Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a kit, Roger would always get a good feeling.

He got a good feeling to throw his pizza up in the air, yelling, "Food fight!" once in school. He got the good feeling to buy some flowers then put them on a stranger's doorstep back in college. He got the good feeling to drop a penny on the right side of the sidewalk, a little bit away from the glass window.

Sometimes he would find out why he needed to do those things. Like a man had avoided death from an explosion of flying chunks of a building when he picked up the penny Roger had dropped. Sometimes, he would never know.

This good feeling was a lot of help in his hobby to tinker and build. When Roger would invent things, it wouldn't start from a blueprint first. He would build then he would see what it would do. Sometimes the good feeling tells him to add a wire here, a cooler there and the rest would be from what he thinks the machine would require.

When he graduated from high school, he got a good feeling to go to Hero University and take the test if he got any super abilities.

The results came as positive but whatever was his super abilities, it couldn't be pinpointed. People mostly assumed its his mind for inventing stuff that they would deem unbelievable. Like the time he attempted to create his own drill and ended up creating the first ever 3D printer gun.

After graduating from Hero University, Roger got his Hero Licence but opted to keep to the sidelines, tinkering. Usually, he would patent his inventions and license it to manufacturing companies for royalties.

But when he invented the pacifying gun that would soon replace all firearms of the law, his good feeling told him to build his own corporation and manufacture it as his own. Despite the fact that he had no knowledge on the how.

His good feeling had never failed him. So off he went.

XOXOXOXOX

Five years later, RR Co. was flourishing. Roger mostly focused on fun and edutainment. 3D holograms of the solar system the kids could immerse themselves into. Anti-gravitational rooms for therapeutic and amusement purposes. Extra strength bubbles that last for days. Part of the fun were the product presentations where kids were always invited.

Mickey once praised how smart he was during an interview in the Disney HQ. It would've been more convincing if Roger hadn't been in the background, throwing a ball against the wall as hard as he could, only to get his lights knocked out when said ball bounced off the wall and straight to his face. That became a meme of the month.

The other side of the corporation was something else. He would build gadgetry for heroes and civilian safety, security systems and everything in between. They all have the same thing: pacifism. Yet it still surprised him when the warden of the maximum security prison for supervillains invited him.

"All the prisoners here are worn with power-inhibiting collars," the guard captain droned as Roger followed him. They passed by cells of padded walls and bullet proof glass.

The occupants were mostly super-powered villains that his friends, Bugs, Mickey or any of the heroes had put in jail. Roger wondered if it's a good thing they don't recognize him.

Most glared as they passed by but kept to themselves. Roger tried kept his eyes ahead to at least give them some sort of privacy.

"You've talked to the head security scientist, haven't you?" the guard captain asked. Roger nodded. "Good, I'll be showing you the doors that would go on a lockdown if-"

Something red among the sea of clinical white and gray caught Roger's eye. He turned.

A woman sat on her cot, reading a beauty magazine. Her eyes were cool, her legs stretched at the mattress and crossed at the ankles as she flipped a page. She had an air of being in her own room and not a prison at all.

"-the warden would be asking for your consultation later so-"

"Why is she not wearing an inhibitor?" Roger asked.

The guard captain stopped and turned to where he was staring. His mouth turned into a thin line.

"When she was first arrested, we weren't sure if she has pheromones ability or a hypnotizing ability. Screening had confirmed her as powerless." He began to pull Roger away. The sign on her plexiglass read: Keep a Distance of 3 Feet. "Yet she somehow masterminded a mafia war in her city that erased two big syndicates." They continued down the hall. "I would be careful if I were you, she has a power over men."

Roger looked back at the woman. For some reason, he got a good feeling about her.

XOXOXOXOX

"Are you off your rocker?"

Roger tried not to look sheepish. As a registered hero, they have the license to rehabilitate villains. If the villain passes certain requirements that they are a candidate for one.

"Her files shows she is a potential candidate," Roger replied, gesturing at the open folders. The name in her file was marked: "?" Her alias was typed as Jessica Krupnick. A woman that does not exist in the census.

Police detective Eddie Valiant rubbed his temples, already aching for a drink. He had been trying to uproot one of the syndicates that had fallen in Jessica's hands. In one night of bloodshed and bombing, the police got into the fray and Eddie found the two mafia leaders dead and Jessica calmly standing among the carnage.

The police would've chalked her off as one of the mafia's paramours. Her fingerprints could not be found in any of the murder weapons. Whatever security footage that could be salvaged showed no evidence of her involved.

Until Eddie tracked down her base of operations (an apartment in an unassuming lot) of newspaper clippings and photos webbed in a string mind map of conspiracy. Along with all the files on her computer.

Instead of arresting the head of a syndicate, Eddie found himself arresting a black widow. There had been evidence that part of the two mafia bigshots' motive for murder was her. A deliberate, calculating Helen of Troy.

"See this?" Eddie held up a folder, listing all of Jessica's criminal records. Her crimes involved forgery, identity theft, information theft, possession of illegal firearms and so on. "These are the only things that we could pin on her. For all we know, she had done far worse."

Villain rehabilitation means they would be given semi-freedom as long as they were with the hero. Eddie would rather not have that woman on the loose again.

Roger smiled at him reassuringly and Eddie couldn't decide if he wanted a shot of whiskey or punch sense into the rabbit. "I'll let the committee decide on that."

XOXOXOXOX

She would do what it takes to survive.

It was what made her rise from the ranks from a child in the streets. She chose a syndicate when she was in teens and started there, doing what was expected of her and more. She took care of people in more than one definition. Espionage. Diversion. Blackmail. Sharp eye, sharp wit, she stood out among the dolls. She had convinced the mafia head to pay for her education in exchange of staking their claim in the rise of technology and cybercrime. It paid off.

Perhaps, that was the problem. She would do what it takes to survive.

Survival didn't mean living for another day for her. Survival meant no longer being harmed. Inside or outside the mafia. Survival meant being on top.

"Krupnick?"

Jessica looked up from her chipping nail polish (seriously, what would it take to have a manicure in the prison?).

"You got visitors." Her eyes didn't miss how their eyes glanced at her chest. Her loose prison clothes did nothing to hide her well-endowed figure.

She raised a brow. She knew they would not just let anyone inside the prison. She had no family to speak of. No allies. Probably one of the smaller syndicates?

"We'll be coming in and putting you in handcuffs, alright?"

She nodded and one of them entered. She showed up her wrists, ignoring the guard's look shooting into the collar of her prison button up. He cuffed her and led her out.

Flanked by two guards, she was ushered down the hall. After a guard thumbed a fingerprint scan, the reinforced doors opened with a hydraulic hiss. She was then led to a room beside it.

A table. Couple of chairs. Waiting for her was the warden, a rabbit and-

She scowled upon seeing Detective Valiant once again.

"Mr. Valiant," she said, barely keeping her contempt from rising. If it wasn't for him, she would have been the head of her own syndicate above the organized crime in her city.

Valiant grunted, his face as expressive as a stone that was tired of life.

The warden stood up. "Ms. Krupnick, good morning. I'd like to introduce you to your visitor, Dr. Roger Rabbit."

She ignored his niceties and locked eyes with stranger's blue ones. Doctor? A quick look at his white coat and horrible fashion sense told her this guy doesn't meet people on a regular basis. A scientist, maybe?

"Hi! How're ya? It's nice to see ya! You can just call me Roger!" the rabbit said, standing up on his seat. He was that short. Jessica dryly wondered if he was going to shake her cuffed hand. Instead, both of his hands took hers and shook it before letting go.

Jessica stared at his guileless face that stood out like a sore thumb in the prison. This fool obviously doesn't belong here.

She sat down across from them, eyeing the manila envelope of files on the table.

"Is the institute treating you well?" he asked, oblivious of the tension in the room.

Her eyes flickered to the warden, who looked nervous.

"So far, yes," she said, her voice neutral. "Why am I here?"

He gave her a pamphlet from one of the files on the table. "I'm a registered hero and you've been approved for prisoner rehabilitation."

Villain rehabilitation, it was titled. She tried not to roll her eyes at the term. People and their labels.

She opened the pamphlet and scanned it. From the gist of it, rehabilitation consisted of working for a licensed hero and serving their sentence under their supervision.

The rabbit prattled on about the program that would be customized for her rehab.

"You don't really need academic education and job training since you already got two master's degrees as-" he squinted at the files, "-'Vera Creek.' While you're with me, I'll be giving you tasks where your skills can be used. That is, if you choose to be rehabilitated."

Her fingers twitched to clench but gave no other indication. That would be better than to be stuck in a cell for the rest of her sentence which was 18 years. She warily stared at the rabbit. It wouldn't be the first time a man promised one thing and did another.

"When I'm with you? What does that mean?" She had speedread the pamphlet, but she wanted to know if the rabbit would say something contradicting. An overlooked trick on spotting red flags.

"You'll be living in my corporate's headquarters. It's where I live too! Although it's not in this city."

Jessica raised a brow. An unknown hero whose license tells the world that he's a good guy.

"Will there be anyone else who would be rehabilitated with me?"

"Nope. Just you. It would be better for me to be able to keep an eye on your progress.".

Jessica scrutinized him further, unmoved. A majority of heroes have graduated in Hero University and therefore, their names are public as well as their aliases. The name Roger Rabbit wasn't ringing a bell on her mind. Probably because she only researched on those that could be threats if she would run into them.

"Can you tell me more about you?" she asked.

Roger nodded. "Right, most of my friends are practically celebrities, they don't need any introduction. I'm a non-combat hero-"

Jessica sorely wanted to roll her eyes. No wonder she never heard of him. What was he going to do? Save the world through the power of love and laughter?

"He created The Pacifier," Valiant muttered.

Jessica did a double take at the rabbit. The Pacifier is a gun that shoots out a ball of forcefield that wraps around the body and renders it immobile while at the same time, protects the caught person from any physical trauma.

People in the Senate began to argue whether all firearms should be replaced with the Pacifier in response to the rising gun violence. Experts took sides. Rifle associations fought for rights to bear bullet-firing arms, propping up possibilities that the Pacifier would be useless in dangerous situations.

In the end, all government firearms are replaced with the Pacifier due to increasing incidents of police brutality. Suspects would get caught and they would be protected from anything that a cop would try to do in their state.

When Jessica had heard of it, she only wanted to snort. A mad dog is still a mad dog without its teeth.

That was back in the 2015. However, there were still some people that prefer good ol' fashion firearms. Including her because they're cheaper to buy compared to the Pacifier. In some circumstances, it made her job quicker too.

She nailed the rabbit another stare. "You said you have a corporation. It manufactures weapons?" she asked.

"Not necessarily. Forcefield shields, invisibility cloaking, a panic watch that activates a virtual friend to soothe the user in case of emergencies. Those kind of things."

Her mouth itched to form into a straight sardonic line. What a dear doctor rabbit. She wondered what dirt would be underneath that squeaky clean exterior.

"You don't have to decide right now for rehabilitation. You can-"

"I agree."

Roger startled. Jessica ignored it. She still didn't trust the bouncy rabbit with the guileless whiskery face. People weren't always what they seem. However…

"Really?" he asked.

...she would do what it takes to survive.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Wolf and The Rabbit

Jessica wondered when she would hear from the dear doctor rabbit again.

Before he had left, he had given her the agreement forms for her to read and think it over. The agreement was almost twenty pages. Jessica read through all of it.

There were several things that had stuck on her. One was that if she would try to attack her rehabilitator in any way, her rehabilitation would be discontinued and she would be sent back to prison. A representative of the government would be visiting indefinitely to check on her and her rehabilitator. Since she didn't require a power inhibitor, she would only have a transmitter. Her transmitter would be programmed with a safe radius of her rehabilitation building once she would arrive. After a time period and assessment, the safe radius could be widened. The police department in Roger's city would also have an updated feed of her transmitter.

It was freedom without freedom. But better than a cell.

After a day, she had signed the papers and had them sent.

After two weeks of his side's doing the paperwork, guards came to her cell again with a small gym bag.

"You're leaving," one of them said. The other one held out a set of handcuffs. "This is just for precaution."

She was given a dress shirt and garter pants to change out of her inmates uniform. Jessica tried not to grimace at its lack of oomph.

When she got out of her small restroom wearing her new clothes, one guard entered to cuff her. A furtive glance travelled down her body.

"My eyes are up here," she icily spoke.

She was ignored by both.

They lead her out of the hall and into the room again. Waiting for her was the warden and the bunny-eared doctor, still wearing his lab coat and dorky polka dot bow tie.

"Jessica, you're here! Thanks, guys!" he said to the two guards who were obviously only doing their job. Okay, dear doctor rabbit is sweet. She still didn't trust the front.

The guards grunted. One of them gave a half-hearted wave. Jessica massaged her wrists after she was uncuffed.

Roger gave a sheepish smile upon the action. "Sorry about this, but you'll have to wear this transmitter," he said, opening the box on the table. Inside, was a simple gold band. The rabbit unlocked it and held it up. "Left or right?"

Jessica held up her left arm and Roger snapped the band closed around her wrist. Something beeped softly inside his pocket. Her brow raised. His smartphone. Did her transmitter had an app?

She held up the band she was wearing to her eyes. It seamlessly encircled her wrist like soft metal, molding against flesh as if it was alive. Instantly, she raised her arm high and made everyone jump when she smashed the band on the table's edge.

"Careful! You might bruise!" the rabbit yelped, hovering forward.

Jessica held up her wrist again, eyeing the band. Not a scratch.

"Did I broke it?" she asked.

"Nah, it would take more than that to do it in." He turned to the warden. "I think we're good here, Mr. Simmons. Thanks for accommodating us."

The warden shook his hand. "My pleasure."

XOXOXOXO

Jessica blocked out the glare of the afternoon sun. It had been a while since she had been exposed to natural light. She took a deep breath, smelling hot concrete and dust.

They were led to the parking lot and into a… taxi cab. An actual Checker Cab straight from the old Hollywood movies. She glanced back at the two guards that had escorted them to make sure she was seeing the right thing. They didn't looked surprised.

Roger opened the front passenger seat. "Well? Hop in!"

She reluctantly did and buckled up. Waving goodbye to the guards, Roger drove off.

The view widened into dry, scruffy grasslands. After a while, Jessica opened the bag that was given to her. Shirts. Jogging pants. Personal care items. A strip of paper with a phone number on it and a man's name.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, she crinkled the paper into a little ball and flicked it out of the window.

Silence stretched the longer her rehabilitator drove.

"Psst, can I stop pretendin' to be a normal beater?" a raspy voice of a middle aged man asked in a stage whisper.

Jessica startled, looking back to see if they have another passenger. Roger, however, glared at the dashboard gauges.

"Benny, we're supposed to give her space!"

"Clap your yap, Roger. I've been hoo ridin' for 53 minutes and 47 seconds. Gal, are you cool?"

Jessica nodded. Was she really talking to a car?

Holograms appeared and the dashboard exterior slid away to show a complex array of dials. A grinning hologram of headlight eyes appeared before them.

"So how're ya, Miss Krupnick? Roger's dropped the dime about ya." Its cartoonishly bumper lips tilted like it just took its hat off to her. "Name's Benny, this spakker's one and only smart car!" The dashboard flew with holographic words and symbols. "State of the art! Zero emissions! 300 miles in fully charged power juice and Wifi speed of-"

"Benny, we get it!" Roger turned to Jessica who had leaned back on her seat. "Sorry about that. Benny's just very proud of himself," he said, giving the dashboard a pat. He lifted both hands from the steering wheel. "I'm actually not the one driving."

"Yeah! He's just there for decoy! Them popos don't understand nothin' 'bout the likes of me!"

Jessica settled back, willing herself to relax. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Benny."

The hologram winked, disappeared and the engine roared as the car sped faster. They passed by a truck. "Outta my way, pencil neck!" Benny yelled, beeping.

The truck driver flipped Roger the bird while the smart car's synthesized laughter whooped with the wind.

Aghast, Roger pushed one of the buttons. The car horn bleated out the tune of La Cucaracha.

"Hey! I'm a classy car!"

"And I'm a debonair cassanova," Roger brightly said, leaning sassily on the steering wheel. "Tell me when we're done lying to ourselves."

Benny laughed, his holograms rippling with colors. Roger turned to Jessica with a small smile. "We still got three more hours to drive. Want some peanuts?" Benny made a synthetic chirp, cueing a neck pillow to fall into her lap.

Jessica stared at them, unsure of what to think.

XOXOXOXO

It was night by the time they arrived in the rabbit's headquarters. The gates opened up for them when Benny yelled, "Oy, it's us! Benny, bunny boy -" the holographic head glanced at Jessica before adding, "-and guest."

They arrived in some sort of manor near the city's border. Roger got out of the car to open the door for her but she beat him into it. She'd rather not make him feel like she owed him anything.

"You hungry? Cause I'm hungry! Jeepers, I hope you don't mind vegetarian meals but I also cooked meat just in case. We'll be discussing more of your rehabilitation later on-" Roger's prattle bouncing with his hopping feet as he led her to the kitchen.

Jessica was made to wait by the table, sitting on the wooden chair with her hands on her lap as Roger busied himself heating up food. The kitchen was a cozy, American pie type with the rabbit bustling about like Betty Crocker. He even got a frilly pink apron on.

She was unsure what to do. Roger was the type of people she had to overlook because they do not get in the way of her mission, nor are they beneficial to her mission. The harmless ones who were no threat nor leverage-

Her eyes narrowed on Roger's back. No. She couldn't think of her rehabilitator as anything but harmless. She couldn't let her guard down. There was always a catch.

There would always be a catch.

"-and that's how I got my recipe for baked falafel!" Roger chirped, turning around with a platter on his hands.

A hearty smell of umami wafted through the room. Her stomach rumbled. She didn't realize how hungry she was.

Dinner composed of Roger chatting for the two of them while Jessica listened for the manor's ambient noise. There were no other murmurs. No footfalls of other people. A hum of electricity. Nothing more.

There were alone.

Roger put the used plates in the dishwasher before ushering her down the hall and into the living room.

"Do you have questions about your rehabilitation?" Roger asked, once they were seated on armchairs across each other.

Her inmate slip-on shoe unconsciously twist and turn against the fuzzy carpet. A knitted cover was draped over the small coffee table. The rest of the furniture were plush with plump throw pillows. The lit brick fireplace gave her the feeling that she was in the Hufflepuff dormitory, the lights darkened in favor of fireplace's light.

"Yes, I have a question." Her back was straight. Her hands on her lap clasped lightly. "Why was I chosen for rehabilitation?"

He shuffled the files on his lap, thumbing over pages. "Well, I saw you and have the Prison and Reformatories Committee assess your case."

She raised a brow. "So you chose me?"

"Yeah."

Her gut twisted. "Why?"

He smiled, leaning forward. "I got a good feeling about you."

Something in her chest closed. It finally dawned on her. Rabbit heat.

There would always be a catch.

Familiar grim determination invaded her. It enclosed on her like armor before doing what she must.

"I see," she murmured, unbuttoning her shirt.

His smile vanished as his eyes widened. "What're you doing?"

What it takes to survive.

"Jessica, s- s-" he seemed to sputter and choke. "Jessica, STOP!" he cried, holding out the file in his hands in front of him.

She paused, already unbuttoned midway.

"Can -can you p-p-put your top back on?" he asked, holding up the file so that she was covered from the neckdown in his perspective. "P-p-p-please?"

She stared at his form that had curled up inside the armchair. When she stood up, he turned away, eyes closed. His ears straightened up, compensating for his lack of sight.

She stalked towards him, unmindful of her exposed bosom. If it had not occurred to him now, would he have an idea now? Or in the future?

He stiffened at the sound of her incoming footsteps.

"J-jessica, p-p-p-p-please believe when I tell y-y-you, you really a-are here f-for rehabi-bilitation," he whimpered behind the files he's holding. Though he had curled into himself, his ears where upright and still, tightness in his limbs. A fight response, Jessica noted, if she would try to do something.

She tilted her head. She felt like a wolf who had cornered a meek and timid rabbit.

Is there a predator in this sheep's clothing?

She couldn't afford to lose this rehabilitation. Her fingers buttoned up her shirt again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, stepping back into her armchair.

"Are you decent, Miss Krupnick?" he asked, making Jessica feel pushed further away with the formality.

"Yes."

One blue eye opened. The doctor deflated, lowering down the files that he had been using like a shield. "Let's just get some sleep. I'll show you to your room." He hopped down the armchair. He then paused before looking up to her again, bewilderment not yet worn off. "I'm not going to try anything," he promised.

XOXOXOXO

Roger's forehead rested against the wall of his study, his arms dangling uselessly in his sides.

He was a fool. An absolute fool. Of course, she would think that way. She was being relocated in the same shelter with someone who has an authority over her with no other people around. Or course, she would think something was up.

He should've have been more professional and less relaxed around her. He should've not treated her like someone who was going to be his friend. He should've treated her more as a proper rehabilitator.

He should've brightened the darned lights in the living room. Idiot him thought it would make her feel welcome with a warm fireplace, never considering what the dim lights would've been mistaken for. She thought he was-

Roger groaned thumping the wall with his forehead.

It wasn't even the first day of rehabilitation and he had already screwed up.

With a rather hard smack of his forehead against the wall, he stumbled away from it.

He needed to fix his mistake.

He grabbed his phone. Realized the person he wanted to call was rather old-fashioned. He went to his study and dialled a number on the telephone.

After six rings, she answered.

"Hello?" a crisp voice with a British accent asked.

"Hey Mary," Roger pushed a smile on his lips even if the semi-retired Victorian proto-magical girl, Mary Poppins, wouldn't see it.

"Roger? What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I…" His eyes glanced at the door. "The inmate that I'm supposed to rehabilitate… I don't think she feels safe around me," he explained, getting straight to the point. "Can you stay for a couple of months? Maybe four?" His finger anxiously twirled around the telephone cord.

"She?" Mary Poppins echoed. "A depowered woman cohabitating with an authority male figure, of course she wouldn't feel safe," she stated evenly. But Roger felt like he was being scolded nonetheless.

"I know, I haven't thought of it!" Roger exclaimed worriedly. "I was hoping the presence of another lady might make her feel more at ease."

There was a pause. "Let me get back at you. You children always have to be watched over." Roger knew better than to protest at being called a child. His thirty years was infant compared to her 115 years of youthfulness.

"Thank you, my lady," he unconsciously bowed his head.

Roger exhaled as they ended the call. He slumped in his chair.

His good feeling had never brought him down. He trusted his good feeling he got from Jessica. There was a reason why his good feeling wanted to give Jessica a chance. Yet...

He remembered her nonchalance of taking off her shirt once she thought he wanted to-

Jeepers, what have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

"How do you guys did it?"

It was in the middle of the night. He knew he should be getting sleep because tomorrow, he would have to buy Jessica more basic necessities that she was going to need.

But he needed answers.

He was in his laboratory. His safe haven. Prototypes and tools cluttered everywhere except the clear space on his work table. The holographic screens of his computer awashed him in soft blue light, showing the three-way communication between him, Mickey Mouse aka Iron Mouse and Bugs Bunny aka Super Rabbit.

"How do we do what?" Bugs asked, munching a carrot at the side of his mouth. Roger knew they would still be up. Mickey was a workaholic CEO and engineer. Bugs, well, Bugs once confided to him that his thoughts would keep him awake. ("Evil doesn't sleep, pal. Guess I don't either.")

Mickey was located in Disney Hero Headquarters in New York. Bugs was in his Fortress of Solitude. Yet they would sometimes chat with Roger in the lull of the evening, keeping each other company in their breaks.

"I mean, how did you get Daffy and Donald to trust you when you were rehabilitating them?" Rogers asked, slightly gripping the edge of his table, unseen by his companions.

Bugs leaned back in his chair. Mickey sipped his nth coffee. They both shrugged.

"It wasn't immediate, that's for sure," Bugs said. "Daffy hated me." He paused before rolling his eyes. "He still hates me today though so nothing's changed."

Mickey looked at him as if Bugs said that water is dry. "He would die for you. I could see it when he looks at you."

Bugs' eyes narrowed, folding his arms. But he didn't deny it.

Mickey laughed, scratching the back of his head with a wrench. "It wasn't trust that was Donald's problem at that time. It was effort."

Roger's ears pricked forward. "Effort?" That might be an obstacle in Jessica's rehabilitation in the future.

"Imagine being a World War 2 soldier who was illegally experimented with cryogenic sleep," Mickey said. "When he woke up, he was in an abandoned lab. The world he knows is gone. His family is dead. His fiancée is dead."

Mickey leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "He became Paperinik because he got nothing else. He steals from people that he doesn't think are fair, destroys their property. That kind of thing."

"Why did you rehabilitate him?"

Mickey chortled. "Because I don't think he's really a bad guy. He agreed to the rehabilitation but I could tell he only did that because it was better than being in prison." He laughed. "He hated me for getting him arrested."

Bugs raised his glass of carrot martini. "Aye."

"But he was a jack-of-all-trades, he could be put in any job and he would have experience on how to do them. But without his Paperinik identity… he was lost. It didn't help that he resented me for taking away his freedom."

"Again, cheers, pal," Bugs said again.

"He was just going through the motions and his psychiatrist could tell. The doc pulled me aside and told me to give him a reason." A rare smile that looked more like a pained grimace stretched Mickey's face. A look of someone who was not proud of themselves. "So I did," he said as he began the story.

Donald dourly watched through a window with a one-way glass. He didn't know why Mickey insisted to hold a children's event in Duckburg, of all places. He was in a secluded room, away from the kids romping around as they watched bubble shows, have cotton candy and have their faces painted.

He hated Duckburg. He had no reason to be there anymore. It was no longer the Duckburg that he knew. It was a reason why he had left and ended up in an abandoned villa where he discovered the diary of a notorious burglar of the late 19th century, Fantomius.

Donald had presented the diary's notes on weapons and transportation to Gyro Gearloose, an eccentric inventor that he had befriended. After that, his heists became bigger and bigger until he caught the attention of Iron Mouse.

The door creaked. Speak of the devil and the devil shall come. Wide, earnest eyes appeared along with twin round ears.

"Donald?"

"Yeah?"

Mickey entered the room as Donald sullenly fixed his eyes to the opposite wall. Seriously, when were they going back to the Disney tower?

"Hey pal," Mickey approached. Donald noted three slim folders in his hand.

"Why're we here, Mickey?" Donald asked, holding up his wrist to look at the golden band. Rehabilitation agreement stated that the inmate must be with the hero at all times. But whenever Mickey needed to go somewhere, Goofy would always keep an eye on Donald.

Mickey cleared his throat, straightening up. In the corner of Donald's eye, he could see Mickey's thread-like tail whipped every two seconds.

Donald ignored the mouse's nervous tics. If Mickey was going to parade him around as a redeemed villain, he was going to kick Mr. non-electric Pikachu (a term he had found out from the youngsters) out of the room and continue to glare at the party until it was time to go home.

"We found you your family."

Donald didn't bother to look at him. He wished the room have sound dampeners. The children's happy screeches were making his head pound.

"They're dead," he clipped.

"Not your great-great nephews."

His head finally snapped to face him. He knew his sister was dead. Whoever were her children, they had moved out of Duckburg in the 1960s and Donald never bothered to find out what happened to them. Who would believe he was their missing uncle that was thought to be MIA in the Great War? (The people today call it World War Two, he reminded himself.)

76 years had passed since he was unfrozen and he looked like he was still in his mid-20s. He had tried to visit a veteran's club to find out what happened to his other comrades. He got into a fight and was kicked out after being called a delusional Millenial.

Mickey opened the folders and gave it to him. Donald's brows raised upon reading them:  Hubert Duck, age 8. Dewford Duck, age 8. Llewellyn Duck, age 8.

His eyes narrowed at the included 1x1 photos, putting two and two together. He looked up to the window again, searching amidst the sea of children's faces. His gaze finally locked on three young ducklings by the cola stand. The one in the red were excitedly reading something aloud in the book that he was holding. The blue one was chugging down a large bottle of soda while the green one was cheering him on as he collected bets from the other kids.

His eye twitched. Where the heck are the grownups? Children are going to go ape with that much sugar! They shouldn't even be gambling.

He frowned, shaking his head before turning his back at the window. "Duck is a common surname for Ducks."

Mickey gave him another document. It was a certified genealogy record, starting from Humperdink Duck and Elvira Duck, Donald's grandparents. It ended with the three ducklings who turned out to be triplet brothers.

He straightened up in thought. Turned back to the window to see the banner of the party hall's stage: Disney Charity Event for Foster Children.

His stomach dropped. He looked back at the triplets' foster records. Their mother was deceased. Their father had disappeared. Their grandparents were dead.

"Where are their relatives?!" Donald demanded, rounding up on Mickey.

Mickey held up placating hands. "They got no one else?"

"What about Fethry?! Ugh, even Gladstone! Why on storm's end did they not father anyone?!" he asked, despite having read the genealogy record that Fethry and Gladstone's bloodline had stopped to themselves.

He paused. "Wait, what about Uncle Scrooge's wealth? Aren't they supported by it?" Back when he had returned to Duckburg after waking up in an abandoned laboratory, Donald had found out that the stubborn old duck had died and his Money Bin and businesses were divided among his surviving relatives.

"Their late mother's real estate send monthly checks to their bank accounts which would be managed by their legally adoptive parents," Mickey replied.

He looked back at the window. The blue one started to aggressively dance in a way Donald would see gaudy videogame characters would do in the internet -a consequence of drinking almost two liters of soda. Then he leapt at the stage curtains and tried to claw his way up. The red one and the green one tried to pull him back.

"Are they being treated well?" he asked, hating the strange, unfamiliar vibrato in his voice.

"There are no foster parents for them yet so they're currently living in a group home," Mickey supplied.

Donald thrust a hand to the triplet's direction. "They're Uncle Scrooge's relatives for heaven's sake! Who wouldn't want to adopt them?" His chest suddenly felt cold. In his years in the streets as a homeless veteran trying to adapt to the modern world, he had met street kids who had ran away from foster homes. Some he reluctantly looked out for, even convincing them to contact CPS again as others had. He was certain there were foster parents out there who were lovely. But the children that he had met had stories where their foster parents spent the monthly stipend to themselves and their biological children, leaving the foster kids barely cared for.

He glanced at the triplets again. Was he going to let that happen to them? His stomach twisted into a huge knot. With the triplets' inheritance, those same kind of parents would adopt them for the wrong reasons.

He slammed his fist against the glass window, making everyone near it jump. He didn't see it but he felt Mickey startle.

This isn't my problem, he tried to tell himself, his forehead pressed against the glass. Leave it to the foster care system. At least, they have food, clothes and a roof over their head...

He had always felt like a boat aimlessly floating above the chaotic stormy ocean of life. His mind treacherously wondered if they have an anchor in the same turbulent sea.

His chest rose with agitation. Mickey would never have tracked them down just because.

"You bastard," he hissed outloud. The triplets were the carrots dangling in front of his face and he was the jackass.

"You're the only one they have left," Mickey softly pleaded behind him.

Donald wanted to laugh at his face. He would still get vivid flashbacks of gunfire and cannon fire every time he would hear a loud explosion. Once, he had a nightmare so bad, Mickey said he was lashing out. Mickey had the bruise to prove it when he woke Donald up.

Was Mickey for real? Did Mickey really wanted children around him?

"Any foster parent is better than me," Donald said, but he couldn't find it in himself to believe in his own words. What was wrong with him? Those kids were better off with someone else. Someone who didn't have complex PTSD, anxiety, depression, executive dysfunction and whatever else his shrink had diagnosed him with.

He looked through the window again. To the triplets now sitting on the ground. The blue one was lying with his head on the red one's lap, finally tuckered out, as the green one tried to get him hydrated (which Donald was relieved to see). Donald's hand lay on the glass surface, near them.

His hand clenched against the glass. Don't get attached, he told himself. Don't get attached…

He barked out a laugh, hard and derisive as he turned to Mickey. "How do you know I'm not gonna be the evil uncle who's going to run off with their inheritance?"

Mickey simply stared back at him, waiting for Donald to convince him better.

"You don't know anything 'bout me!" Donald yelled at his lack of reaction.

Mickey held up placating hands. "I didn't say that."

Donald turned away, feeling foolish. He looked back at the triplets again and their uncertain future.

He glared back at Mickey who wisely didn't say a word. Mickey had been winding him around his little finger and now was the final loop.

Donald rose from the chair and sat himself across the room's office table.

"What do I have to do?" Donald grumbled.

Mickey sighed, finishing his story. "I ended up being the triplets' benefactor while we worked out commuting Donald's sentence so that he could be their legal guardian. He had to go through hoops, especially with his psychiatrist."

By now Roger was soaking his hankie wet with his tears. "I never knew that about Donald!" he bawled. "I would've gone bonkers if I went through what he did!"

Mickey softly smiled down at his cold mug of coffee. "Yeah, we had to explain to the boys who we were in the first meeting. Poor Donald, he was so nervous." He idly twisted his office seat from one side to another. "We told them I was their benefactor while Donald is their relative who would need to learn a lot of things before becoming their legal guardian."

"I had them enrolled to a boarding school. Because of his good behavior and progress, Donald's been allowed to visit them every Saturday." He looked up wistfully. "They're eleven now. But in four years, they'll finally be able to live with Donald."

Roger cried louder, honking his nose in the hankie. He had known about Donald's nephews but he never knew the story behind them.

"Here's to our pal Donald," Bugs said, raising his martini for a toast. "May he be a great father to his kids till the end of time."

Mickey raised his cold mug and Roger raised his tepid tea. "Cheers," they said before tipping the contents in one gulp.

Mickey yawned. "I think I'm done for tonight, guys. I'm turning in." He gave Roger a reassuring grin. "Roger, don't worry about your inmate. Once she realizes that you're serious about helping her, she'll eventually begin to trust you."

"Thanks, Mickey. Goodnight, pal."

Bugs gave a salute. "Say hi to Donald for us!"

"Will do, guys," Mickey said before his screen disappeared, leaving the rabbits alone.

"Bugs?" Roger asked.

"Hm?"

"How's Daffy?"

Bugs played with the carrot stem he was holding. "He's fine."

"Does he still talk to you in Moon base?"

Something in Bugs' voice soured despite the apathy in his face. "Sometimes."

Daffy and Bugs relationship in and out of the hero-villain persona was complicated. Back when Daffy was still supervillain General Zod, he had been Bugs arch nemesis, swearing world domination once he would defeat Bugs. When the power inhibiting collar was invented, Bugs had stopped throwing him out of the stratosphere and finally had him arrested for good. It did not made Daffy happy. At all.

Bugs still had him rehabilitated because according to Bugs, "I always felt like I've been taking care of that duck for years. This ain't any different." So Daffy was placed in the Warner Bros. Watchtower under Bugs' supervision.

Finding a job for Daffy was difficult, Bugs had said. He was histrionic, narcissistic and had the attention span of a tennis ball. But when he was in the midst of danger? Even with a power inhibiting collar, Daffy made up for it with experience. With how long Daffy and Bugs knew each other, they surprisingly worked fluidly as a team to the point that it looked like they were reading each other's minds.

That was how Daffy became a field agent and Bugs' partner while under rehabilitation.

Then came the incident that made Roger privy to a deeper secret.

It was in the fourth year of Daffy's rehabilitation. There was a villain threatening to bomb himself and his location unless they follow his demands. Roger was part of the heroes working together and they were arguing amongst themselves on what to do.

Roger, taking the pacifist stand, wanted to at least negotiated. The heroes who were confident with their powers were sure that they could take the villain down before he could press a button. As their tech expert, Roger reminded them they have no information on how the villain can detonate the bomb or even where the bomb was. If the bomb was implanted in the villain, it could be made to detonate if his heart would stop. The other heroes got defensive, saying that they weren't going to kill the villain.Daffy finally yelled over them with his big mouth, "What's the point of being a top if he's a power bottom?!"

That made everyone quiet. Roger started when he felt Bugs tensed. Rabbit to rabbit, he could detect what was radiating off Bugs. A burning, restless energy; a whiff of pheromones that he only experienced in the middle of the spring. Roger wondered if he was just imagining things. But when Bugs stole a look at him (probably to check if anyone had noticed his bodily reaction), there was no mistaking those dilated eyes.

Apparently, Kryptonian rabbits and Earth rabbits had a lot in common when it comes to rabbit heat.

Daffy took advantage of the stunned silence.

"He got us where he wanted us, we might as well play along first." He blew out a raspberry. "Seriously, you heroes and your high horses."

Roger had closed the door to that information and never thought about it again. Not until six years had passed. Daffy had long ago completed his rehabilitation. Bugs unexpectedly invited Roger in a bar and Roger was surprised to find out he was the only one invited.

Roger awkwardly sat on the stool beside him. Bugs played with the lemon wedge of his martini, staring at his glass as though its existence frustrated him to no end.

"You know," Bugs had spoken up after a stretch of silence. "For someone who has been rehabilitated, he still got that villain belief that love would make him weak."

Roger's heart sank, the suppressed secret surfacing. After Daffy's rehab, he had moved to Earth's moonbase and became Duck Dodgers as Earth's superhero.

Roger had a slight idea of what happened. Bugs had always sworn up, down and in every dimension of reality that he would never be tied down to a mate. Most of their kind usually ended up mated for life. But Bugs was known to have flings. Honey Rabbit and Penelope the Cat to name a few.

Now here was Bugs, looking like a wallowing lover that had been abandoned at the altar.

"Do you wanna drink some more?" Roger asked, sweating bullets on being thrust on such a situation. "Or do you want to play paintball while pretending to be normal being with no superpowers?" he blabbered, his mind frantically pulling whatever information he thought could help.

Bugs' shoulders were hunched but he still turned to him with a raised brow. "Paintball?"

Roger nodded. He thought it would be nice to give Bugs some options. Do you want to talk? Or do you want to be distracted?

"I heard some navy seals are going to have a showdown downtown. We can sneak in." Roger's eyes lit up mischievously, trying to pique Bugs' knack for neutral chaos. "I could even build you a power-inhibitor collar to spice things up."

Bugs downed his drink and wiped his mouth. "Then let's paint the town with pellets," he said, putting on his horn frame glasses as his disguise.

Somehow, they ended up drinking with the navy seals after a couple of rounds and waking up, plastered in a karaoke bar with Roger tangled with a feather boa and hanging off the light fixture. Bugs woke up with his whole body dyed blonde and wearing a frilly ballerina skirt.

Bugs never wanted to talk about him and Daffy. He only thanked Roger for the good time and went home (he kept the skirt, swinging his hips a little).

Roger would hear that Daffy would regularly stay on Earth on the fourth week of the second month and the first week of the third month of Spring, the time rabbits would experience the infamous rabbit heat.

From the limited information Roger had, Bugs' instincts had taken Daffy as a mate. Daffy had not. So Bugs had settled for being friends with benefits.

Roger lightly touched Bug's holographic screen, as though to give him some comfort even though it was unasked.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

Bugs shook his head. "Don't. It's where he's comfortable at. I understand, I used to be like that."

Bugs had tried to get over Daffy by going out with one of the newest superheroine, Lola Rabbit. A speedster who used to be a delivery girl that had been hit by a strange meteorite. Bugs had been infatuated with her for a time longer than his usual flings.

Then he broke up with her.

Lola had bashed a giant hole in the Warner Watchtower by speedrunning the circumference of the Earth before blowing all her momentum to her fist and inches away from Bugs' head.

They remained good friends after that.

Back to the conversation, Roger bowed his head. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked you about villain rehabilitation." He hovered his hand on the screen where Bugs' shoulder resided. "For what it's worth, I always thought Daffy's reason for changing is you. He's just… afraid."

Bugs may never wanted to talk about his relationship with Daffy. But he had always poured to Roger everything about the duck.

Daffy is so afraid of the pain of losing you, he left Earth to stay away, Roger had tried to tell him before. He placed himself in the moon to look out for any potential threat against you. But Bugs wasn't ready to hear that. Because it didn't erased the hollow ache of his instincts calling out for his mate who didn't want to be with him.

Bugs only nodded wearily. "I know." His head was bowed but his eyes moodily looked up at him. Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"You want my advice for the villain rehabilitation thing?" His lips pulled into a bitter smile. "Don't do what I did."

With that, he logged out without another word.

Roger felt his stomach drop.