-Chapter 8-
According to Plan
When Drake awoke it was as if he had slept for days. He was rejuvenated, alert, and completely at ease. The early rays of the rising sun seeped into the tower smothering everything in a golden haze. Something nagged at the back of his mind. It was a Darkwing-y feeling that often meant something was wrong. But, he reasoned with it, what could possibly be wrong on this beautiful day? The nagging didn't subside in the least. He closed his eyes and tried to tempt sleep back to him to no avail. He tried to ignore it, it screamed even louder. He tried to concentrate on something else, the scent of her perfume, the softness of her skin on his, but still the unrelenting Darkwing would not leave him be.
"What's wrong Drake?"
He opened his eyes and saw her looking up at him, more unfairly beautiful than anything in the world. Were they so in tune that she knew something was bothering him? Or did he just look like he was struggling with something? He stared stupidly at her, unsure of how to answer. He didn't' know what it was but he felt as if he should be somewhere, that there was something he had to do.
"Are you all right?" She furrowed her eyebrows at him.
"I'm better than all right." He smiled, but she looked suspiciously at him. "It's nothing really, I promise. It's just a feeling that I should be doing something…"
She kissed him sweetly and pulled her hair away from her face. Her smoldering emerald eyes looked upon him with a weakening fondness and she ran her hand gently along his hair feathers.
"Well, can I be selfish and keep you from what ever it is that wants your attention for a little while longer?"
"Please be as selfish as you can possibly bear for as long as you wish."
The sun was making its slow ascent into the sky. The sounds of the morning commuters were barely louder than a whisper. It was another twenty minutes before they got out of bed, the nagging growing with each passing second. He stood at one of large windows staring at the sun reflecting off the bay. He was in the clothes he had worn the day before and absent-mindedly fingered the hole Quackerjack's knife had made. There was an odd scraping noise and he saw her lifting the shattered bike helmet he had almost forgotten about. The despair that was etched on her face was unnerving, it was almost as if she was looking on as they lowered his coffin into the grave.
"Morgana?"
"You could have been killed." She said sadly.
"Hey now, don't…" He started only to fall silent at the sight of her. She stood, the fractured mass of plastic in her hands, looking as if she would start to cry. Her eyes were fixed on the heavily cracked visor.
"Why do you do it? I've tried to think, tried to figure out why you would choose this violent, lonely lifestyle…. And I can't figure it out. Is it just a childhood fantasy that you've ridden to long? Or are you trying to make up for something that you weren't able to prevent? I've seen how this life repays you: cuts, scars, pain, broken bones, anguish, and mental wounds. Not to mention you're a wanted man! The police and the special forces of S.H.U.S.H. are always out to nab you, and you're on their side! " A bewildered glint shone in her eyes as she looked at him. "You work all day and all night. You get barely any sleep, you hardly eat, this life is destroying you. If your thirst for justice is so unquenchable why not join them? Leave the twenty-four hour vigilante behind and use your skills to help them as Drake?" She fingered the large dents in the helmet a she pleaded with him. Her desperate eyes were too much for him and he looked back out to the bay again as he answered.
"They offered me a job once." He sighed. "I refused rather quickly and then had to avoid being killed. Paperwork, regulations, and file sorting just aren't for me Morg."
"And stitching your own wounds and this.." She brandished the bike helmet, "… are?"
"It's who I am, and even if I wanted to I couldn't' stop now. I've gotten in too deep…" He replied calmly.
"Superheroes aren't real Drake. You're just flesh and blood as the criminals you face. If you need to separate yourself from the protocol then why not work for them, with them. It's working out so well in Duckburg with Gizmoduck."
"Gizmoduck?" He growled shortly, "Is that what you want me to be? Some overgrown boy scout?"
"I don't want you to be Gizmoduck Drake… I just want you to be safe." She sighed. "And this is not just about how I feel." She added quickly seeing a retort flash in his eyes. "Do you really want to leave Gosalyn alone?"
The outrage quickly faded into a somber guilt and he looked back at the glittering water below again. He had tried not to think about that, but hearing it come from her made him feel so selfish. He hated it. Gosalyn had lost all of her family before she should have, how would she hold up if he died too? He wished he had an excuse, that he felt ill or he had a headache and didn't want to talk about this right now. But, the truth was he'd never felt better and somehow he knew she already knew that.
"You know I don't." He finally answered.
She came up behind him and draped her arms around his shoulders. Her silky hair flowed over his shoulder as she rested her chin on it.
"Please don't be upset with me darling, I'm only trying to help."
"I know." He placed his hands over hers. Could he do it? Would he be able to abandon Darkwing and lead a normal life? Report to the same place day after day, come home to Gosalyn at a reasonable hour and stay there? Would Morgana be there waiting for him too? Would J. Gander's offer that he made him six months ago still be open? Drake Mallard… an agent of S.H.U.S.H? One identity all the time, he had to admit it was tempting,
"Why don't you think about it? Maybe you could find an understanding agent and discuss the idea?" She suggested.
Maybe it was the way she held him, or how he felt when they were together but he decided it was a good plan.
"I have a better way." He led her to a complicated looking control panel. "I can hack into any radio channel from here. I can find the line that S.H.U.S.H. communicates on, find a candidate and isolate their transmission frequency." He flipped on the machine and smashed a few keys.
"Darkwing Duck." Announced an elderly sounding voice. Drake nearly jumped out of his skin, the message continued. "This is J Gander Hooter director of S.H.U.S.H. but I daresay, if you are hearing this transmission I'd wager you all ready knew that. There has been an incident, and abduction we believe. A rather predominant social figure has been missing since 11:57 last night. Only one clue was left of his captor and whereabouts and unfortunately for us it is addressed to you."
"What?" Drake whispered.
"It is a device that appears to be a simple jack-in-the-box, however on closer inspection it has been outfitted with a fingerprint scanner. We attempted to overwrite the mechanism but only triggered a security fail safe. It may amuse you to know that Agent Grizzlycof is nursing a bad burn because of it. I am offering you a truce for the time being. We must recover this man as soon as possible. You may find me at 553 Sixth Street. This message will be repeated."
He looked back at Morgana who was staring at him. She knew the address as well as he did.
"Tither."
The now familiar locale was swarming with police officers and S.H.U.S.H. agents. Darkwing surveyed the outside of the building from a nearby rooftop. There were no signs of forced entry. Quackerjack had been the one to kidnap him, there was no doubt in his mind, but it wasn't really the clown's style to be so neat. He could see Hooter through the window of the missing scumbag's bedroom. Was it a trap? He wasn't prepared for one. Somehow he had a feeling Hooter would keep his word. Now, the thought to himself, how would he make his entrance?
Hooter stood in the center, his investigative team scouring the room around him. So far they had found a penknife, a broken mirror, the box, and a bit of the victim's blood on the carpet. They deduced that Tither had tried to attack his tormentor with the measly weapon and was taken down. The only prints they found were Tither's. This was getting rather frustrating. The obnoxiously red box with the bright yellow smiley faces on it sat on the bed. They had tried everything, there was no way anyone of them could open it. There was a label tag that had child-ish writing on it that read "For Darkwing Duck ONLY!" So, much to Agent Grizzlycof's offense, he had recorded a message for the renegade. Now all they could do was wait. There was a faint clank from outside.
"I hope you'll pardon my hesitation, but I'd rather not enter a room where I am so unfairly anticipated…" came a smug young voice, "… So if you wouldn't mind could you call in a few more Agents, J Gander? I don't think my ego can take such a low blow."
Hooter smiled. Darkwing was always so interesting and arrogant.
"How about I ask them all to clear out so that you and I could have a word?"
"That'll do."
The agents left without question. The window slid open and the masked mallard entered. It had been a while since they had met face to face. The last time he had come in contact with this man there had been a massive explosion that took weeks to recover from. Hooter could sense that Darkwing was tougher than last time. He was more intimidating and yet he carried himself the same way he always had. He was such a curious person.
"Well, well it has been a while hasn't it Mr. Duck?"
"Certainly has. I can see you've been busy." His voice was unreadable.
Hooter admired the control the vigilante had over such small things as this, it was a skill not many possessed nowadays.
"As have you I've heard. One eyewitness said she saw you with demon sponges and a jester, setting fire to department stores the other night. Quite a strange crew. May I be so forward as to ask if it is the same Jester who turned Chunky Charlie's into a blood bath, and the same Jester who allegedly grabbed Mr. Tither?" He watched the young man like a hawk hoping to catch something in his reaction. But, as always, Darkwing offered no clues.
"I believe it is, yes. Is that what was left for me?" Darkwing prodded a gloved hand at the red box.
"Yes, I'd be careful with that. It is extremely dangerous."
Darkwing picked up the box and carefully turned it over in his hands.
"And it was found here on the bed?"
"Indeed. It was all the culprit left behind." His keen eyes stayed locked on the vigilante's every move.
"Well, here goes nothing." Sighed Darkwing as he pulled off a glove. After a moment of hesitation he pressed his bare right thumb to the small metal square.
Before he could remove it the square sank in and a sharp pair of metal teeth clamped down on his finger. He shouted in pain and the top of the box sprang open. The blood quickly started dripping down his hand and the voice of Quackerjack spoke from the dark opening.
"Darkwing!" It giggled. "You are too trusting and predictable! So you came to help the S.H.U.S.H.-ies in their little game of cops and robbers? I'm sure Mr. Hooter is present as well? How nice of you to join us director!" Laughed the voice. "It is just all too scripted! You rush to the aide of the vile Reynold Tither… who I assure you J Gander is still alive…. And leave the real target open for attack! Oh but where's the fun in just blurting out what I've done? So I've composed a nifty little riddle for you." The voice cleared its throat dramatically and sang: "Are you ready?" Which was answered by silence. "Good! Here it is:
When the sloth falls from view the pale children will rejoice, while the eleven of clubs bears to their wandering souls the golden baby goose doomed to join them by the flapping terror at the thirteenth hour.
Better put on your thinking caps… time is running out." The voice was gone.
The blood was flowing down his arm, the riddle ringing in his ears. Hooter was writing feverishly on a notepad. The metal fangs would not budge and inch to release him. He gripped the box firmly with his left hand and braced himself. He yanked the box away hard and the teeth tore deep oozing treads on his finger. He held in a scream as he pulled the rest of his finger out. He gritted his teeth and glared at the silent box, he could see chunks of his flesh caught in the metal mouth. He threw the box back on the bed.
"Do you need a medic Darkwing?" Asked Hooter concerned.
Dark kept his mouth shut, he knew if he opened it he would scream. Instead he shook his head "no" and wrapped his bloody finger tightly in his cape.
"Did you hear all the riddle? Can you make sense of it? It is rather misleading and I don't see any hints to Mr. Tither's whereabouts…."
"It's not about him." Dark croaked. "He's just a decoy. The 'sloth' is Tither, the whole abduction was a distraction…"
"So it would seem. He mentioned the eleven of clubs…"
"The jack. The jester calls himself Quackerjack." The bleeding was slowing down.
"Yes so I've heard but what of the rest? What is he getting at?" Hooter looked over his notes. "It's all nonsense to me… the pale children, the flapping terror… that I do believe is you, the golden gosling…."
Darkwing's heart stopped.
"The what?"
"A baby goose… it is referred to as a gosling." Hooter explained impatiently.
Darkwing stumbled over his own feet trying to get back to the window as fast as he could.
"Where are you going?" Shouted Hooter.
"I've been had J Gander! Swear to me you won't do any tests on my blood and I'll try to bring Tither back for you." Dark climbed out the window and stared at the elderly bird. "SWEAR TO ME!"
"All right. But Darkwing let us know where he is and we will assist you." Hooter watched the duck disappear in a hasty retreat.
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