Chapter 6
Dark Confessions and the World of the Heart
I sense there's something in the wind That feels like tragedy's at hand And though I'd like to stand by him Can't shake this feeling that I have The worst is just around the bend
And does he notice my feelings for him? And will he see how much he means to me? I think it's not to be
What will become of my dear friend? Where will his actions lead us then? Although I'd like to join the crowd In their enthusiastic cloud Try as I may, it doesn't last
And will we ever end up together? no, I think not, it's never to become For I am not the one
* * * Suddenly, the idea of a cup of coffee wasn't so bad to the maligned rooster. He didn't follow the conversation too well and with his hands shaking he took his first drink. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since his spat with his wife and the warm drunk down his throat was a relief. His mind was still focused on killing himself off, but the edge was beginning to die away.
"I's got no were ta go now..." Steelbeak whispered. He was beginning to tear up again, but
didn't want Megavolt to see his emotions in fear of further humiliating himself. "I tried ta get back into FOWL, no use. I keep messin' ev'ryt'ing up. Just like my parents always said..dey never wanted me, I wish dey'd never had me. Victoria and I got in a fight earlier and... I slapped 'er. You see, I am a 'orrible person. Negaduck should've shot me when he 'ad de opportunity."
Megavolt sighed. He felt numb, but the desperation in Steelbeak's voice obliged a response. "Then you wait for Negaduck to shoot you," said Megavolt simply. "Seems to me when you challenged him for the leadership of the Five and attacked his kid you made a promise that he'd be the one to kill you. You put your life in *his* hands, man. It's not yours to take any more."
Quackerjack froze as soft talking made its way down to him, echoing off the stairwell and into his mind. He had no right to come up, what the hell was he doing?! Quackerjack slammed his head against the wall viciously, white hot pain exploding into his brain and clearing his
mind miraculously. But he had no false illusions about that particular technique-each use made him more insane, snapping his brain even further with the strain, similar to hitting a TV to get
better reception but breaking it more each time. He stood, crying, out of instinct, and wishing he had a mother's arms to run to. He was hurt, but he owed it to Megavolt to leave the rodent alone.he turned to step back down and leave, as he originally intended, but stopped again. He couldn't go, either. He had to just.stay right here. Quackerjack didn't question the motive, born of insanity and desperation, and so did just that. He. Just. Stood. Didn't even try not to eavesdrop.
Megavolt turned to face Steelbeak, his mismatching eyes looking at the rooster steadily. "How much do you think it hurt your wife when you hit her, Steelbeak? A minute or so of real physical pain? Maybe she'll have a day or two while her cheek is a little sore. And there's the shock she feels from you losing control, lashing out at her. I'm not gonna lie to you, that's real hurting. So you wanna give her a lifetime of pain? You want her to wake up every day with you not there, not because you were gunned down at forty-five or had a heart attack at 60, but because one cold evening you threw yourself off a bridge after hitting her? Wanna give her decades of blaming herself for *your* suicide?"
Quackerjack couldn't help it, he crept up two more stairs, straining to hear, he had to, damnit, had to. owed Megavolt.something in his friend's voice spoke frighteningly of experience, and he had to be there, he was a friend himself, hard enough to believe. A poor, pathetic friend, but a friend all the same. He needed to remember this. How could Megavolt know that the suicide's friends would feel the pain, after all? It was a morbid curiosity that whipped him,
goaded him further up, stopping at step twenty, still out of sight, the invisible devil perched on his left shoulder nodding at him, for once the smaller angel sitting on the other agreeing fully. He sat on the step shakily, to listen, to hear Elmo out.
"What about your kid? Little girl, some weird name that I can't remember. Thought about how she's gonna feel without her dad? How lonely she's gonna be? How she'll blame herself too? Because she will, ya know. Kids are even dumber than spouses. They'll blame themselves for the stupidest..." Megavolt turned away abruptly, unable to go on for a moment.
The silence that renewed for the moment sounded like a graveyard's still. Quackerjack felt the tears drying on his face, then reached up to his head, pulled the harlequin hat off for the first time in public since he was thirteen. He ran a hand though fiery red hair, balled up in a scruffyponytail under the hat, pulled it back against his neck, combed it with his fingers, and listened, waiting silently. He felt strangely hopeful. like Megavolt would describe the story of a friend of a friend who had committed suicide, nothing that would hurt Elmo directly.. But he knew deep inside that that was not the case, even as he dropped the hat with a noisy jangle to the bottom of the stairwell. He felt it was mostly the figurative sense-if he was to listen in on Megavolt's story, he had to do so without hiding behind the mask. The one thing he'd been depending on hiding behind for the better part of his life.
"You know, my dad died when I was twelve years old," he said in a quiet voice, looking away from Steelbeak. "And he wasn't a villain or a hero or a criminal or anything. He was just a guy, just a regular guy. And he didn't get stabbed by a burglar, and he didn't get poisoned by some corporate shark, and he didn't get beaten to death by the police. He shot himself. In the head. I was the one who found the body."
Quackerjack sucked in breath sharply, closing his eyes inadvertently against the bloody, 3-D images that swarmed up and threatened to engulf his mind. He cursed his vivid imagination, playing the scene over and over for him, and couldn't shake the picture. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes so hard that the afterimage stayed for a minute, then pushed his trembling palms against the wall, trying to regain control. He thought of Dimitri shooting himself, instead of
him doing it. It would have made a hardened criminal cheer. After all, Dimitri was a bastard, an abusive father, one of the reasons for Quackerjack's decline into insanity. But he'd still been a father, the only one Jack had. A father who was not killed by his own hand, or by some stranger. shot by his own son. Shot after hitting the child who lived in his house but was not his daughter. Somehow, Quackerjack knew it would have been so many times worse if Dimitri
had taken the gun and done the job himself. At least since he had shot his father, Quackerjack could know; knew with certainty that it was he who had done it, and wasn't doubting himself. He rocked back and forth for a few seconds, whimpering like an animal, just sharing in the raw pain that Megavolt had kept from him for so many years, and not because he was some paranoid miser with the knowledge, but because Quackerjack, proverbial friend-of-he-who-needs-no-other-enemies, had never bothered to ask. It stung like a slap, and he finally knew that it was him. It was all his fault. He was the bastard, not Dimitri.
"He'd been fighting depression for years. Some days were up, some days were down. He couldn't hold on to a job. Some days he couldn't even get out of bed. And he hated himself. He felt like his life was worthless, and like all he was good for was making his wife and son miserable. Sometimes when he thought I was asleep at night, he'd come in my room and sit on the edge of my bed and just cry. And he was right, I was miserable. But I loved him. And all I wanted was for him to be happy."
"Oh, my god." Quackerjack whispered, freezing in mid-whimper. The words. `all I wanted was for him to be happy' .that was almost a mirror of what Quackerjack had wanted for his sister, before she was hit, hit so hard that she fell. and Quackerjack, ten year old boy with red hair and eyes that would never genuinely sparkle again. well, he felt that loss like a sucker- punch to the face, like a wake-up jab. He wanted nobody else to share in that pain. He now knew-this was the secret Megavolt had that made Quackerjack instinctively move away. This was what he sensed in the other, like some storm cloud on the horizon. He hung his head in shame. Where was he when Megavolt was hurting from this? He figured it was about the time he was running his little gang in the rundown part of St. Canard. Shooting other people's parents. God, he was such a bastard. He thought again, screwing his eyes closed and yanking at his hair, trying to stay focused.
"He went on this new drug, and for a while it looked like he was getting better. And then I came home from school and I heard the gunshot, just as I came in the door. And I went in my parents' bathroom, and there was blood all over. That drug gave him just enough life, just enough energy to kill himself. You know, he could have pushed me down the stairs, or told me he hated me, or given me a black eye every day, and it wouldn't have hurt as much as that moment when I saw my dad and he was dead and he had killed himself. And it never stopped hurting either, and I never stopped blaming myself. I always felt like if I'd gotten there a minute earlier, if I'd listened to him more." Megavolt laughed miserably. "If I'd gotten better GRADES. If I'd never been BORN."
Quackerjack's heart dropped in pain, felt like it had been ripped out and hastily stuffed back in. He kept asking himself, with dogged persistence, just where the hell he had been when Megavolt was all alone, crying, probably, from this,when Celeste was shivering in a gutter in the rain, and when Steelbeak was growing up fatherless. "Where was I then?Where,where.?" he asked in a wavering, singsong voice, insanity looming. Oh, yeah. This was probably when his uncle had died. The only death besides his sister's that he had really felt, felt deep inside. now
that was irony. The pain inside.Like his soul was crumbling, bleeding, crying tears of misery, mingled with the blood. He felt the same way now. Wanted to reach out for Elmo, take him in a hug, just keep him away from the world that had only given them both pain, shield the sometimes frail and helpless psyche of Megavolt's with his own, a rampart that now stood only barely, would crumble at the slightest hesitation.Wanted to protect Celeste from the bullies that had tormented her everyday of her childhood. He wanted to do something, anything. even felt like trying to defend Steelbeak, even though Quackerjack hated him at the moment.Nobody deserved to grow up without a father. Yet all four of them, at some point in their lives, had done just that.He hated feeling helpless. He had taken the gun when he was ten, felt it press into his small hand, fired the shot and felt the recoil, and felt control. Glorious, deity-like control. He had been in power of the situation. But here.here: he was helpless, he could do nothing, just listen as Megavolt poured out his heart to Steelbeak, and no, it should be me, should be ME there listening, hugging, trying to help, but I'm here, I threw a cup, nearly threw it at him, why?! For what gain?!
Help me, I'm gone inside, missing something I need in there, and I want to help him before he loses it too, that's not too bad, is it, is it? I wanna do good now! Scrooge got his chance, Pinnochio got his, I want mine! Make the insanity leave, ten minutes, max., just enough for me to help, to offer coherent empathy! If I never get another wish, gimmie this and I forgive you everything! My sister, mom, dad, Uncle Richard, my failures. EVERYTHING, just gimmie this, gimmie, gimmie, I don't want anything else, please, anything but Celeste, just don't take her away. But I'll give anything else, money, blood, charity, jail time, community service, anything.. He pleaded, prayed, looking up with forlorn eyes at the ceiling, wishing with all his heart. If hoping could make it true, someone would listen.
Why aren't you helping me, Uncle Richard, why aren't you helping me, he's my goddamned friend!! You were there when the Jack Gang shot you, be there now, help me!! The words were bubbling up in a long strand in his mind, screaming louder and louder, joining with the other voices, the ones that already lived in his mind, echoing like a cathedral full of screaming
children, and he couldn't take it. He grabbed his head, pulled his hair, bit his tongue and felt salty, warm blood in his mouth, but through it all kept absolutely silent, wanted to hear the end of this storytale out of hell, and all for love of his friend. He wouldn't fail again, he'd listen, damnit, he'd listen to make up for all those times he'd turned away.
"I absorbed myself in my schoolwork. I barely even talked to other kids. I got first place in every single science fair but one, in tenth grade, and then I got so upset I got a knife and sliced up my arm. I just wanted to hurt myself, punish myself for not meeting my standards, but my mom was certain I was trying to kill myself. She screamed at me for an hour and told me that I was a selfish little S.O.B. and what did I think I was doing, growing up to throw my life away like my dad did? and then she hugged me and cried until two o'clock in the morning."
It was here he started feeling jealousy, rising, despite himself. Where was his mother? Witness to dear old dad's murder, had to pull the trigger on the bitch. That was his reasoning before, ten year old killer, cold as a snake. He thought, then, of the two bullets in his parents, two more left. One for his sister's body, to reinforce his story that his father had shot them and then killed himself, and the other one was for him. But he'd held back, keeping the two bullets
left for two main reasons. One. he couldn't bear to shoot his sister, couldn't, was so pain-wracked by the loss, but she looked so much still like she was just sleeping. The ten year old had never noticed she was breathing still, her chest was rising and falling softly. The reason he hadn't shot himself? He didn't want the way out, it was too hard to kill himself. Took too much courage for him, and the gun was suddenly too heavy in his little hand. It was easier to stay in the known, the now, make hell for everyone else. Strip them of their parents, their kids, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts. He wanted to make his own little holocaust in St. Canard, and the gang was the result. For some reason, it was easier to live with the pain if he multiplied it tenfold for everyone else. Now it burned his face with shame. There were some things of his past he'd held dear, even from Celeste. How could he tell her, girl without a family, that it was
him who desired it? He desired to see the screaming, pain-filled little brats as their parents fell and died in their own fluids. it made him feel sick now, and the coffee threatened to come up. He clutched his stomach, sweat dripping from his bill to the floor, and felt so ill.but he still could hear the conversation. There was no mercy from Megavolt, who didn't even know he was causing the pain. Cutting himself. he'd tried that, too. So many times more than Elmo, simply because nobody stopped him. But he gave up the habit when a neighbor had called the local asylum on him. He couldn't even hurt himself anymore; even that was stolen from him.
"So you know what?" Megavolt looked at Steelbeak again. "You feel bad now? Feel like a first-prize shmuck? You should feel what your daughter's gonna feel when she grows up to realize what her daddy did, the night he killed himself. You should feel what her mommy's
gonna feel like, when not only is she left alone and coping with the kid on her own, but when she hurts herself because she's thinking, "God, if only I stopped him before he headed out the door. If I only told him I forgave him. If we'd only talked about it like grown-ups and done something to get him help." And every "if" is like another punch in the gut, is worse than any slap could ever feel. You think about how that will feel, Steelbeak. Think about it real hard."
"I think I will, too." The words would have been real dramatic, really like a scene from a movie, if Quackerjack's voice wasn't so subdued, if his face wasn't so pale and sickly, if he'd stood tall
instead of collapsing to his knees, half from weakness, half from desperation. Words in his mind threatened to burst from his mouth, so many apologies, when none of them could come close to how he felt. Killing himself felt like a far-off dream, and he wanted to just run to Mommy, to make it end. A dream that was only that. He would never hold his mother again, unless he dug up the grave and embraced her remains. That was a sick joke.
Megavolt froze. Slowly he turned to see Quackerjack on the steps just below.
"Megavolt." he whispered, crying again. Damn, he was always crying, and suddenly he was trembling, too, and how weak this all looked, and how terribly unfunny. His mind snapped even further, get the joke, his mind pleaded, like a life-raft for a drowning man, and hoarse,
bitter laughter rang, harsh in the quiet; unbelievable emotion for what he had just heard. He would probably laugh at his own funeral if he was able to."I get it.ha, hah, HAH! I get it!" he trilled, eyes wide and bill curved into a twisted smile, but the joy was evident absolutely
nowhere in the haggard, tired, and lined face. He wasn't fooling anyone. "I get it, you. your dad, he died, he killed himself: life's a joke! He just got the punch-line early!" Quackerjack's laugher was insane and bitter, last refuge of a madman to make light of a situation
where humor had no place.
At first Megavolt just stared at the jester. He was too tired to register anything at the jester's words, other than a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling of nausea. The laughter was what made him feel again, made him confused--
~Why is he laughing?~
It was Quackerjack's laughter: deranged, unhinged, but taken a pitch beyond agony. And Megavolt knew what he was doing, as surely as he knew his own mania: laughing at the shadow threatening to consume you, at the crack in the rubber-insulated nether coils, at the unknown enemy threatening your barracked reservation, the private corner of your identity. Just laugh hard enough and it'll go away. A cackle a day keeps the doctor away. Heh. The man in the white white coat. It should be a motto on a T-shirt for crazy villains. All the mad, villainous laughter you could spew out--and it wasn't a weapon but a shield, and if that got knocked away then what defenses did you have left? What defenses that mattered?
"Hit me!" he pleaded suddenly, still giggling softly, "Stop me, this is SICK, I'm, hah, hah, I'm laughing!!" He cut himself from that thought, and his voice renewed, some thread in his mind redoubling his efforts to make his thoughts heard. "How. how do you live with it? Jeez, Megavolt. how? You. you must be broken inside." His voice was ebbing again, changing to sobs, and then he ran a hand through his hair, remembered his hat was lying forgotten on the stairs. He sighed deeply, the sigh of a mother whose child had gone astray.
Megavolt had never seen Quackerjack's hair before and that gesture suddenly brought it to prominence--thick and red and unruly. The jester never went without his harlequin hat. They were the badguys, right? They wore masks. When a villain or a hero unmasked, it was an action that had made buildings topple and traffic stand still and papers shriek black print.
~Exposed.~ He was dimly aware of the goggles dangling in his hand at his side. Quackerjack was approaching him, unmasked. It was so incongruous, that hair, so bright and red, and so wild, so strangely boyish. But there was nothing boyish in Quackerjack's face.
Quackerjack was suddenly next to Megavolt, was hugging the rodent for all he was worth. Was whispering, "I'm so sorry, God, you don't know how sorry I am, I wanted to know, but not like this.I should have asked you, I was such a piss-poor friend, ohhh.please, don't hate me
for it, I'm so sorry." He hugged the other tightly, and nothing, no-one, not Negaduck
himself, could order him away. This was his friend, his best friend, who had seen him through thick, through thin, was here now, not asking but needing the help, and it was his turn, and Steelbeak as his witness, he wasn't going to disappoint."I never, never should have turned my back on you, and I'm here, I'm here, but it's too late, oh." He slowed, like a broken wind-up toy nearing the end of its clockwork life, his arms felt weak, like the rest of his body. He let them drop, just stared into the odd eyes, the ones that had watched him commit crimes, practically murder, and never, never testified against him. His own eyes, he knew were shining with tears, but empty of emotions. There was no joy, he wasn't projecting it anymore, it was all gone, like the flames from a doused fire. He looked his full age for a vulnerable moment; pretty old for those who knew him well.
Megavolt couldn't respond. It was too much, too fast. The words were like a wave, rushing over him, caught in a barrel, lost in the last eddies. He would be submerged. He would lose everything, the ultimate short-circuit, spiraling into the dark depths of an ocean deeper than pain. He stood unmoving, his body stiff in the jester's arms, unable to either pull Quackerjack closer or push him away.. He couldn't trust his voice, couldn't trust himself. For now, for this instant, he knew that if he said anything to the jester he would lose it. He would fall apart.
~Hah! And what is it that you think you've *been* doing, Elmo? What
is this if not falling apart?~
Steelbeak hung onto every word that Megavolt had said. Once again, he was wrong, and someone else was right. Not nessarily a bad thing, he silently admitted to himself -- especially in this case. He felt awful, damn awful. There weren't enough words in the dictionary to
describe his feelings. It was more than just being defeated again. It was something more. 'Why didn't I consider dis before?' He thought to himself, choking back tears. The visual of the funeral came back to haunt him. He slowly nodded, sobbing quietly again. "I've...I've
reconsidered my decision, Megavolt. My...My family means de whole woild do me. I want to see my daughter grow up, get married. I want to grow old wi't Victoria." He paused for a moment. "D-Dat firey babe's my guardian angel!"
Megavolt couldn't trust himself to respond to Quackerjack's words. Not yet. It was too intense. The pain in the jester too closely mirrored his own. Steelbeak's gave him something just different enough to hold on to, something so important that had to be said. "That's good, Steelbeak. That's good. It's important--so...important...." he tried, but faltered. "When you've got someone, and they've got you. Don't ever forget. You have to keep it. You have to maintain the connection. It's the spark that keeps us going." He turned to look at Steelbeak. "You have love, man. You've got something...so *precious* there. You have to remember it,
every day that you wake up and every night that you go to sleep. Because you never know when something could happen--when you could lose someone--" he broke off abruptly and slowly turned back to Quackerjack.
The jester's shoulders slumped,"I should have been there for you, both of you.... then. Now, too. There's no excuse for my actions. Can you ever find it in yourself to forgive me, to give me just one more chance? I. I'll bear the pain with you, and I wasn't going to really kill myself, not then, not now, not ever, I was all talk, it was for attention, I'm not ready to die. I had no idea your dad." He stopped, then glanced away. Suddenly, he felt a small flame inside his heart. His wish had been granted. He could think more clearly now. Jack looked back, put one hand on Megavolt's shoulder, and spoke. "I guess the joke's on us, huh, buddy?" he asked, and his
voice was so many things at once--bitter, ironic, sarcastic, sad, but one thing it always used to be was lacking here: happy. There was no ounce of happiness in his tone. His head drooped and he stared at his feet. "I won't let you suffer alone anymore. I'm. I'm here, if you want me to be, and I'm more sorry than words could convey."
Quackerjack's hand was like a heavy weight on Megavolt's shoulder. Megavolt leaned in slowly, rested his chin on Quackerjack's head. "Idiot," he said softly, and he didn't know who he was saying it to. His arms enfolded Quackerjack and Megavolt held him, tight like he
was trying to keep something together, but gentle, like he was scared it was going to break.
~And all this time I've wished I was stronger.~
"Don't misunderstand this," Megavolt said quietly, his face in the hollow of Quackerjack's shoulder. He brought up his hand to touch the scruffy ponytail at the nape of the jester's neck, running his fingers through the individual strands of hair slowly. Once. To show his understanding for Quackerjack's gesture of unmasking. Twice. To show his gratitude.
"No, of course not." Quackerjack said, and his voice was strained. Forgiveness, oh, was there anything else that brought so much relief, so much warmth to the recipient? His uncle would be proud, wherever he was. Somehow, he thought he might've been embarrassed to show off
his face without the mask, some other day. It was important to do it here. How long, after all, could one go on hiding beneath a mask, whether it was one of cloth or one of emotions? He felt spent, both emotionally and physically. So he just held on, the tears coming more freely now. For a precious moment, the jester was holding onto something in his soul, something that made him feel warm, complete. The lost child in the store had found a face in the crowd it
recognized, and he, that child, was at peace. How could he cry, when he felt so perfectly happy? But he did, yet felt no sorrow, just a small emptiness within, like he was giving up the hate, the pain, and what was left of his mentality was rushing in like a flood to close the gap, to keep him intact.
~Gotta take your guardian angels where you find 'em.~ It was too corny to say out loud, but that didn't make it any the less true.
"I haven't been listening to you either," Megavolt whispered. "The damage reports were coming in, but I wasn't reading them. I'm sorry, QJ. I really am."
"Please," he said, his voice coming stronger, "Don't apologize. It wasn't anything you did. I could have lashed out just the same at anyone else, it was just you who was there. I owe you too much to lose you now. Don't. just don't say anything about." he shook his
head, and when he spoke again, it was barely audible. "My sister. I don't want Celeste to know that I. I haven't gotten over her just yet, so please.don't tell anyone."
Carefully, he stepped back. "Megavolt, I was wrong, and you were right, and if I ever, ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. you have permission to shock me. Okay?" He winked, the smile returning hesitantly. But it was no mask this time, the pain was gone and the joviality genuine.
"I wish we's could jus' go back into de past and repair de damage dat 'append," Steelbeak spoke slowly, his voice sounding much older than before and not sounding the least bit sarcastic.
"We could." Quackerjack retorted, his voice returning, "Of course we could. I have the Time Top. But don't you see why I haven't done it before, tried to change it forever?" He made a helpless gesture. "If I change what is, we won't be as we are. We'll be completely different. Maybe not even around here any more. I tried it once. I went back, took the gun from my earlier self before he entered the house. He looked at me."
Quackerjack paused, then continued, "He had this-this stare, like why would I do such a thing, deny him his retribution? And I told him who I was, that I was the result of what he did here. You know what he said?" Quackerjack looked at the two of them, then dropped his gaze. "He told me that I had no right to take his choice away. That ten year old saw me as I was, and told me that he wanted to go through with it, because his sister was dead. And I let him have that
weapon back. I fulfilled my future. This is how I am, like it or not.If you wanted, you could go back in time. stop your father from being killed," He said, to Megavolt. "Or you, stop yourself from.from whatever it was that made you like you are. I'll let you, but the results. might be worse than the ones you were trying to alter."
Megavolt didn't say anything. Evil genius that he was and as interested as he had been in time travel in times gone by insofar as it had pertained to various nefarious schemes, he had never thought of applying it to his own personal past. To his childhood....
As far as possible, without reservation, Megavolt had always tried to keep his life as Elmo Sputterspark and his current identity of Megavolt, supervillain extraordiaire, completely separate. It helped that his memory was infamously faulty and that he often didn't even
remember his old name. When he recalled the past, as he did now, it was to look back on the boy he had once been and the life he had once known with a kind of frightened tenderness ~Stay away from the kid in the bubble. He might break.~
He didn't know how to respond to Quackerjack's offer, well-meant as it was-- on the one hand he understood the temptation of which Steelbeak spoke but on the other hand he simply didn't feel it. And yet...he should, shouldn't he? If not for himself, then for his father? The man who had been his father, in that other life of that other self so long ago.
It left a lot to be pondered but for now the trio paused and let silence cover the ground of so much semi-forbidden discussion of pain and pasts.
The jester moved over to the sink, grabbed a towel and started picking up the shards of the cup. He needed something to do, something more that he could calm down. The broken cup helped, as he threw the pieces into the trash can and came back for more with a vengeance.
* * * Alone.
When things were quiet memories came back to haunt her like wrathful ghosts, biting and clawing at her soul.After Quackerjack had rushed out so suddenly Celeste waited for hours for Negaduck to come home. Oh he'd stayed out all night before, raining havoc on the city and such, but he always called or left a note. Always. He must have been incredublly mad at her this time and this unsettling thought made her stomach ache in a very deep, agonizing way.
She'd tried calling her uncle but Darkwing's phone went unanswerd and in the overbaring critisism of the silence fear crept in and the hardened child who thought her so villainous and adult began to weep.
Celeste cried until her eyes were nearly swollen shut. They longed to close and wisk her away to some untainted dreamland but at the same instance her face was throbbing so badly that unfolding her eyelids was torturously painful. She longed for her father more than ever before, for his strong arms to embrace her and cradle her close the way he had for so many years.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled , leaning against her desk and inadvertantly looking into a mirror hung on her wall. Her face was reddened almost beyond recognition but the same eyes stared back at her. So much like her mothers...unwillingly the flashes of memory came rushing back of her early childhood, her father who she'd hardly caught glimpses of and her mother, so elegant, so beautiful, yet so very cold, never once bothering to check on her when she went to bed even when so sobbed herself to sleep, only willing to holdher for a publicity picture or a lunchen among her high class circle of friends where she was forced to sit on her lap in a tight, itching dress that made her small body ache and have her arm clamped down on like a vice till it left a hand print when she tried to squirm free or shift to a more comfortable position. A sudden look of hatred crossed her face. She hated those cool, regal hazel eyes. In a sudden flash of fury she struck out and drove her fist through the mirror, hearing the glass shatter and fall like crystal chimes.
She watched without compassion as dark blood ozzed from the places glass had pierced her flesh and stained her feathers crimson. She slumped to her knees and , staring blankly with tear dimmed eyes. Her parents were gone. Negaduck was gone. Darkwing had deserted her. And Quackerjack was probably not coming back either..NO! She wasn't going to let him slip through her fingers, he was all she had left..all that really mattered at the moment. Without a thought she ran out the door. It was almost 4AM by now and thunder cracked overhead.
The rain came in a big, bellicose torrent,cold as the hope in her heart. She ran as if something inside guided her, not knowing to where or why, but being drawn by some force that pulled at her soul.
She tripped and nearly fell. looking up just as lightning flashed, and in it's momentary clearness the lighthouse's siloutte was caught, shining through the gloomy rain. The wind howled as her tired legs threatened to give out and she stumbled through the mist and into the structure, the cold bite of the storm at her back. She half crawled up the winding stair case, driven on by the crescendoing cacophony of roaring thunder and driving rain spilling over the stones.
The door at the top was open and she could already see his back as she nearly collasped on the last two stairs, leaning on the door frame. "Jack?" He turned and looked at her in shock and she thought her heart would break, just staring into his eyes. Drenched in rain, blood and tears, she reached out longingly for him and was suddenly enfolded in his arms, crying softly. There they stayed, wrapped together in a haggard symbol of their once-lost dreams and newfound hope, two souls cleansed and purified by their own tears.
Even in the current atmosphere of remembered pain and sorrow Megavolt couldn't help but think that it was like a scene from a movie. He didn't understand how it was that Quackerjack's girlfriend had known to find them here. Something was at work, though--something was motivating their movements this dark and stormy evening, opening old wounds, making them bleed clean. It was out there, whether it was fate, chance or some mysterious divinity. Or maybe it was just something in St. Canard's drinking water. ~Stop being irreverent,~
he told himself sternly.
"Celeste, Cel, oh." Quackerjack held tightly, knowing that this was wrong, so wrong. Everyone he knew would advise against this, but he couldn't help himself. She needed him, and he her. "My princess. my brave, brave goddess. my little one." he found himself saying, speaking words that passed over his mind briefly, calming words used to keep a horse from bolting away. Words that meant nothing but the emotion behind them. He held her tightly, knew she could feel him tremble like a leaf in a breeze, but he didn't care anymore. Here, surrounded by three people who were so much like him. here, he could be honest. With himself,
and them."Celeste, I." He cut the words off. Silence sometimes said more than any words could. His eyes were closed, he was rocking back and forth gently, and a song was coming from his closed mouth. He was humming without even realizing it, a tune that his subconscious, as a baby, had buried into his brain. The same song that his mother had sang to him when he
was hurt, afraid, confused, a child in need. But he knew he didn't see Celeste as just another child. She was his love, his only one. And there, in front of two of his equals, he poured out his heart, funnily enough, in a rendition of `Pop Goes The Weasel.'
Megavolt watched his old friend embrace Celeste. He had his own doubts about Quackerjack's decision to get involved with this girl, but seeing them together he knew that "decision" wasn't really the word to use. Quackerjack and she quite simply *were* involved, and any decision on either his or her part didn't really have much to do with it. At the same time he felt a niggling sense of--could it be jealousy?--for the two and for spark between them. But he also felt
a real sense of relief and honest happiness for Quackerjack, that he should find this source of joy and healing.
Quackerjack finished, looked down at her, and spoke, in a trembling version of his old voice, four words that were burned into his skull from the night before, when he thought he would lose her to Steelbeak, who now was standing in the very same room. And wasn't it funny how fate.? The thought died a quick death, as the words he spoke calmed some raging inner demon. "I love you, Cel." And tears were coming again, and she was so helpless, so beautiful.
he ran a hand through her hair softly, and just wished he could freeze the moment. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that he had. * * * JACK My dearest friend, if you don't mind I'd like to join you by your side Where we can gaze into the stars
JACK & SALLY And sit together, now and forever For it is plain as anyone can see We're simply meant to be
Dark Confessions and the World of the Heart
I sense there's something in the wind That feels like tragedy's at hand And though I'd like to stand by him Can't shake this feeling that I have The worst is just around the bend
And does he notice my feelings for him? And will he see how much he means to me? I think it's not to be
What will become of my dear friend? Where will his actions lead us then? Although I'd like to join the crowd In their enthusiastic cloud Try as I may, it doesn't last
And will we ever end up together? no, I think not, it's never to become For I am not the one
* * * Suddenly, the idea of a cup of coffee wasn't so bad to the maligned rooster. He didn't follow the conversation too well and with his hands shaking he took his first drink. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since his spat with his wife and the warm drunk down his throat was a relief. His mind was still focused on killing himself off, but the edge was beginning to die away.
"I's got no were ta go now..." Steelbeak whispered. He was beginning to tear up again, but
didn't want Megavolt to see his emotions in fear of further humiliating himself. "I tried ta get back into FOWL, no use. I keep messin' ev'ryt'ing up. Just like my parents always said..dey never wanted me, I wish dey'd never had me. Victoria and I got in a fight earlier and... I slapped 'er. You see, I am a 'orrible person. Negaduck should've shot me when he 'ad de opportunity."
Megavolt sighed. He felt numb, but the desperation in Steelbeak's voice obliged a response. "Then you wait for Negaduck to shoot you," said Megavolt simply. "Seems to me when you challenged him for the leadership of the Five and attacked his kid you made a promise that he'd be the one to kill you. You put your life in *his* hands, man. It's not yours to take any more."
Quackerjack froze as soft talking made its way down to him, echoing off the stairwell and into his mind. He had no right to come up, what the hell was he doing?! Quackerjack slammed his head against the wall viciously, white hot pain exploding into his brain and clearing his
mind miraculously. But he had no false illusions about that particular technique-each use made him more insane, snapping his brain even further with the strain, similar to hitting a TV to get
better reception but breaking it more each time. He stood, crying, out of instinct, and wishing he had a mother's arms to run to. He was hurt, but he owed it to Megavolt to leave the rodent alone.he turned to step back down and leave, as he originally intended, but stopped again. He couldn't go, either. He had to just.stay right here. Quackerjack didn't question the motive, born of insanity and desperation, and so did just that. He. Just. Stood. Didn't even try not to eavesdrop.
Megavolt turned to face Steelbeak, his mismatching eyes looking at the rooster steadily. "How much do you think it hurt your wife when you hit her, Steelbeak? A minute or so of real physical pain? Maybe she'll have a day or two while her cheek is a little sore. And there's the shock she feels from you losing control, lashing out at her. I'm not gonna lie to you, that's real hurting. So you wanna give her a lifetime of pain? You want her to wake up every day with you not there, not because you were gunned down at forty-five or had a heart attack at 60, but because one cold evening you threw yourself off a bridge after hitting her? Wanna give her decades of blaming herself for *your* suicide?"
Quackerjack couldn't help it, he crept up two more stairs, straining to hear, he had to, damnit, had to. owed Megavolt.something in his friend's voice spoke frighteningly of experience, and he had to be there, he was a friend himself, hard enough to believe. A poor, pathetic friend, but a friend all the same. He needed to remember this. How could Megavolt know that the suicide's friends would feel the pain, after all? It was a morbid curiosity that whipped him,
goaded him further up, stopping at step twenty, still out of sight, the invisible devil perched on his left shoulder nodding at him, for once the smaller angel sitting on the other agreeing fully. He sat on the step shakily, to listen, to hear Elmo out.
"What about your kid? Little girl, some weird name that I can't remember. Thought about how she's gonna feel without her dad? How lonely she's gonna be? How she'll blame herself too? Because she will, ya know. Kids are even dumber than spouses. They'll blame themselves for the stupidest..." Megavolt turned away abruptly, unable to go on for a moment.
The silence that renewed for the moment sounded like a graveyard's still. Quackerjack felt the tears drying on his face, then reached up to his head, pulled the harlequin hat off for the first time in public since he was thirteen. He ran a hand though fiery red hair, balled up in a scruffyponytail under the hat, pulled it back against his neck, combed it with his fingers, and listened, waiting silently. He felt strangely hopeful. like Megavolt would describe the story of a friend of a friend who had committed suicide, nothing that would hurt Elmo directly.. But he knew deep inside that that was not the case, even as he dropped the hat with a noisy jangle to the bottom of the stairwell. He felt it was mostly the figurative sense-if he was to listen in on Megavolt's story, he had to do so without hiding behind the mask. The one thing he'd been depending on hiding behind for the better part of his life.
"You know, my dad died when I was twelve years old," he said in a quiet voice, looking away from Steelbeak. "And he wasn't a villain or a hero or a criminal or anything. He was just a guy, just a regular guy. And he didn't get stabbed by a burglar, and he didn't get poisoned by some corporate shark, and he didn't get beaten to death by the police. He shot himself. In the head. I was the one who found the body."
Quackerjack sucked in breath sharply, closing his eyes inadvertently against the bloody, 3-D images that swarmed up and threatened to engulf his mind. He cursed his vivid imagination, playing the scene over and over for him, and couldn't shake the picture. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes so hard that the afterimage stayed for a minute, then pushed his trembling palms against the wall, trying to regain control. He thought of Dimitri shooting himself, instead of
him doing it. It would have made a hardened criminal cheer. After all, Dimitri was a bastard, an abusive father, one of the reasons for Quackerjack's decline into insanity. But he'd still been a father, the only one Jack had. A father who was not killed by his own hand, or by some stranger. shot by his own son. Shot after hitting the child who lived in his house but was not his daughter. Somehow, Quackerjack knew it would have been so many times worse if Dimitri
had taken the gun and done the job himself. At least since he had shot his father, Quackerjack could know; knew with certainty that it was he who had done it, and wasn't doubting himself. He rocked back and forth for a few seconds, whimpering like an animal, just sharing in the raw pain that Megavolt had kept from him for so many years, and not because he was some paranoid miser with the knowledge, but because Quackerjack, proverbial friend-of-he-who-needs-no-other-enemies, had never bothered to ask. It stung like a slap, and he finally knew that it was him. It was all his fault. He was the bastard, not Dimitri.
"He'd been fighting depression for years. Some days were up, some days were down. He couldn't hold on to a job. Some days he couldn't even get out of bed. And he hated himself. He felt like his life was worthless, and like all he was good for was making his wife and son miserable. Sometimes when he thought I was asleep at night, he'd come in my room and sit on the edge of my bed and just cry. And he was right, I was miserable. But I loved him. And all I wanted was for him to be happy."
"Oh, my god." Quackerjack whispered, freezing in mid-whimper. The words. `all I wanted was for him to be happy' .that was almost a mirror of what Quackerjack had wanted for his sister, before she was hit, hit so hard that she fell. and Quackerjack, ten year old boy with red hair and eyes that would never genuinely sparkle again. well, he felt that loss like a sucker- punch to the face, like a wake-up jab. He wanted nobody else to share in that pain. He now knew-this was the secret Megavolt had that made Quackerjack instinctively move away. This was what he sensed in the other, like some storm cloud on the horizon. He hung his head in shame. Where was he when Megavolt was hurting from this? He figured it was about the time he was running his little gang in the rundown part of St. Canard. Shooting other people's parents. God, he was such a bastard. He thought again, screwing his eyes closed and yanking at his hair, trying to stay focused.
"He went on this new drug, and for a while it looked like he was getting better. And then I came home from school and I heard the gunshot, just as I came in the door. And I went in my parents' bathroom, and there was blood all over. That drug gave him just enough life, just enough energy to kill himself. You know, he could have pushed me down the stairs, or told me he hated me, or given me a black eye every day, and it wouldn't have hurt as much as that moment when I saw my dad and he was dead and he had killed himself. And it never stopped hurting either, and I never stopped blaming myself. I always felt like if I'd gotten there a minute earlier, if I'd listened to him more." Megavolt laughed miserably. "If I'd gotten better GRADES. If I'd never been BORN."
Quackerjack's heart dropped in pain, felt like it had been ripped out and hastily stuffed back in. He kept asking himself, with dogged persistence, just where the hell he had been when Megavolt was all alone, crying, probably, from this,when Celeste was shivering in a gutter in the rain, and when Steelbeak was growing up fatherless. "Where was I then?Where,where.?" he asked in a wavering, singsong voice, insanity looming. Oh, yeah. This was probably when his uncle had died. The only death besides his sister's that he had really felt, felt deep inside. now
that was irony. The pain inside.Like his soul was crumbling, bleeding, crying tears of misery, mingled with the blood. He felt the same way now. Wanted to reach out for Elmo, take him in a hug, just keep him away from the world that had only given them both pain, shield the sometimes frail and helpless psyche of Megavolt's with his own, a rampart that now stood only barely, would crumble at the slightest hesitation.Wanted to protect Celeste from the bullies that had tormented her everyday of her childhood. He wanted to do something, anything. even felt like trying to defend Steelbeak, even though Quackerjack hated him at the moment.Nobody deserved to grow up without a father. Yet all four of them, at some point in their lives, had done just that.He hated feeling helpless. He had taken the gun when he was ten, felt it press into his small hand, fired the shot and felt the recoil, and felt control. Glorious, deity-like control. He had been in power of the situation. But here.here: he was helpless, he could do nothing, just listen as Megavolt poured out his heart to Steelbeak, and no, it should be me, should be ME there listening, hugging, trying to help, but I'm here, I threw a cup, nearly threw it at him, why?! For what gain?!
Help me, I'm gone inside, missing something I need in there, and I want to help him before he loses it too, that's not too bad, is it, is it? I wanna do good now! Scrooge got his chance, Pinnochio got his, I want mine! Make the insanity leave, ten minutes, max., just enough for me to help, to offer coherent empathy! If I never get another wish, gimmie this and I forgive you everything! My sister, mom, dad, Uncle Richard, my failures. EVERYTHING, just gimmie this, gimmie, gimmie, I don't want anything else, please, anything but Celeste, just don't take her away. But I'll give anything else, money, blood, charity, jail time, community service, anything.. He pleaded, prayed, looking up with forlorn eyes at the ceiling, wishing with all his heart. If hoping could make it true, someone would listen.
Why aren't you helping me, Uncle Richard, why aren't you helping me, he's my goddamned friend!! You were there when the Jack Gang shot you, be there now, help me!! The words were bubbling up in a long strand in his mind, screaming louder and louder, joining with the other voices, the ones that already lived in his mind, echoing like a cathedral full of screaming
children, and he couldn't take it. He grabbed his head, pulled his hair, bit his tongue and felt salty, warm blood in his mouth, but through it all kept absolutely silent, wanted to hear the end of this storytale out of hell, and all for love of his friend. He wouldn't fail again, he'd listen, damnit, he'd listen to make up for all those times he'd turned away.
"I absorbed myself in my schoolwork. I barely even talked to other kids. I got first place in every single science fair but one, in tenth grade, and then I got so upset I got a knife and sliced up my arm. I just wanted to hurt myself, punish myself for not meeting my standards, but my mom was certain I was trying to kill myself. She screamed at me for an hour and told me that I was a selfish little S.O.B. and what did I think I was doing, growing up to throw my life away like my dad did? and then she hugged me and cried until two o'clock in the morning."
It was here he started feeling jealousy, rising, despite himself. Where was his mother? Witness to dear old dad's murder, had to pull the trigger on the bitch. That was his reasoning before, ten year old killer, cold as a snake. He thought, then, of the two bullets in his parents, two more left. One for his sister's body, to reinforce his story that his father had shot them and then killed himself, and the other one was for him. But he'd held back, keeping the two bullets
left for two main reasons. One. he couldn't bear to shoot his sister, couldn't, was so pain-wracked by the loss, but she looked so much still like she was just sleeping. The ten year old had never noticed she was breathing still, her chest was rising and falling softly. The reason he hadn't shot himself? He didn't want the way out, it was too hard to kill himself. Took too much courage for him, and the gun was suddenly too heavy in his little hand. It was easier to stay in the known, the now, make hell for everyone else. Strip them of their parents, their kids, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts. He wanted to make his own little holocaust in St. Canard, and the gang was the result. For some reason, it was easier to live with the pain if he multiplied it tenfold for everyone else. Now it burned his face with shame. There were some things of his past he'd held dear, even from Celeste. How could he tell her, girl without a family, that it was
him who desired it? He desired to see the screaming, pain-filled little brats as their parents fell and died in their own fluids. it made him feel sick now, and the coffee threatened to come up. He clutched his stomach, sweat dripping from his bill to the floor, and felt so ill.but he still could hear the conversation. There was no mercy from Megavolt, who didn't even know he was causing the pain. Cutting himself. he'd tried that, too. So many times more than Elmo, simply because nobody stopped him. But he gave up the habit when a neighbor had called the local asylum on him. He couldn't even hurt himself anymore; even that was stolen from him.
"So you know what?" Megavolt looked at Steelbeak again. "You feel bad now? Feel like a first-prize shmuck? You should feel what your daughter's gonna feel when she grows up to realize what her daddy did, the night he killed himself. You should feel what her mommy's
gonna feel like, when not only is she left alone and coping with the kid on her own, but when she hurts herself because she's thinking, "God, if only I stopped him before he headed out the door. If I only told him I forgave him. If we'd only talked about it like grown-ups and done something to get him help." And every "if" is like another punch in the gut, is worse than any slap could ever feel. You think about how that will feel, Steelbeak. Think about it real hard."
"I think I will, too." The words would have been real dramatic, really like a scene from a movie, if Quackerjack's voice wasn't so subdued, if his face wasn't so pale and sickly, if he'd stood tall
instead of collapsing to his knees, half from weakness, half from desperation. Words in his mind threatened to burst from his mouth, so many apologies, when none of them could come close to how he felt. Killing himself felt like a far-off dream, and he wanted to just run to Mommy, to make it end. A dream that was only that. He would never hold his mother again, unless he dug up the grave and embraced her remains. That was a sick joke.
Megavolt froze. Slowly he turned to see Quackerjack on the steps just below.
"Megavolt." he whispered, crying again. Damn, he was always crying, and suddenly he was trembling, too, and how weak this all looked, and how terribly unfunny. His mind snapped even further, get the joke, his mind pleaded, like a life-raft for a drowning man, and hoarse,
bitter laughter rang, harsh in the quiet; unbelievable emotion for what he had just heard. He would probably laugh at his own funeral if he was able to."I get it.ha, hah, HAH! I get it!" he trilled, eyes wide and bill curved into a twisted smile, but the joy was evident absolutely
nowhere in the haggard, tired, and lined face. He wasn't fooling anyone. "I get it, you. your dad, he died, he killed himself: life's a joke! He just got the punch-line early!" Quackerjack's laugher was insane and bitter, last refuge of a madman to make light of a situation
where humor had no place.
At first Megavolt just stared at the jester. He was too tired to register anything at the jester's words, other than a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling of nausea. The laughter was what made him feel again, made him confused--
~Why is he laughing?~
It was Quackerjack's laughter: deranged, unhinged, but taken a pitch beyond agony. And Megavolt knew what he was doing, as surely as he knew his own mania: laughing at the shadow threatening to consume you, at the crack in the rubber-insulated nether coils, at the unknown enemy threatening your barracked reservation, the private corner of your identity. Just laugh hard enough and it'll go away. A cackle a day keeps the doctor away. Heh. The man in the white white coat. It should be a motto on a T-shirt for crazy villains. All the mad, villainous laughter you could spew out--and it wasn't a weapon but a shield, and if that got knocked away then what defenses did you have left? What defenses that mattered?
"Hit me!" he pleaded suddenly, still giggling softly, "Stop me, this is SICK, I'm, hah, hah, I'm laughing!!" He cut himself from that thought, and his voice renewed, some thread in his mind redoubling his efforts to make his thoughts heard. "How. how do you live with it? Jeez, Megavolt. how? You. you must be broken inside." His voice was ebbing again, changing to sobs, and then he ran a hand through his hair, remembered his hat was lying forgotten on the stairs. He sighed deeply, the sigh of a mother whose child had gone astray.
Megavolt had never seen Quackerjack's hair before and that gesture suddenly brought it to prominence--thick and red and unruly. The jester never went without his harlequin hat. They were the badguys, right? They wore masks. When a villain or a hero unmasked, it was an action that had made buildings topple and traffic stand still and papers shriek black print.
~Exposed.~ He was dimly aware of the goggles dangling in his hand at his side. Quackerjack was approaching him, unmasked. It was so incongruous, that hair, so bright and red, and so wild, so strangely boyish. But there was nothing boyish in Quackerjack's face.
Quackerjack was suddenly next to Megavolt, was hugging the rodent for all he was worth. Was whispering, "I'm so sorry, God, you don't know how sorry I am, I wanted to know, but not like this.I should have asked you, I was such a piss-poor friend, ohhh.please, don't hate me
for it, I'm so sorry." He hugged the other tightly, and nothing, no-one, not Negaduck
himself, could order him away. This was his friend, his best friend, who had seen him through thick, through thin, was here now, not asking but needing the help, and it was his turn, and Steelbeak as his witness, he wasn't going to disappoint."I never, never should have turned my back on you, and I'm here, I'm here, but it's too late, oh." He slowed, like a broken wind-up toy nearing the end of its clockwork life, his arms felt weak, like the rest of his body. He let them drop, just stared into the odd eyes, the ones that had watched him commit crimes, practically murder, and never, never testified against him. His own eyes, he knew were shining with tears, but empty of emotions. There was no joy, he wasn't projecting it anymore, it was all gone, like the flames from a doused fire. He looked his full age for a vulnerable moment; pretty old for those who knew him well.
Megavolt couldn't respond. It was too much, too fast. The words were like a wave, rushing over him, caught in a barrel, lost in the last eddies. He would be submerged. He would lose everything, the ultimate short-circuit, spiraling into the dark depths of an ocean deeper than pain. He stood unmoving, his body stiff in the jester's arms, unable to either pull Quackerjack closer or push him away.. He couldn't trust his voice, couldn't trust himself. For now, for this instant, he knew that if he said anything to the jester he would lose it. He would fall apart.
~Hah! And what is it that you think you've *been* doing, Elmo? What
is this if not falling apart?~
Steelbeak hung onto every word that Megavolt had said. Once again, he was wrong, and someone else was right. Not nessarily a bad thing, he silently admitted to himself -- especially in this case. He felt awful, damn awful. There weren't enough words in the dictionary to
describe his feelings. It was more than just being defeated again. It was something more. 'Why didn't I consider dis before?' He thought to himself, choking back tears. The visual of the funeral came back to haunt him. He slowly nodded, sobbing quietly again. "I've...I've
reconsidered my decision, Megavolt. My...My family means de whole woild do me. I want to see my daughter grow up, get married. I want to grow old wi't Victoria." He paused for a moment. "D-Dat firey babe's my guardian angel!"
Megavolt couldn't trust himself to respond to Quackerjack's words. Not yet. It was too intense. The pain in the jester too closely mirrored his own. Steelbeak's gave him something just different enough to hold on to, something so important that had to be said. "That's good, Steelbeak. That's good. It's important--so...important...." he tried, but faltered. "When you've got someone, and they've got you. Don't ever forget. You have to keep it. You have to maintain the connection. It's the spark that keeps us going." He turned to look at Steelbeak. "You have love, man. You've got something...so *precious* there. You have to remember it,
every day that you wake up and every night that you go to sleep. Because you never know when something could happen--when you could lose someone--" he broke off abruptly and slowly turned back to Quackerjack.
The jester's shoulders slumped,"I should have been there for you, both of you.... then. Now, too. There's no excuse for my actions. Can you ever find it in yourself to forgive me, to give me just one more chance? I. I'll bear the pain with you, and I wasn't going to really kill myself, not then, not now, not ever, I was all talk, it was for attention, I'm not ready to die. I had no idea your dad." He stopped, then glanced away. Suddenly, he felt a small flame inside his heart. His wish had been granted. He could think more clearly now. Jack looked back, put one hand on Megavolt's shoulder, and spoke. "I guess the joke's on us, huh, buddy?" he asked, and his
voice was so many things at once--bitter, ironic, sarcastic, sad, but one thing it always used to be was lacking here: happy. There was no ounce of happiness in his tone. His head drooped and he stared at his feet. "I won't let you suffer alone anymore. I'm. I'm here, if you want me to be, and I'm more sorry than words could convey."
Quackerjack's hand was like a heavy weight on Megavolt's shoulder. Megavolt leaned in slowly, rested his chin on Quackerjack's head. "Idiot," he said softly, and he didn't know who he was saying it to. His arms enfolded Quackerjack and Megavolt held him, tight like he
was trying to keep something together, but gentle, like he was scared it was going to break.
~And all this time I've wished I was stronger.~
"Don't misunderstand this," Megavolt said quietly, his face in the hollow of Quackerjack's shoulder. He brought up his hand to touch the scruffy ponytail at the nape of the jester's neck, running his fingers through the individual strands of hair slowly. Once. To show his understanding for Quackerjack's gesture of unmasking. Twice. To show his gratitude.
"No, of course not." Quackerjack said, and his voice was strained. Forgiveness, oh, was there anything else that brought so much relief, so much warmth to the recipient? His uncle would be proud, wherever he was. Somehow, he thought he might've been embarrassed to show off
his face without the mask, some other day. It was important to do it here. How long, after all, could one go on hiding beneath a mask, whether it was one of cloth or one of emotions? He felt spent, both emotionally and physically. So he just held on, the tears coming more freely now. For a precious moment, the jester was holding onto something in his soul, something that made him feel warm, complete. The lost child in the store had found a face in the crowd it
recognized, and he, that child, was at peace. How could he cry, when he felt so perfectly happy? But he did, yet felt no sorrow, just a small emptiness within, like he was giving up the hate, the pain, and what was left of his mentality was rushing in like a flood to close the gap, to keep him intact.
~Gotta take your guardian angels where you find 'em.~ It was too corny to say out loud, but that didn't make it any the less true.
"I haven't been listening to you either," Megavolt whispered. "The damage reports were coming in, but I wasn't reading them. I'm sorry, QJ. I really am."
"Please," he said, his voice coming stronger, "Don't apologize. It wasn't anything you did. I could have lashed out just the same at anyone else, it was just you who was there. I owe you too much to lose you now. Don't. just don't say anything about." he shook his
head, and when he spoke again, it was barely audible. "My sister. I don't want Celeste to know that I. I haven't gotten over her just yet, so please.don't tell anyone."
Carefully, he stepped back. "Megavolt, I was wrong, and you were right, and if I ever, ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. you have permission to shock me. Okay?" He winked, the smile returning hesitantly. But it was no mask this time, the pain was gone and the joviality genuine.
"I wish we's could jus' go back into de past and repair de damage dat 'append," Steelbeak spoke slowly, his voice sounding much older than before and not sounding the least bit sarcastic.
"We could." Quackerjack retorted, his voice returning, "Of course we could. I have the Time Top. But don't you see why I haven't done it before, tried to change it forever?" He made a helpless gesture. "If I change what is, we won't be as we are. We'll be completely different. Maybe not even around here any more. I tried it once. I went back, took the gun from my earlier self before he entered the house. He looked at me."
Quackerjack paused, then continued, "He had this-this stare, like why would I do such a thing, deny him his retribution? And I told him who I was, that I was the result of what he did here. You know what he said?" Quackerjack looked at the two of them, then dropped his gaze. "He told me that I had no right to take his choice away. That ten year old saw me as I was, and told me that he wanted to go through with it, because his sister was dead. And I let him have that
weapon back. I fulfilled my future. This is how I am, like it or not.If you wanted, you could go back in time. stop your father from being killed," He said, to Megavolt. "Or you, stop yourself from.from whatever it was that made you like you are. I'll let you, but the results. might be worse than the ones you were trying to alter."
Megavolt didn't say anything. Evil genius that he was and as interested as he had been in time travel in times gone by insofar as it had pertained to various nefarious schemes, he had never thought of applying it to his own personal past. To his childhood....
As far as possible, without reservation, Megavolt had always tried to keep his life as Elmo Sputterspark and his current identity of Megavolt, supervillain extraordiaire, completely separate. It helped that his memory was infamously faulty and that he often didn't even
remember his old name. When he recalled the past, as he did now, it was to look back on the boy he had once been and the life he had once known with a kind of frightened tenderness ~Stay away from the kid in the bubble. He might break.~
He didn't know how to respond to Quackerjack's offer, well-meant as it was-- on the one hand he understood the temptation of which Steelbeak spoke but on the other hand he simply didn't feel it. And yet...he should, shouldn't he? If not for himself, then for his father? The man who had been his father, in that other life of that other self so long ago.
It left a lot to be pondered but for now the trio paused and let silence cover the ground of so much semi-forbidden discussion of pain and pasts.
The jester moved over to the sink, grabbed a towel and started picking up the shards of the cup. He needed something to do, something more that he could calm down. The broken cup helped, as he threw the pieces into the trash can and came back for more with a vengeance.
* * * Alone.
When things were quiet memories came back to haunt her like wrathful ghosts, biting and clawing at her soul.After Quackerjack had rushed out so suddenly Celeste waited for hours for Negaduck to come home. Oh he'd stayed out all night before, raining havoc on the city and such, but he always called or left a note. Always. He must have been incredublly mad at her this time and this unsettling thought made her stomach ache in a very deep, agonizing way.
She'd tried calling her uncle but Darkwing's phone went unanswerd and in the overbaring critisism of the silence fear crept in and the hardened child who thought her so villainous and adult began to weep.
Celeste cried until her eyes were nearly swollen shut. They longed to close and wisk her away to some untainted dreamland but at the same instance her face was throbbing so badly that unfolding her eyelids was torturously painful. She longed for her father more than ever before, for his strong arms to embrace her and cradle her close the way he had for so many years.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled , leaning against her desk and inadvertantly looking into a mirror hung on her wall. Her face was reddened almost beyond recognition but the same eyes stared back at her. So much like her mothers...unwillingly the flashes of memory came rushing back of her early childhood, her father who she'd hardly caught glimpses of and her mother, so elegant, so beautiful, yet so very cold, never once bothering to check on her when she went to bed even when so sobbed herself to sleep, only willing to holdher for a publicity picture or a lunchen among her high class circle of friends where she was forced to sit on her lap in a tight, itching dress that made her small body ache and have her arm clamped down on like a vice till it left a hand print when she tried to squirm free or shift to a more comfortable position. A sudden look of hatred crossed her face. She hated those cool, regal hazel eyes. In a sudden flash of fury she struck out and drove her fist through the mirror, hearing the glass shatter and fall like crystal chimes.
She watched without compassion as dark blood ozzed from the places glass had pierced her flesh and stained her feathers crimson. She slumped to her knees and , staring blankly with tear dimmed eyes. Her parents were gone. Negaduck was gone. Darkwing had deserted her. And Quackerjack was probably not coming back either..NO! She wasn't going to let him slip through her fingers, he was all she had left..all that really mattered at the moment. Without a thought she ran out the door. It was almost 4AM by now and thunder cracked overhead.
The rain came in a big, bellicose torrent,cold as the hope in her heart. She ran as if something inside guided her, not knowing to where or why, but being drawn by some force that pulled at her soul.
She tripped and nearly fell. looking up just as lightning flashed, and in it's momentary clearness the lighthouse's siloutte was caught, shining through the gloomy rain. The wind howled as her tired legs threatened to give out and she stumbled through the mist and into the structure, the cold bite of the storm at her back. She half crawled up the winding stair case, driven on by the crescendoing cacophony of roaring thunder and driving rain spilling over the stones.
The door at the top was open and she could already see his back as she nearly collasped on the last two stairs, leaning on the door frame. "Jack?" He turned and looked at her in shock and she thought her heart would break, just staring into his eyes. Drenched in rain, blood and tears, she reached out longingly for him and was suddenly enfolded in his arms, crying softly. There they stayed, wrapped together in a haggard symbol of their once-lost dreams and newfound hope, two souls cleansed and purified by their own tears.
Even in the current atmosphere of remembered pain and sorrow Megavolt couldn't help but think that it was like a scene from a movie. He didn't understand how it was that Quackerjack's girlfriend had known to find them here. Something was at work, though--something was motivating their movements this dark and stormy evening, opening old wounds, making them bleed clean. It was out there, whether it was fate, chance or some mysterious divinity. Or maybe it was just something in St. Canard's drinking water. ~Stop being irreverent,~
he told himself sternly.
"Celeste, Cel, oh." Quackerjack held tightly, knowing that this was wrong, so wrong. Everyone he knew would advise against this, but he couldn't help himself. She needed him, and he her. "My princess. my brave, brave goddess. my little one." he found himself saying, speaking words that passed over his mind briefly, calming words used to keep a horse from bolting away. Words that meant nothing but the emotion behind them. He held her tightly, knew she could feel him tremble like a leaf in a breeze, but he didn't care anymore. Here, surrounded by three people who were so much like him. here, he could be honest. With himself,
and them."Celeste, I." He cut the words off. Silence sometimes said more than any words could. His eyes were closed, he was rocking back and forth gently, and a song was coming from his closed mouth. He was humming without even realizing it, a tune that his subconscious, as a baby, had buried into his brain. The same song that his mother had sang to him when he
was hurt, afraid, confused, a child in need. But he knew he didn't see Celeste as just another child. She was his love, his only one. And there, in front of two of his equals, he poured out his heart, funnily enough, in a rendition of `Pop Goes The Weasel.'
Megavolt watched his old friend embrace Celeste. He had his own doubts about Quackerjack's decision to get involved with this girl, but seeing them together he knew that "decision" wasn't really the word to use. Quackerjack and she quite simply *were* involved, and any decision on either his or her part didn't really have much to do with it. At the same time he felt a niggling sense of--could it be jealousy?--for the two and for spark between them. But he also felt
a real sense of relief and honest happiness for Quackerjack, that he should find this source of joy and healing.
Quackerjack finished, looked down at her, and spoke, in a trembling version of his old voice, four words that were burned into his skull from the night before, when he thought he would lose her to Steelbeak, who now was standing in the very same room. And wasn't it funny how fate.? The thought died a quick death, as the words he spoke calmed some raging inner demon. "I love you, Cel." And tears were coming again, and she was so helpless, so beautiful.
he ran a hand through her hair softly, and just wished he could freeze the moment. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that he had. * * * JACK My dearest friend, if you don't mind I'd like to join you by your side Where we can gaze into the stars
JACK & SALLY And sit together, now and forever For it is plain as anyone can see We're simply meant to be
