A/N: Monet's 'Water Lilies' exist in the form of literally dozens of reprints. Maybe they figure that having something washed out, pale and watery in a doctor's clinic is good company when you feel like death warmed up yourself. (Face it, the originals look better!)

I do sometimes wonder why they don't put something more positive in a clinic as motivation: 'Look, here's a picture of a nice sunny beach with a bunch of people enjoying themselves there. Just think, the sooner you get well, the sooner you can get out there and enjoy yourself too.' Oh well, I guess that one's up to us, huh?

A/N: Someone once advised me that people want to read stories in real time. So yes, I have done that here.

A/N: I am treating these 'chapters' as building blocks, rather than the traditional concept of chapters. (I do know what a real chapter is!) But I once received advice that posting a real chapter by traditional concepts was 'too long' for readership so I am no longer doing that.

A/N: I take the advice that I can get.

The Short Straw

Drake got out of the lift and considered Joss in front of him. Clearly, her unpleasant sentiment towards him ran deeper than he had initially suspected.

"Your access levels are set. There's more paperwork for you to go through." She handed him his briefcase over the counter, tucking her short hair back around her ear afterwards.

Drake grabbed the briefcase. The weight of it nearly toppled him over. Quickly he put it on the floor. What had been an easy lift before now felt strenuous. He clenched his beak. Like Grizlykoff, it seemed Joss was out to confront him with the failings within him; that she was stronger than him and that he was helpless under the mountains of paperwork.

Drake's indignance and sense of outrage on that thought strengthened him. "Is there a training outfit for me, or am I going in like this?" He gestured to his green and pink suburban clothes.
"Yes, it's right here."
He snatched the bundle from her hands. "Great! Thanks!" He grabbed the handle of the briefcase and headed towards the toilet signs.

His temper renewed his enthusiasm. "Let's get dangerous."

He stepped out of the mirror-less restroom and sat down on one of the waiting chairs, dropping the briefcase beside him. Drake ... no, was his name Drake? He looked down at the black gear he had on, properly confused. 'No, Drake, it is Drake. I'm still Drake.' He rubbed his face, it was so much more difficult without the aid of a mirror.

The mallard sat there staring at the unusual painting on the opposite wall. The dots and swirls on the mute brown background depicted an incident 'In the Dreamtime'. He sighed. 'Thank goodness it isn't Monet's "Water Lilies".'

It wasn't just Joss that was getting on his nerves, or even the fact that he was still struggling to remember if he was Drake or his alter ego. It was because the criminal that killed his father just killed five more people. Instead of being out there tracking him down, he was mucking around in this place. Why? The reason was Grizlykoff.

"Mallard?"

'Mallard' blinked, refocusing his attention from the char grilled crime scene in his memory. 'Mallard?' He took in the name that she called him. 'It's not a mirror but that'll do right now.'
Joss was standing there in front of him. "Are you coming, or are you just going to continue sitting there staring at nothing?"

He grabbed the briefcase's handle.
"Here." Joss took it from him. "It'll be safe under the desk."
"It's just paperwork." The duck snorted, wondering why she'd give it back to him in the first place; he didn't have time to read! Lives were what was important to keep safe, not the pieces of paper that commemorated or, in his case, condemned them. Condemned was the word. Joss, Hooter, and Grizlykoff all condemned him. Heck, why not throw in most of Morgana's family and the lord mayor of St Canard?

Mallard followed Joss through a range of corridors. She opened the door and left it open for him to follow her through. He didn't hesitate and stepped in through the door right after her.

There was six more people in the room warming up, twirling metal rods with thick rubber tips in their hands."I don't believe it: quarterstaffs?" He raised an eyebrow. Along with Quack Fu, quarterstaffs were one of his first training weapons! This would be a cinch!

"You've got a problem with that?" One of the people larked. "He's got a problem with quarterstaffs, everybody."
"Give the new guy some slack. What weapon would you prefer to train with, Mallard?"

"Oh, no, quarterstaffs are fine, I guess." Mallard played into the moment, "I just thought for such high technology people that you might have something a little more sophisticated." The duck picked up one of the weapons. It was light and hollow. Sure he knew how to handle the weapon but he still had to be careful; he was in a room full of vampires and he didn't want a repeat of the incident with the doctor. He had a feeling another blood donation could kill him.

Mallard's eyes fell on Joss. She'd made sure to put him to disadvantage. It was she that had put his life in the balance. He fisted the staff and joined the line, standing purposefully in front of Joss. He was in a room with a bunch of vampires and he had no margin for error.

Not unlike a tank full of circling sharks.

Joss swung her staff at him. Mallard blocked the blow squarely with his staff, but the strength of it shook him. He dodged clear out of the way of the next blow, giving a chance for the feeling to come back into his fingers. The one thing he hadn't been prepared for was that the metal pole in his hands conducted kinetic energy.

The next moment Mallard came back at Joss full strength. The staffs collided. He pushed off and stepped back. He shifted his hold on his staff as she twirled hers to the same effect.

They paced a circle, and she lunged at him, he trapped her staff to the floor and tripped her up. He prodded her chest with the rubber end of his staff as he stood over her. She blinked up at him in shock.

Mallard glanced up. The room had gone completely still and silent as the three other sets of fighters stared wholesale at them. He stepped away from Joss and she got up. He loosened his hold on the staff, readying himself for another hard strike from her.

It didn't come. Instead, someone else stepped in front of her and made the blow. Mallard dodged out of the way and took his opportunity, jabbed the rubber end as hard as he could at the other.

Mallard wasn't remotely finished with his need for aggression, but a tactful retreat was in order if he wanted to survive this room. He backed up, twirling the staff in his hands, his eyes on all seven of them now. "What's next?" He thundered in his best threatening voice.

They stared at him for a bit longer before they turned away and put their quarterstaffs back.

After the last of them left, Mallard crumpled to the floor. He took deep slow breaths, willing the dizziness to leave. It had been easy to ignore while surviving was the key issue. After a moment he dragged himself up to a stand. He didn't have time to recover here. He grabbed the staff and dropped it in the holder with the others.

Drake stepped out of the room and looked around the corridor. "Reception." He decided. He'd delayed, and now he was late. He needed to regroup.