Ripcord plunked the VCR down onto the coffee table in his and Birdie's living room. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Talk to him," said Birdie.

"I am! He just yelled at me, and he doesn't trust me. Not that I blame him. Maybe he needs his space."

"Rip, you gave him nothing but space as a kid. I think that's the problem."

Ripcord's chest tightened. "I know." He picked up the red, white and yellow cables that trailed from the VCR and frowned at them. He'd have a better chance of figuring out this blasted machine than how to talk to his son.

"You're not seriously going to plug that in and watch it, are you?"

"Why not? You know you're just going to stay up and work."

Birdie sighed and headed towards the bedroom. Ripcord winced. "I'm sorry."

"I know. Goodnight." Birdie smiled at him tightly and closed their bedroom door.

Ripcord finally worked out how to plug in the VCR and started the tape; volume turned down. He retrieved a beer from the fridge, then sunk back into the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table.

What the heck was he supposed to do? He was trying! So was Birdie. Couldn't Launchpad see that? Yeah, this was probably difficult for him. But he could at least behave like an adult and give them a chance.

The grainy aeroplanes buzzed across the screen. Hell, he remembered when Dave had pulled that turn and lost that half a second, enough to bump him back five places in the rankings. Poor guy. Ripcord and the other pilots had given him hell for it. More than he'd ever let his trainees talk to each other like, although Dave had taken it well enough. Until Gasolini had pointed out maybe they shouldn't invite him out for drinks for a bit until he could get in some more 'practice'. Like the amount of practice they put in didn't run them into the ground already.

"Prick," Ripcord muttered.

This was the year they'd just got the cameras fitted to the planes' cockpits, the ones that showed what the pilot saw as they dodged through hoops and swooped towards the ground, and they had been making good use of them. Sitting comfortably on his sofa, watching them like he was along for the ride, made a familiar thrill rise in Ripcord's chest. And the ache. Oh, to be up there again, spinning through the air with only timber, canvas, and his whits keeping him airborne. This would be the closest he'd get to that again. That, and pushing his trainees and daughter to do the same. If, hopefully, a little more safely.

Then his double loop came up. And as he pulled through the hoop, Ripcord felt that uncomfortable tightening in his gut at how bloody close he had come to that pillar. He hadn't even realised at the time, and that was the scary thing.

Now, accompanying that feeling of longing was the thought of losing control. Of sitting there, impotent, as runway and fence and trees rushed up to meet him, knowing he was dragging along his family with him, and, despite all his skills, there had seemed not a damned thing he could do about it. Well, there might have been. If only he hadn't clammed up for the first time in his life.

Ripcord shook off the feeling and reached for the remote to switch off the TV. The recording let out a burst of static and switched over to another, taped right up on the airshow's tail.

"See! My dad is Ripcord McQuack!"

Ripcord froze. "Launchpad?"

His son looked back at him, barely eight years old. Or rather, into the clunky video recorder he clutched in his chubby little hands.

"Birdie…" Her bedroom door was shut, and she may have been asleep. Ripcord snapped his beak shut with a grin, got up, and moved around in front of the coffee table to get closer to the TV and proper see the grainy image of his son.

"You little ratbag, you found the camera." Ripcord didn't think they had any photos of Launchpad at this age. Certainly not video footage. Oh man, he couldn't wait to show this to Birdie.

Launchpad clutched the camera in his hands, finally balanced, and glared into it. "My father is Ripcord McQuack," he said firmly. "And he just pulled a double loop. Which is really, really hard. You know that aeroplane he has? That's called the Joyrider. And my Mom says its… purely… mechanical…" he struggled through the explanation. "Which means it's dumb, but it's also less likely to break."

Ripcord laughed. Well, he had roughed the plane up pretty good on some occasions, but she had always been his favourite—the most reliable.

"But," Launchpad continued. "We're going to interview Ripcord McQuack himself. You know why?"

"Cause he's your dad, right?" Ripcord couldn't help talking back to the image as tears pricked his eyes. He hadn't realised Launchpad had already been into planes this young, though he should have. He'd have loved to share with him about it back then, as he did with Loopey now.

"Because he's my dad! And I know you guys don't believe me. And you keep teasing me and telling me I'm making up stories. But it's not my fault he's never here. But he's going to be here tonight. And I'm going to prove you all wrong!" Launchpad's beak pressed against the camera. His little cheeks were flushed.

"Aw, kid, I'm sorry." Ripcord gritted his teeth. "Damned Gasolini." This was all his fault. Pushing them, telling them training and the airshows always came first. Harassing and flat out nagging them if they didn't want to spend what little spare time they had 'with the boys'. He'd screwed up signing that contract, sure, and now he was older, he would have thrown something like that back in the man's face.

How different would their family have been had Ripcord waited a few months? Someone else would've had him, and they'd have given him a far better contract. Birdie wouldn't even have had to work, although she still would've, but at least she wouldn't have had all the extra stress. And they could've had time. And even though Ripcord was certain his younger self had been a bloody idiot, that might have been enough for him to take some responsibility and be there for his son. No, responsibility wasn't the right word, although it was the one Birdie had rightly thrown at him the most. He might have been there to have a relationship with his son.

Maybe Launchpad would never have stolen that plane. Maybe Ripcord would have still been able to fly stunt planes, and he might've had it together enough to teach his son to do the same.

"But we're going to show them, right, kiddo?" Ripcord said with a sad smile. "You show them who you're dad is." Because, at least when he could be home, he had tried, right?

In the video, the sound of the front door slamming made Ripcord jump. Launchpad's flushed face broke into a broad grin that made Ripcord's heart leap, knowing it was for him. "Dad!" The image on screen spun as Launchpad ran through the house, dragging the heavy camera behind him.

"I told you I had that big meeting. You said you'd be home to look after Launchpad!"

"I'm here, aren't I?" On screen, a younger version of himself shouldered through the front door, hefting a duffel bag over his shoulder. Birdie was right on his heels, wearing that face that had always terrified him.

Launchpad barreled into him. "Dad, you're home!"

"Hey, son," Ripcord reached down and ran a hand through his son's hair, but his attention remained on Birdie. "See, the kid knows I'm here, and that's what's important."

"Dad, you just did that big loop and…"

"Hang on, kid, let me put this down."

Birdie just about ripped the bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the floor. "I have to leave half an hour ago. I've left food in the fridge…"

"We can get takeout."

"Did you make enough from that fancy little stunt for that we can afford takeout, huh?"

"Did your fancy little degree?"

Birdie and Ripcord headed down the hall to the kitchen, the image bouncing as Launchpad ran behind them. "Dad…"

"Come on, you idiot," Ripcord growled at the TV, "talk to your son."

"Lasagna, stew, we have a microwave," Birdie pointed around the kitchen as the younger Ripcord shuffled to keep out of the way of her energetic gestures. "You can fly a plane; you can learn to use that…"

"Hey, I'm out there working…"

"And what do you think I've been doing?"

"Dad, were you scared when you pulled that stunt?"

Ripcord moved around his son as he darted about his legs. He pulled the containers of food Birdie had indicated out of the fridge. "Is this all you made?"

"Seriously, buy takeaway if you want. I have to leave."

"Dad, how fast were you going?"

Ripcord grunted, stepping back as Launchpad thrust the camera in his face. "Launchpad! Your Mom and I are talking."

"But…"

"Fast, really fast," Ripcord said to the television. "So fast it feels like you're going to crash, but you don't because you get into this zone and there's nothing but you and the plane and… and, and just tell him that. It's not hard!"

"Launchpad!" The younger Ripcord's fists bunched at his side, and then he thrust a hand out, flinging it out above his son's head and towards the back of the house. "Go wash up!" he roared. "I'll make dinner, and… and you just left everything for me to do, didn't you?"

Ripcord drew in a sharp breath. He'd never hit his son. Never would have, and if he'd been that sort of guy, Birdie would've had him out on his arse in a hot second. But had Launchpad realised he'd never hurt him? Because from the camera's perspective, held down so low, the man onscreen was terrifying.

Launchpad bolted, the sounds of his parents arguing fading. He slammed his bedroom door and sunk against it, his lip trembling.

"Aw, kid," Ripcord rested his hand against the television screen. "I was going… I was going fast. And, no, I wasn't scared. Not back then."

Launchpad sniffed as tears spilled over his beak. "No wonder no one thinks he's my dad. He's never, ever here."

Ripcord's heart broke. "Launchpad… Kiddo, I'm sorry. I'm right here."

For a brief second, Ripcord thought the child on the TV, lost to time, was reaching out to touch him. And then the camera shut off. Ripcord stared at static, his hand pressed against his dim reflection on the screen.

It had never been Gasolini's fault. And Launchpad didn't need his space right now; he needed his Mom and Dad to be there for him. He should wake Birdie. But, he had always let her do so much for him. She had been the one to go after Launchpad when he left. Ripcord had been in no place mentally for something like that.

No. This time, it was his turn to go after his son. Ripcord left Birdie a note on the kitchen counter, then picked up his keys and headed out.

Launchpad wasn't home when Ripcord pulled up. In the five minutes it took him to locate his son, he could feel his chest tightening. How had Birdie done this for nearly a week? As he turned the car around for another pass, his headlights caught a lone figure standing against the hurricane fence surrounding the airfield, directly across the road from Scrooge McDuck's garage.

"Launchpad, there you are." Ripcord barrelled into the hurricane fence, making the whole thing rattle.

Launchpad jumped. "Dad?"

"Listen, I know you told us to leave…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you guys. I just got stressed, and…"

"You don't need to apologise." Ripcord squeezed his son's shoulder. Thank God he didn't pull away. "I think I get it, okay? We never were there for you, huh? Mostly me. You must be pretty mad at me. It's okay. I've exploded a few times in my lifetime."

Launchpad's head hung. "I wanted to try. I want to see you guys, and I want it to work. But I just kept thinking how you've spent so much time together. Without me."

"Me not being there for you was no one's fault but mine. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you as much as you needed."

Launchpad looked at him, studying his gaze, then looked away. "It's hard to believe you."

What else was he supposed to do? Ripcord felt the annoyance well up again, but this time, he just sighed. "I know. You don't have much to go on, huh? I know I can't make up for the past, but I want to spend time with you now. Come on, I mean it."

"Really?" Oh, how it hurt that came as a surprise to his son. "Doing what? It's the middle of the night."

Ripcord grinned. He hadn't quite meant it literally. But why not? "What? You not going to tell me you never got up to mischief after dark? Let's…" His son's questions about the planes, recorded years ago, returned to him. "Let's break into the airfield."

"What?"

"Come on! This fence isn't even high." Ripcord shook it, making sure it would take his weight. "We'll take a look at the stunt planes. And your Mom's. It's even better up close, and..."

"Dad." Launchpad's hands gripped into the loops of the fence. "I'm scared."

"Come on. We won't get caught. And if we do, I can talk my way out of it. I'm Ripcord McQuack, and my wife designed the plane. She might be mad if I use her as an excuse, but…"

"Dad…"

"She's not that scary. I mean, I'm her husband, so it's not like we're actually going to get into trouble…"

"Dad, just listen to me for once!" Launchpad spun to face him and grabbed him by the beak.

Ripcord cussed, but his son's grip effectively muffled him. It probably helped that only Birdie had ever done that to him. No one else would be that stupid; he would've decked them on the spot. And the look Launchpad was giving him, holy hell, did he ever look like his mother at that moment. Ripcord stilled.

Launchpad's chest heaved as he fixed his father in his glare. "Dad, I'm scared, okay? I want to be a family again, so bad. But I'm scared if I give in and let myself depend on you guys, that I'll need you for something, and you'll let me down. You won't be there, and I can't handle being rejected by you again. So, Dad, promise me, and mean it? Maybe I'll be able to see it. Promise you won't bail on me if I need you."

Could he do this? He had failed so many times. Launchpad needed him, and he could not flake out. Ripcord grasped his son's hands and gently removed them from his beak. "Look, I'm an absolutely shit father, okay? I don't know if I'll fail again but… look, I love you, kiddo. I… I'll be there for you." His voice wavered, and he did not know if that were a strong enough promise to convince his son. But it was the truth, and that was the best he could do.

Launchpad swallowed hard, then smiled faintly. "Breaking in to look at the planes sounds fun. I can show you the Sunchaser too. Mr McDee rented out the hanger, so it's in there with all the other planes. Race ya!" He threw himself at the chainlink fence, making it rattle and shake under his weight, and began to haul himself to the top.

"What… huh, hey, wait!" Ripcord climbed up after his son. Talk about changing gears. Bloody hell, he was too old for this. But Launchpad was not going to beat him. He just got his hand on the top when the fence shook, and Launchpad let out a yell as he plummeted down the other side and crashed to the ground.

"Launchpad!" Ripcord threw his leg over the top, panting. "Are you okay?"

Launchpad groaned. He lay flat on his back, spreadeagled. Then he grinned. "Looks like I win."

"Well, you had a head start." Ripcord made his way down more carefully. He would not handle a fall like that so well. When he got to the bottom, he grabbed Launchpad's hand and hauled him up, dusting him off. "Are you sure you're…"

"The Sunchasher's hanger is this way! Right past this gate, come on."

"Wait, there was a gate? Why didn't we use the gate?" But Launchpad was already rushing off.