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Gyro angrily kicked a gold coin, sending it tumbling down the mountain of money. It clattered loudly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was sore all over from his rather painful drop into the bay around the Money Bin and the uncomfortable piece of rubble he was seated on didn't help. And, adding to his misery, he was still soaked to the bone. Since the Money Bin's walls had been destroyed by that sorceress (he still had no idea who she was,) he had virtually no protection from the freezing night air. He tried to mentally calculate how long it would take to walk to his apartment. It'd be worth it if he could take a hot shower, or at least change his clothes.
“Hey, Gyro!” Launchpad's voice boomed in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. The pilot beamed down at him, making him feel short. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Behind him, the rest of Mr. McDuck's family and employees were still gallivanting around in the metric tons of gold. “Why don’t you join us in the money-water? It’s really fun!”
“Not in the mood,” Gyro growled.
Launchpad paid no mind to Gyro's less-than-friendly attitude, taking an uninvited seat next the scientist. Gyro shuffled away from him ever so slightly.
“It's a nice night,” Launchpad offered, trying to break the Antarctic levels of ice between them. “Great for flying. Or crashing, which is what I do.”
Gyro had a sharp reply already on his tongue, but it died when a cold wind blew by, making him shudder uncontrollably. He hoped Launchpad wouldn't notice. Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.
“Hey, are you okay?” Launchpad asked. The concern in his tone was confusing considering they hardly interacted, and were definitely far from friends.
“I’m fine,” Gyro said stubbornly. His statement was disproven by his chattering teeth and a second shiver. Curse his body's natural reactions.
Launchpad, apparently wasn’t deterred that easily. He shucked off his thick aviator's jacket and held it out in an unspoken offer of warmth. Gyro eyed it like it was venomous snake, making no move to accept it.
“No,” he said at last.
Launchpad’s smiling face didn't change. “C'mon, it’s cold and you’re all wet, you need it more than I do.”
“You’re wrong, I absolutely do not need it.” Actually it looked pretty warm and comfortable. The idea of accepting was extremely appealing. But like hell his pride would ever let him admit that.
“Well, if I were you, I’d stop saying I wasn’t cold when I really was and take my good buddy Launchpad’s jacket. Then I’d say ‘thanks Launch-buddy! You’re the best!’ and go out for burritos with him. Or, wait, if I was you then wouldn’t you be me? Wou--"
“Oh my God, if I take the fucking jacket will you shut up?!” Gyro burst out.
“Sure!”
He grumbled under his breath, but snatched the damn thing anyway. He yanked it over his still-dripping sleeves, hoping vindictively that it would ruin the fabric. Once it was on though, he paused.
It was still ridiculously large on him and he had to roll up the sleeves several times just for his hands to be visible. Beyond that though, it was actually. . .kind of nice. It was rather soft and definitely helped fight off the persistent chill.
He fumbled with the zipper, trapping in the heat that had been elusive until now. He buried his hands in the pockets, clenching them tightly. He hadn’t noticed how numb they were until now.
“I. . .suppose this isn’t. . .entirely terrible,” Gyro huffed at last.
Launchpad beamed at him, blindingly bright with joy. “See? You can even keep it!”
Gyro reeled. Why would this man -- who, by all means had no reason to go out of his way to be nice to Gyro – offer to give him his clothing. It made no sense. So, Gyro did what he always did when presented with a confusing situation – he lashed out.
“Why? So you can take pity on me? I’m not your goddamn charity case!”
Launchpad's face fell harder than the planes he crashed and an uncomfortable sensation that felt suspiciously like guilt pooled in Gyro's gut.
“Fuck, that wasn’t-ugh.” He wished he could shove his harsh words back into his beak. “I-um, it is possible that wasn't entirely imperative to say.”
Launchpad stared at him in confusion.
He huffed. “Goddamnit—look, I’m apologizing, okay?”
The pilot immediately brightened again. “Oh! No problem! What's a little forgiveness between friends?”
Gyro blinked. “Friends?”
Launchpad laughed, bright and jovial. “Yeah! Me and you!”
Gyro bit back a comment about the other's atrocious grammar, instead focusing on the contents of his statement. “How? I can count on one hand how many times we've talked to each other directly.”
Launchpad's grin wobbled and that guilty feeling threatened to surge up again. “Well, I guess. But we just fought Magica together! And we almost died because of Mark's B.U.D.D.Y together. We're totally bonded for life!”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I suppose you can consider us…” the word ‘acquaintances’ briefly flashed through his mind. As well as a feeling of bitterness towards Scrooge. “…friends.”
He awkwardly held out his hand for a handshake, feeling foolish. The last time he had needed to verbally confirm friendship was back in…elementary school, probably.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden close-up of Launchpad's shirt. The other had ignored Gyro's proffered hand, and instead opted for a bone-crushing bear hug. Gyro tensed at the spontaneous physical contact, but slowly relaxed as he discovered the two arms encircling him felt rather nice. He loosely locked his arms around Launchpad's form, returning the embrace.
After a minute, Launchpad released him, and Gyro definitely did not miss the contact. “There! One official Launchpad McQuack hug, with friendship guaranteed.”
The almost infomercial-like words said in such an enthusiastic tone made Gyro snort in amusement. Launchpad grinned triumphantly, like making him laugh was an amazing feat. But, before they could continue…whatever this was, the blue nephew (Danny? Darryl?) called out for Launchpad to rejoin them in the gold faux-water.
“Are you sure you don't want to join us?” Launchpad pleaded a second time.
“Yes.”
The pilot pouted for a second before seeming to shake it off, giving a quick wave to Gyro before walking to the ducks still in the gold. Gyro hesitantly returned the gesture.
He. . .hadn’t entirely hated that interaction. Launchpad was overly optimistic, accident-prone and never seemed to shut up. He was, by all more means, everything Gyro hated.
But he didn't.
He didn't have the same dislike for Launchpad he seemed to have with nearly everyone else in Duckburg. He was even forced to admit that he even liked talking to the oafish pilot.
He glanced over at the subject of his thoughts, gaze lingering longer than he preferred.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.