Notes:

Sssh, pretend it snows where Duckburg is based. I wanted snow. Sssh.

Also, a little bit of a plot device, see if you can spot it. Heh.

Mrs. Beakley remembered the day like it was yesterday. She'd turned her back on Webbigail for five minutes and the girl vanished. Webby's energy meant she'd been running everywhere, excited to be out of the manor for a day. Feeling guilty for acting like every stranger could be Steelbeak's minion, she'd permitted her to run ahead of her. Then she'd lost sight of her and the next thing she knew, there'd been a note courtesy of an Egghead. Steelbeak had "reclaimed" his daughter. Mrs. Beakley had torn the training park apart trying to find her granddaughter to no avail. Everyone there had either been tipped off or paid off. No one was willing to help her.

And the cops, of course, were a joke.

She'd nearly tendered her resignation that day, out of sheer frustration and fear. She had wanted to spend her life looking for Webby, but Scrooge had managed to talk her out of it. When she was lucky, she didn't dream about Webby's disappearance. She wasn't lucky that often. She pictured how terrified Webby must've been, what Steelbeak and Black Heron were doing to her, and what they'd told her about her family. How they were polluting her against her and the world in general. They were filling her granddaughter's head with poison and there was nothing Bentina could do to stop it.

Dewey remained convinced, despite Webby hitting him in the head, that Webby was a good person deep down. Louie was skeptical and Huey insisted they had no proof to support Dewey's hypothesis. If she weren't being so foolish, she might agree with Huey. Might, except Webby had cushioned her blow against Dewey and then cradled his head before letting it slip to the ground. There had been tenderness there that was out of character for a FOWL agent. She refused to believe Webby was beyond redemption. The glimpses she'd had suggested Webby was in there somewhere, albeit buried.

Or what remained of her granddaughter. It might be nothing more than tatters now. Dewey insisted that she could have killed them and chose not to. FOWL wouldn't take that lightly. Bentina assumed they had someone watching her in Duckburg to ensure she didn't fail. They would report in soon...and if Steelbeak had any affection for the girl or at least any sense of ownership, he wouldn't let them hurt her too badly as punishment. Of course, if he really thought little of her, he'd let them do whatever they wished with her.

She'd been digging to see where Webby might be holed up. Scrooge was scouring the underground hideouts, as well as the villainous ones. The police were looking everywhere, albeit in plainclothes to avoid suspicion. She just wanted her granddaughter home. She knew she'd missed so much; she had to repair the damage Steelbeak and Black Heron had done. Webby probably hadn't known love for the last ten years.

She wished she could approach Webby on her own, but she wouldn't be able to. She was no longer unknown to FOWL. Still, if Dewey was willing, she might be able to send him after her. That assumed he'd want anything to do with her again. There was a difference between believing someone might be good at heart and putting oneself in harm's way to prove it.

Part of being a spy was being effective at disguise. She could find a way to change her appearance, assume a role, and perhaps she might go unnoticed by FOWL. Yes, she knew that wasn't likely, but, oh, she just wanted to talk to Webby.

Tears threatened to roll over again and she sighed. Webby wasn't the only one wary of showing weakness in the form of weeping.

At least she was alone in her grief. She'd sequestered herself on purpose to prevent any vulnerability from showing. The laptop sat in front of her with Webby's still image on it and she felt that familiar tightness in her chest that presaged crying. Webby looked so much like her mother.

A hesitant knock came at the door and she startled, inwardly cursing. She worked on making herself presentable and pulled the door open. It was unusual for her to get visitors, beyond Mr. McDuck, and it was even more unusual to discover Dewey Duck standing there, rocking back and forth on his heels. She frowned, contemplative.

"Dewey?" she asked.

"I know, I know, this probably isn't a great time," he said. She cast her gaze about, but the other two boys were absent. Either he was doing this without their knowledge or they knew and disapproved. Judging by the furtive glances he shot around the hallway, it was the former. She suppressed another sigh, gestured for him to enter, and then shut the door behind them. She wasn't pleased that he was in her bedroom nor that her laptop was frozen on Webby's face, but she would make allowances this once.

"It's about Webby," he said and she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?" she said, concealing anxiety by perpetuating a cold facade. "You have a plan to speak with her that doesn't involve her knocking you out and leaving you unconscious on a rooftop?"

"She had tears in her eyes," he said. "She's upset. Maybe she doesn't like doing this."

"An astute observation," she said and then sighed, shoulders falling. "But hardly useful at this juncture."

"If I can talk to her, maybe I can get her to open up," he said.

"She has no reason to open up to you," she pointed out. "In fact, in light of her training, she has every reason to avoid you. Doubtlessly Steelbeak and Black Heron instructed her to avoid anyone close to Scrooge McDuck or myself. And you, unfortunately, are both."

"But I want to help," he said, frustrated. "You didn't see the look in her eyes. She's trapped. I can help her."

"I did see the look in her eyes," she replied. "That's what worries me."

"Maybe we can rescue her," he pressed.

"Don't you think I've had that same thought for the past ten years?" she replied, keeping the tartness out of her voice with an extreme effort. "I appreciate it, Dewey, but...it's not just her we have to worry about. It's her handler."

"Handler?" he repeated, baffled. "What's that?"

"Someone who will be keeping an eye on her while she's in Duckburg, that she'll be reporting to," Mrs. Beakley said. "And considering how close she is to the upper echelons of FOWL, I can only think of a few people that would be."

"So, we get to them first-" he started and she shook her head.

"By the time we find them, they'll have extracted Webbigail," she said. "Believe me, I've considered that angle."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" he asked, desperate.

"Wait and see," she advised. "If we leave enough bread crumbs, perhaps we can convince Webby to come to us."

"That was pathetic," a voice hissed behind her and Webby whirled, whipping out her serrated blade. Her heart pounded and she searched the shadows. Black Heron stepped forward, eyes narrowed, and Webby's heart kicked up another notch. Of the two that had raised her, if one could call her upbringing that, Black Heron was harder on her than Steelbeak. It fit that she'd be her handler.

She could taste her heartbeat, it was pounding so hard.

"You let the boys escape," Black Heron continued. "You let them escape and they have by now told Scrooge McDuck and Agent 22 about your presence here."

"What was I supposed to do?" she protested. "I can't kill them. You told me that I couldn't do that. You said, and I quote, that I should 'stay away from anyone related to Scrooge McDuck'."

"And did you follow my command? No. You didn't," she snapped, advancing on Webby. Webby held her ground, although she was trembling. She had no idea how long Black Heron had been watching or what she'd seen. Webby had been so distracted by the triplets that she hadn't realized she'd had a tail. She was getting sloppy.

"I didn't realize who they were until it was too late," Webby pressed.

"Excuses," Black Heron sniffed. "Are you sure you're ready for this assignment? Or has Steelbeak overinflated your ego again? You take after him, you know, in the arrogance category."

"I'm not like him," she retorted. "And no, you don't have to take me off the mission. I'll do it. I got distracted. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Black Heron said. "Or your punishment will be so severe you will wish you'd never even heard of Duckburg."

She advanced on Webby and blasted the wall away a quarter of an inch from the teenager's face. Even though Webby had shifted to avoid the shot, she could feel the wind of its passing. It had knocked a few feathers off the top of her head. It was no mystery that Black Heron hated her. She resented her even more for being Steelbeak's offspring.

"Get back to your mission. I won't tell you again," Black Heron snapped and then disappeared just as quickly as she'd materialized. Webby's heartbeat took a while to return to normal. Given the excuse, Black Heron would kill her. She looked at her and saw Agent 22. If she could convince Steelbeak that Webby's death was for the good of FOWL, then he'd probably have no problem with it.

She hugged herself once she was sure she was alone. She was alone in more ways than one.

The cold night air brushed her hair away from her face and she grimaced. Winter was coming soon and she hadn't brought much with her. The outfit was supposed to attract attention, not to keep her warm. Plus, she hadn't been able to book a hotel within Duckburg, since FOWL didn't want her staying within Scrooge's reach. That meant she'd have to either figure out a ride out of town or walk. Since they hadn't given her a lot of money, it looked like she was walking.

Shivering, she bent her head against the wind. She wouldn't freeze-she'd been exposed to cold temperatures before without proper attire-but it wouldn't be a pleasant walk. The wind battered at her clothes and raised goosebumps on her arms and legs. Of course, her first mission would be in November when the temperatures dropped and she was wearing flashy clothing.

A streetlamp clicked on above her and it could've been a heat sensing lamp, but it also could've been tied to the town's security cameras. She wasn't sure, which made her suspicious. She didn't know if someone in town, specifically McDuck Manor, was keeping tabs on her too. Snow swirled around her, darkening her mood further. Flurries. Great.

She'd memorized the town map, but it wasn't a match for what the locals knew. She'd need to find shelter if the snow fell any faster. Swallowing hard, she looked up and saw McDuck Manor looming in the distance. For a second, she contemplated it, isolated and alone on its peak. Her grandmother was there. Scrooge McDuck and the boys were there too.

She jerked her gaze away and shook her head at herself. McDuck Manor was not a sanctuary. There were no sanctuaries for FOWL agents. There was no quarter given to FOWL agents. Her grandmother was an enemy, not an ally. Hadn't time with Steelbeak and Black Heron taught her that much? She stiffened her upper beak and swiped at her face. She'd have loved a good, thick pair of mittens right about now.

Dewey's phone number on its slip seemed to burn through her pocket. She could call for help. No. She was not weak. She was not going to compromise herself and fail FOWL. Black Heron had already shown her the consequences of that.

Underneath the bridge, the snow, ice, and wind were diminished, even if it wasn't eradicated completely. Duckburg didn't have a homeless problem, which surprised her, but not overly much. She couldn't create a fire in this weather, so she sank down and hugged herself. Someone had left a cardboard box, big enough for her to shelter under and avoid the worst of the elements. She shuffled into it and her teeth chattered. She was so cold.

With the box blocking the wind, she pulled out the slip of paper again. Dewey Duck. She was being the worst kind of fool, a sentimental fool. Hugging her knees, she stared ahead. Maybe she was being foolish, but she would've loved a heater right now. And maybe...no, she didn't dare hope more than that.

She prepared herself for a long and miserable night. She probably wouldn't get much sleep, either, but that was to be expected. She was in enemy territory. She had to stay sharp...though she wouldn't be very sharp if she didn't get any rest.

She willed herself to sleep. The cardboard box around her was getting damp and she had her doubts it'd last the night. Plus, if the snow got any worse, she'd end up falling asleep in it. No, this wasn't a tenable solution. She needed someplace safe from the elements.

Reluctantly casting aside the old fridge box, she assessed her surroundings again. The McDuck Manor was barely visible now and she squashed that odd pang that she felt looking at it. The map had shown her places where Glomgold had real estate that hadn't sold yet. She could squat in a house. It wouldn't be the most comfortable, not without heat, but she wouldn't end up buried beneath a snowdrift, either.

By the time she reached the model houses, she was shivering uncontrollably and she missed the security camera dangling from a lamppost near the first one she broke into. She had no difficulty picking the lock and she looked for the deepest place in the house with the most walls between her and the outside. It was barely warmer in here than it had been outside, but it wasn't snowing, which was a plus.

She pulled herself into a closet, shut the door, and shuddered, teeth chattering. If it hadn't snowed, she probably could've made it back to her hotel room. She wondered for a second where Black Heron was staying. It wasn't like the woman would've invited her to join her, mind you, but she did wonder where the FOWL agent had gotten off to.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes and collapsed, falling into a troubled sleep. Her hand fisted in her pocket and held Dewey's note tightly. His face was the last thing she saw before she succumbed to her fatigue.

She woke stiff and cold, though the latter was hardly a surprise. Stretching, she pushed open the closet door and glanced through the vacant living room toward the windows, where she saw snowdrifts as high as her knee. It was unusual to be snowing in Duckburg, considering it was in northern California. They were kinda close to the mountains, though-maybe she'd just forgotten how close since it'd been ten years. And she hadn't been allowed outside before her abduction...which she guessed might've been for the best at the time.

She needed to come up with a plan to convince Lena to join her. If she kept reacting to events instead of instigating them, she'd end up in a worse situation. Webby saw the best in people or tried to, something that FOWL had done its utmost to squash out of her. She cast her gaze downward, thinking of Black Heron's disapproval. That'd been toned down, too. The full extent of it wouldn't be anywhere near as pleasant.

Her only lead was Dewey, who wouldn't want anything to do with her now. And even if he had, Black Heron had warned her away from him. Webby knew no one else. Sagging, she stared out at the snow. It was dispiriting, both its presence and what it portended. She had no desire to wander out into frigid temperatures again.

If she remained here, she'd be shirking her duty. Pushing herself to her feet, she prepared herself for the bitter blast of wind that nearly bowled her over as she exited the empty house. It was the weekend, so she wouldn't have to worry about infiltrating a school. Then again, she doubted Lena (or the boys) attended school. They'd probably receive private tutoring in the boys' case and in Lena's, she wouldn't want to announce her presence by appearing too often in public.

She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and clutched it tightly to prevent it from flying away in the wind. She'd read it so many times she'd memorized the numbers and knew the feel of the pen's indent in the place map's scrap. She could almost imagine him writing it.

He was the first teenager she'd met. FOWL didn't make it a habit to keep children; she was an exception, but only because of her unique circumstances. She'd grown up lonely. Affection was unheard of and socialization consisted of being trained to fight, poison, and kill. She'd had a favorite death trap before she'd had a favorite color. (It was a pit of spikes, by the way, and then pink).

The paper fluttered in the wind and she held it tighter. The edges rippled, but it stayed put.

She didn't have a phone. True, everyone nowadays did, but FOWL maintained it was a way for her to be followed, a tracer. It was also a way for them to control her, by preventing her from reaching out to anyone who could help. She'd tried to call her grandmother a few times after her abduction and she'd paid for it.

Shoving the paper back in her pocket and zipping it shut, she surveyed the town. Half of it, or so it seemed, was underdeveloped. McDuck and Glomgold logos were everywhere. She remembered who Glomgold was distantly. He wasn't important enough to FOWL to merit a dossier. (Darkwing Duck had been, but since he stayed in Saint Canard, he shouldn't pose a threat).

Arcades were still a thing. Even if she didn't have money, she could loiter around and avoid the management. She consulted her mental map and headed for the nearest arcade against the bitter wind. Anywhere teens would be today was bound to be indoors, which was a relief for her in her mini-skirt. She shivered.

It took a good twenty minutes to walk there, in which time she was alternately warm and numb. Her extremities had lost feeling and she stomped her boots on the entrance map. The Duck triplets were gathered around a racing game and a fighting game. To her shock, her target was leaning against the back of another game and teasing Louie. Lena de Spell.

"You're not supposed to hit the other cars," Lena said, smirking.

"They're not supposed to be there," Louie growled. "The game is glitching out."

To her vast relief, Dewey appeared all right. He was sitting beside Louie at the racing game and smirking at his brother. She hadn't realized she'd been worried about him until she saw him again. Now she needed to draw Lena off to the side...she could always knock her out too, but she was reluctant to do so. Besides, this was a public place, not like where she'd attacked Dewey. There were witnesses.

Dewey turned around and cried out in a voice that was oddly excited, "Webby!"

Webby startled, wishing she hadn't given him her real name now.

"Webby!" Huey and Louie said, the latter crashing his virtual car in a spectacular fashion, complete with flaming wreckage. Webby had only ever seen simulations involving killing and assaults. She was intrigued.

"Okay, I'm missing something here," Lena said. She looked like an emo child. Then again, Webby looked like a goth chick, minus the fishnets, so she supposed she had no leg to stand on there. Lena had probably chosen her look, at least. Webby couldn't say that much.

"She's the girl who pulled a knife on us yesterday and then knocked Dewey out," Huey explained. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Lena de Spell," Webby said. "And look, there she is."

She met Dewey's gaze. "How's your head?"

"What do you care?" Louie asked sourly, but Dewey ignored him.

"Fine. I saw the security footage," he said and Webby froze.

"What footage?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"You cradled my head before you let me fall," he said. "You kept me from really getting hurt-a villain wouldn't do that."

"She was kidnapped by FOWL when she was five," Huey added. "But Mrs. Beakley and Dewey think there's good inside of her."

Lena surveyed her and Webby stared back. The girl was making her heart skip beats and she caught herself before reaching for her blade again. She did not need to repeat the same mistakes.

"I've never heard of FOWL," Lena said. "Is that some sort of bird thing?"

Considering they were ducks, Webby wondered what she was getting at. However, she was more concerned about the footage Dewey had mentioned.

"What security footage?" she repeated.

"Uh…" Dewey faltered, seeming to realize he'd given away more than he should have. She grabbed him by the shirt and as she did so, his fingers brushed against her stomach. She didn't pay much attention to this.

"What security footage?" she repeated, her voice more dangerous than before.

But it was Louie who answered her.

"There are cameras all over Duckburg," he said. "Uncle Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley see everything that go on around here."

Aghast, she released Dewey.

"They know? They've seen everything?" she said. She couldn't keep the quiver from her voice.

"Yeah, but I don't see what the big deal is," Dewey replied. He seemed to have taken her grabbing him in his stride.

"If there's security footage that's accessible by Scrooge McDuck, then FOWL can access it too," she moaned. No wonder Black Heron had known what she'd done wrong. Her knees knocked together. If she didn't hurry up and take her quarry, she was going to be in a shit ton of trouble. By now, Steelbeak had to know of her difficulties and her inability to take a life when she should have. Her stomach roiled.

"Okay, I'm still not seeing the problem," Dewey said.

"You have to come with me," Webby hissed, glaring at Lena. "Right now."

"I don't have to go anywhere," Lena countered, hand flying to her amulet. Webby's likewise flew to her poisoned dagger. "And not with you. I'm hanging out with my friends and I don't know you. Plus, you already threatened them."

"I was sent by FOWL to bring you into custody," Webby said, ignoring Lena's objections. "FOWL has need of operatives like you."

"FOWL is an evil organization," Huey said. "They brainwashed her-that's what Mrs. Beakley said."

"Of course she says that," Webby hissed. "She's an enemy operative. She has no idea what FOWL does."

"Think about what FOWL's done to you," Dewey said softly. "Do you really want to subject someone else to that?"

Enough. There was no telling whether Steelbeak and Black Heron could see this situation right now and watch her control wavering. She slid the poisoned dagger from its sheath at her hip and grabbed Lena by the right wrist, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. She could feel the other duck's heartbeat race beneath her fingertips.

Lena grabbed her amulet and Webby sliced the necklace off, cutting her in the process. The poison should work within seconds, but seconds might not be good enough if Lena got off a lucky shot beforehand.

"Webby, don't," Dewey pleaded and she hated that she faltered, even for a second. "You don't want to do this. You're still a good person, deep down."

Lena elbowed Webby in the stomach and the knife slid further, slicing a deep gash along Lena's breastbone. The poison was meant to be used in small doses. Webby had no idea what would happen if she got a larger dose. Webby stumbled backward and Lena collapsed; Webby caught her before she hit the floor.

"Stay away from me," Webby warned the boys. "I don't want to have to use this on you."

Dewey's phone rang and she glowered. Three against one wasn't a problem. However, three against one while protecting a hostage was another story. Were the Ducks trained to fight? Louie stepped out from behind the video game apparatus and reached for Lena. Webby yanked her out of his reach. Damn, but the other female duck was heavier than she looked.

"It's for you," Dewey said and hit speaker.

"Webby?" her grandmother said and Webby froze, conflicting thoughts and emotions coursing through her. She hadn't heard Granny's voice in ten years. It sounded exactly the same.

"Webby, I don't know what FOWL wants you to do, but you can always come home. We'll protect you."

The idea of the triplets protecting her was laughable. Louie took advantage of her hesitation to lunge forward and she kicked him in the stomach hard. Flinging Lena over her shoulder, she ducked and wove through the machines to avoid detection by the other patrons and the arcade's owners. Dewey was following, the phone held up and her grandmother still talking. She wished he'd leave her alone.

"Webbigail Vanderquack, stop this instant!" Mrs. Beakley ordered. Webby paused, the parental authority in her grandmother's voice temporarily overriding common sense. Then she growled, shoved open the arcade door, and looked for a getaway vehicle. She pressed a button on her hip; that would summon any hidden FOWL agents to pick her and her quarry up. Now all she needed to do was get away from the triplets.

"You don't want to do this," Dewey said, stepping outside too. She envied him his thick winter jacket and gloves.

"It really looks like she does," Louie groused, holding his stomach. She winced inwardly.

"Think about it," Huey added. "How fast are you going to be able to run while holding someone? And what will FOWL really do for you if you bring her back? Mrs. Beakley told us about FOWL. They don't care about you, Webby. They're using you."

Extraction shouldn't be this messy. Her heart hammered against her ribcage for the second time in twenty-four hours. Huey was right and she hated it.

"They kidnapped you to punish me," Mrs. Beakley said. "To prove to me that you weren't invulnerable and to hurt me for defeating Black Heron all those years ago. They don't care about you, Webbigail. I'm your family. The boys could be too if you wanted them to be. You'd have a home. People who care about you and love you."

Love. Webby's heart caught in her throat. She heard a car rushing toward their location. It would be there in seconds. Dewey approached her and the car skidded to a stop just as he reached her. A concussive blast knocked the triplets away from her. If she hadn't been prepared for it, she would've been knocked out too. As it was, her head swam and she was unsteady on her feet.

"Good, you can do something right once in a while," Black Heron growled. "Get in. Now."

Webby hurried to obey, depositing Lena in the back, and glanced at the boys one last time. She could hear her grandmother's voice still projecting from the speakerphone.

"Webby, don't do this."

"Agent 22?" Black Heron sneered. "Your granddaughter belongs to us now. Don't even try to call her back. She will never come back."

"I'm sorry," Webby called to the boys. She threw herself into the car after Lena and Black Heron sneered again before hitting the gas and propelling them far, far away.

"You're sorry?" Black Heron repeated. "They're the enemy. You do not apologize to the enemy. I see we're going to have to have a talk about your priorities before we reach the airport for the second half of your assignment, Webbigail."

Mrs. Beakley screamed, flinging the phone away from her. It was more emotional than normal and Scrooge stared at her.

"Er, are you all right?" he asked, wary of provoking her further.

She'd been close. So close. Now Webby was slipping through her fingers again. But wait.

"Did Dewey put the tracking device on her?" Scrooge asked.

"If she touched him at all in the last few minutes, then, yes, he did," she said. "I apologize for my outburst."

"Not a problem at all, 22," he said kindly. "We'll be able to track her now."

"We'll wait until she's back at FOWL HQ," she said. "SHUSH and I have plans for them."

And she would storm HQ herself to get her granddaughter back.