AUTHORS NOTE: Thank you to all who left reviews; I appreciate every one of them. This chapter is a bit longer than the rest. Hold on tight, it's an emotional roller coaster. Just be patient for a couple more chapters and things will begin getting intense, I promise. Thanks for reading!

DISCLAIMER: Jake and Abigail Mallard are copyright me. Drake Mallard is © Disney. All Darkwing Duck characters and the Darkwing Duck universe is © Disney. Any other characters mentioned are copyright me.

CHAPTER 3

Marriage. Some people would consider it a waste of time while others look upon it as a blessing. I preferred to consider it the latter. Abigail was the backbone of my success. I needed her in my life and now I was honored to call her my wife: Mrs. Jake Mallard.

But shortly after being wed, I felt guilty. I couldn't take her on a honeymoon like most newlywed couples. Financially, I could afford it. However, time was another matter that I just couldn't afford. My corporation took away a lot of my time I wish I could have spent with Abby. I had to oversee matters and tend to business there before I could 'tend to business' at home. But I promised her that the first chance I got at some time off, we would take our honeymoon. I rarely got a weekend off, let alone a full week to vacation in the Bahamas.

Abby understood and sympathized with my busy schedule. Perhaps it was a good thing for our relationship that we were away from one another often; it made us take full advantage and appreciate the time we DID have together. But I was determined to keep my promise to her. After the holiday season, we would take that trip.

Christmas came and went. And I actually had everything planned to surprise Abigail with the dream honeymoon of a lifetime. We were scheduled for a week long escape towards the middle of February; just in time for Valentine's Day. However, we ended up forfeiting our vacation due to a certain 'unexpected event'.

A few weeks prior to our vacation date, Abby fell ill. It didn't appear to be serious. She complained about being dizzy on occasion and found herself with her head hovering face-down over the toilet a few times a day. We just assumed it was a winter flu bug going around. But after a full week went by with no improvement, I insisted that she go to the doctor.

This is something that I must clarify. Abigail is very stubborn. That's just one of the characteristics I adored about her. I must have argued all evening before she finally consented to see a doctor the following day. However, she insisted on driving herself while I went to work. Reluctantly, I agreed.

The next day, I went to Mallard Enterprises, just like any other day. Normally, I'm constantly on the move throughout the corporate building to make sure things are being done right to my satisfactory, that business deals are closed appropriately, and that potential new clients leave meetings as new clients. I never have time to think about anything else. But on that day, Abby was constantly in the back of my mind. I couldn't stop wondering if something was seriously wrong. Wondering what the doctor would say.

I retreated to my office after a board meeting with some of my executives. It was always an awkward situation that took some time to get used to--most of my executives were older than I. Recently, I had just turned twenty-five and my age was always an intimidating factor to my employees.

My office was elaborate; large, neat, and professional with a great view of St. Canard. One of my flaws I developed during my success was becoming a slave to culture and comfort. I moved toward the black leather chair behind the large cherry wood desk and sat down. The questions about Abby kept rushing through my mind. With a sigh, I spun my chair around to gaze out of my large office window to look out at the city. The buzzing from the intercom on my desk snapped me out of my worrisome trance.

"Mr. Mallard, your wife is here," came the voice of my assistant, Julia. My eyes widened and I quickly spun my chair back around--a little too fast. I nearly flew from the chair before I hastily pressed the button on the intercom.

"Yeah, send her in, Julia," I answered and calmly situated myself. Seconds later, the door to my office opened and Abby stepped inside. She turned around to securely close the door behind her before facing me.

Her face was unreadable, which instantly made me nervous. I stood up from behind my desk and crossed the room towards her. "Abby? What is it? Is something wrong? What did the doctor say?"

I began firing off questions without giving her the chance to answer. She brought her hand up and gently closed it around my bill to silence me. When I looked down at her for an explanation, she gave me a slight smile.

"Jake, everything is going to be alright," Abby answered softly before releasing my bill.

But that still didn't answer my questions. "What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

"No, no! Nothing's wrong!" she insisted with a light laugh. "At least nothing that won't last more than nine month."

I was puzzled by her statement and I made sure she knew that by the expression I gave her. After all, I am only male. Sensing my confusion, she reached out and gently took one of my hands in both of hers. She stared up at me with a radiant smile.

"Jake, I'm pregnant."

The world must have started spinning faster. Or I had stopped breathing. Either way, now I was the one feeling dizzy. I blinked my eyes and tried to gather the right words to respond.

"A-Are you sure?"

Those weren't the right words. But it was the only thing I managed to blurt out. Abby raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

"Of course I'm sure, Jake. The illnesses I've been experiencing are all symptoms of the first trimester of pregnancy. The doctor confirmed it," she slowly explained to me so that I would understand every word. Abby smiled widely again as she took my hand and placed it gently over her stomach. "We're going to have a baby."

While she was excited of this news, I was still in shock. Having children was a subject we had never thoroughly discussed. We both agreed that we wanted to start a family together, but it was the when we had never agreed upon. Now someone else was deciding for us.

But there was something else bothering me about the idea of having a child. I slowly slipped my hand out of her grasp and wandered absently over to the leather couch sitting against the wall. Abby watched, puzzled, as I slumped down on the couch and stared blankly down at the floor between my feet.

"Jake?" she softly called to me. When she got no answer, she followed and sat down on the couch beside me. Her arm came to rest around my shoulders as she tried to look into my eyes. "Jake, please tell me what's wrong. Do you…not want to have this child? Are you not ready?"

I insistently shook my head. I did not want her to think that was the reason for my reaction to her carrying my child. "No, Abby. That's not it at all," I admitted and looked up to face her. "I'm just a bit worried."

Abby's brow furrowed in concern at my remark. She made a common assumption and ran her hand comfortingly along my back. "Jake, there's nothing to be worried about. As long as I take care of myself, the baby will be fine and everything will--"

"That's not what I'm worried about," I interrupted and stared deeply into her eyes. "I'm worried about ME."

She looked at me, clearly confused. "I don't understand."

I heaved my shoulders before giving her my painful explanation. "I'm worried, Abby. I don't know if I can be a good father."

"Jake, what would make you say such a thing?" Abby asked, sounding shocked and hurt.

"Because I don't know what a good father is like," I confessed. In all of our years together I had never told her the truth about my stepfather. She had always believed the story I had told her about him leaving us, which was more of a half-truth. I looked away from her and returned my gaze to the floor. "Abby, my stepfather never ran out on us like you thought. He was sent to prison for twenty-five years because he was anything but a father to me."

There was an awkward silence. But I knew Abby was debating with herself as to whether or not she should ask the burning question. Her hand clamped sincerely over my shoulder and I turned to look into her concerned eyes.

"Jake, what did he do to you?"

Pain instantly washed over my face as the memories returned to me. The anger and pain had built up over the years since that time when I was a small child. Even after my stepfather was taken away to prison, the ordeal was never brought up. I had no one to talk to about what had happened. And now, Abby was here to listen. But I couldn't look at her. I sharply turned my glance away again.

"He did things that no one should do to a child, no matter how sick-minded they are," I began. My voice was beginning to tremble and I struggled to keep it calm. And I kept hoping that no one would come to my office and see me in the state I was in. "You hear about abusive fathers who hit and beat their children until they're broken both physically and mentally. It was nothing like that for my brother and I. It started when we were eight. We didn't have much of anything after our real father died. And even back then I wanted to be somebody, just like he had been. Since we were young, our stepfather had a way of manipulating us. He was a sick man and he took advantage of two young boys who didn't know any better."

My voice got caught in my throat and my hands began to tremble. Re-runs of exactly what happened played back in my mind. When I brought myself to speak again, my voice broke. "He said he'd give us money. And he'd touch us. I bought things with that money. And I let him touch me…." I couldn't hold it in any longer. I choked on a sharp gasp before I began to sob for the first time in over fifteen years. "He touched me and I sold myself…"

"Oh, God…." Abby whispered in disbelief. She shook her head, not wanting to believe my confession. I hunched over my knees and brought my hands to my face as the many years of pain escaped with each sob.

Abby's arms wrapped around my shoulders and she pulled me to her in a comforting embrace. Her chin rested on my head and she soothingly tried to calm me. It wasn't long before her own tears streaked down her cheeks. I felt them drop onto the feathers of my head.

"Jake, I'm so sorry. What about your mother?" she asked, astonished at the idea that perhaps my mother had known the whole time.

"She didn't know," I explained when I managed to somewhat calm my voice. "It went on for nearly a year before anybody found out! A whole year before I finally got the courage to tell someone who would actually believe me! He was arrested and sentenced shortly after. That was when we moved to St. Canard. He was the only father I knew."

I sat up and wiped my face, feeling ashamed of my emotional remembrance. Abby's hand slid into my lap to take my other hand firmly in hers. When I turned to face her, her eyes bore into mine.

"Jake, listen to me. What he did to you and your brother was horrible. But you're NOT him. Whether he was your biological father or not, I know you wouldn't want what he did to you to happen to anyone else. He abandoned you and his chance to be a father to you. I know the kind of mallard you are and I know you wouldn't even so much as lift a hand to our child or abandon your role as a good father. You know how much it hurts. And you're better than that."

"You sound so sure of that," I pointed out skeptically.

Gently, her hand caressed my cheek. "That's because I am. I am sure of that."

Her words pierced me. Much of what she said I knew was true. I just needed someone else to confirm it for me. I didn't want to be anything like my stepfather. My hatred for him was so intense that I wouldn't let that happen. This was my chance to be what he never was and to give my own child what I never had.

Finally, I managed a weak smile. I took her slender hand in mine and simply nodded in reply. She beamed and leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on my cheek.

"You're going to be a wonderful father. I know it. You already show so much concern for this child," Abby reassured as she got to her feet.

"Well, I'm certainly am going to try my hardest so you're not proven wrong.," I added with a wink. I also stood up from the couch. I stared down at her and slid my hands around her tiny waist. Her hands came up to circle my neck and we stared at each other lovingly. "God I love you."

Abby chuckled in a sly manner before she stood up on her toes to press her bill to mine. I kissed her deeply; I was still on my emotional roller coaster. But our passionate moment was interrupted when she suddenly drew back from me. Her hand came up to her bill and her cheeks bulged out.

My eyes widened and I quickly scampered to my office door and opened it for her. I pointed in the direction of the restroom and Abby instantly darted out of the office.

"This is going to take some getting used to," I muttered to myself as the bathroom door slammed shut behind her.

That was the first time I had ever told anyone about what happened to me in the past. At least the first time I told anyone who cared. My brother and I were forced to see a child psychiatrist after the event for a year. Abby was the first person I told aside from that. And she would be the only person.

But after that confession, I never gave it much thought. There were more important things that required our attention. Such as planning for the coming of our child. Instead of going on our honeymoon, I took the time off from work to begin clearing out a room in our home for the nursery.

Women complain that pregnancy is not an easy experience. I don't doubt it. But it isn't exactly a picnic for the men, either. During the first trimester, there was the morning sickness. While Abby was throwing up several times a day, I was there beside her to hold back her hair and fetch her a glass of water--even in the middle of the night. And on top of that, I had to put up with her fiery temper after each time she exited the bathroom. I had to learn to just nod and agree with everything she said or else I would be sleeping on the couch.

Luckily, those problems left when the second trimester began. But we were faced with ones. Such as clothing. Abby had begun to show by the time the four month came along. And I was constantly faced with that question which could mean my life if I answered it wrong.

"Jake, does this make me look fat?"

Abby examined her reflection in the full-length mirror as she tried on a new blue sundress. I nearly strangled myself while I was attempting to put on my tie. But I gathered up my courage and turned around to look her up and down. Her growing belly was barely visible at four months and her body remained slender everywhere else.

"Uh, no! Of course not! That color is definitely you. It goes with your plumage." I cringed. I should have been able to come up with something more believable than that.

Luckily, it was good enough. She hopped across the room and grabbed me in a hug from behind. "Thank you, dear!"

She kissed me on the cheek and made her way out of our bedroom. I watched her go and breathed a sigh of relief. As the weeks went by and she continued to grow, I would be faced with that question numerous times and have to come up with a different answer each time.

Then there were the cravings. I was able to handle the phone calls I would receive at work, requesting me to pick up numerous items at the grocery store on the way home. But the evenings were another matter.

"Jake?"

I moaned and turned over in my sleep, pulling the blanket tightly around me. Abby's hand wrapped around my shoulder and she shook me gently to wake me.

"Jake? Honey, I need you to get me something," she whispered regretfully into my ear.

Lazily, I opened my eyes and stared at the bedside clock. The hands read that it was 2:30 in the morning.. I sat up in the bed and routinely fetched my long overcoat from the closet. Not bothering to change my clothes, I pulled it on over my silk pajamas as Abby listed off the items for me to pick up.

"Pickles, cheddar cheese, raspberry sorbet, and anchovies," she called after me as I trudged out of the room with my car keys in hand. If I hadn't felt like the walking dead, I probably would have gagged.

Not a week went by where I didn't have to make a trip to the 24-hour corner store in the middle of the night at least twice. The graveyard shift employee was able to time his watch by me.

"Hey, Mr. Mallard!" he greeted me cheerfully as I tiredly dropped the odd combination of groceries at the register. The employee raised an eyebrow at my purchase and passed me a smirk while he rang up the transaction. "Another case of the midnight cravings, huh? Don't fret it, though. It won't last more than another few weeks. My sister was through with that stage by the time she was at six months. But her poor husband developed insomnia afterwards," he informed with a laugh.

I, however, was not amused. I scowled impatiently at him through my half-closed eyelids. "Just give me my change, Charles."

"Right. Yes, sir," he answered sincerely with a nod before bagging the groceries and handing me my change. I took the bag and proceeded to make my way out of the store in a zombie-like fashion.

For three months I had to put up with those midnight trips. The good news is that when the seventh month came along, that problem disappeared. The bad news was that the emotions and attitude surfaced. The bad attitude.

"Jake! Where's my coat? I asked you NOT to move it from where it usually is kept!" Abby shouted angrily from the living room.

I was in the kitchen, still half asleep as I poured myself a cup of coffee and calmly, "It's hanging on the coat rack by the door, right where you left it, dear."

Seconds later, I heard sobbing from the living room. I rolled my eyes and trudged into the other room, coffee cup in hand. Abby was crying into her hands and looked up to face me when she heard my footsteps.

"Oh, Jake! I'm so sorry!" she wailed and instantly threw her arms around me. While she sobbed into my chest, I rolled my eyes upward and stared at the ceiling.

I brought my hand up and comfortingly patted her on the shoulder. "Relax, Abby. It's alright. Don't worry about it."

"I've just been so emotional lately. I'm so sorry that I keep snapping at you for stupid little things," Abby apologized. She took a step back from me only so she could tilt her head upwards and begin planting kisses on my bill. Only a few weeks remained until the baby was due. Her emotions were running wild and I was quickly becoming exhausted.

And that day, I was facing one of my worst fears. I was going to do something I hoped I never would have to do. I was going to a mall to go shopping with my wife. And not just any kind of shopping. Baby shopping.

The fact that she was eight months pregnant didn't stop Abby from doing what she loved. I was dragged in and out of every baby store. While she went from store to store and checked out every clothing rack, I had trouble keeping up with her, carrying a dozen shopping bags in my arms.

"Jake! Look at this! Isn't it adorable?" Abby asked me as I collapsed into a conveniently placed chair in the store to catch my breath. I looked up to see the frilly white and pink dress she was holding up for my approval.

I made a face in response. "Are you kidding? No dresses!"

She frowned in disappointment. "But why not?"

"Because we don't even know if it's going to be a boy or a girl yet!" I pointed out. We wouldn't find out the baby's gender until birth and I wasn't too keen on the idea of purchasing clothes for a girl right away. I never told Abby, but I was secretly hoping for a son. "Can't we settle for clothes that aren't gender-specific until we know?"

With a sigh, Abby reluctantly replaced the dress on the clothing rack. "You're right. There will be plenty of opportunities later on, right?"

I opened my bill to respond. Before I could get a word out, she gasped and her eyes lit up excitedly. She darted off in the opposite direction across the store. "Oh, Jake! Over here! Look at this!"

With a groan, I slapped myself in the forehead. Over the next few weeks, I experienced many more days of the same. As her due date approached, I became more exhausted. During the night, Abby would continuously toss and turn in bed. On several occasions, I was pushed over the side of the bed and ended up on the floor. And if she wasn't tossing and turning, she was complaining about her back or some other discomfort.

While Abby was on maternity leave from her job, I continued my busy work schedule. When I was at work, my neighbor would keep an eye on her and make frequent calls to be sure that everything was alright. I felt at ease knowing someone was available to my wife in case something happened when I wasn't home.

But I had become too exhausted to worry. During the last few days, my assistant constantly found me asleep at my desk to catch up on the rest I was lacking.

"Mr. Mallard?" Julia tapped me on the shoulder.

Instantly, I sat up with a slight sway. "Huh? What? I wasn't sleeping."

She only smirked, knowing better than to correct her boss, and set some papers down on my desk. "This is from the chief at the police department. It requires your signature before it can be approved."

I yawned and nodded before waving my hand to dismiss her. I tiredly left my lopsided signature on the signatory line, struggling to keep my eyes open. Once Julia had closed the door behind her, my head fell forward onto the desk once again. My eyelids were too heavy to keep my eyes open and I felt myself begin to drift off.

But before I could experience a blissful rest, my private line rang. I groaned loudly and considered ignoring the ringing telephone. After the fourth ring, my better judgment overcame my exhaustion and I reluctantly reached out to pick up the receiver. Lazily, I held it to my ear with my face still buried in the paperwork on my desk.

"Hello?" My voice was a low drone.

"Jake? This is Sylvia from next door. Abby's gone into labor and I'm taking her to the hospital!"

"Uh huh? Okay, that's nice. Buh-bye," I answered carelessly and replaced the receiver in its cradle without moving from my position. The urgent phone call didn't phase me right away. A few seconds went by before I sat up with wide eyes.

In an instant, I was on my feet and stumbling across my office. I grabbed my coat and bolted out the door. "Julia! Hold my calls and cancel my meetings!"

"Wait, Mr. Mallard! Where are you going?" she called as I rushed past.

"I'm having a baby!" I shouted over my shoulder as I hurried down the hallway. Julia, along with several other witnesses, stared after me with perplexed expressions. But I had no time to explain. I had to get to the hospital.

I'd like to think that I'm a decent driver. Normally. But this wasn't a normal day. I was driving like a madman, speeding through every light I came upon. When I look back, I was lucky that I wasn't the one who ended up in the hospital. Moments after I had left Mallard Enterprises, my 1961 Aston Martin screeched to a stop in front of the Emergency Drop-Off zone. I leapt out of my car and rushed inside to the nurse's desk.

"Abigail Mallard! She's my wife, she's in labor. Where is she?" I demanded between my panting breaths.

The nurse promptly picked up a clipboard from behind the counter and scanned the dozens of names before finding the right one. "She's on the second floor. Take the elevator up and go down the hall to the left. That's where the labor unit is located."

I nodded and made a beeline for the elevator. As instructed, I went to the second floor and quickly made my way down the left hallway. Unfortunately, there were several different delivery rooms. A nurse stepped out of one room and crossed the hallway. I jumped forward and intercepted her.

"My wife is in labor. Abigail Mallard. Which room is she in?" I tried to ask calmly.

The nurse beckoned with her finger and hurriedly lead me in the right direction down the hallway. As we got closer, I could hear Abby's painful screams echoing from inside the delivery room. We stopped in front of a pair of doors and I looked inside one of the small windows. Abby was sitting up on the delivery bed with her knees bent and her face scrunched in pain. The doctor was position in front of her along with a nurse. Another nurse was dabbing at my wife's sweating forehead with a damp cloth. A loud scream shot out from her bill that rang through my ears.

I began to reach for the door to enter but the nurse stopped me by grabbing me by the shoulder. "I need to be in there!" I insisted.

"Sir, you have to put these on first," the nurse insisted. She handed me a small stack of green scrubs.

Without arguing, I took the scrubs and quickly slipped them on over my business suit. As soon as I burst through the doors, Abby's head snapped in my direction.

"Jake!" she cried gratefully.

I rushed to the bedside and took the place of the nurse. "Abby, are you alright?" It was a stupid question and she made sure I knew that.

"What does it look like?" she barked impatiently at me. To further answer my question, she let out another loud scream. Her hand shot out and took a hold of mine. I held her hand tightly and used my free hand to brush her sweat-soaked hair from her forehead.

"Good, Abby. Good! Push and hold it!" the doctor instructed.

Abby panted a few times before taking in a deep breath and bearing down. At the same time, I clenched my teeth and tried not to groan in pain. Her grasp on my hand was like a tightening vice and her nails began to dig past my feathers and into my flesh. Another painful cry erupted from her bill. After several seconds, she exhaled painfully and her head lolled back tiredly.

The doctor nodded in approval and held out his blood-soaked, glove-covered hand as a nurse handed him a pair of medical scissors. "Good! The hard part is over, the head is out. Just a few more hard pushes!"

I allowed myself to glance to the side to where the doctor was looking. In an instant, I felt lightheaded and made a disgusted expression. I returned my glance to Abby and gently brushed her cheek with my hand.

"Come on, Abby. You can't rest now, you're almost there! Just a few more and--!"

"Don't you tell me what to do!" Abby suddenly snarled at me as she sat up again. For an instant, I could have sworn her eyes flashed a fiery red. She glared angrily and grabbed me by the green hospital shirt I was wearing.

"YOU did this to me!" she roared spitefully and yanked me towards her. "This is all YOUR fault! Never again! When we get home, I'm going to personally neuter you!"

My eyes widened fearfully. "Abby, calm down!"

She did anything but calm down. Instead, Abby yelled in frustration, balled her fist, and swung in my direction. Her knuckles came into hard contact with the side of my face before I crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

The cries of an infant brought me back into consciousness moments later. My eyes fluttered open and I sat up with a painful groan. The side of my face was throbbing and already beginning to bruise. But I quickly ignored the pain and managed to pull myself to my feet when I heard the wails of a newborn. When I turned around, Abby was leaning tiredly against the bed. She was breathing heavily, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"Abby, are you alright?" I asked anxiously and rushed to her side.

She nodded and instantly took my hand gently in hers. "I'm wonderful, Jake. Just wonderful."

Another squall caught our attention and we both turned our heads to the side where the nurse was approaching with a small bundle in her arms. We both eagerly awaited her words.

"Congratulations, you two. You have a healthy baby boy."

A wide smile spread across my bill. The nurse gently lowered the infant into Abby's arms. As soon as she cradled our son in her arms, his cries ceased. Together, we both looked down at our newborn child for the first time.

His feathers were white. A few spikey feathers atop his head resembled his hair. His bill was a typical mallard's bill and he had defined cheeks. He was a spitting image of me. But when he opened his eyes for the first time to see his parents, they were a brilliant, deep blue color, just like his mother's eyes.

"Oh, Jake. He's beautiful," Abby whispered and lovingly stroked his cheek.

I nodded and placed a tender kiss on Abby's forehead. "You did good, Abby."

She smiled up at me before freeing one of her hands and placing it gently on the left side of my face where she had struck me. "Sorry about that, dear," she said with a slight laugh.

"Forget it. Nice right hook, though," I commented with a wink.

Abby chuckled and returned her gaze to the small infant in her arms. Carefully, she lifted him towards me. "Here, Jake. Hold our son."

At first, I hesitated, afraid that I would do something wrong. But I swallowed my worry and gently placed my hands underneath his small body. He squirmed in response to being moved and let out a few tiny grunts. I brought him up to my chest ad held him securely against me with one hand supporting his head. His eyes shifted upwards and for what seemed like hours, we stared at one another. I became determined to give the child I was holding what I never had. I became determined to be a good father.

"What name would you like on the birth certificate?"

The nurse's voice snapped me out of my train of though. Abby and I both looked at the nurse and then to one another questionably. We had never seriously discussed name possibilities.

But Abby smiled widely at me and made the decision for us. "Drake…"

I tilted my head at her. Slowly, I smiled in return and nodded in agreement. 'Drake' was my father's middle name--my REAL father.

"Yes, Drake Mallard," I confirmed to the nurse.

Abby reached up to gently run her hand over Drake's head. His eyes closed and he let out a tiny yawn in response before securely curling into the blanket.

We watched as quickly drifted off to sleep. Little did I know that the innocent child I was holding in my arms would grow up to be the public enemy and ruler of our city. He would turn into an maniacal master of evil. And it would be my fault.