of the bomb. It was on a timer. It was also specially designed to do the maximum amount of damage in the minimum of space. In this case, the target space was Ms. Quack's laboratory," he indicated with his finger, "the adjacent office of the biology professor, the classroom on the other side of this wall, and the hallway right outside the room."
Darkwing nudged a melted computer processor with his foot, "looks like they were trying to destroy something in the lab."
"or someone."
Darkwing sharply looked up at the detective, "you think this was a murder attempt."
"hard to say," said Rollins, continuing to lead Darkwing through the wreckage, "at that time of night, the building was nearly empty."
"have you got the report of the people in the building at that time?"
"yeah. One late-night janitor, a student and Dr. Quack."
"I assume you're suspecting that the doctor was the target."
"it seems so."
"have you interviewed her yet?"
"yeah, and she hasn't exactly been forthcoming."
"how so?"
"well, she says she can't think of anyone who would have reason to harm her, and that she was in the lab late that night working on a project commissioned by St. Canard Power, something having to do with renewable energy sources."
"why would someone want to halt a project having to do with renewable energy?" Darkwing asked to himself, squinting at the sky in thought.
"beats me. I get the feeling that little miss victim is hiding something. . ."
Darkwing sighed. He had a feeling that this case was going to be a hard one. . .
*************************
Bushroot puttered contentedly among his plants, Spike constantly at his heels. He watered his beloved plants tenderly, murmuring to them occasionally. On a whim, he switched on the sun-lamps. The weather had been rather wet and cloudy lately, and sun exposure had been limited. The botanist sensed that his babies were missing the light. He hummed a bit and patted spike on the head, surveying his work. All input told him that his plants were content for now. he gave a small nod. His eye gravitated toward a newspaper clipping he'd tacked to a wall. The headline read "Steelbeak Acquitted for Involvement in Smuggling Case". It featured a picture of the suave rooster smiling at the camera, giving it a saucy wink.
*MY suave rooster. . .* thought Bushroot. He smiled. He hadn't seen Steelbeak in a few weeks, as he'd been out of town, Bushroot tactfully neglecting to ask him what business he was attending to. Now that his trial, which had been clean and short, lacking in any significant evidence, was over, Bushroot was looking forward to spending some quality time with the agent. Was it really only a month since that incident involving that explosion at the chemistry lab and Steelbeak's embarrassed plead for aid from the botanist? It felt like longer. . . Bushroot relished in the tingling feeling of anticipation, never knowing when Steelbeak might show up in his jazzy car and demand a snog-and-cuddle.
Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking filled the air. Bushroot ducked down as the jagged shards flew past his head. Several men in black fatigues jumped through the shattered windows. Wordlessly, Bushroot made a hand motion, and green vines, like so many snakes, wound their way over to the intruders, snagging arm and leg alike. Several of the strangers pulled out spray cans and let loose on the vines, which withered under the assault.
"w-who are you?" Bushroot tried, in vain, to keep his voice from trembling.
Before he could do anything else, he was grabbed by the arms, and a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. He went limp.
"are you sure this is the one?" asked one of the faceless figures.
"how many green plant-duck hybrids do you see wandering around the city? Of course it's him, moron!"
"that was almost too easy." Grunted another, standing over the struggling, netted form of spike.
"come one, let's get him back to the boss, and get our money."
With their prone charge, the group left the broken greenhouse and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
************
there! Dr. Quack isn't dead, so the Lauderdale can't kill me. (er. . . please don't kill me. . .) you know, getting my ass kicked has an adverse affect on my ability to write. So there! *runs away screaming*
by Tinselcat
Rated: PG-13 for a little violence
Summary: DW investigates
Disclaimer: St. Canard, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, Launchpad, Steelbeak, Bushroot, Spike and Negaduck are all property and creations of Disney and are used without permission. Dr. Kamo Quack is a creation and property of myself.
Note: okay, so originally this fic was just going to be a mystery with a nice chunk of self-reflection for DW, but I decided to combine this one with a slash fic I was planning on doing, about Bushroot and Steelbeak. Granted, this fic is going to be longer and more complicated than I originally planned for, but let's just say the plot is that much thicker. So, anyway, here's the forewarning for some slash which will be coming into the story.
***************** ******************
Drake shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen, his morning auto-pilot bringing him straight to the coffeemaker. The back of his mind warned him that this was Launchpad's coffee, and should be labeled toxic and hazerdous to your health, but his brain was still asleep.
"hey dad!" gosalyn's voice came from the living room.
"gnnmm." he grumbled, pouring the thick sludge at the bottom of the pot into a mug.
"dad! C'mere! Quick!"
he took a sip of the coffee, and promptly fell over.
"daddadadadadaaaaad!! Look at what's on the news!"
dusting himself off, he stood up and stepped cautiously away from the dark brown puddle that was industriously eating a hole in his kitchen floor. "I know what's on the news, gos. 'Darkwing Duck saves the day once again", I was at that gang fight last night, or don't you recall staying up until I got home against my expressed wishes?"
"this is something else dad. There was a big explosion at the University of St. Canard"
curious, Drake padded into the living room and looked at the tv while gosalyn turned up the volume.
". . . explosion at 12:47 last night," came the voice of the morning newscaster, "here's the footage taken from the scene," the picture on the screen changed from the reporter to a smoking building, surrounded by sirens and flashing lights. The side of the Life Sciences building was completely blown away, revealing innards of torn wiring, scorched tables and broken glass glittering like confetti.
The reporter whom the camera was following wound her way through the various vehicles, avoiding the wary cops who were guarding the perimeter. "so far there have been reports of only three injuries, no deaths, though firemen are still sweeping the scene." The reporter hurried up to the open back of an ambulance where a figure sat, huddled in a blanket. "miss! Miss, were you at the site of the explosion? What can you tell us?" the reporter thrust a microphone toward the beak of the trembling duck woman. The medical technician tried to wave her away, but was distracted by the gashes on the victim's face.
"w-what?" the woman raised her head.
"oh god. . ." whispered Drake, recognizing her, "that's Dr. Quack. . ."
"what can you tell us about the explosion?"
the scientist blinked uncomprehendingly, still in an obvious state of shock, "I. . . I. . ."
"how close to the scene were you?"
"uh. . ."
"can you tell us exactly what happened?"
"s-someone blew up my lab. . ." were her only words before a policeman ushered the reporter away.
"reporting live from the University of St. Canard, this is-"
Drake took the remote and muted the tv.
"isn't that that lady who made the time machine?" asked gosalyn, munching on her toast.
"yes, it is. She was kind of a nutcase." He sat down beside his daughter.
"what do you think happened?"
he stood back up, striking a pose, "Darkwing Duck is about to find that out!"
"can I come?"
"no."
****************
Darkwing sped down the street on his Ratcatcher, feeling exposed and a bit vulnerable in the daylight. He much preferred racing about at night, when shadows could hide his movements, to running about where anyone might see him. ignoring his misgivings, he pulled up beside the site of the explosion, exchanged his helmet for his fedora and ducked under the yellow 'crime scene' tape. He marched up to the nearest police man, who towered over his diminutive frame, and, with some difficulty and jumping up-and- down, tapped him on the shoulder.
"eh?"
"who is the officer in charge of this case?"
"oh, Darkwing Duck, huh?" the cop drew himself up, creating a veritable wall in front of the intrepid hero, "I'm afraid dis is police business. civilians aren't allowed on the scene. I'm gonna have to ask you ta leave." He pointed, with a log-like arm, to the perimeter.
"I think not! would you dare detain the daring doer of dashing deeds?"
"nope, but I don't have any problem with kicking a puny cop-wannabe in the tail!"
"I'll have you know that I-" he didn't have a chance to finish as he was plucked up easily by the scruff of the neck. He waved his arms wildly, "put me down, you stupid oaf! Don't you realize who I am? I'm-"
"Darkwing Duck! Jeezus, took you long enough to get here." an German shepherd, who Darkwing supposed was the head investigator, in a long trenchcoat trotted forward, "you can put him down, Mac,"
"The chief isn't gonna like this. . ." growled Mac.
"I don't give a damn what the chief likes. He can kiss my furry tail, put the damn duck down."
Mac grumbled and dropped Darkwing on the ground.
Darkwing drew himself up and brushed the dirt off his uniform, "hmph, is this how you treat preservers of the law around here?"
"I'm a preserver of the law, you're lucky the chief isn't here to chew you out for investigating the scene. Technically, you are a civilian."
Darkwing muttered to himself, but didn't contradict the detective.
"anyway, I'm Detective Rollins, heading the case. I figured you'd be here sooner or later. To tell you the truth, I think we'll need your help with this one, whatever the chief may think. The guy's got a stick so far up his ass, it's lodged in his esophagus." Grumbled Rollins, leading Darkwing over to the shattered building, where several uniforms with tweezers and plastic bags were bagging evidence. Darkwing felt a twang of sympathy for the injured scientist as he saw an officer bagging the twisted remnants of her wire-framed glasses.
Darkwing turned back to Rollins, "I don't recall seeing you in St. Canard before."
"just transferred here from Duckburg," He grunted "didn't take long for me to find out about your reputation."
"ah, I suppose my fans have once more been gushing over my daring deeds and dashing good-looks, as well as my superior intellect and arrest record. . ."
"most people seem to be under the impression that you're a first-class nutcase."
"what?!"
"in fact, Dr. Grant, the criminal psychologist at the precinct, thinks you ought to go in for some serious counseling."
"damned back-stabbers. After everything I do for *them*!" grumbled Darkwing. He nearly plowed into Rollins when the detective abruptly stopped.
"here's the origin of the explosion. We're standing in what used to be a supply closet."
Darkwing nodded and surveyed the circumference of the damage from where he stood. "limited range of damage, I'd say."
Rollins nodded, "yeah, but pretty destructive in and of itself. I recognized the remnants of the bomb. It was on a timer. It was also specially designed to do the maximum amount of damage in the minimum of space. In this case, the target space was Ms. Quack's laboratory," he indicated with his finger, "the adjacent office of the biology professor, the classroom on the other side of this wall, and the hallway right outside the room."
Darkwing nudged a melted computer processor with his foot, "looks like they were trying to destroy something in the lab."
"or someone."
Darkwing sharply looked up at the detective, "you think this was a murder attempt."
"hard to say," said Rollins, continuing to lead Darkwing through the wreckage, "at that time of night, the building was nearly empty."
"have you got the report of the people in the building at that time?"
"yeah. One late-night janitor, a student and Dr. Quack."
"I assume you're suspecting that the doctor was the target."
"it seems so."
"have you interviewed her yet?"
"yeah, and she hasn't exactly been forthcoming."
"how so?"
"well, she says she can't think of anyone who would have reason to harm her, and that she was in the lab late that night working on a project commissioned by St. Canard Power, something having to do with renewable energy sources."
"why would someone want to halt a project having to do with renewable energy?" Darkwing asked to himself, squinting at the sky in thought.
"beats me. I get the feeling that little miss victim is hiding something. . ."
Darkwing sighed. He had a feeling that this case was going to be a hard one. . .
*************************
Bushroot puttered contentedly among his plants, Spike constantly at his heels. He watered his beloved plants tenderly, murmuring to them occasionally. On a whim, he switched on the sun-lamps. The weather had been rather wet and cloudy lately, and sun exposure had been limited. The botanist sensed that his babies were missing the light. He hummed a bit and patted spike on the head, surveying his work. All input told him that his plants were content for now. he gave a small nod. His eye gravitated toward a newspaper clipping he'd tacked to a wall. The headline read "Steelbeak Acquitted for Involvement in Smuggling Case". It featured a picture of the suave rooster smiling at the camera, giving it a saucy wink.
*MY suave rooster. . .* thought Bushroot. He smiled. He hadn't seen Steelbeak in a few weeks, as he'd been out of town, Bushroot tactfully neglecting to ask him what business he was attending to. Now that his trial, which had been clean and short, lacking in any significant evidence, was over, Bushroot was looking forward to spending some quality time with the agent. Was it really only a month since that incident involving that explosion at the chemistry lab and Steelbeak's embarrassed plead for aid from the botanist? It felt like longer. . . Bushroot relished in the tingling feeling of anticipation, never knowing when Steelbeak might show up in his jazzy car and demand a snog-and-cuddle.
Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking filled the air. Bushroot ducked down as the jagged shards flew past his head. Several men in black fatigues jumped through the shattered windows. Wordlessly, Bushroot made a hand motion, and green vines, like so many snakes, wound their way over to the intruders, snagging arm and leg alike. Several of the strangers pulled out spray cans and let loose on the vines, which withered under the assault.
"w-who are you?" Bushroot tried, in vain, to keep his voice from trembling.
Before he could do anything else, he was grabbed by the arms, and a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. He went limp.
"are you sure this is the one?" asked one of the faceless figures.
"how many green plant-duck hybrids do you see wandering around the city? Of course it's him, moron!"
"that was almost too easy." Grunted another, standing over the struggling, netted form of spike.
"come one, let's get him back to the boss, and get our money."
With their prone charge, the group left the broken greenhouse and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
************
there! Dr. Quack isn't dead, so the Lauderdale can't kill me. (er. . . please don't kill me. . .) you know, getting my ass kicked has an adverse affect on my ability to write. So there! *runs away screaming*