When he graduated from St. Canard Middle precisely twenty years ago (and doesn't that make him feel like he's not long for retirement?), Drake Mallard did not believe he would ever have to set foot in it again, much less even think about it. Today marks the twenty-second time since enrolling his daughter last year. At least it's been long enough that the 'Save Our Planet' display from last time has been replaced with a 'Healthy Eating Habits' display.
Mrs Pochard, Gosalyn's teacher, sits across from him with her hands clasped and a diplomatic smile on her beak. Unfortunately, it doesn't inspire confidence in the young father. "I apologise for calling you here again, Mr Mallard." Drake tenses, waiting for the inevitable. "But I'm afraid Gosalyn's grades haven't improved since our last meeting."
The news does not come as a surprise to Drake, yet his stomach still lurches. A small part of him had been hoping for the complete opposite despite the evidence to the contrary.
"How... bad are they?" Drake asks carefully, trying not to grip the sides of his chair. He keeps his hands folded together in his lap.
Then he's overcome with a sudden realisation, leaving his entire body cold. Gosalyn's report card was due the other day. He had been refreshing his emails all day and night, to the point Launchpad told him he was obsessing. He supposes LP did have a point; taking the chance to check his emails after being knocked to the ground by the villain that night probably was a tad obsessive. When the report card had failed to appear in his inbox a couple of days later, Drake had chalked it up to the possibility that he had been mistaken. He hadn't even considered that Gosalyn lied when he asked her about it. She had shrugged, keeping her attention on her phone, telling him it wasn't due for another week.
Drake hadn't even given it a second thought when an email asking him to attend another parent-and-teacher meeting arrived in his inbox.
Mrs Pochard shifts uncomfortably.
"I'm afraid it's best if I just show you." She withdraws an envelope from a drawer and hands it to him. His mouth dry, Drake opens it.
His heart immediately leaps to his throat.
Every subject is marred by a red D. No, wait, there's a singular subject with an A: Physical Education. And Spanish at least has a C. The sight of them is enough for Drake to scale back Gosalyn's impending grounding from a month to two weeks.
Though, Gosalyn is so fluent in her second language that suspicion nags at Drake. Something isn't right here.
"Mr Mallard?" Drake tears his eyes away from the report card. Mrs Pochard's stance has softened. "I don't believe these grades truly reflect Gosalyn's capabilities- well, except the 'A' in P.E, of course." She allows herself a small smile. Drake doesn't return it. "But I know Gosalyn is much more capable than she would like us to believe."
Drake knots his eyebrows. The hidden words dawn over him. "Wait, you mean-"
Mrs Pochard nods gravely. "Yes. I think Gosalyn is failing on purpose."
Drake blinks. Slowly, his mouth drops open.
"I- uh-" He blinks furiously. "What?"
How do you even begin to process a sentence like that? Why would any child, let alone his child, want to fail in school? Does that make her atrocious grades better or worse?
"Sorry, can you-" Drake considers his following words carefully, trying not to explode in complete confusion. "Can you explain just what the heck you mean?" It takes all of his strength not to use a stronger word than 'heck'. "Absolutely." Mrs Pochard doesn't seem surprised by his reaction. "If you remember, when Gosalyn was first enrolled last year, her grades weren't a concern, though still not the best. The worst grade she received back then was a 'C'." The brown-feather duck heaves a sigh. "Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to nurture the potential she obviously has-" She casts her eyes down, and she doesn't seem to know how to say what she needs to. "Gosalyn just- she doesn't show any interest." Her grey eyes meet Drake's. Drake is taken aback by the way they glisten."I apologise, Mr Mallard. I can't help but think that I may be at fault for this." Why does it feel like their roles have reversed?
He slips slightly into Darkwing mode as he tells her, "None of this is your fault. You've done nothing but try to help Gosalyn."
The only adult the fault lies with is himself. He hasn't been as strict with Gosalyn as he should be. While he doesn't allow Gosalyn to work on her homework away from his eyesight - her phone and room definitely provide too many distractions - he never checks it over afterwards; his faith in her book smarts has always been too great to allow it.
(and he doesn't want to seem like one of those overbearing parents)
Drake swallows a lump before he asks, "What happens now?" A frenzy of scenarios flash through his mind, the worst being expulsion, which would lead to Gosalyn becoming a criminal on the street, leading to prison, which would lead to... whatever is worse than prison. However, his fears are slightly alleviated when Mrs Pochard gives him a genuine smile.
"The good news is, we still have plenty of time to help Gosalyn and try to get to the root of the problem. She still has three more years of middle school - and I have complete confidence in Gosalyn to improve her grades significantly before she graduates and moves onto high school."
The rest of the meeting is pleasant enough, though Drake can't shake the familiar feeling of having just sat through a therapy session. There is a clear plan of action to put into place, enough of one that he doesn't feel like the world's worst parent, but Drake isn't sure how well Gosalyn will respond to it - especially the secret plan that he has decided upon but isn't something he can promise Mrs Pochard.
Until further notice, Gosalyn will have to be suspended from joining him and Launchpad on patrols every Friday and Saturday night. Drake doesn't want to take it away from her. Still, he knows grounding her won't be enough to drive home how serious the situation is - especially since he's probably too trigger-happy when using grounding as a punishment, a trait rubbed off on him by his mother.
The drive home is gruelling, with Drake adding Sunday drivers to his list of the worst criminals, but he is soon pulling into the assigned parking space of his apartment and taking the elevator up to the fourth floor.
"Hey, DW," Launchpad greets cheerfully before Drake enters.
"Hey, LP." Drake keeps his tone steady - Launchpad isn't the one he needs a serious talk with.
Talking of which, a certain person is trying to become one with the couch, pushing themselves deep into the cushions with their hood pulled tightly over the mass of red curls.
Drake narrows his eyes at her. Oh, she knows. The guilt is practically palpable.
"How did the parent-teacher meeting go?" Launchpad asks before he looks at Drake's tight, stern face, and the smile melts into horrible realisation. Drake doesn't need to tell Launchpad how it went, but he says it out loud anyway.
Besides, Launchpad will know it isn't really him Drake is addressing.
"Oh, it was fine, LP. I finally got Gosalyn's report card - you know, the one I knew was due a few days ago," Drake didn't know Gosalyn could sink even further into the couch, but she does, "and it's definitely not drowning in a deluge of D's."
Launchpad shoots a side eye to Gosalyn, the closest Launchpad can get to being stern.
Then, he clears his throat and says, "Actually, er- I have a meeting with Mr McDee about something important. So I'm gonna just- I'll let you two talk."
Drake almost begs him to stay. But he's the dad, so dealing with the unpleasant part of parenting falls on him. He shoots a small, grateful smile to Launchpad and mutters his thanks.
Launchpad gives him a thumbs up as he leaves, a massive, nervous grin across his beak.
Drake sighs as he shuts the door, throws his car keys on the kitchen counter and hangs his jacket up, taking out the report card. Then he pulls a chair from the kitchen table and sits on it in front of the couch. Gosalyn is looking everywhere but at him. "Would you care to explain yourself, young lady?"
Sticking her hands into her hoodie pockets, Gosalyn shrugs. Drake feels his temperature rise, oh, ever so slightly. He exhales in an attempt to soothe his simmering blood.
"Your teacher thinks you're failing on purpose." Gosalyn's eyes snap to his momentarily. "Is she correct?"
"No," Gosalyn finally murmurs.
"Really?" Drake unfolds his arms, showing Gosalyn her report card. "Because I think she is. You have a C in Spanish, Gosalyn."
Gosalyn draws her eyebrows together.
"So I'm not amazing at my second language. Big deal."
"Fine, fine. But how about the D in Science?"
"What about the D in Science?" Gosalyn shoots back.
"You were raised by a scientist in a science lab, and—"
"So what?" Gosalyn sits up straight, her hood falling down. "Now I'm being raised by an overbearing, obsessive nerd, but it doesn't mean I'm gonna be one!"
Drake's immediate instinct is to yell at her, tell her that she is grounded until she learns how to show respect and send her to her room. But he doesn't. That would only escalate a situation that isn't even a situation yet. It's barely a rumble.
"My point, young lady," he says succinctly, "is that I know you're better than that." Drake sighs, trying to release some of his anger. "Gos, you found the hideout by tracing the saltwater in my smoke bombs."
Gosalyn's eyebrows soften as she stares at him.
"... Yeah, so? That was then. This is now."
"Gosalyn. What's going on?" Drake closes the gap between the sofa and the chair until his legs push against the sofa's beige material. "You can talk to me, honey. That's what I'm here for."
Gosalyn's eyes briefly meet his. "... Nothing's going on. Everything's fine."
Drake gently squeezes Gosalyn's knee.
"Gos, I just want what's best for you. And I know school is tough, okay? I-I get it. I wasn't great in school, either. But that's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you. You're not alone."
Gosalyn clicks her tongue and snatches her knee away.
"Wow, Dad. Where'd you read that? 'Parenting for Dummies'? That is the most cliché crap I think I've heard." She flicks her hood back up. "Can we just skip to the part where you ground me?"
"Fine," Drake says calmly, "You wanna be grounded so bad? You're grounded for a week." He takes in a deep breath to prepare to kick Gosalyn while she's down. "And, until you can learn to prioritise school, you can forget about tagging along for patrols."
Gosalyn's head whips up so fast that her hood falls back down. She flies to her feet on the couch, fighting back tears.
Drake feels like the worst parent in existence.
"What?! But- but that's not fair! You were the one who asked me to be your crime-fighting partner! An-and now, you're going back on that because I got a few lousy grades?"
"Because your attitude needs to change," Drake corrects. Gosalyn sniffles and pulls her hood once more over her red hair. The sight shoves a sword into Drake's heart. He sighs and sits next to her.
"Gosalyn, I'm not banning you forever. It's just until you improve at school." Drake places a hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away from his touch.
"Fine," she mutters. "Whatever." Her green eyes snap to his. "Can I go now?" Drake silently nods, and the girl skulks from the couch and to her room, where she slams the door shut behind her.
Drake remains where he is, his eyes fixed on Gosalyn's door. The urge to burst into her room, sweep her into his arms and beg her forgiveness for upsetting her is almost too much to ignore.
He understands how she feels. If the roles were reversed, and she had temporarily banned him from crime-fighting, he, too, would've been upset. But the roles aren't reversed, and he has to be the horrible dad.
Drake wouldn't change that for the world. As long as Gosalyn grows up happy and healthy, he will happily be a "horrible" dad. He would do anything to protect her, and if it meant stopping her from doing what she loved most, then so be it.
(yes, his heart has just broken into a tiny million pieces)
Knowing Gosalyn wants and needs time alone, Drake moves from the couch to prepare dinner. He shoots a message to Launchpad that it's safe to return home and pulls out ingredients for dinner.
During the hour it takes Drake to make dinner, he hears Gosalyn's door open once. When he turns to catch a glance, the door is promptly shut once more.
Once dinner is ready, Drake sets out three plates at the small table in the kitchen (where on Earth was Launchpad, anyway?) and crosses the room to knock on his daughter's door.
"Gosalyn? Dinner's ready?" No answer. A frown tugs at Drake's beak. "You can eat it in your room if you want to." Nothing.
(she's not hungry)
"Or if you're not hungry right now, I can keep it warm…?" His voice trails off weakly.
(she's asleep)
"If you're asleep, I can just come back later‒ but I guess you wouldn't know since you're‒" Drake swallows the lump in his throat, "‒asleep."
Then there's something wrong with the apartment because it's suddenly way too hot, and the room blurs.
(check her room check her room check her ROOM ‒ )
Drake doesn't want to invade Gosalyn's privacy, but the paternal instinct that took root inside him a year and a half ago, which has since grown exponentially, is screaming wildly at him to just.
Open.
The.
Door.
She would have to convince Dad to move to Duckburg; that city was in peril at least twice a day! The supervillain capital that is St. Canard? As silent as a feather in the wind.
Gosalyn mutters crossly under her breath as she walks the streets. No murders, no grievous bodily harm, no littering!
The young duck knows she will have to take matters into her own hands. She's resourceful; she broke into two separate places in twenty-four hours! She's Gosalyn Mallard! She can do anything she sets her mind to! She only needs a dummy, plastic bags, and a permanent marker.
The media's attention would be fine, too.
Ten minutes later, Gosalyn's plan is ready. A villainous-looking duck mannequin sits atop the bank's roof, and two cartoonish sacks with dollar signs drawn on them are in its evil hands. A message demanding all of St. Canard's money, lest the city be blown to smithereens, blares through Gosalyn's Bluetooth speaker (she never leaves home without it!)
"The dastardly villain is, as of yet, unknown to us, but we are sure to learn their evil identity as we bring you more on this story."
"Look, they have cartoon money sacks! They must be serious!"
Gosalyn hides behind the doorway to the roof and cheers as she watches the local news on her phone.
"I can't believe my plan is working…." Gosalyn then remembers it is the people of St. Canard, a city that has bred both her and her dad. She shouldn't be shocked.
"Oh, really? And just which plan is that? Is it the one to get yourself grounded for a month?"
Now she's shocked.
Gosalyn turns to face her father, who is now in his full Darkwing costume. His face twists in anger, his arms tight in a fold across his chest.
"H-Hey, Dad…"
"Don't you h-hey, Dad me, young lady!" Darkwing shrieks. "Just what do you think you're doing ?!" Gosalyn slumps against the wall and shrugs. Then, unable to think of an answer that doesn't sound completely ridiculous, Gosalyn changes the subject.
"How did you find me so fast?" She's only been away from the apartment for twenty minutes. Gosalyn had assumed she could have at least forty-three more minutes before Dad caught up to her.
Dad begins to drum his fingers.
"I'm your father," he answers, and Gosalyn notices one of his eyelids is twitching, "I always know where you are." Despite her situation, Gosalyn releases a snort.
"Dad, come on, I'm not five ‒"
"Plus, I installed a tracking app on your phone for moments just as these." Gosalyn's stomach drops like a lead weight into her shoes.
"A WHAT ?!" Gosalyn shrieks in the same high-pitched manner her father had moments before. "How could you‒"
"Oh, no, young lady, don't you start with me!" Dad snaps, shoving a finger at her. "You're in no position to call me out on anything!" Gosalyn doesn't retort because she knows he's right. "Now, we are going home, where we'll have a loong discussion, especially one about climbing out of windows on the fourth floor!"
Dad reaches out to grab her, but Gosalyn is quicker, and she ducks and slides underneath him.
"Go- Gosalyn!" Dad yells out in a strangled gasp. Gosalyn doesn't stick around to hear the rest of his scolding. Instead, she runs into the stairwell and begins descending the stairs.
She doesn't hear her dad start to run after her for the pounding heartbeat in her ears.
Gosalyn keeps running until she can no longer-
-because a familiar red beam of light is blocking her way. Gosalyn finds herself frozen to the spot and unable to do anything but stare.
"Aha!"
Dad drops before her, blocking out the angry, red light beam. He puts his hands on his hips and opens his beak to, undoubtedly, yell at her. But once he takes in the sheer terror on his daughter's face, his face falls, and he turns to look.
He recognises it just as quickly as his daughter does.
Before Darkwing can scoop his daughter up and get out of there, the red beam of light shoots out towards them. Instinctively, the masked father turns his back and extends his cape out, hoping to shield them both.
It doesn't hit Gosalyn, at least.