Disclaimer The Mighty Ducks (c) Disney. Chloe Blake Winslow (c) Takara "Taka" Matsudaira.

Ducks of a Feather Flock Together

Chapter Three

The Captain's voice comes over the intercom system again. "Welcome to Minneapolis, Minnesota. You're now free to move about the cabin." The intercom system dings again, signaling the end of the flight.

We all unbuckle ourselves and start to get our belongings out from the overhead compartments. Well, almost everyone, that is. Mr. Tibbles is too busy breathing in and out of a brown paper bag. Hyperventilating is more like it. He's unnaturally pale. "I hate flying."

I watch with disgust, cringing whenever he throws up. "The landing wasn't that bumpy." I've never been good with this type of thing, comforting people I mean, never really my strong suite.

"Doesn't matter," he says, looking rather ill before going back to throwing up in the brown paper bag. "Still hate to fly."

"How in the world of hockey did you get a job that requires you to fly around the country and back again then?" I can't help but ask.

He throws up some more before he finally gets a chance to answer. "They never asked me if I got air sick. They only asked me if I was afraid of heights." That explains a lot.

I sigh, shaking my head at the man.

A flight attendant comes to my rescue, helping me escort the pale Mr. Tibbles from the plane, when she sees that I'm having just a little bit of trouble carrying his weight, along with mine and Mr. Tibbles' bags.

We finally make it off of the plane, but Mr. Stalker-Man is so ill that he doesn't even realize that he accidentally shakes my hand, thanking me for helping him, and then slings his arm over the flight attendant's shoulders, walking away with her instead of me.

"Air sick?" asks the woman behind the desk when she sees him walking away, without me but with the flight attendant instead.

I nod. "Air sick."

"Good luck with that," she calls out to me, all giggles.

I roll my eyes at her before turning my back to her as I start running in order to catch up to Mr. Stalker-Man. Great; just my luck. Now I have random people in the airport laughing at us. I don't need this, but what else am I to do? I guess I could always visit Patrick and Hercules, down at station Engine "Avalanche Mountain" 61. Patrick is my third oldest big bro and Hercules is the station's big, but very friendly pitbull. I haven't seen those two in ages; I miss them. Terribly.

I can't help but laugh when I finally catch up to the ill Mr. Tibbles and the poor confused flight attendant. She's trying to tell him that she's not me, but Mr. Tibbles is not listening. He's probably just talking Mr. Tibbles' gibberish, which is actually all but just nonsense to the flight attendant anyway.

Laughing, I startle them accidentally, as I come up from behind them. "Leave the poor woman alone, Mr. Stalker-Man." Her eyes widen at my use of said man's nickname, but I reassure her that it's only a term of endearment. I think so, anyway, but I wasn't about to tell her that. That's the last thing she needs right now. "She's got a plane to catch." I pry his arm off from around her shoulders long enough for her to escape. And so she does, thanking me with a smile of gratitude, before she disappears completely, running back to the plane obviously.

Then realization hits me. I can't carry Mr. Stalker-Man's weight, plus there's also our other remaining luggage, back at baggage claim. Great; just great. What am I to do now? I can no longer hold his weight and literally plop him in a nearby chair, rolling my shoulders a couple of times after doing so. There. That's better. Now I just have to figure out what to do.

He's mumbling to himself, or to me, about what, I don't know. I can't believe he can still be this sick; I mean, we just landed about fifteen minutes ago, he should be fine now. Maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part. Feeling a little jet-lagged myself, I rub at my temples as I close my eyes, feeling a headache coming on, sitting down in the chair opposite of Mr. Tibbles. I feel his eyes on me, but he's still mumbling nonsense.

Sighing, I open my eyes, only to see Mr. Tibbles sleeping away, completely oblivious to his surroundings and that of our current predicament. Shaking my head, I spot a nearby abandoned luggage cart. An idea. Yes, finally! I jump up in my excitement, which is something I don't often do, but I can't help it this time.

I run to it. When I get there, I see that it's empty, completely empty, and just the size of Mr. Stalker-Man himself, so that's a plus! Yes. Perfect. It's perfect. I push it back to said man, whom I finally, after a few false starts, get him on the thing. He's laying on his back, one of his arms swings back and forth at his side as I push along through the crowd of people. Everyone's giving us, but mainly me, weird looks. But I can care less, I just continue on smiling. This is so much easier than having to walk him to baggage claim myself.

Fortunately, it wasn't hard to find his luggage. His bags were from "Hendrix Hockey Apparel," they were littered with the company's logo. And since I already know what mine look like, I just grabbed them as they came around.

I then continue on my way, finally having exist the airport. Now what? We need transportation. But before I get a chance to panic, as if, a limo driver spots us. Well, he spots Mr. Tibbles, unconscious, being rolled on a luggage cart, along with our luggage. This confuses him, but after I tell him what happened, he nods his head in understanding and then he helps me get him into the limo. He seems like a pretty nice man. Then again, he's a limo driver, it's his job to be nice.

He introduces himself as Mr. Queen. Hm, that's a name I don't think I'll be forgetting anytime soon. A queen is a girl. Never a guy. Unless, of course, the guy is having identity issues. Of course, I tell him this, but he merely laughs, making me smile, too.

I don't have to tell him where we need to go, he already knows and takes us to the hotel, where I'll be staying for the rest of my time here, in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Actually, it looks like a pretty decent place to live if I do say so myself, if you like the cold. Glad I do. Even though I was born in Hawaii, where cold is basically nonexistent. Guess that's what happens when you're a military brat, living around the world, you get used to different climates.

"Here we are, Miss Winslow."

I cringe at the use of my last name. "The last name is so overkill. Call me Blake, just Blake," I correct him.

"But Winslow is your last name, isn't it?" I nod. "Then why don't you like to be called by your last name?"

"I just don't. That's why," I quip back lamely, yet I still cross my arms over my chest defiantly to show him that I mean business.

He studies me, but then concedes. Sighing, he says, "Well, then... Here we are, Miss Blake." He opens my door, helping me out of the limo by offering his hand, before going around the back and taking out our luggage.

Mr. Tibbles is still fast asleep when Mr. Queen opens the passenger door, but at least he's not mumbling to himself anymore. That's gotta be a good sign, right? Again, could just be wishful thinking on my part.

I'm really lucky that Mr. Queen's here to help me. I barely make it into the lobby of the hotel when he checks us into our rooms. He's soon escorting us up to our floor and to our rooms, or at least to Mr. Tibbles' room. We literally dump him on the one and only bed in the room before closing the door of his room, so that he can get some sleep.

He asks me if I'm hungry. "Are you hungry, Ms. Blake?" I nod. What? It's lunchtime, after all, and I didn't eat anything yet because we left first thing in the morning in order to beat the storm that'd soon be rolling in later tonight.

He proceeds to tell me about a great place to eat nearby the hotel. "It's called Goldberg's Delicatessen."

"I don't know..."

"It's got awesome sandwiches," he bribes.

My stomach grumbles loudly at the mention of food. "Okay. Sounds great. I'm in. Just give me a minute to put my bags down, and I'll meet you in the lobby?"

"See you then." He leaves, but not before directing me to my room.

I open the door after inserting my key card. It's not a big room, but big enough to hold two people, possibly three if the need calls for it. There's all of the accommodations one person needs. Except for food. Go figure. In opening the fridge, I find that it's empty. Good thing I agreed on lunch because there's absolutely nothing here that's edible.

My stomach grumbles again. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You're hungry. So am I. What do you think? I'm not gonna feed you?" I ask my stomach, patting it. Now I know I'm hungry. I only ever talk to my stomach when I'm literally starving to death.

I'm not gonna be here that long, so I just merely dump my bags on the nearest bed, without having the worry of unpacking them. I never really unpack anything, anyway, when I travel. I've learned that it's just easier that way. Then you won't have to worry about forgetting anything of vital importance.

I meet up with Mr. Queen, whose waiting in the lobby for me. He leads me back to the limo, still talking about the delicious sandwiches at Goldberg's Delicatessen that await us. As if I need anymore convincing.

Let's go already, I'm starving!

A/N Speculations anyone? Who'd you think Blake'll meet, besides the obvious of course, at the restaurant? Of course, she'll meet Goldberg there, that's where he works. I'd love to hear your guys' opinions! I've got a few ideas in mind already, but I'd still like to hear what you all think! If I like an idea, I might just use it...so keep that in mind when you review!

Reviews are much obliged! Flames'll be burnt to a crisp. ^_^