Across the bay, in the suburban district of St. Canard, quite a similar scene of panicked rushing was playing out on 537 Avian Way. Drake Mallard had spent the morning preparing his home to host the Single Dad's Club, a semi-regular gathering of single fathers from around the Audubon Bay area.

Showing up today was Donald Duck and his nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie from Duckburg, and Goofy from nearby Spoonerville, along with his son, Max. A modest gathering to be sure, but they were very proud of the bond they had formed through their mutual struggles. After all, trying to be two parents for the price of one was no easy feat.

Drake, in particular, found it especially hard sometimes. None of the other members had a life like him. Sure, there were the typical fatherly problems like mortgages, parent-teacher meetings, and trying to understand the latest trends the youth were latching onto. But add onto that being a vigilante crime fighter every night, and most parents would buckle under the strain.

But not Drake. He wasn't just any other costumed bozo running around catching robbers. He was the terror that flapped in the night. He was the chips and dip at the party of justice.

He was Darkwing Duck. And Darkwing Duck knew how to host guests.

At least that's what he loudly proclaimed before stepping back into nothing and tumbling down the stairs, landing in a pile by the front door.

"Are you okay, dad?" called Gosalyn, who was pressed against the second-floor banister staring down at Drake.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie. Luckily for me, my back broke my fall," Drake winced.

Drake eased himself to his feet and saw Launchpad standing outside the kitchen, carrying a bowl of his award-winning potato salad. "Gee, DW, I didn't know you could crash so well," he said, setting the bowl down at the table.

"Well, I learned from the best, didn't I?" Drake retorted.

"Aw, you flatter me, DW!" Launchpad McQuack, Darkwing Duck's faithful pilot, took pride in the fact that he could crash anything, and on their harebrained adventures, there was many an opportunity.

"Don't mention it. Now, is everything ready? Food prepared?"

"Roger!" Launchpad confirmed. The table held a variety of consumables, among them a compelling deli tray, a decadent chocolate cake, and even the tried and true veggie platter. It was a spread sure to please any crowd.

"Card games set?"

"Righty-o, DW!" Piles of the group's favorite card and board games stood on the coffee table, ready to be played.

"Room cleaned?" Drake turned a narrow gaze up to Gosalyn, who rolled her eyes.

"Yes, dad," she sighed overdramatically.

Drake pumped his fist. "Yes! Excellent job, troops. Now we can await the arrival of our anticipated guests."

Launchpad bounced in excitement. "Gee, I can't wait to see Goofy again!"

Gosalyn slid down the railing to join them. "Me, Max, and the triplets are gonna try and beat Space Station Warfare 2." She proceeded to run and jump around the room making blaster sounds.

Drake chuckled. "And I'd just like to catch up with ol' Donald."

The clocked ticked noon, and Goofy and Donald arrived at the Mallard household within the next 10 minutes. They greeted each other with handshakes and the occasional hug, while Gosalyn did her part and led the kids to where the fun was.

After greetings, they all gathered around the table to sample the food. Conversations began among all four adults as they munched away.

The topics they covered were pretty standard fare for the group, from horrible PTA meetings to electric bills to the horrors of delinquent drivers. Stories of repair mishaps and toy-laden pratfalls were exchanged, and laughter filled the room at all the appropriate moments.

After this initial round of chewing the fat, the adults naturally split off into separate conversations, with Goofy and Launchpad exchanging tales about crashes and the hottest TV reruns. The two men were thick as thieves, both finding common ground in their love for the world. And perhaps their shared clumsiness.

Meanwhile, Drake and Donald excused themselves to the living room couch, continuing a talk about laundry.

"So, the Color Catcher is supposed to go in the washer instead of the dryer?" Drake asked.

"Yeah, it'll only do its job in the washer," Donald confirmed.

"I wish I had known about this sooner! I could've saved a basket of my shirts from that grievous green dye."

Donald could only laugh. "Well, it sounds like everything's around here's going grand otherwise."

"Yehp yehp yehp," said Drake, cracking his knuckles. "The ol' ship is still sailing straight."

Poor Drake still found himself tangled in the tiniest aspects of domestic life. An unfortunate side effect of devoting one's self to a secret identity for so long. But that's why he trusted Donald to help him out.

He had provided Drake with so much helpful advice since he adopted Gosalyn. Drake's pride wouldn't admit it out loud, but his newly acquired parenting skills owed a lot to Donald and his experience raising his wily nephews.

"So, how's life in Duckburg?" Drake asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Good. The boys are doing well in school, and of course, they love traveling the world with Uncle Scrooge."

"McMoneybags is still doing the treasure hunting gig, eh?"

"Yep. He says it keeps him fit and sharp, and away from board meetings."

"A likely story, but come on. We both know those nephews of his are the real reason."

Donald chuckled. "Perhaps. And having a superhero on the payroll helps keep life interesting too."

Drake grimaced. "Ooooooh, that Gizmoduck…" His jealousy for the happy-go-lucky do-gooder of Duckburg was only matched by his hatred for crime. "You know, I bet that Duck Avenger guy could put Gizmoduck right out of commission."

"You really think so?" Donald blurted out.

"Of course! He's taken down aliens and time bandits all by himself, while I'm stuck with-" Drake stopped himself and cleared his throat, realizing that he risked letting the cat out of the bag.

"...uh, stuck with mortgages and…Launchpad." He prayed silently that Donald would buy it.

"Well, Unk always said that Launchpad was a handful."

Drake sighed internally. He bought it.

They went on chattering from there about life in Duckburg and St. Canard, and then the two waddled to the kitchen so that Donald could show off some new recipes.

Drake put a lot of trust in Donald Duck. He was right by his side when he adopted Gosalyn, providing helpful instructions to a duck who, frankly, had no idea what he was doing.

Drake felt guilty sometimes hiding this side of himself from his best friend, but it was for the better. He cared about Donald too much to put him in unnecessary danger, especially when Darkwing had enemies that wanted him dead. If keeping a tight beak meant Donald's safety, then so be it.

As Donald opened the fridge to fish out what he needed, a particular thought came to Drake's mind. "Say, Donny?" he asked.

"What's up?"

"What do you know about Evronians?"

Donald stared at him as if he had just asked for the meaning of life. "Uhhhhh, wh-whaddaya mean, Drake?" he stammered.

"Well, get this," he began, leaning against the island. "Me, LP, and Gos were in Duckburg last night for a movie, and as we're walking back to the car, out of nowhere a pack of perfidious purple punks comes flying out from the alley next to us." Drake had jumped up onto a chair and whipped his hand upward to imitate the movement. "They bolted right over us in a streak of light and vanished into the sky. Gosalyn called them aliens, and, I'll admit, I thought she was nuts.

"The thing is, I did a bit of online searching last night just to make sure I was right. I thought it was just some idiot flying his drone too close to the ground. But then, I discovered this race of beings called Evronians." Drake emphasized the name with great curiosity.

Donald looked like he'd seen a ghost. Drake hadn't expected this reaction, and just as he saw it, Donald's gaze turned serious.

"They're no one you need to worry about," he said firmly, but then his eyes darted to the ground as he returned to the fridge.

Donald's nervous shuffling sent a red flag Drake's way, and his detective mind began to whir. "Really? You seem to be doing a lot of worrying about them all of a sudden."

"I mean it, Drake. The Evronians are no laughing matter."

Drake pointed at Donald assuredly. "A-ha, so you do know about them!"

"Alright, fine. I only know what I've seen in the papers. They're an alien race some people claim to have seen around Duckburg. But I'm telling you, they are not your problem."

"Tell that to the personalities I pondered online. They say the Evronians can suck up people's emotions!"

Donald crossed his arms. "Those are just crazed conspiracy theorists looking for clicks. I hope you don't think the nonsense they spout is fact."

Drake gulped. He did think that. But he couldn't let Donald know. "Uhhh, o-of course not," he said, flashing a grin. "Who would just believe some wacko on the Internet?"

Donald nodded. "I'm only trying to protect you, Drake. You and that rascal of yours. Now, lemme show this doozy of a recipe. The boys love it."

Drake stepped up next to Donald as the shorter duck began relaying instructions for this elaborate pasta salad. Drake wasn't really paying attention, though. His thoughts were lost in the mystery of the strange purple beings he saw.

Donald's dismissal of the Evronians only seemed to stoke the fire of curiosity in Drake's mind. Especially after he had Donald staring like a deer looking into headlights when he only mentioned them.

Conspiracies or not, these beings were incomparable to any foe he had ever encountered before. If these Evronians were out there and they really had a problem with Earth, he would receive monumental glory being Earth's mighty savior.

The fame and recognition almost made Drake dizzy with excitement. He bit his tongue, trying not to squeal in sheer bliss.

This was bigger than bank robbers and secret agents. This was even bigger than Taurus Bulba.

Donald was right. The Evronians were not Drake's problem.

They were Darkwing Duck's problem.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, Drake has a plan. But does he know what he's getting into? And does he know that the Evronians have a plan of their own? No. But you do. Cause I just told you. So come back next time to see A Change in Plans!