Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Come on Roger, let's go home." "I'll make you a carrot cake."

Jessica suddenly realised, that that promise didn't sound as simple as it did 20 minutes ago. 20 minutes ago when all was resolved and Jessica truly felt like she could sleep easy finally. Although- admittedly, she had started to feel that way once she told Roger that she loved him but still, all she felt now was tired and her feet hurt and she wanted out of her dress and gloves.

At least the car still worked. When Jessica had first saw it: its white paint scuffed and scratched, front askew and trunk open, she was sure it wouldn't start and in her rush to find her husband, why would she bother checking to see if a broken car would magically work? Maybe it working did have a magical explanation; Tinker Bell did spread her pixie dust everywhere in celebration once all was over but Jessica shook her head at the memory. This was a real car, not a toon car.

She looked up to the rear-view mirror and signalled when it was safe, her hands twisted the wheel effortlessly to the left and she clicked the indicator off just before it got annoying. At least that's what Roger told her.

Jessica moved her eyes to the passenger seat, suddenly worried why he was so quiet, only to see him asleep: cheek pressed against glass and ears flopping slightly as wind passed through the half-opened window.

She smiled at that.

Well, patty cake wasn't exactly on the table anyway, considering how tired she was, no matter how nice it sounded. They'll do it tomorrow she reasoned; nodding at the thought.

But she couldn't help but frown at the mention of patty cake, prior thoughts and feelings immediately rushing back. She still hadn't explained herself in the way she wanted too, yet Roger seemed happy to forgive her right away which made her feel a mixture of happiness and sadness. Sadness at the thought of him possibly thinking she'd do something like that 'just because'. But he knew her, that's why he forgave her and that's why she married him. Even toons neglected to understand her, back when she still have the naivete, to attempt to explain how she wasn't bad. But Roger had listened and the best part was: when she'd told him all those years ago, he looked into her eyes the entire time.

A yawn and a grumble made her look in his direction.

"Hello." she greeted, "sleepy?"

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he stretched and straightened his posture.

"Yep." he said through a yawn.

"We're almost home, then you can sleep, I'll make you a hot water bottle if you want?"

He stretched again before finally sitting still. He looked out the window, staring at the low streetlights whizzing by.

"No, that's alright, you've done enough for me already, dearest."

He closed his eyes again and reached a hand toward the stick, gently patting the hand that sat atop of it.

Jessica felt her eyes brim with tears; she doesn't deserve this. This much love and acceptance.

For all she's done? All she did was break his heart.

"Alright, honey bunny."

She responded in a calm tone. Her free, gloved, hand... coming up to wipe away a stray tear.

When they got back, they feverishly swallowed down snacks, eager to go to bed; Roger ate more carrots than he was allowed- but he hadn't eaten well for days, so Jessica allowed it. She hadn't really eaten either and even though she had a full fridge sitting in front of her, all she ate was two slices of processed cheese. Toon cheese, so it was processed - processed cheese.

Roger made her smile when he asked her if she was okay. He was worried about her food intake. Jessica had nodded at his question and he'd kissed her on the cheek. Then he thundered up the stairs to get ready for bed. She just sat for a while, thinking of how bittersweet this all was; she was at home, the gingham table cloth (that sat atop the circular breakfast table) beneath her fingers, itchy and familiar... the pots and pans hanging as they normally did, just below the pale yellow cabinets... the living room behind her: open plan, minus the small wall that the stove was stuck to... and to her left, the photo encased in a dark oak frame: her hair was curled up to her cheeks and her veil was pushed back to fall just above her shoulders, Roger's ring and eyes caught the light as their heads jutted out from the backseat window, waving and smiling. Smiling from a window of a car, who was dressed to look like a carriage. It was crude, cardboard and paint... but she couldn't have wished for a better automobile, any one that would take her and her handsome prince away to their castle, where they would live happily ever after, was good enough for her.

Everything was the same. But everything was different. Although nothing had really been said, a raft had been driven between her and her husband. They had a great relationship and Jessica had no need to wonder if Roger felt the same because they trusted each other. Jessica felt like she had violated that trust.

Suddenly she felt unsafe; things like this had happened between her and Maroon before, disagreements and fights; she knew he had a clear dislike for her. He probably thought what everyone else did: that she only married Roger because he could buy the kind of carrots that you weren't supposed to eat. Yet, she started dating him way before that, she couldn't count the years on one hand - or even two! That they'd been together, so, either he was stupid or just looking for any excuse to get rid of her.

Maroon definitely figured out that Roger was her weakness, perhaps he finally realised that she truly loved him? Or more likely not. He didn't seem like the type to take women seriously.

What she was worried about was: would it happen again? Well, she was worried about a lot of things, despite how looks could be deceiving.

She liked her life, she loved her husband, she liked her job. Why couldn't things just be normal?

She didn't want to think about it anymore. So she decided, that as a token of her forgiveness, she'd put a ham in the oven and cook it overnight, Roger would like that. A real ham too.

She turned off the downstairs lights when all was safe. Then slowly made her way upstairs. Roger peeled open an eye -meeting both of hers- as soon as she had appeared in their bedroom doorway, her silhouette etched in the darkness. He was already in bed and had appeared to be dozing off... but her honey bunny had great hearing, bless his heart.

"Wondered where you were." he sleepily mumbled.

Jessica managed a smile as she shut their door and felt her way to their en suite. A tug on the dangling cord and the lights flickered on. Revealing: the walk-in shower, stainless pearl, white tiles and a spotless mirror with her image, staring right back at her. Her tired face was a reminder of the emotional burden she carried on her back. It was her weapon to use but she'd give it up for him every time. For some reason, being here tonight, in the bathroom she'd lived in for almost four years, she was suddenly reminded of how her first apartment's bathroom looked.

"I was getting dinner ready for tomorrow, wanted to do something special."

"You work too hard." she heard him shift, "do your feet hurt?"

She looked into the eyes of her reflection. Toothbrush, inches from her open mouth. Her feet ached and she kept moving them on the tiled floor, trying to find a cold spot that hadn't been ruined by her heat.

He knew her too well.

"Jessica?"

"Oh...sorry, yes, they do."

Her ears were then filled with the sound of bristles and toothpaste, rubbing against her teeth. So much, she failed to decipher the noises of her husband moving around on the duvet and rearranging their pillows.

After spitting into the sink and moving into the bedroom, that was when she saw it:

Roger was sitting on the end of her side of the bed. He had moved his pillows onto hers, so she'd be elevated. They were arranged so that to lay on them, would feel like a fluffy cloud. One pillow sat in front of Roger, she knew it was for her foot.

"Oh darling, you don-"

Roger interrupted her by patting the pillow in front of him.

"Come on, my love, lay down."

Jessica couldn't help but smile. However, she felt guilty, seconds after she followed his instructions. She felt her arms and legs relax and her head lulled back when Roger started to massage her tired sole, making her suddenly realise that she'd been tensing for so long.

He kneaded into her foot with so much love, that Jessica felt herself tear up again. Her toon heart pounded in her paper and ink chest. The feeling of being unable to hold back any more, was abundant in her clogged throat; she let a cry escape her.

Roger's ears shot up and he quickly rushed to her side.

"Are you alright, did I hurt you?"

She pushed herself into an upright position. Balling as she shook her head.

"No, but I hurt you- and I need you to know I'm sorry."

"It's okay-"

"No, it's not! I- I never wanted to hurt you, please believe me! Mr Valiant only just did, please I-"

"Jessica, I know that, you're my wife, my best friend, I know that someone-"

"Who made you do it?"

He asked after a pause. A moment of realisation... told him this was not okay. His voice was low and comforting... yet oddly protective and scary. But Jessica wasn't afraid. Roger was cradling her hand and rubbing circles into her back.

"M-Mr maroon, h-he said if I didn't pose for the pictures you -you wouldn't work again, I wanted you to be happy-"

"I'm not happy when you're not happy." Roger answered, suddenly defensive but still caring.

"You weren't supposed to know- Acme wasn't supposed to die."

"Jessica, I love you, even if I would never have known, I hate to see you in mental torture! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, I didn't want to ruin your chances, Acme was already getting in my space and I was too scared to do anything-" she hiccupped, "I didn't want you to think I was lying- or someone may try to convince you that I was, people don't trust me and I-"

"But I do."

"I know-"

"So why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you would have walked out of Maroon and companies wouldn't hire you if they thought you were fired and me as your wife doesn't help." She cried. Hands wet with big, toon tears.

"You wouldn't be able to find work, you'd f-fade. You'd be unhappy, I would never want that for you and- it'd be all my fault just for being me."

She coughed and spluttered. It was easier for me to get hurt, never him, no one would hurt him.

"A-and then... you wouldn't love me anymore."

She felt hands stroke her hair and lips kiss her scalp.

"I'm sorry... but remember, no matter what, I'll always love you."

She looked up to meet his eyes.

"Just being with you is enough for me not to fade."

She was so happy when he'd appeared from that manhole. So glad he was finally safe... that she was more concerned about making sure that their last moments together were happy ones. She'd held back her tears, despite how desperately she wanted to explain herself; all she could manage to appease her guilt, was to say that she loved him, she loved him more than any woman has ever loved a rabbit. In that moment, she hoped that that was enough.

"To me, you're my big break, Jessica."

Her green eyes widened and caught the light when she'd pulled her head from out of her lap. With several hiccups she smiled wide, teeth shining in the same aura, that emanated from the moonlight outside. Blue, round tears flowed as she dove into him, kissing him passionately.

"Oh, Roger! My hero." She nuzzled into him. Her arms around him tightly.

"Your hero who gives foot rubs?" He smirked, then a cartoonish sound effect filled the room as he winked.

"Oh, yes..." she moaned comically, before kissing him squarely on his fluffy cheek.

When her feet met solid ground, after having been suspended in midair and almost showered in dip for what felt like hours. She found herself bouncing between emotions and happiness prevailed so, she did what she always did when she was happy: shower Roger in kisses. The will was another relief and the win after win that were those ten minutes made her feel like nothing could ever go wrong again. But when it was just them, in the security of their room, with moonlight casting a shadow of Roger's, ever dancing ears, she knew she could freely let everything out. After a bit more painful brooding of course.

She was analytical; people twisted her feelings but she came to the conclusion that taking back control by accepting the one thing she knew people would notice, would make her the one who was in control of herself. How people viewed her didn't matter; she was just doing what felt right and yes, that meant she oftentimes seemed smutty unintentionally. Although! Toons didn't have the privilege to design their own anatomy and how that in turn, influenced their views and sometimes thoughts. The way she was drawn resulted in a flirtatious strut despite Jessica meaning nothing by it, once she'd realised that, it didn't really matter what others impressions were. She considered herself a liberated woman and she'd always be everlastingly grateful to have found Roger, who understood her, loved her and trusted her.

He still did.

'and people say I'm out his league'.

Chapter Text

"Do you like your tea, honeybunny?"

"Yes, Jessica dear, I'm just jumpy."

Inside a cement and brick cafe, directly opposite Maroon Cartoon studios, they sat. Jessica wore a teal, wool effect, coat with amber buttons; a white fluffy trim decorated the neck and sleeves, black stockings covered her legs, as well as a knee length, turquoise skirt- and to top it all off: a round, blue hat.

Roger ordered Jessica the hot chocolate she'd been looking at and for himself: an iced tea. Jessica said it might calm his nerves. Their drinks sat on a circular mahogany table, a table which was right beside the full-length window, the window which advertised that day's specials in thick marker on the glass. She caught Roger glancing outside. His eyes, always found their way back to the studio. He was gripping his cup and chewing his lips.

"You certainly are." she frowned, "sweetheart, it's going to be alright."

Roger finally took a sip of his drink, his green coat bunched up around his elbows as he held the cup to his face. Jessica had bought it for him last Christmas. It was woven from toon wool, made by a toon sheep. Red, yellow and blue wool were sprinkled in amongst the bottle green. Jessica smiled at how he worriedly checked for any tea on the sleeves, he was so grateful for it.

"Besides, you might get some additional contracts from competing companies, my honeybunny is very popular."

Jessica smiled proudly. The comment also meant to reassure herself; one of her anxieties around the whole: 'Acme situation', was Roger being unable to find work. Mr Maroon had told her that he'd make doubly sure that Roger wouldn't work in this town again if she didn't agree to his demands, his powerful word of mouth was enough to secure her husband's downfall. But as evil and corporate as it sounded, now that Mr Maroon kicked the bucket and his unassuming brother took over, it made it so companies could get a better offer on toon actors (Mr Maroon was a stubborn man after all, Jessica knew all too well) or even just let their offer be seen.

She took his hand from across the table and smiled.

"I'll help you with deciding on what's best."

Roger seemed to relax, if how he slumped into his chair and rested his head atop his palm was any indication; he squeezed Jessica's hand loving, then pulled it towards him, where he kissed it sweetly.

Inside Maroon studios, Roger seemed to tense up again. Herman was there and greeted them kindly - as kind as Herman could muster, anyway. But once he gauged how nervous his co-star was- far more than he should've been too- he reverted back to his usual way of speaking.

After Mr Maroon was killed, his company was now up for grabs, unfortunately he had a next of kin. His brother wasn't exactly a cartoon connoisseur and therefore, he decided to employ help from the such. They required every toon audition for their roles again; they wanted to check their ticket sales, as a way to properly determine whether their reputation had soured or not. If it had soured, then they'd discuss plans to slowly push them back into the spotlight or... something else.

Stay or be jobless, essentially. 

Jessica felt it was a bit much, what was the audition even for? To test them? Make them nervous for no reason? Sounded cruel really.

But admittedly, Roger was right to be nervous; he was suspected of murder for the majority of two days, although- Jessica was still sure he'd keep his job.

A man who bore resemblance to Maroon, suddenly appeared in a waiting room ripe with toons: chairs were overcrowded by toon actors and their children- wailing and quiet mumblings congested the room. Nervous anticipation stunk the air as people fingered through magazines, looking for something to do. When the look alike walked in, heads shot up in synchronicity... but they all fell when the man spoke:

"Roger Rabbit?"

Jessica took his hand and quickly decided to join him in looking over his statistics. The Mr Maroon look alike seemed to raise an eyebrow at that... but nevertheless turned on his heel and guided them into his office, who's door now bore "Mr. Harry Maroon".

The office was completely different... bare walls and pale floorboards surrounded the circumference of a long table, it sat alone. Light shone in from the windows, accentuating the room's already barren appearance.

Jessica grabbed a stray chair from the corner and placed it next to Roger's already prepared seat.

"Sorry, who are you?"

She looked up at the man in quiet surprise, she turned to Roger; she knew that he could read her slightly miffed, slightly nervous face. He nodded to her- like they had just shared an entire conversation with their eyes. Which they had.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me, this is Jessica, my wife."

She nodded.

"Oh, okay...urm, anyway."

Then a look of recognition flew over his face.

"Oh! Yes, I remember you."

He ducked to collect some documents from the drawer of his desk. Jessica frowned; he meant that he'd seen her in the papers, papers detailing a side of her that didn't exist. Yes, she didn't care what others thought but when they believed to have 'evidence' of something she didn't do, well, that was a whole other ball game. Roger, perhaps sensing her upset, touched her arm softly and made a face which said: "don't listen to the stupid man" gesturing to him whilst. That made Jessica giggle behind her hand.

Oblivious Maroon redirected his attention to them; only after he'd unloaded a stack of documents onto his desk.

"Alright, first let's take a look at your last physical...is your ink still pigmented?"

Roger pulled the arm of his coat up. Exposing the bottom half of his limb. He outstretched it to Mr Harry Maroon.

"You tell me."

Maroon looked surprised at the sudden hostility in Roger's tone, Jessica was also momentarily stunned. But when he gave her a sly smile, she felt herself become confused and flustered all at once.

Mr Maroon coughed forcefully, less composed than before.

"Okay, well..." He took some charts from the pile of papers, "any questions before we look at the ratings?"

"Yes, actually."

Jessica looked to her husband, suspense was caught in her chest at this sudden change of attitude.

"Okay, fire away."

"Not to be rude but were you close to your brother?"

"Er, not particularly-"

"Alright, what a shame truly, believe me I sympathise but, how can I put this..."

Roger comically looked up to the ceiling, pretending to think. A finger on his chin as he dramatically gnawed on his lip. He appeared confident but Jessica could see his tail quivering slightly.

"I don't think I could work for a company whose namesake violated my wife's boundaries."

Silence.

"Wh-what?"

"I know it's immature to bring this up months after his passing, again dreadfully sorry-"

Roger patted his hand from across the desk-

"But even then, what would you do if your boss forced your wife to get close to another man because your job was apparently, 'at stake'."

Roger asked. He held a strong, serious stare; opposed to Maroon's drifting eyes. Jessica felt her heart hammer in her chest, her head was fuzzy at how heroic he was.

"I-I suspect I wouldn't work for-"

"Good answer, you can forget about those charts... but I will take these-" Roger grabbed a file labelled 'additional contracts' and held it up to Maroon's face.

"Something tells me I'll be needing this." Then he sarcastically smiled.

Roger then found Jessica's eyes. He offered her a caring gaze. He presented an open hand to her; she took it before he had time to outstretch his smallest finger.

"We'll be leaving now, come on Jessica dear-" he stood up from his chair and she followed suit.

"Let's go to a movie, or maybe a bakery! Oh! Goodbye, Harry." He jokingly waved. shimmying his fingers like a child.

Jessica was smiling wide beneath her veil of red hair.

"Jessica dearest, say goodbye to the man."

She had to restrain herself. Not wanting to burst out laughing. Her husband's self-satisfied face and voice made that incredibly difficult, however. To anyone else, it might have not been as funny as she was making it out to be... but Roger's face, combined with Harry's open mouthed one of silent confusion and discomfort- all she could muster was a small nod towards Mr Maroon... before her throat croaked and her lips released a spitting, spluttering noise as she released stifled giggles.

Roger started to laugh with her. Gazing up at her with genuine love and adoration; he tugged her towards the door once he felt like they had pretty much outstayed their welcome. He held onto his stomach, the laughter hurting him nonexistent stomach. He opened the door with his other hand as Jessica stumbled and snorted between guffaws.

Once the doors to the office shut and they gave each other a moment to compose themselves, Jessica blinked away the wetness in her eyes and grabbed her husband, showering him in kisses.

"Oh, Roger! You were so authoritative and strong willed! So powerful and justice seeking!" She praised in-between kisses.

Then she pulled herself back and held both her hands together, pressing them to her cheek; smiling widely at his star struck face.

"You truly are my hero!"

Roger laughed modestly.

"Well! What can I say...?" he shrugged, "only siding with the light of my life."

The cool air of the morning, hit their faces refreshingly when they left the studio. Outside seemed brighter now and Jessica felt the urge to be productive, stay outside all day with her dearest and eat fluffy on the inside and crunchy on the outside muffins.

"Look lovecups, maybe there was a fire."

She followed his finger, it guided her to a flurry of people, all in white dress shirts, grey pants with suspenders and cameras in their hands and atop their shoulders. They were stopping and picturing toons who had left before them, probably eager for some tears. Ugh.

"They look like reporters, dear."

Roger's eyes instinctively widened.

"Jeepers! We better scram, come on Jessica!"

He started running to their car which was parked across the way. Jessica's hair whipped up at the wind that proceeded his rabbit-speed; her red curls settled back into its seamless, singular, wave effortlessly. She reached a for her husband, whom now resembled a white blur.

"Wait!"

Roger halted on his heels, steam shooted out of them as a byproduct. He spun around to meet her eyes. She was running to him, somehow able to in thin blue heels.

"Let's give them something good to report on."

The next morning, Jessica smiled at the paper. Pinkie finger lifted delicately as she held a small cup of coffee. She wore a fluffy pink dressing gown and a slightly sheer, white slip dress underneath. The palms of her hands pleasantly tingled from last night's patty cake. The newspaper's front page reflected her feelings exactly! Minus the tiny articles on the borders; they were all about the latest weight gain diet everyone needed.

"ROGER RABBIT QUITS MAROON; MARRIAGE AFIRE WITH PASSION"

An image of her and Roger, outside of Maroon Cartoon studios sat below it, where in: Jessica was knelt to her husband's level, her hands cupping his face as she kissed him on the lips. Jessica wasn't just pecking her husband, no; she wanted everyone to know that the Jessica they'd seen, in tabloids months ago, wasn't real. That she loved her husband. So, she gave him an open mouth kiss. Her head was tilted slightly to the right, the light and shadows of her neck visible in the image. Roger was holding the hands that held his face gently... the sunlight of yesterday morning danced on his closed eyelids.

She breathed in slowly and sipped her coffee.

He was so nervous when they had stepped out that morning to talk to Maroon's brother, chittering his teeth whenever the car spat and struggled. She really had to get it looked at. However, she realised after a dinner of roast ham and vegetables, that Roger was nervous about what Herman would say after knowing that he'd quit. So much so, that he had walked her out of the studio before Herman even had a chance to notice them. He had said he was so steamed about what Maroon had done- although for the sake of her not having to relive anything that had happened with him, he didn't mention him at all. After all, Roger knew that Jessica prided herself in not being an object. Instead, he focused all of his time on making Jessica feel loved. He tried cooking fish one day, when she didn't know what to make, it was overcooked a little but still great. But as soon as he sat in that chair across from Maroon 2.0, he was ready to dish out some overdue justice. Jessica being there wasn't ideal, he didn't want to remind her of anything, as said. But she had told him honestly, that she wasn't offended at all.

She had a shift tonight but before that, she wanted to make a cake for Roger. She'd decorated it with sprinkles, marshmallows and carrot shavings, it'd be delicious!

Things were going to be okay.

Chapter Text

"Okay, you're going with, 'picnic', Ethel? Is that the right answer?"

A suspenseful crescendo of drums akin to a pumping heartbeat started, just as the camera focused in on the nervous contestant's face, her perfectly curled and primped updo reflecting the spinning strobe lights that began as soon as she gave her answer.

"I'm sorry John, it's birdwatching."

"Darn it!" Jessica lamented, "I was sure it was sightseeing."

"You'll get it next time, dear." Roger called from the kitchen.

Jessica relaxed back into the couch with a sigh. She had finished work at the ink and paint club about 2 hours ago, she didn't always ache when she got back from work but today, she did so Roger had made her a hot foot bath and a nice, warm cup of tea. She had long since taken her watercolour makeup off and slipped into her pyjamas and night gown. The living room would've been bathed in darkness if it wasn't for the squarish TV casting light on Jessica and her pink, polyester clad legs; the window behind the television giving her a view of mountains in the distance and cars flying by, albeit in the darkness of the blue night.

The kitchen where Roger sat was directly behind Jessica. The light from that room pouring into the living room and reaching up the back of the brown, plush couch. The click of Roger's type writer chimed and reverberated off of the hanging pots and pans below the cupboards. He wore his clear framed glasses and scratched his head in confusion before tossing the cause of his perplexity to the opposite end of the table.

He had six offers in total to consider and admittedly it did boost his confidence some but this was tiring, he had to balance all of the wages against each other, how many hours he'd work a week, his holidays...He'd been working for Maroon for 3 years and all he did there was audition for his role and BOOM! He was given his work times and pay without any say. He was a nobody before that; some people knew him when he'd perform stand up in small diners but still, this was new territory.

"We'll be right back after these short messages!"

The start-up of cheery music and a generic female speaker caused Jessica to sit up and dry her feet with a towel Roger had put out for her. She tightened the cord on her gown just as the generic voice described an amazing brand of soap that just banished mould and stains.

"How're you getting along?"

"Mmh?..." Roger was staring down at a piece of paper very intensely, when it registered what Jessica had said he met her eyes and perked up.

"Oh! Yes, ur...alright." he smiled sheepishly as he took his glasses off.

Jessica bunched up her shoulders and her bare, nude lips turned upwards in a smile.

"Why don't you tell me your favourite so far?"

She asked as she pulled out the chair parallel to Roger and took a seat. He nodded; quite unsure as he collected three papers up from the scattered pile of six; pulled the page from the typewriter out then passed them across the table to her. She scanned them quietly until Roger asked:

"Did I do alright?" Referring to his mathematics.

Jessica smiled.

"You did good...Oh, Walt Disney made it to the finals?"

Roger grinned nervously.

"Weell...Maybe..." he spoke in an embarrassed but happy tone, but then fell into a upset rumble afterwards:

"But I'm worried about being censored...Is that a good way of putting it? I don't want to change too much." Roger sulked and flicked a stray crumb off of the table.

"You never know, maybe you could send a counter offer."

"I don't want to push my luck."

Jessica gave a sympathetic smile at that.

"Well...the offer looks good on its own..."

"I know!" Roger suddenly piped up, hands straight against the table as he raised himself up slightly, emphasising his frustration.

"I shouldn't even be debating it! What a pathetic fool I am, I would be able to meet Goofy!" Roger gasped, "What a dream!"

Jessica shook her head.

"You are not pathetic, love" she handed the papers back to him-

"I agree with your decision to be wary, how intelligent of my dearest, for considering the different changes in toons after they joined Disney."

Roger waved her off comically, a joyful smile dressing his red face.

"Oh stop!"

Jessica giggled behind her hand and Roger met her eyes with a smile at the sound of her laughter. Suddenly; Roger gave her a worried look.

"Jessica dear? You are taking care of yourself, right?"

Her heart melted at his concern but she was confused as to why he'd ask such a question. Like he could read her mind, Roger followed up his query:

"It's just, the shadows of your face look harsher...and a bit pale all at once."

Jessica blinked rapidly.

"Tonight must've really took it out of me, sorry for worrying you...I haven't looked in the mirror-"

"No it's alright-" Roger shook his hands speedily whilst Jessica stood up from her chair, "I just want to know if I could make you some chicken soup? Or maybe fix you some left over cake?"

Jessica swooned at his concern.

"It's alright dearest, I'm fine, really."

Roger gave her a suspicious look: eyebrow raised and finger against chin, not really inconspicuous but that wouldn't be her Roger. She just chuckled at his gaze and that seemed enough to chase away his worries.

"Alright, but I'll make you something small anyway, no wife of mine will go hungry! No sir, no ma'am, not on my watch!"

He insisted passionately, finger pointed to the sky. Jessica bit her lip with a large grin.

"Okay, thank you, dear."

Roger nodded proudly, a smile and half lidded look affixed to his face, like he was the leader of a successful marching band and knew he was important. Then he beckoned her over to plant a kiss on her cheek and raised up the papers for her to see again.

"Sooo...? What do you think?"

"You should give it a go, with Disney I mean, what an opportunity!"

"You think I'm good enough to mingle with such...geniuses!?"

Jessica stood back slightly in amused awe at the question.

"Don't be silly, as I've said before, you're so much funnier than Goofy."

Roger looked up at her with adoration and flattery; he shifted the papers on the desk before he found a blank one, fitted it into the typewriter and cracked his fingers, preparing to write back.

"Now!" He announced, confidence radiating in his voice.

"Jessica dear, be a lamb and sit on the couch, would you? I'll heat up the kettle for your foot bath as soon as I'm finished with homework."

A 'shave and a haircut' knock was tapped onto the wood of Eddie Valiant, toon detective's door. At the resounding noise, he looked up from his desk, his concentration interrupted. On his desk was an open file detailing his latest case. Pencil was in hand, circling important information and jotting down possible leads before his unexpected visitor arrived.

Eddie pushed himself up from his office chair. After he unlocked the latch with a satisfying cling and swung the door open, Roger greeted him with a cumbersome grin.

"Two bits!"

He sing-songed, spreading out his arms theatrically as he did.

"Good news, Eddie!" He continued to chime; hopping into Eddie's room enthusiastically.

"Is losing your job good news?" Eddie quipped.

"Pfft! That's a load of it! I quit, Eddie, you silly."

The door clicked shut and Eddie walked back to sit behind his desk, the way he moved was steady and perhaps a bit threatening if Roger hadn't already met him; his feet fell straight into the wooden floor like magnets, his strides big with a chest that slightly jutted forward.

"Yea...Okay, so what's the headline?"

"Just read this."

Roger tossed Eddie the envelope containing the original contract and his reply. Eyes scanned the address and Eddie's mouth opened at the realisation; all he could muster was a look to Roger, a raised eyebrow and a splutter.

"Well, that's big."

Roger took the envelope back in a swipe, Eddie's hat left circling his head at the velocity.

"I know right!" Roger was bubbling over with excitement, standing on Eddie's desk and making big, swooping motions as he talked.

"The post office is only a ways away; I figured I'd pop in, haven't seen you or the missus in a while"

Eddie rolled his eyes and stiffly removed his hat. He only had it on whilst in his office because he had just gotten back from questioning someone and was too caught up in work to take it off. Although he was secretly happy to see Roger again after all he's given him but being entrapped in work was a welcoming feeling, he'd gotten used to quite quickly, and he wanted to get back to it.

"Girlfriend." He corrected.

Roger shrugged with a smug look.

"Girlfriend, wife...Me and Jessica started talking about our honeymoon on our second date."

Eddie sat up in his chair, not sure if he should be surprised or not, knowing how Jessica and Roger were with each other.

"You were moving pretty fast then, eh?"

"Well, I dunno, would 6 months of dating before marriage be considered fast?"

"Yes-"

Roger waved him off; Eddie was doubly sure that he hadn't even heard his response.

"But I don't think that's any of your business, Eddie." He fell back into his chair with a worrying clang, "the girlfriend...?" Roger waited.

"Alright, nothing notable to report on-"

"Happy?" Roger asked with a curious grin.

"Very. How about your home life?"

Roger took both ends of his bow tie and tightened it with a jiggle of his arms and a flash of pearly white teeth.

"Let's just say it's been very, 'animated'."

Eddie pulled a grimace and Roger laughed at his upturned lip. Eager to move on, Eddie flipped through his work and picked up his pencil just to spin it on his finger.

"Wonder why they sent you a contract...you were suspected of murder-"

"Don't ruin this for me, Eddie! Like Jessica said, I'm very pop-u-lar."

Eddie shrugged, chewing on his pencil softly.

"If you say so."

Thundering steps suddenly made both heads turn to the door, the shadow of a toon visible and fast approaching through the blurry, translucent glass of Eddie's small door window. The tight lock apparently no match for the popular character: a beak clad head that adorned a neat bow atop of it, flowy frills that made up their dress bounced as they ran- the door flew open with such force that Roger and Eddie closed their eyes and used their arms as shields. Intense blue eyes greeted them, long black lashes stood unmoving and long, white genuine pearls glistened and chest heaved as she breathed out the words:

"Mr. Valiant, I need your help!"

Roger gave Eddie a look.

"Daisy, I'll be with you in a mo-"

"It's important!" She squawked but then lowered her voice and used a feathered hand to cover the left side of her beak as she hushed:

"It's about you-know-who."

Chapter Text

-back to the past-

The year is 1935, a time of depression which continued to burn powerfully with the bitter fuel of unemployment feeding its flames. The clouds of war were dark in the air as innocent people began to lose their rights, countries were under attack and it was only a matter of time before something unspeakable was to happen. Fortunately or unfortunately rather, Jessica was able to continue life as best as she could, with the limitations of the depression but still free to an extent, although the fear of what could happen and at any moment nonetheless, did cause her to feel like she was floating a few steps behind her own body.

Since the 1930's the number of women working rose significantly and while it was still considered 'fairly normal' for a women to live with her parents until she was about 20, then marry without having to work a day in her life- of course until she became an unappreciated housewife. It wasn't for a toon; Jessica was drawn on a piece of paper in ink and was immediately shoved into the modelling business, wearing clothing that would later appear in a magazine which people could then buy, sometimes posing for different advertisements, smiling blindly and holding in a straight palm: a bar of soap or something even more stereotypically 'womanly'.

Her work wasn't hindered that badly by the depression, because so called 'women's work' were jammed into industries that weren't significantly impacted by the stock market. Although that didn't mean life was just as easy. No; pay had changed and prices had increased. buying things were a nightmare and some days Jessica was forced to eat nothing for the sake of being able to pay rent. Her situation worsened by her artist and colourist taking a significant amount of her money.

Tonight was a painful reminder of that. She rung her hands and hovered over the only glass of nutrition in her tiny house: a cold cup of coffee. It sat looking up at her from the low down, unsanded oak table in the centre of her 'living space', a radio beside it buzzed and fizzled out in-between a recording of Betty Boop's biggest hits. She licked her lips and stared daggers down at the half full cup but strangely, she let her stomach continue to grumble, a mantra steady in her thoughts: save it for later, save it for later, save it for later. She knew she'd need the energy in the morning if she was ever going to make it to work.

Bang, bang, bang!

She heaved a heavy sigh as the new tenant continued to unload what sounded like a whole circus' worth of luggage into the room above her. Deciding to stop her brooding, she took her cup and covered it in foil before setting it down on the pale, grey counter of her cramped 'kitchenette' for tomorrow morning. 'Kitchenette' and 'living space' because Jessica only lived in one room but she tried her best to divide it into different sections. The 'grey counter' actually a tall, smallish table but she liked to tell herself otherwise. 

The sounds of her upstairs neighbour soon turned quiet and oddly soothing as the occasional shuffle reminded Jessica that only a thin ceiling separated her from being completely alone. A gentle hum of a radio emanated from said neighbour, Jessica thought she recognised it as a silly symphony number, it'd be nice to meet a fellow toon in this human's world and that thought alone comforted her as her eyelids fluttered closed from exhaustion.

The pointless chatter between assistants and uptight business men, the smell of stale tea and fur coats and the sounds of leather clogs on varnished wood; slowly built up to a booming clang, these were the things that brought Jessica out of her sudden state of daydreaming. She shook her head to hopefully diminish her nagging want to go home, causing her short and curled hairdo to bounce fluidly beside both her rosy checks, high thin brows, and severally underlined lips.

Jessica held her hair in place delicately; not even holding it necessarily rather, almost grazing it with her long fingers. breathing deeply, she raised up from the wooden chair free of a cushion or covering in her tiny 'dressing room', (more of a closet really) to look over her outfit for the shoot: a knee length, yellow dress that had several tiers and strips of lace sewn to just the right effect, puffed sleeves and a high collar. She appreciated the number, she supposed fashion was one of her predetermined interests, as she already knew all of the names of essential fabrics since the day pencil met her paper.

"Miss, Krupnick?"

Almost like it wasn't even her interest at all.

The soft pattering of heels on vinyl were the backdrop to her thoughts of her fate as a toon. What if it wasn't for her liking of fashions? she'd be stuck in a job she'd ultimately despise. She didn't love her job, she more liked listening and imitating what she heard on the radio like a parrot rather than standing stoic for pictures but it wasn't unbearable. Even with luck on her side with that first hurdle, there was still the worry of being left unemployable forever if the whole 'buying dresses from a magazine' business were to become dried up and barren, how was she even supposed to make a living? This was all she knew, she was drawn in a studio just like this, a studio which squeezed her into a dress and sat her in front of blinding lights and clunky cameras on her first day on Earth. It wasn't possible to kill a toon, she knew this and she thought that the act of telling herself something so obvious was supposed to be calming; instead, it left her feeling strangely empty and scared.

Empty

She set her hands on her generous hips and beamed a big, fake smile.

The flash of the camera stunning her but Jessica's expression didn't falter.

Knock knock

"Yes?"

Mr Harris grumbled in tired frustration at the unexpected visitor. His pen encased in a black and glossy barrel dropped onto the the desk below him with a spiralling pang; he was holding both sides of his sturdy bald head in his calloused hands whilst mumbling into his grey moustache about his outrageous headache.

The large dark oak door creaked open at his reply and in stepped Jessica Krupnick, the beautiful toon woman of seven heads tall and fluttering lashes with sleepy lids. She pushed the door closed with her slim behind, the action causing him to perk up in his seat despite Jessica meaning nothing by the action, it's just how she walked based on her unnatural proportions. She wore a short-curled hairdo painted red and her blushed cheeks were prominent against her pale skin. she had changed in and out of multiple outfits that day but the time on Mr Harris' clock predicted: that the night sky was sure to be steadily making itself known and the cold of the evening would be settling in so, she wore a long wool coat with a triangular collar, it was finished with a fluffy faux fur trim, a matching rounded hat and smart black heels.

"Jessica? Isn't it time you went home?" He asked, no hint of shame across his features as he glanced south of her face.

"Yes, urm, I just wanted to ask something important."

He sat more comfortably in his chair. Then motioned to Jessica with a twist of his wrist to elaborate.

She shifted in her spot on the brown carpet of cube block patterning and brought a fist up to her mouth to discretely clear her throat behind it.

"Do you think...maybe that, you know-" she breathed in some more confidence, "If you had a connect that works in music or-"

"Why would you need that?"

The air felt thick with sudden disgust and disapproval. Her skin, prickled and she felt her heart beat fast and tight under her thick coat.

"Well, I'd like to go into that business, I don't know if-"

"Jessica, it really isn't the time to be job hunting right now."

"I know it's not ideal-"

"It's absolutely ridiculous."

Jessica didn't wear her heart on her sleeve and maybe that's thanks to her design as well; she couldn't control it honestly, her presumed mean and distant behaviour. Sometimes she didn't realise when she was being particularly rude or in some eyes, promiscuous. It felt better to keep herself to herself and not say much when spoken to. This was further cemented after spending more than a few hours around men. Hours of which took place on the day she was brought to life.

"Im just worried about being stuck forever," Jessica uncharacteristically let slip, mind jumping from place to place. Then she added to diverge from her confession:

"All I'm asking is for a name that-that maybe I could look into-"

"Jessica, just go home, don't be so greedy."

She felt her face grow hot in embarrassment. In anger, sadness.

"A second job for what? jewellery?"

"pin-money, Jessica? Don't be so vain, Krupnick."

This is just why you should speak as little as possible. Jessica repeated over in her head. She had dreamt of singing for years and it had stayed that way for years. The depression must've been messing with her mind, the lack of food and the constant downer that was the atmosphere causing her sudden lack of judgement.

Her feet hurt and blistered as she marched in her heels, every stomp she made on the concrete sidewalk stung but it didn't stop her from firmly landing her feet on the sturdy path below with a bang each time. The sky was a dark grey, clouds the same and thick, so much so that the evening star was merely a faint flicker in the sky. Her arms were held stiff to her sides, eyes stuck to the ground; she found her way to her hotel despite the visual impairment.

She was so angry, so focused on replaying the events of what happened that day in her mind that, she instead put all of her outside energy into zipping up the stairs in twos and marching through the corridors. So, invested in her own self hatred and regret that she didn't notice the toon rabbit until she stumbled into him. He outstretched his arms; wobbling in an attempt to steady himself but despite his best efforts, he comically fell backwards.

She gasped at the blue, yellow and pink stars decorating his head, shooing them away like flies after she knelt down beside him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!" She pleaded. Overwhelmed with the need to express that she wasn't usually this unpredictable, the sadness she felt in that moment with Mr Harris coming back to build in her throat.

"Are you alright, Mr...?"

The stars which she had wafted slowly reached the cracked white ceiling, they shattered into pieces as soon as they made contact with the textured surface.

The sound of the breaking seemed to cause his eyes to twitch, twitch and scrunch tight before opening to reveal blue sockets with darker blue irises. Something about his uniquely coloured eyes, eyes that caught the bright hallway lights amazingly and gazed up to meet hers before anything else caused Jessica's mind to catch up with her. A toon...another toon! She had only ever met other toons during work or when they were working. This was exactly what she had hoped for. She only wished the world would become more toon dense as people continued to draw. It was 1935, the first living toon was only invented in 1908 so all there was to do was wait.

She thought herself silly; It was so like a toon to notice enough to wave away floating stars but then not notice a toon laying below them.

His head rose and his body followed. He shook his head, ears of white dancing fluidly like ballet in reaction to his movements. She stood up as he did and she felt an excited smile attempt to tug at her features when he extended a hand to her.

"Rabbit! Roger. Don't worry about that, I was loitering here anyway."

He pointed with his other gloved hand to the bulletin board beside him. Jessica recognised it as the events board. The landlord must've been trying to make this hotel seem more like a hotel, a place where people wanted to socialise. A weird choice given how there wasn't even room for a diner downstairs. But it was a kind gesture given everyone's situation.

She took his hand after a moment of thought. She decided that it wouldn't hurt; after all she really appreciated how he looked directly at her face.

"Thank you, I haven't seen another toon around here before."

Their handshake stopped and Jessica watched in an almost weird fascination as Roger's arm fluidly fell to his side, he was probably running on a higher frame rate per second, impressive.

"Me neither, I came from Oregon just yesterday."

"Oh!" Jessica exclaimed, surprising them both.

"Are you the neighbour I heard moving around last night?"

The hesitation gave her a second to realise that her question sounded rude and almost accusatory; she moved her hands frantically, back to apologising.

"Oh! I'm sorry I didn't-"

But then, he laughed. A giggle, breathy but clear. Not a malicious laugh like humans dished out and on occasion, toons. No, a real, kind laugh.

"No, no! It's okay! I'm sorry about that, I thought about yelling down into the floorboards an apology, but something about that didn't seem right."

Jessica felt encouraged by his laidback- yet infectious happiness, so much, that she smiled and laughed at his joke. Her breath hitched and she snorted slightly; at the sound she stopped and covered her mouth in a hopefully conspicuous way, one that didn't show she was clearly embarrassed by the reaction. But if Roger noticed it, he did well not to show it. He didn't mention it or even make that big a fuss. She liked that.

"Nice laugh!" He continued to smile but after a moment he stopped, leaned forward, eyebrow raised head bobbing as if to ask, 'your name?'.

"...er?" He rolled his wrist, waiting. Confirming her suspicions.

"Ha...erm, Miss." Jessica grinned.

"Miss...?"

"Oh, Krupnick! Jessica."

His smile returned and Jessica found comfort in the alien gesture.

"Lovely to meet you Jessica, I'd love to stay and chat but I really should work on my material." He patted the pocket of his brown slacks which were gingham and rolled up at the hem. His matching blazer reacting like a balloon next to hair as he continued to pat his side. White braces with red accents adorned his chest, underneath them lay a plain, off white polo shirt. Why was she suddenly so interested in everything about him?

"I'll see you at the reception, yea? goodnight."

Jessica watched him leave. A feeling unlike anything she had felt today- or any day she had experienced in a long while- sparked in her chest. I laughed. She felt silly but the thought of asking him his room number so maybe they could talk some more, made her feel excited and actually anticipated to live out tomorrow. She needed happiness in her life.

And she wasn't about to let it get it away from her.

The bulletin board.

Dancing competition

Last couple standing wins! Cash prize!

Fish Swallowing! How long will you last?

Flagpole sitting!

Come watch Daredevil Dave climb a flagpole west of Pico Blvd. Grab a snack, bring a deck chair; he's got all day!

Jessica took copies of each and tucked them in her coat pocket whilst simultaneously fishing out her key. As the door lock clicked open and the hinges winced when pressure was applied to them, Jessica felt like turning on the radio, singing, reading the funnies and drinking a whole cup of warm coffee.

Chapter Text

"Well, you're lucky it's just superficial damage, Mrs Rabbit."

The toon auto mechanic grumbled from behind his overgrown moustache. His gloved hands placed firmly on his hips as he stepped back and overlooked the front of Jessica's white, 1938 Packard Eight.

"It should've been a lot worse considering everything that was dumped on it."

Jessica nodded in agreement. She knew Roger had said to not pay the car much mind considering it had been months after the incident but they never really touched the car in those months at all, except when Roger cleaned it and despite how Roger counted that as 'touching', Jessica didn't. Only when he needed to go back to work again was it really used, minus the drive they took back home all those months ago. It must've been the tenseness of the situation because back then, she didn’t realise how the car spluttered and coughed when she put it in park.

When Roger woke up, he was uber excited to post his letter, she caught his infectious giddiness and managed to persuade him to stay in bed and cuddle some more before he would inevitably climb out and trip over his trousers whilst getting dressed. Jessica wasn't as placid as people imagined her to be; instead of squealing and dancing when she was overcome with surprise happiness, she'd much rather show it by hugging and smothering her husband in kisses. But that was just her.

The day was so nice in toon town, Jessica only hoped Roger's view from downtown was just as bright as it seemed when she drove him there ten minutes prior. Her brown cat eye sunglasses with matching pant suit and white sun hat, really had her pumped to get out and enjoy the day. She smiled, thinking back to how Roger complimented her ensemble when she dropped him off at Eddie's earlier, she tugged at his arm to get him back in his seat so she could properly thank him for his sweetness before driving off, blowing him a kiss as he waved her away, standing slightly bow legged.

"I thought that too." Jessica replied temperately, "But I don't think it's just scuffs, the engine spits sometimes," Jessica moved from leaning on her right leg to her left, "most times actually."

The toon nodded, taking in her concerns before letting out a sigh, then he breathed in deeply and fondled with his belt that had multiple of related and miscellaneous tools suspending from it.

"Well, I'll do some investigations...It isn't a toon car so expect it to take a little longer, Mrs Rabbit,"

Jessica nodded; mumbling a series of 'okays' at his prognosis.

"and you can leave your number here, I'll call you if anything major happens and when you can come and collect her."

"Thank you." She nodded to him steadily, then masterfully spun on her amazingly thin heel to strut back to reception, where she jotted her phone number beside her name.

Although walking home usually wasn't what Jessica preferred, it was a lovely day and it wasn't like she had a choice regardless; she could always stick her thumb out for Benny but she'd never admit that she found his driving erratic at best. Maybe she should change into a light jacket, sit in the back garden and start planning a stay-at-home date for when Roger got back; they couldn’t use the car for at least a day and it’d be a nice gesture and replacement to the sparse dates they could enjoy when they found gaps in their schedules. They weren’t able to do that enough since Roger found success and Jessica found herself missing the nights of dressing up, Roger serenading her evening with jokes and laughter, dimly lit dives and trying her best to obviously flirt, all before she’d drag him into her apartment for the night. She felt silly but being a Disney wife made her want to have a romantic night in.

Roger stayed put in the chair across from Eddie, one of which was overlooking what used to be his brother's desk. Although after the Doom case, Dolores had somehow convinced Eddie to display all of Teddy's belongs on a shelf beside his pull-out bed, they were dusted and polished regularly. Roger pulled a face; was it pull down bed? As opposed to out. It did have to be pulled south-facing from where it would appear out of the wall.

Despite being right in front of Eddie and a rabbit with big ears and red overalls, Roger felt like a broken grandfather clock, helplessly trying to tick away in a shadowed corner because that's how little attention Daisy paid to him. She strode forward, arms bent like a soldier and eyes intense like a general. Roger felt Eddie cringe without having to look at him; the door was shaking, hanging slightly from its hinges. I'll replace that. Roger thought.

"Well?" Daisy asked while her webbed foot tapped impatiently on the wooden floorboards.

Eddie sighed and closed the file he was so entranced in ten minutes ago.

"Is you know who-"

"You know who, that's right."

Eddie sighed and turned to Roger. A well-meaning but solemn look on his face.

"See ya later, kid. Alright?"

Roger nodded and leaned forward to get his envelope, his envelope which held an important and potentially life changing reply letter. He jumped out of his chair, the force of the action sending it flying backward beneath him, it spun a few loops around itself before hitting the desk; it was facing toward the door as opposed to before.

"Hey, I know you." Daisy pointed a feathered finger to him. Apparently now deciding to notice him and seemingly not as eager to talk about 'you know who' as before. Whom Roger didn't know who.

"You're that Rabbit that worked for Maroon."

Roger met her eyes and shrugged, trying to be coy whilst wearing a grin.

"Yes, worked being the keyword."

"Hmm..." Daisy frowned, the bottom of her beak jutting out, a fluffy and delicate hand came up to poke it thoughtfully.

"It's a shame really, that you’re not particularly marketable."

Roger stood with arms limp against his sides, mind blank as he stared straight ahead into Daisy's eyes. He felt like he was being judged and scrutinised the more he looked but he couldn't pull himself away. Too nervous to move suddenly.

"What...?" Eddie finally spoke up with a face that was scrunched up in obvious confusion.

"Ya know, with his features all over the place."

Daisy waved her arms widely as she addressed Eddie, her head nodding in synchronicity with her motions. She then turned to look at Roger, who was uncharacteristically twisting the letter he held in his hands. He did get nervous, especially when he used to work for Raul. But usually he wouldn't be struck silent, well he would - but not this silent.

"-and that girlfriend of yours."

Bing! The bell at the reception chimed and with it, Roger's temper snapped. Suddenly pumped with nervous adrenaline, he moved clumsily from his spot on the varnished floor and shoved his letter into the deep pocket of his overalls. His legs moved him back to lean on Eddie's desk, during which he heard Eddie correct Daisy -

"Wife."

As well as Daisy's reply-

"Oh...wife, sorry. Donald knows her, I don't..."

-But all Roger could really process was the disgust that was someone judging his wife plainly based off her lines on paper.

"Hey! What makes you think you can talk about my Jessica that way!"

Daisy's head rolled limply on its neck to move from looking at Eddie to look at Roger. Pink, shimmery eyelids visible as she gazed at him with raised eyebrows like he had just asked the most ridiculous question someone had ever asked in the history of ever.

"She's a public figure." Was all the response he received. 

"Well that doesn't really matter, you don't know her so I'd like you to stop assuming you do."

“I don't really need to know her to know her."

"She isn't bad, she's just drawn that way," Roger took a breather between swift sentences, "I actually know her so I think I know what I'm talking about and as a fellow toon I'd expect more understanding from you."

"The way you're drawn influences your personality-"

"That’s a myth!"

"Oh, really? Tell me why I can sometimes lay an egg?"

"Egg laying has nothing to do with your personality, I should hope! or God help Hollywood!"

Daisy gasped and subsequently lowered her brow into what should have been a frightening scowl but all Roger could think about was comebacks involving egg puns.

"ALRIGHT!”

-Broke the aggressive staring match he and Daisy were participating in. Eddie had his hands flat to his desk; he was out of his chair and by the look he gave him, Roger knew he was miffed with him the least.

“Roger...loved seeing you...but, I think you need to be somewhere." He said with a nod. His voice, which presented as stern but for Eddie was pretty tame.

"Yes, I think you do." Daisy agreed, like she had won! Ha, Roger thought, funny for a foil. He sarcastically quipped.

Despite what would’ve been a zinger insult, Roger held back and merely tugged his dungarees slacks from beneath his heels; with fluid limbs and swift reaction motions he took a step towards the door whilst his eyes kept Daisy in their sights, a mad and judgemental look was held within them. 

"Fine. I will be leaving..." he spun around on his heel, ears flopping gracefully as he did.

"Bye Eddie-" he extended an arm behind him and waved; with little movement from his fingers. Then he turned to face the detective, a maybe smile playing on his features.

"Talk to you later, catch up with the missus and-"

"-Girlfriend."

“Girlfriend! Yes...” Roger waggled a finger. He spun around, walking backwards and feeling for the door knob blindly as he made eye contact with Eddie, Daisy’s scowl stained his peripheral and it took all of Roger to resist squeezing her head together with his thumb and index finger.

“Goodbye.” He directed to Eddie. To which he nodded, followed by a tapping of his finger against his desk.

“Bye, Daisy." Roger spat whilst not really looking at her either, more like looking at the side of her feathered head, giving it a dirty look that made his whiskers twitch.

"Bye." She rolled her eyes. Tone equal with Roger’s.

With the door handle now firm in his grip, he pulled the door shut, before of course stepping into the grey hallway outside of Eddie’s office, Eddie and Daisy now compressed into silhouettes thanks to the translucent window, until-

PING ! CRASH!

The door fell straight off of its hinges, Roger’s face, which still faced into the room, stared down at it with an expression that would usually leave a room roaring, his jaw wide and eyes the same. But Eddie wasn’t laughing, actually he looked like he might spontaneously explode.

After two seconds of shocked silence, silence minus the one screw which decided to spin itself to a stop for far too long. Roger smiled nervously.

"Ever thought of putting a curtain here, Eddie?"

A scowl that was terrifying stared him down, with more silence included! Wow lucky!

"I'll be leaving now."

‘Well...that wasn’t how I thought I’d spend my morning...Well!  you’re not a psychic, Roger. I never said I was, Brain.’

Roger thought, as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and Eddie’s office, lest Daisy storm out and chase him, or Eddie...probably not Eddie. His speed walk was spent staring down at the envelope, slightly crumbled in his hands and nervously turning to look behind him, before he knew it- he was at the post office.

Although he just tucked himself into the space where the door jutted out from the brick wall instead of actually walking in, as to not disturb the pedestrian traffic; he’d learnt his lesson to not stand in deep thought whilst people were walking forward and back, when he was pushed down a flight of stairs. He continued to look at the address on the letter; it was strange. He’d seen loads of movies, when he took Jessica on dates, when he lived alone and managed to scrape enough together to buy a ticket to a goofy cartoon. But in the few movies with humans he’d watched, the same actors and actresses were stars in multiple, in completely different genres, playing completely different characters and working for separate companies. But Goofy always acted Goofy and Goofy was owned by Disney. He wanted to act, he wanted to take the offer.

Well, I didn’t expect Daisy to be such an antagonist, maybe she is playing a roll. Like Herman. Am I the only one who even remotely plays themselves?

He never thought of that before, he didn’t usually have thoughts like that. It was always the timing and finesse that he loved, he was looking at it as an art, a skill to be learned. But he never played with the idea of Goofy being any different behind the scenes, without the timing and finesse...Did you really need timing if you were playing yourself...?

Roger laughed to himself. ‘Pfft! Really had me going there!  what a dumb question!’

...

Did he have timing and finesse? He spent years practicing slapstick in a tiny room and writing basic stand up, he must have. ‘of course, I do! I just haven’t been in the game for a while, I’ll be fine once I’m under the studio lights.’

His eyes drifted to the phone booth across the road; a sweaty middle-aged man stormed out of it and kicked it with the side of his boot. Although that was a bit painful to watch, only because he pretended not to be cradling his foot and wincing afterwards. He looked back to the phone booth. Mind deciding to drift and think of insignificant things like, what he should eat when he got back home? maybe he should start scouting places to buy Eddie a replacement door? - no, he could do it himself! He did have a tool box and a-

He blinked a few times, falling back into reality. The finesse- no, the phone booth! Right. What was he thinking about again- ‘oh yeah! I gotta call Jessica.’

“Urm...ummm...”

“or maybe-? Er...no.”

Jessica held up two jackets by the hanger in both hands as she hummed and mumbled at her reflection in the mirror. Moving the jackets over her chest repeatedly to judge whether which would complement her brown woollen trousers more.

“If I can’t decide in the next 5 seconds I’m going with white.” She told herself, looking sternly at her mirror image. The white was more fashionable in the designer sense; Jessica's problem was that she liked seeing how well everything matched sometimes. 

5

4

3

2

1

“Okay, white...or wait, what about that green one I have-"

Ring, Ring!

Red waves whipped over her shoulder as she looked into the hallway, the bedroom door was open as she was planning to just grab a jacket and make it quick. Her and Roger’s wardrobe was open and she knew she’d have to tidy the small mess of jackets she’d accumulated, effectively making her take longer but she wanted to feel good and she couldn’t do that without the right outfit; she only wanted to sit outside, no-one would see her but she wanted to fulfil her own curiosity. She set the clothes that were in her hands on the bed before rushing downstairs, holding the top of the banister as she spun around the corner and into the living room.

Coming to a stop in front of the small table beside Roger’s chair, was when Jessica moved her red hair from her face and out of her red gouache lipstick; a delicate hand took the black phone off of its stand, pinkie outstretched as she held it to her ear.

“Hello?”

Although it wasn’t the auto mechanic like she’d expected, sure it had only been twenty minutes at the least but he said he’d call if anything came up. Instead, it was her Roger who answered.

“Lovecups! Good thinking to write down our number when we got that phone, I never remember the stupid thing...”

Jessica smiled at his cheery tone; she picked up the rotary phone stand as she started to walk throughout the living room with a smile. Well, walk as far as the cord could take her.

“Don’t worry about it,” her breathy voice spoke back into the mouthpiece, “you need that space in your brain for potential comedy material, you know, the important stuff.”

Jessica meant that in a sincere but joking way. Because she very much so valued Roger’s humour and she knew he knew that. So, despite her apparently unreadable tone, Roger didn’t hesitate in his response:

A crackling - but still good quality sound for phones – laugh emanated from the receiver. Jessica smiled wider.

“I see you’ve been watching the shows without me, darling, soon you’ll be saying funnier things than me.”

Roger said in an equally; more apparent joking tone. Because thankfully, Roger didn’t have the ability to grow an ego so big that he’d be making himself out to be the funniest toon on Earth. But Jessica most certainly thought he was.

“Oh, I don’t think I could be that funny.” Jessica sat down in Roger’s chair, placed the phone stand back and compensated by twirling the ebony cord in her fingers.

“what did you call to tell me, sweetheart?”

“Just...for some advice; you’re the smartest person I know, my love, despite the fact that I remember the important stuff for us.”

Jessica giggled as she moved some hair from her face to behind her ear.

“You’re such a charmer, Roger.”

“That’s right, says so on my resume.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”

“How about thrice?”

“No.”

“Fou- fo- fou-rice?”

“Na-ah!”

“Fil-tice?”

“Don’t even dream of it!”

“I can keep this up allll day, madam."

“You’re stalling, darling.”

Jessica’s face was split with a smile at her husband’s cute antics but she was also genuinely concerned as to whether something or someone had actually upset him.

“What! Me? I don’t even know the meaning of ‘stalling’, come to think of it, I’ve never even heard of the word! It sounds Spanish...doesn’t it sounds Spanish, dearest?”

“I don’t think so.” Jessica shook her head despite knowing Roger couldn’t see her; she didn’t care, she had more important things to focus on, “I can tell you’re upset.”

A small pause that only consisted of the occasional blip of static that the phone allowed, was Jessica’s soundtrack as she waited for him to answer. She wouldn’t pressure him; she didn’t like to treat others how she wouldn’t appreciate being treated but if he didn’t tell her now after she’d figured him out, which had never happened before, she’d get it out of him eventually.

“Not so much upset, more disappointed.”

“So, you were stalling.”

Another static-y silence.

“...Maybe.”

Jessica smiled sweetly at his softness. The phone crackled as Roger cleared his throat,

“I can’t lie to you, love...I don’t even think it’s Spanish.”

Jessica laughed. Her cheeks expanding as her closed lips spluttered out a laugh.

She heard him laugh with her and after a second of composition, she diverted back to the question at hand; in a cooing voice she asked:

“Oh, sweetheart...what happened?”

He sighed. Jessica could just picture his throwing his head back in confused frustration, his ears flopping behind him with a mixture of grace and wildness.

“Well...I was...you know...do you think this is a good idea?”

“The letter?”

“yeah...like...yeah.” His final word muffled by a thick outtake of air.

“I think you loved it this morning; what changed?”

“I met one of their stars in Eddie’s office.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“In this circumstance yes...you’re so amazing Jessica, you shake things off like it’s a sport...although I really don’t feel okay with what they said and I can’t shake it, because it was about you.”

Jessica listened to the sad tone in his voice and frowned that this had been playing on his mind. If it were anyone else, she would’ve been offended; she didn’t want to be pitied on, if someone thought she couldn’t stand up for herself, then they were just wrong. Yes, she was blackmailed although that’s not even in the same species as not caring what people thought about you, she said that mostly to herself if anything else. But when it was Roger, she knew it was only because he cared about her like nobody has ever cared for her before.

“Roger...people think what they think and people can be awful, even people like us. Don’t let them control your dreams. I still think you should do it, make a fortune and show that fool what for; when I pick you up at the studio, I’ll make sure to make extra fuss over you, specially!”

“You promise it’s okay?”

“I promise. I was thinking, we should celebrate, have a fancy dinner, dress up like old times. I want to make a huuuuge pasta bowl, some carrots seasoned in nutmeg, some spinach and broccoli on the side and topped off with some thick tomato sauce, let’s make it together, just so you can see how proud I am.”

Ziip- buzz- bleep-

“And apparently, I’m the charmer...Oh dearest! as I stand here in this phone booth, gripping my heart as the palpitations you cause pass through me, I can soberly say...that you need to put this on your resume.”

Jessica laughed again, her tiny nostrils making her snort just as she usually did whenever Roger got her humour gland working.

“Go on, silly. Post it, then I’ll ask a cab to come and collect you-”

“Benny?”

“...We’ll see.” That means noope. Jessica thought as she picked up the phone book from underneath the chair and started to flip through it. She knew Roger could make his own way home with his own cab calling skills but recently she liked knowing exactly where he was. Besides! it was a difficult drive for Benny to figure out: from the entrance of toon town to their house in what was called, ‘toon suburbia’ reserved for the apparent: ‘rich and famous’ and she knew if Roger stuck out his thumb, Benny would know; she was just being logical.

“At your service! Will do! Right O! I won’t have to wait a second for a toon cab, boy! humans are prehistoric, they must be running on flip book animation.” Roger joked, although it was semi true.

“Bye sweetheart,” he made a smooch sound effect with his lips, then poured a soft, lovesick voice into the phone, “looooove you.”

“I love you, too.” Jessica smiled; her response mirrored the tone in Roger’s infatuated drawl.

“Okay...so, 'apparently' this all connects, see? Daisy confirmed so.”

Eddie jabbed a finger to the document he was working on whilst Roger called, then to notes he made during Daisy’s visit. Dolores scanned them with a finger to her chin, nodding in agreement.

“Looks like we’ll have to visit toon town, that’s still alright with you, right?”

Eddie smiled; a smile he only reserved for her and nodded.

“Great, I best pack those documents.”

Dolores’ freckled arm reached out and her sun-kissed hand hovered, about to grab the papers and organise them into her bag until Eddie took it instead.

“Not necessarily today. We should probably check out the studio first to see if anyone saw that it was definitely Donald, besides it’s closer. Where’s your head at?” Eddie grinned with a low chuckle, “Don’t tell me...you actually like going to toon town?” He asked jokingly, pretend shock audible his voice.

“Like’s a strong word, Eddie. I’m beginning to tolerate it more like.”

Eddie grinned and released her hand from his soft grip; somehow, they ended up interlocking digits across the table anyway, Dolores wore a green bow and matching outfit today, Eddie’s detective brain jotted that in his memory file, as well as his fantasy file. She always loved interesting head wear.

“So, what’s your theory on all this?” Dolores asked, her blushed cheeks and radiating smile almost enough to completely drown out the wreak that was his door behind her.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, the white shirt underneath his braces shifting noisily.

“I suppose it’s just a kleptomaniac not necessarily related to the custody case although it is interesting that only cels of Daisy were stolen, maybe showing her in a bad light? Best to nip it in the bud now lest getting into some serious - serious trouble.”

“But who steals animation cels?” Dolores looked up to the ceiling in thought, her beautiful blue eyes distracting Eddie momentarily, until another suit strolled passed his door in shocked awe.

“It’s practically worthless. It's not a photograph of her doing something shameful.” She finished, eyebrows knotted in confusion, obviously her mind was deep in analytical thought and Eddie liked that, a lot. But she was right. Since toons were brought to life in 1908, animation cels were used as a proof of concept although rarely, mostly it acted as an ‘astronaut ice-cream’ of sorts, meaning that they were never really used but companies liked to market them as if they used to be, as a vintage looking thing Eddie supposed. Just a marketing ploy. Which answered why Disney didn't call the police (only Daisy seemed genuinely interested anyway); it would be like phoning in over a lost shopping list. Even if you were Disney, ‘sometimes these things get lost’, they’d say. But a private eye, they’d look into it if the client asked. Well, a still slightly-down-on-his-luck private eye like Eddie would anyway.

“Kleptomaniac, Dolores.” He smirked at the playful grin and slight nudge he received from her heel under the desk at his response.

“I just don’t feel that, maybe I’m wrong...but probably not.”

She chuckled and Eddie found himself staring again.

“...Dolores? Is 6 months of dating before marriage too fast?”

“Okay, let’s get going then, Eddie.”

Time – nine minutes past ten at night. Rabbit residence:

“FASHION SHOOOOOWWWW!”

-Roger hollered; laying on his side of the bed, black suit and special blue tie to match Jessica’s surprise outfit. At his announcement and consequential drumroll, he heard Jessica stifle laughter from where she was behind the door, making him smile warmly from ear to ear.

“Ta da!” She exclaimed; arms outstretched as she walked into the room. Navy blue sparkles clung to the 100% silk fabric of her full-length dress. A white faux fur scarf hung loosely from her arms, a square neckline and ruched detailing made her look like an actress out of that movie he’d taken her too, the one where they ended up laughing at each other’s jokes and resorted to throwing popcorn at the cinema screen before being asked to leave; still in hysterics. The sleeves were big and lacy and the pearls she wore around her neck suited her red hair and aforementioned dark dress. But what Roger found most eye-catching, was her smile. Pink watercolour lips turned up in an excited grin, all because she was awaiting his approval, over a dress she picked out for their date.

“Oh! You’re a vision! dearest!”

“You think? The shawl’s not too much?”

Roger waved his hand in the air and pulled a face at the preposterous question.

“Don’t be ridiculous! What about me? What’s the verdict, is the jury out?”

“Oh! I could just eat you up!”

Jessica grabbed him by the shoulders and crawled up onto their bed, kissing and playfully pretending to gnaw on his neck whilst making animalistic sounds. She felt Roger smile into her cheek; start to wriggle and throw a backhand against his forehead dramatically.

“Oh god! Cannibalism! Someone! have the common decency to throw it a bone!”

Chapter Text

The sounds of cartoonish, heavenly birds chirping swam into Jessica’s half-awake mind, she was comfy and warm and fully intended on spending at least another hour cuddling and resting before she had to drag herself out of bed and get dressed for work that night. Watercolour sketches of last night flashed in her mind as she started to drift off, it made her smile; they made their meal of spaghetti and sauce just like she imagined, watched a movie after, got dressed up and the best part: it wasn’t for an award show or somewhere people would gawk, it was like when they were dating and nobodies; nobodies with somebodies. She didn’t mind gawking though; she didn’t care what people chose to do, no matter how pointless it was. But it was just nice to have Roger all to herself and she knew he felt the same. She pressed her cheek further into the pillow but when fur tickled her nose, she realised that she was against Roger’s back so, she wasn’t too rough but still leaned further into him. The tweeting and sounds of the morning slowly faded as Jessica’s ears buzzed and she slowly drifted into-

“...Jessica?”

Into...

“...Jessica...?”

“Jessica?”

“Hhmm...?” she managed from the thralls of sleep.

“I’ve got no room...” his voice was tired, as was Jessica’s mind so it took a bit for her to actually register what he said.

“Oh...I’m sorry"

She cracked open her eyes, blinked until the light from behind the blinds and sheer organza curtains didn’t feel blinding, then saw that she was spooning him, which wasn’t unordinary. She reached a hand behind her, oops; That was a lot of empty mattress. She threw her other arm back around him, then shuffled back, effectively taking him with her.

“Thank you...” he lazily drawled, head moving forward and back until he found a comfortable position. He rubbed his cheek against the pale, humanoid arm that acted as his pillow once he did. Her right arm was around his stomach, holding him to her; her left arm was stretched out, hand grabbing hold of his glove-less hand.

Okay, now that that was resolved.

Sleep-

Ring, Ring, Ring-

Darn.

“Err geez...I better get that...” Roger expressed through a yawn. He pushed himself up, scrawny arms slightly shaking when they held up his weight. When he somehow snuck out of her embrace, Jessica found that she groaned in response automatically. Roger was sat up in bed when her drone caused her eyes to flutter open again, he stared down at her with a smile and half lidded eyes. Jessica looked back up at him, as he was back-lit by the morning sun, she swooned internally; then externally when he brushed hair from out her face and kissed her forehead, lipstick stains on his hands another reminder of yesterday.

The ringing was still resounding but she didn’t really acknowledge it when Roger whispered sweetly:

“wait here.” -and slumped out of bed, leaving her lonely. Staring at the space he left.

She heard his footsteps descend down the stairs and she breathed in deeply. Moving to lay on her back left her looking up at the ceiling, embellished lamp shade and cream ceiling staring back, they were paler with the morning light which scattered out from beyond the curtains and blinds. Sitting up slightly and looking around as the ringing came to a stop, Jessica saw her dress on the floor and Roger’s blazer hastily shoved inside their wardrobe; she liked to be dressed for bed when playing patty cake. Thinking back made her grin; she practically threw Roger’s gloves the length of the room when she was ready.

His footsteps were moving closer and she pulled a big, toothy smile at the thought of snuggling close... However, his steps sounded slower than usual: usually, if he had to leave to answer the phone, the door or get food, he'd come back running and jump back into bed like a professional diver, then they’d laugh, resume their cuddle positions and sleep till Roger had to get ready for work at 10; he was unemployed for the time being so he should be sprinting back to her. Some seconds later he walked back into the room; not sprinting or diving, instead he trudged to his side of the bed and just sat there, staring straight ahead at the open door.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

She asked, voice some octaves higher with her concern.

Roger met her eyes, the expression on his face: eyes open to a comfortable degree yet scrunched, mouth pulled in an open frown, it seemed like he was uncertain in himself.

“That was Herman, he got a contract too.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting that to be his answer.

“He was mad I didn’t tell him...he said he saw the papers but he was too busy to call, so, I said I was busy with you, whiiiiichhhh wasn’t entirely a lie.” Roger outstretched his arms and grasped at his hands whilst he drew out that word. Eyes rolling in a comically innocent way.

She smiled.

“Not entirely, no... why didn’t you tell him?”

She never really asked about the Herman situation or thought to. Yes, he had told her he was scared to let him know as soon as he quit but she forgot to follow up on that, ask him when he was going to tell him because he had too eventually. Roger fumbled with his naked digits, the blanket of tiredness slowly washing off of him as he gradually returned to his animated self.

“Don’t laugh" Roger looked at her, head slightly tilted, “I know it’s hard.” He grinned.

She giggled behind a dainty hand; shaking her head.

“I won’t, promise.”

He nodded, ears flopping forward and back.

“Okay... so, I know it's cruel but... I was hoping for a fresh start... a new character motive or-or maybe a new character... maybe, probably not.”

“Why would I laugh at that, sweetie?”

“Because it’s utterly preposterous! I’m a toon, I’m chained to Herman for life-" he fell backwards onto the pillows with a plush bang. Then he looked up at Jessica, “that and you, dearest.” He smiled warmly, his comment not malicious and this, Jessica knew.

She returned his smile with her own, then moved to rest on her elbows and play with the tuft of red hair on his head.

“I’m glad, you feel the same, love-”

He smiled at that, closing his eyes when she scratched the place above his eyebrows juuuust right.

“-But not to Herman necessarily; you did get separate contracts; you weren’t asked as a duo.”

“Yea...but that’s only because it’s a ‘Baby Herman’ cartoon, not ‘Tom and Jerry'... I bet if we went to separate companies, they’d be fighting with the one I hy-hypothetically picked to get the other one of us.” He sighed, struggling slightly when pronouncing the adverb.

She frowned because she agreed with him; toons had some say in their profession, Roger had quit after all; he only could because he was famous, people wanted a piece of his pie so to speak. But even then, he could be passed from company to company once he signed a copyright document. Luckily, Maroon’s document with Roger was invalid, ever since he passed. When Maroon died, Roger was then owned by the public domain, as free as a toon could be; Jessica wasn’t afraid because Roger wanted to work for Disney and the thought of being passed around from person to person didn’t really phase her, as tragic as it was; that was just how toons had to live, forever being someone else’s work, someone who took all the credit. She felt sorry for the toons who didn’t have as much power as her husband, ones that were dried up and no-one wanted to purchase, ones who were neglected by the company but still forced to stay, watching their replacements bounce around on screen, unable to fade because the company insisted on feeding them and sometimes, they’d give them a cameo riiight in the back. What a life that must be. Being on the silver screen wasn’t for Jessica anyway; toons singing really didn’t get that treatment except- from companies like Disney. That thought did excite her but not that much, she wasn’t one to get her hopes up.

“You should take a page out of your own book, darling.”

He spluttered out a laugh, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“what are you talking about? I don’t remember writing a book.” He joked. Fake mockery in his tone.

He felt the vibrations caused by sound travel through the mattress and up his arm when she laughed.

“Remember? You helped me get a job I love.”

Roger’s eyes widened in realisation, “Ooooooooo...” he nodded in harmony with his speech. Looking up at the ceiling just like she had done minutes before; Jessica still twirled his hair in her fingers as his expression turned into a concentrated stare.

“But that wasn’t me, you would’ve gotten there anyway; you’re so talented.”

“I don’t think I would have.”

“But I do.”

“Let’s put it this way, I wouldn’t want to without you.”

“But... if you never knew me then you wouldn’t know life with me so, you might have done it anyway, or wait, if you never met me then you- you’d still be singing and maybe then the universe would throw another toon rabbit-"

“Don’t think about it too much, honeybunny. Just know that I’m in this universe and I know that I wouldn’t want any of this if you weren’t in it, that’s my answer.”

She answered, semi sternly. She never got angry at Roger but if she was serious about something and needed him to know it, she’d lower her tone just a smidgen. Although she needn’t do it often as Roger read her like a joke book.

“Okay dear.”

He answered knowingly. Reaching for her hand as a forgiveness offering. She took it without thinking twice; he brought it to his lips and kissed it sweetly. Although his fur tickled her knuckle in just the correct spot-

“Oh, darling I already forgive you.” She laughed.

“Huh?” he questioned, then looked down at where he touched her hand, he stiffened slightly but laughed.

“oops! Sorry, lovecups.” He smiled, eyes soft and crinkled at the sides with happiness at the slight hilarity of the situation. Although he had a genuine look of apology behind his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I trust you.” She beamed.

12.34 am, Rabbit residence.

They slept in till 12 that day. Roger said he better start getting up early just to do meaningless tasks if he was ever going to get back to his usual punctuality. Jessica sat on the couch in her dusty pink dressing gown and white slip dress with flowery detailing, her long pale legs jutting forward and crossing at the ankle, a coffee in her hands. The news playing on the radio in front of her as she stared straight ahead, barely listening just drinking her hot beverage. Being married to someone who hated the news for 11 years had rubbed off on her; she found herself tuning out, gazing out the window at the pretty day, listening to Roger refill the bird feeder in the back garden, how the door to said garden was open and a cool, sweet breeze floated into the house, she breathed it in deeply and smiled.

The backdoor clicking shut made her eyes flutter back open.

“What do you want on your toast, darling?” Roger called from the kitchen.

“err...marmalade please, dear.”

“Aye-aye!”

She sat up from where she was: sunk in her chair, to tune the radio to a different station, a Frank Sinatra song subsequently played, it now joined the sounds of Roger placing plates on the kitchen counter, a calming mixture of noises Jessica very much so enjoyed as she relaxed back into the couch.

The sound of the refrigerator closing and coffee flowing out of the coffeemaker and into a mug, for some reason make Jessica think, everything was so fantastic at the moment she couldn’t describe how relieved she felt; was that just because he was off work right now? Soon he’d be back to early mornings and coming home at four or five on a good day, these past few months have been so nice: sleeping in late, having breakfast and lunch together all the time! watching movies and that at home date! Jessica didn’t want it to end but she knew it would only be a matter of time until they did, the next working day was fast approaching and she found herself dreading it. ‘I’m not being selfish, I’ll just miss this feeling of security, just like old times.’ It’s not like she thought their relationship was terrible before, not at all! She had always believed they were as thick as thieves...’and he does too...but he almost never did again after what you did for him-’ she scowled, ‘I’m not going to think about that again, I just want to enjoy this vacation as if that never happened.’

“There you go, my love!” he appeared beside her, holding her plate of toast in his hand like a waiter would.

“Thank you, sweetie pie.” Her deep voice turning into a star struck coo, she took the plate and leaned in to kiss him, making him giggle in surprise.

“Well!... thank you!” he smirked, running back into the kitchen to make his portion of breakfast.

The marmalade danced on her tongue and she smiled. He knew just how she liked it! Inside soft, crusts slightly burnt, the tiiiiniest amount of butter and then a layer of thickly spread jam. ‘he always puts so much thought into things...’ that day, that morning...she was up all night anxious but said nothing and pretended to be asleep when he got up, got washed, dressed and kissed her forehead goodbye. She waited, her heart pounding, stomach twisted until the front door audibly shut and she finally moved, limbs tingling all over with pins and needles. When she eventually moved to downstairs, she found that he’d left her a note and toast on the counter, just like he always did.

She just stared at it. She couldn’t bring herself to eat it or read the note. The thought of him writing such a beautiful note and preparing her food whilst she was upstairs in such a state made her cry.

‘I don’t deserve this.’

‘Being with you is enough for me not to fade...’ but she couldn’t chance it! She didn’t even want to think of chancing it not after how hard he worked, how much he dreamed of this life, ‘you wouldn’t want him to be upset, would you? No job should ought to do that... and I’ll make sure no-one will want to hire him again-'

‘No!’ her grip on the mug handle tightened - ‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about that? now breath...look out the window...what a nice day! How about a green dress today? That’d be lovely, that long one you have...’

“Someone’s in the kitchen with Roger! Buuut now-he’s-out-the-kitchen-and-on-a-chair! Bang!” he vocalised, landing on the couch beside her and stating his ‘bang!’ as soon as he did. She pulled him close and he leant his head against her side.

“I’m so proud of you, honeybunny.”

“Oh, don’t be, just like you said, I wouldn’t have wanted to get here without you.”

“Everything will work out in your favour, dear. I just know it.”

He didn’t respond to that.

She brought his hand close to her chest, looking down into his eyes. Eyes that had a hint of sadness within them. ‘just forget about that, his feelings matter right now.’

“Roger... don’t worry about Herman, okay?” her voice quiet and caring.

“Okay.” He smiled softly, tone steady.

The day before. Eddie and Dolores return from Walt Disney Studios:

Yesterday, after Dolores exclaimed that they should get going, she actually meant lunch first. They walked to her apartment and there she prepared bread, eggs and beans whilst Eddie took the job of organising the documents. Once he was done; Dolores said she needed to spruce up before they left. Although Eddie thought she already looked a million bucks.

Eddie had his stuff gathered, he looked himself over in the mirror and moved to knock on Dolores’ door.

“Are you done?”

“Almost!”

“Come on, Dolores!” Eddie threw his head back and rolled his eyes. The pictures of his girlfriend's family in his field of view before he spun on the slightly elevated heel of his shoe. Staring down at the floorboards of her apartment.

“Do you really want my breath smelling like eggs and beans when we’re talking to the big cheese?”

...

“thought so.”

After checking everything was safe and off, for a final time. They left and climbed into Dolores’ car.

The ride to Disney and the cacophony that was inside all went by in a blur, the higher-ups seemed to be annoyed at the mention of ‘animation cels' which Eddie found interesting but then again, it was the equivalent of asking about a missing tissue so he didn’t think much of it. But even after they had finished there, the sky starting to dim, they still had daylight bright enough to burn, private investigators have unpredictable hours but the tip off someone gave them at the studio meant that they couldn’t wait till tomorrow, if they were hoping to finish this job sooner rather than later anyway.

Sitting in Dolores’ car made Eddie remember his, after Roger wrecked his car beyond repair, Eddie carpooled with his girlfriend and used the red car more often but Roger did buy him a new car, a newer model of the original which stunned Eddie; sometimes he forgot how rich Roger actually was. Even though he did have a car, he found he liked riding in Dolores’ for whatever reason, he had to get more use out of his though; otherwise, he’d be acting ungrateful. The ride felt like two minutes but Eddie knew that it was over half an hour from the studio in Burbank California to Toontown. Half an hour...didn’t he say that he and Dolores should go to Disney before Toontown? Because it was quicker? He did. I did, he thought. Okay...that was odd, the fact that Dolores hadn’t picked up on it was. He didn’t lie to her though; his mind at the time told him that that was the truth, his subconscious knowing a plan he did not, ‘You don’t have to be detective all the time, you like spending time with her, you know that.’ Duh. But this made him realise, actually stop and think: she did too. No matter how much he rejected the thought before, ignored it and somehow convinced himself otherwise, he knew she tried her best to stay as strictly friendly as she could after he gained a reliance on the bottle. Friendly meaning more like acquaintances.

“We’re here, you’ve been staring, taking detective's notes? Are the bushes too green to be normal?”

Eddie blinked and realised he’d been looking straight ahead unblinkingly. A toon he’d never seen before uncomfortably shifted and turned to cross the street once he came to his senses, mistaking his daydreaming gaze for creepiness.

“Ha, ha" he quipped back, turning slowly to face her, an unimpressed look in his eyes but a smile on his lips.

The sky was darker in Toontown, the lights of the celeb neighbourhood coming to life one by one, they were suspended by wires and attached between alit lampposts, the lights connecting together each post were a mixture of colours and reflected such on the cobblestone below. Eddie looked back on how Disney Studios looked as he and Dolores stepped on the rubberised and paper surface of Toontown. The studio was massive, just as he remembered, it was separated into several buildings which were all collated together, there was the theatre, the ink and paint department where still toon sets were made, the sound stage. But that day, they headed to the animation department, where the toon actors spent the majority of their time. Roger would soon be there too and if he didn’t finish looking into Donald per Daisy’s instruction before then, then he’d probably see him, that’d be nice but also a distraction. He remembered how the doors opened, the chatter of toons and slapstick sound effects absent during a weekday. Other times though, Eddie and Dolores would share a look and smile at the sounds, eyes on the verge of rolling.

That was weirdly emotional to think about.

“Okay, so Daisy said Donald lives at number 180 on this street...” She looked up from the piece of paper in her hands, “Pretty ritzy, huh?”

“Yea...haven’t been here since Goofy had trouble with spy allegations.”

This part of Toontown was different from the rest; it was a calm suburbia, their world's Beverly Hills, sparsely placed towering trees and all.

“Have you noticed me acting differently?” he abruptly asked.

She looked down at him, eyes wide.

“You mean sober? Yes.”

“No!” He groaned as they walked past lavishly decorated flower patches, white benches, familiar faces, sparkling toon cars and real cars.

“Like forgetting important things, was I doing better in Roger’s case? When I was drunk!”

“Don’t say that!” She grabbed his shoulder and shoved it but then she held it gently under her palm as they continued to walk, eyes turning from offended bewilderment to soft, lips turned down in a concerned lour.

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about, you’ve flown back into this like you never left! you’re just happy, Eddie; don’t beat yourself up over something stupid I don’t even know about.” She smiled lovingly.

He smiled back, using his special smile again which he found himself using more and more, without even knowing sometimes.

The twinkly lights, famous toons walking home or having a night on the town, grand mansions and homes, continued to pass them by as they focused on one another.

180, Fleischer Road: a three story, bungalow inspired build, long and squat. A porch with hanging plant pots and a wooden bench was atop of birch steps, they grew longer in size the closer they got to the stone walkway below, consistent green grass on each side of said walkway, Eddie was able to see the greenery and carefully arranged plants with the atmospheric yellow light that shone through the large windows, the curtains drawn. It was beautiful, even Eddie wouldn’t mind staying here for a while.

He knocked on the door, it came out as a ‘shave and a haircut’ knock but he wasn’t even trying, it just happened. Dolores fixed him with a look.

“You’ve been hanging around rabbits too long.”

He elbowed her playfully.

The door opened seconds after, toons really couldn’t resist a shave and a haircut, huh?

“Yes?”

Donald asked in a deadpan, squeaky and unintelligible voice hitting Eddie like a truck. Something else he forgot: this’ll be hard without a translator or something. How could Daisy even understand her estranged boyfriend anyway? Dolores filled in the silence with a sickly-sweet sentiment:

“Hiya, Hun. Lovely chrysanthemums outside, we’re just here to ask some questions, is that alright?”

Her friendly exterior always did come in handy. Donald welcomed them in and Eddie took in the expensive furniture and decorative ornaments on the shelves. Donald’s nephews were running around, oblivious to visitors, valuable memorabilia of Walt Disney shaking and inching dangerously whenever they got too close. Donald blocked their path and they all halted, skidding on their heels in a uniform line comically. He pointed to the long and wide stairs, blue carpet running down it, he said something equivalent too: “get ready for bed, boys.” Rather sternly but then he kissed each one of them on the head as they sulked away. Despite the fact that Eddie knew they were written as Donald’s nephews, in the eyes of everyone else, they were clearly drawn to be his children. When Donald posed for his Sunday strip, there was a comic which introduced ‘Della duck’ their mother. Although she wasn’t developed into a living toon; it was much funnier to see Donald blow his top and look after three rambunctious ducklings. There was no purpose for her.

Of course, Daisy wasn’t related to Huey, Dewey and Louie in that sense but toons found a loophole to that: if they belonged to the same company or were created by the same person their case for custody would be accepted by the court; they were technically related. Also, Daisy had a little more leeway as she’d been a caregiver to them, as well as Donald, for a significant number of years. They’d still all be owned by Disney so it didn’t concern the company where the triplets lived.

They all sat on the couch and Eddie jogged his memory back to his talk with Daisy earlier that day before beginning his 'interrogation' (he was only a PI not police). Today was a Saturday, Roger had a spat with Daisy then left to post his letter, thankfully the post office was open on a Saturday-

“So, remember yesterday I was talking about knitting a scarf and baking a cake and missing animation cels?”

“Unfortunately-"

“Well, today Minnie said that the only cels missing were of me! I’m not allowed in the studio on a weekday can you pleeease go see if Donald was seen snooping? Maybe he took them and I was giving the bird in one!”

Eddie’s face scrunched up in surprised confusion.

“Not what you are thinking.” She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “get your head out of the gutter Valiant, just do it.” She demanded with a pointed finger, twirling and practically flying over his destroyed door.

“I understand that you’re in the midst of a custody battle at the moment, is that right?”

“Do you really have to ask? Everyone already knows, I can’t have one minute to myself!”

It took Eddie a minute to process but he got the gist after that. He thought.

“So, I assume it’s hard to find time for yourself then?”

“...that’s what I said.”

Oops

This was going to be difficult.

Chapter Text

Monday.

“Morning, Mrs Rabbit.”

“Morning.”

She had finally received the call to pick up the car. The familiar petrol smell of the mechanics made her nose wrinkle; she stayed closer to the open garage door, bright day shining down and fresh air brushing against the back of her neck. She wore a long, hot pink summer dress, tiered with ruffled sleeves, light pink heels and white, wrist length gloves.

“So, your car’s all fixed! Shouldn’t be spitting anymore.”

“That’s great.”

“But I am required to tell you what we found.”

His voice turned lower and he ceased leaning against the hood of her Packard casually.

“Urm... what you found?”

“Yes, were you aware of a threatening letter in the trunk-"

“A what?”

“You can read it if you’d like-”

“Of course, I’d like to!” She rolled her eyes; she was stern at the ridiculous question. What an absolutely obvious thing to say! She wasn’t stupid.

He stiffened at her tone, then fumbled in his pocket for a second longer than he should have, what with her staring like that. But after everything that had happened to her, the last thing she wanted was a letter blackmailing her or Roger, or someone wanting to hurt him, she was already clingier with him. When the mechanic extended it out to her, she snatched the paper and unfolded it with haste but immediately raised a brow at the opening:

Dear, ‘brother.’

Haven’t wrote in a while...mostly because you neglected to tell me your address, thanks for that. I sent letters to your office but you either don’t care or never get them. Just writing this to tell you that I’m no push over. If I can’t get through to you with annoyance, I will by using your bosses’ dirty secrets. You think you’re smarter than me? Well, you’re not, you’re self-obsessed, you think you’re someone you’re really not, you’re not at all! Not in the slightest! And I’m gonna prove it, to you and everyone... I know you’ll find this because I picked this car out with you... but you wouldn’t remember that would you? Just wait and see, this is for your own good.

Love, your brother.

She blinked. This was embarrassing; some ‘mastermind' got it wrong. She pulled the paper away from her eyes and stared down at the humanoid, toon mechanic.

“Not to be difficult... but this doesn’t seem to be addressed to me or my husband... or so you’ll understand: I don’t think this was meant for me...”

.

“So, what did Daisy say when you told her Donald didn’t take anything?”

“She was confused, spat some lip... but Donald had an alibi so...”

Eddie shrugged and took another sip of his tea. The quiet bustle of the cafe was a nice change, Dolores had suggested it, after Daisy managed to loosen another screw on his door. He couldn’t just leave it like that so, he’d fixed it himself... to a decent degree until a professional could look at it anyway and she came and damaged it again. Despite how Roger called him the same day it broke, apologising like it was his fault, searching for a pen to make a cheque out in his name, Eddie refused; he didn’t want to feel like a freeloader. Accepting money was fine; as long as he did a job for it or, if it was in compensation over an expensive thing, an expensive thing which got smashed... like the car... but a door? No, he could do that job himself.

“They must’ve mistaken another toon for Donald...”

He continued, speaking in reference to Saturday: when they visited the studio and people had confirmed seeing the duck the previous Saturday; toons weren’t allowed in the studio on a weekday so he was seen running in and out but still there, in the animation department. Only problem was: Donald was out with the boys or busy with movie work on the days before the cels were found to be missing, Huey’s diary confirmed so. Also, an interesting anecdote which Eddie just ate up, was how Donald said he didn’t wear blue and he was seen in blue. Eddie put his weight on his elbows when he leaned forward, looking into Dolores’ sparkling eyes.

“She told me to get dirt on him but all I’ve found is that he has a temper and accidentally put salt in Mickey’s birthday cake once” Eddie scoffed, “Duh, he has a temper, I mean come on.” he mocked.

She sighed. Cheek resting on her palm.

“What other toon has feathers and wears a blue sailor suit-"

“One who was wearing a costume!... remember what Donald said? He only wears blue on the job and he wasn’t on the job that day.”

“So? Who would do that?”

“That’s what I’m hoping for, a bigger picture! A mystery to solve!”

“Oh, Eddie...” She rolled her eyes. Smiling at his declaration.

Eddie smiled; how couldn’t he be excited? Since he got back into his profession, all thanks to Roger’s rollercoaster of a case, he’d been itching for another one like it! Well, maybe one not as life threatening... or emotionally traumatising, actually definitely, definitely not that. More along the lines of unexpected twists; the exhilaration of figuring out a twisted case felt like completing a difficult brain teaser. Daisy’s pretty tame job still gave him his drive back but after what Donald had said, it just made him realise how happy he was at the mere suggestion of something else happening here.

He picked up the last piece of his croissant and popped it in his mouth, smiling as the flavour melted into his tongue.

“Hey! There’s Jessica!” Dolores shoved his arm.

“Huh?”

Eddie turned to look out the window parallel to them: there was unquestionably Jessica Rabbit, her car parked across the street, scratches gone and windows cleaner; she seemed to be heading in the direction of his office. He hummed and shrugged, going back to licking his fingers of croissant and after that, savour the rest of his tea but Dolores grabbed him by the wrist.

“Come on, let’s say hi; it’s been a while.”

“Dolores, can’t I fini-"

She got up, grip firm as she placed a tip on the table and waved a cheery goodbye to the waitress, Eddie however, had the arm of his blazer falling slightly below his right shoulder as Dolores dragged him by his left wrist.

“Jessica!”

She waved from across the street, the redhead stopped to look around; after a few seconds of idly turning, she spotted them; she gave a small wave and Dolores repeated the action with a smile, all before she pulled Eddie across the road when it was safe, knocking the air out of him again when he'd just managed to adjust his clothes! Jessica watched, face unreadable when they made it across to stand in front of her, still unreadable as Dolores adjusted Eddie’s collar and blazer.

“What you doing here?” Dolores asked with a smile; she'll admit, she wasn't keen on Jessica in the beginning but she had a lot on her plate back then, with her husband missing and being accused of murder... so, her first impression wasn't going to be the best, regardless of how it happened. (not to mention how she was being perceived as a cheat by everyone.) The times when the four of them would get together-although rare- were fun and made her feel guilty for judging Jessica, judging her by something she had no control over.

“Coincidence; I was just coming to see you.” She replied with her usual, velvety voice.

“Why?”

“I was picking up the car back home.” She gestured with her thumb to the direction of Toontown, then she reached for her pink purse and snapped open the clasps. Producing from it: a folded-up piece of paper. 

“I was going to head home straight away to play scrabble with Roger but the mechanic found this in our car.”

She held it up beside her face.

“I don’t know what it is... exactly... I'm glad for that... I'm a bit on edge... they said it’s best I report it.”

Then she handed it to Dolores, once she took it, Jessica pushed some of her red waves behind her ear, a twinkling gold stud now visible. 

“Report it?” Dolores asked.

Jessica only nodded in response.

"So, why not take it to the police? There's one in Toontown right?" Eddie asked.

There was. Toons were invented to serve humans, be their walking creations but when Toontown was built in Los Angeles and hordes of toons were pushed to live there, people had to specifically draw toons that would thrive off of doing an off-screen job, policing the city, building homes... so humans wouldn't have to be burdened with doing it themselves.

“Yes, but police are such pigs and men can be slobs, so I thought you’d like it instead...”

Eddie shuffled on the spot and threw a look Dolores' way.

“I’m a man, ya know.” He grumbled.

“Yes, I know.”

Dolores smiled at him jokingly; it turned toothy when Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes, biting his lip at Jessica’s implication.

“So is Roger.” He replied, less enthusiastic.

“Oh, yes he definitely is... but a dignified one.”

Dignified? Eddie thought with a smirk. Then he motioned to Dolores to pass him the letter, she did. He unfolded it, the paper was yellowing, the writing was in strong, pigmented, black ink and had smudged in some places.

“Love, your brother?”

Dolores put a finger to her lips; she'd peered over to read the note with Eddie and was equally perplexed. Cars whizzed by and caused her hair to shift, what with them standing on an empty parking spot, putting them more in the vehicles' path. Well, it was a walkway parking spot but still a spot.

“I never asked if Roger had a brother-”

“He doesn’t, neither do I... This letter definitely wasn't meant to be read by me...”

“No parents?” Dolores continued. Nodding at her statement on the letter but more focused on the first thing she'd said.

“We weren’t drawn with parents, it’s just the two of us.”

Dolores smiled; sadly. She knew Jessica considered her a friend but the way she had said that made it sound like she was her only friend... Well, Eddie too. She didn't sound sad though; Dolores hadn't gotten the hang of reading her yet. 

“Jessica, ever heard of book club?”

“No."

“Well! It might do you some good to come on Friday afternoons-"

“Can’t; me and Roger watch B list movies and make fun of them on Friday.”

“Oh... well, me and the girls go out to eat this Wednesday-"

“I have to perform on Wednesdays. Probably pick Roger up from work, go to work myself, watch sitcoms while he warms me up some dinner, then go to bed, all in that order.”

“...Well, how about Saturday night? -"

“Once Roger gets a schedule again, Saturday’s a special night... but right now, most nights are.”

"Oh-" 

“Could’ve went without knowing that...” Eddie coughed into his fist.

“But if you’d like, you could visit us sometime.” Jessica asked, intersecting through their awkward glances, seemingly unfazed by her own comment. Dolores seemed to brighten at her suggestion; meanwhile Eddie moved uncomfortably, reaching an arm up to scratch his neck, supposedly coyly.

“Well-"

“We'd love to!” Dolores intervened through Eddie’s declination.

“Okay." Jessica appeared to smile slightly, "I’ll write our address down for you.”

Whilst she reached into her purse for a pen and paper, Eddie took the opportunity to nudge his partner and toss her a dirty look, she just rolled her eyes and focused back on Jessica, patiently waiting as she scribbled. Eddie didn't hate the Rabbits, secretly, Roger was probably one of his best friends. But he didn't like people making plans for him. Even though he had gotten out more with Dolores' help, he still wasn't a 'social' person, outside of work anyway; he could speak to people without freezing up... he used to do that all the time at the terminal bar. But a house visiting person? Clotted cream on the table and a cup of coffee in hand, sitting in one place while people talked about meaningless fluff...? No, that wasn't him. Every time the four of them got together they'd be doing something. A home visit wasn't like that. 

Jessica handed them a square of paper and Eddie's eyes widened.

“Chuck Estates! I always forget that you two are rolling in it.”

“Eddie-"

“Thank you, for taking that off my hands..." She pointed to the letter, "see you two soon.”

She rotated on her high heel and strutted back the Packard; as she did, two business-type dressed men walked past her, Dolores and Eddie could see their faces morph, look her up and down before one whistled at her; Dolores rolled her eyes. Jessica just opened the car door and slammed it behind her, after practically flying into her seat that is. She revved the engine and reversed into a puddle, fast. Thereby soaking the two in dirty water. Eddie looked to his partner and chuckled, she reciprocated, grinning at the men grumbling about their spoiled suits. Jessica then beeped the horn twice before she drove away.

-

Roger tapped his foot, the rhythm: a tune stuck in his head, an earworm but he wasn’t even that frustrated about it. Staring into his own eyes whilst he brushed his teeth, a mixture of white paint and varnish forming on his lips, escaping from the confines of his closed mouth before he spat the contents out into the sink, his humming now louder when compared to earlier, when toothpaste and toothbrush muffled him. He took his gloves off and placed them next to Jessica’s on the sink vanity, then ran the cold tap and splashed his face, the final step before turning in for the night; he stared at himself a bit longer when he was towelling his face, almost like he was talking to himself with his eyes. Tomorrow was the big day, first day on the job, Disney Studios...Disney Studios...He felt nervous excitement rush through him. Grinning at his reflection, shoulders up to his cheeks as he began to silently squeal and bounce on the spot. Then he elegantly twirled and threw the towel in his hands on the rack, it found it perfectly, not to brag. He clicked off the light and energetically ran into the bedroom, Jessica was sat upright waiting for him, she laughed when he jumped and crawled over her to get to his side. Once he was in, his legs still moved about with adrenaline.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re too adorable.” She cooed, the bedside lamp dimly illuminating her figure.

He giggled up at her, her green eyes scrunched in amusement when he kept laughing. Then he thought of a ‘funny’ way to introduce himself tomorrow and his laughter turned breathless, Jessica joined in on the uncontrollable giggling despite not knowing why he was laughing, he kept trying to tell her but each time he lost the breath to do so: “I just thought-!”, “listen, listen, I walk-", “I can’t! My stomach, oh my god!” Jessica was on her back chortling, eyes watering; they somehow managed to calm down and when they did, they had ended up closer: Roger’s head leaning on her shoulder as he caught his breath. They both stared up at the ceiling.

“I was trying to say: imagine me walking in-" he extended his skinny arms above him and made the fingers on his right-hand walk. From his view, the ceiling acted as a backdrop to a little play, his right-hand cast as him, his left was a door, he felt Jessica turn to face them, breath escaping her nose in a giggle after she did.

“I’m walking in... here I am, doo doo doo my legs are moving-"

“Roger, stop I’m going to get hiccups!”

“Okay, okay! So, as we’ve well established, I’m walking, we’ve established, that right?”

“Yes, ha!”

“So, I’m walking, the doors open -as doors do- and I just stand there and go: is anyone else Dis-new?”

His arms drop to lay back beside him as he laughs again, Jessica gasping for breath in between snorting.

“What!” she breathily screamed, in a joking way, not malicious, Roger knew she had basically said: we were laughing because of that!?

But she was still laughing because it was dumb; that’s why he laughed and for some reason, that made him really happy, happy that he could share weird stuff like that with Jessica, he always had but for some reason the thought hit him, in a good way. He could be himself with people, he thought he was good at socialising but Jessica was the only person who he felt truly got him.

“I know! It’s so stupid!”

She let her back meet the mattress, still chuckling some. Roger took the opportunity to link arms with her, move close and lean his head against the nook of her shoulder again. He snuggled his cheek into it and Jessica smiled down at him.

“I looooooove you!”

“I love you too.”

“No, I love you more!”

“No, I love you more.” She poked his nose, looking at him lovingly as she did.

“No, I love you more!” He grinned, booping her nose in return.

Roger had taken Jessica’s advice. He wasn’t going to worry about Herman. He wanted to enjoy actually living out a dream! He’d think about his co-star later and hey! Maybe it won’t be so bad, playing babysitter again, maybe he had just gotten rusty with time off work? Maybe he was secretly raring to go and play uncle? Who knew? He was just going to enjoy it; nothing was set in stone yet anyway! Jessica seemed to be doing good, Roger hoped she was going to be alright with him being half an hour away, he made her promise that she’d remember to take care of herself, she crossed her heart so Roger had no reason to worry. Sure, sometimes she seemed a bit out of it, maybe with thoughts of what had happened? Roger was no doctor so every time he clocked it, he brought her back to reality with a joke or loving compliment. Asking Jessica if she’d feel better talking about it happened before but she told him no, ‘I’m feeling better already, dear'. So, he wasn’t about to force her.

He thought about asking someone to watch her in case she got stuck thinking about stuff but he didn’t want her to think he thought she couldn’t handle anything, he looked up to her independence! He just made sure she knew how to focus on happy things...

His fingers intertwined with hers and the lamp clicked off.

“Goodnight dear, best get as much sleep as possible, you’ll regret it otherwise.”

He felt her kiss his cheek. He smiled.

“Very true, intellectual my love, goodnight.” He leaned forward, faintly seeing the outline of her lips in the dark. He planted a kiss on them, one which she reciprocated with her own.

“Goodnight.” She repeated, then she squeezed his hand and rested into her pillow, closing her eyes. The only sound in the room was their breathing and the wind outside meeting the glass of the window, strong but strangely calming. Roger itched his nose and shifted into a comfortable position before letting his eyelids fall shut.

.

.

.

.

It’s Monday, the 2^nd of June 1947. I got a call from Disney today, they called to affirm that I was coming in the following day for work. At the time, Jessica and I were playing Parcheesi and I almost lost the die as the reality of everything finally fell on me. I threw the die across the room but luckily, Jessica caught it with her fast thinking! She ended up winning so I had to bow to her, naturally as she was the winner. Then we ate leftovers: casserole and vegetables. Jessica asked me which makeup would suit which nails after, that got me thinking about alternate scenarios: what if she was talking about construction nails and what if someone asked that because they were on a building job, at a very specific place and they wanted to coordinate because...who didn’t? I wouldn’t be caught dead in a purple ensemble whilst hammering a red nail!... I thought the green suited her makeup idea the best though... she looks beautiful in green!...

Well, I’m dreaming now, still Monday- wait, or it might already be Tuesday, that’s weird, I fall asleep on Monday but I don’t sleep on Monday as much as I do on Tuesday but then I don’t sleep on Tuesday as much as I do on Wednesday, then! I won’t- okay I’m gonna stop that now...

So, am I vivid dreaming?... Lucid dreaming? I thought we were very busy, remember? We were flying on that plane which landed in France? then we stopped looking for the diamond to eat fish on a train? all whilst escaping the mob? now I’m just talking to you about my day, Stephen- or was it Simon... I’m sorry, that hit on my head I got on the cruise ship really messed me up, Steve.

Whoosh...

But gotta work smarter not harder Sean, the hit on the head was a small sacrifice in exchange for the mission!

Whoosh...

Woo-

Clang!

Hey... David- Dalton... Steven, am I hearing things or is the limo making noises-

Thump...

Bang!

Thump!

Roger’s ears shot up, eyes adjusting to the dark when they flew open consequently after, he looked to the nightstand, the clock showed that it was about 4 in the morning. He groaned, pushed himself up into a sitting position and let his ears twitch, they moved in every direction; he was trying to pick up that sound again...

Jessica’s little snores was all he received, he looked down at her, he could see that she was closer to him, her arm looking as if it had been around him. He inwardly apologised that he’d escaped her embrace, then he rolled his eyes at the sound. He’d never heard anything like that before; they lived in a pretty quiet area of Toontown but hey, nothing’s truly impossible. He took her arm and draped it over his stomach. Twisting to lay on his side, he shuffled so his back was against her, closing his eyes to-

Slam! Crash!

Okay! What was that? He sat up again; more abruptly this time, accidentally waking up Jessica.

She sleepily moaned and rubbed her eyes.

“What are you doing...?” She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him back down to the bed “come back...I’m cold without you...”

He resisted and stayed seated.

“Jessica, I heard something...”

“It’s probably nothing, come cuddle meeee...”

“Jessica, I think-"

Bang! Slam! Crash!

Sounds that felt deliberate interrupted him and Jessica released her grip, for a moment their room was filled with thick, unbearable silence and Roger felt his bare hands grip the side of the mattress like a lifeline. It sounded like metal on metal? Thoughts of this being the last thing he remembered when he woke up in a hospital: sat stiff upright in bed with his wife witness to his cowardice. The hospital pencilling him in for multiple operations, operations to remove various weapons from his body, weapons that were: ‘toon proof: won’t hurt too long but you’ll remember it for the rest of your life!’ those, what ifs? shot through his mind and strangely, thoughts of his comic book collection being read by a perpetrator, without the special tweezers used to hold the pages. Oh god, anything but that. Well, he didn’t really mean that... but if that did happen it would definitely make him cry later... when he would be in the shower thinking of nothing... and at least for a minute.

“What was that?” Jessica finally mumbled through the silence.

“I don’t know...” Roger replied back in a whisper, as if speaking louder would alert themselves to whatever that was.

“should I look out the window?” He finished; unsure whether he was actually able to will himself look.

“I’ll go...” Jessica replied, perhaps sensing his unease.

She slid out of bed and tiptoed to the window, her white and baby blue slip dress was illuminated against the moonlight. She ducked slightly, her thin fingers pulling back the curtain and separating two blinds. Roger found that he was fiddling with his thumbs; he whispered for her to be careful to calm his nerves.

“...Roger, I think the fence is dented...?”

“Huh?”

“The fence...it looks dented...”

She stood up and let the curtain and blinds fall back into place, moving cautiously as she turned to face him.

“Maybe someone just decided to-"

Slam!

A deathly silence settled in again after the thunderous bang, Roger felt an icy sweat come over him before he and Jessica slowly turned to meet each other’s eyes, the synchronicity would’ve been funny but, in this situation, Roger found himself questioning if he was dreaming.

“I’m not crazy, right? that was the front door, right?” Roger asked.

She nodded, scared; Roger did all he thought to do: lift up the covers and usher her inside. She climbed back in bed, now on his side, her arms wrapped around him as he pulled the sheets over their heads.

“What are we gonna do?” Jessica whispered into his chest.

“...Well, this seems like a good idea, they’ll never find us here!”

He felt Jessica’s hot breathe linger on his collarbone for a moment longer before she responded, voice amused but both scared and frustrated at once:

“I think they might have a good chance...We have to get to the landline downstairs, Roger-"

Crash! Thump, thump, thump.

That was definitely from inside the house, definitely. After a moment of heavy breathing, their blanketed fortress getting hotter and more unbearable by the second, a pitter-patter of footsteps resounded off of the walls of the house. Roger’s breath hitched when Jessica dug her nails into his sides at the noise.

“Dearest, maybe ease up on the grip-"

“Oh, God! What if they steal our wedding pictures! Or the fabric I want to make into matching bow ties! or the collage supplies! Roger, we have to move now, come on!”

She pulled back the covers and Roger gulped in fresh air, Jessica jumped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and tied it tight around her waist.

“Oh, if only I had the foresight to bring a frying pan up to bed!”

Hearing the panicked distress in his beloved’s voice gave him the push to climb out of bed, he took a deep breath of confidence as he strode to be beside her, searching their vanity for potential weapons as he ushered her to stand behind him.

“Okay! Okay... Dearest stand behind me! If they take a shot, I’ll have the worst of the blow!”

“Oh, but Roger, I-"

“-and take this!”

He interrupted her protest, grabbing an object from said vanity and passing it to her from over his shoulder.

“A candle? -" She whispered.

“Yes! and I’ll take your flat iron, let’s go!”

Roger forced himself to replace nervousness with brave authority. His mind focused on being angry about losing sleep on such an important night, that way, he could pose as some sort of threat to whoever was walking around their living room. He gripped Jessica’s flat iron, his white fur disguising what were probably white knuckles. He moved slowly, acting as the leader with Jessica delicately tip toeing behind him. The door creaked agonisingly as Roger pushed it open with his elbow, pushing slower with each creak the door produced, almost like it was mocking him.

The air of the hallway was far colder than in the bedroom and Roger felt regret for not grabbing his gown also, shivering slightly as he continued to guide in only his boxers. He felt Jessica touch his shoulder for security, motivating him to continue walking. Moving downstairs, the sounds of rummaging and the telephone being played with reached Roger’s ears, odd. With each step Roger felt his confidence surprisingly rise; maybe this experience could come in handy for work, imagining this as a set which his potential co-workers observed made his thoughts flood with opening one liners, animated walk cycles and faces filled with expression. Roger this is real life! Shut up, Brain, you’re ruining it! It’s just this once, plus! Whatever works, don’t judge!

After his feet had left the carpet of the stairs for icy wooden floorboards, he reached his arm around the wall and felt for the living room light switch.

Got it.

Okay...

He breathed in.

3

2

1-

“Freeze! criminal scum!”

He punched the lights on.

That would’ve looked mighty impressive to a studio audience! But after light filled the room, Roger and Jessica could only stare at the intruder in their house, an intruder who was just as surprised to see them, maybe more so.

“What...what is it?” Jessica whispered into his ear.

Roger squinted. It was short... with green overalls?... a little hat, webbed feet-

“it’s...I believe it’s a duck, my dear.”

It shifted. Apparently, his staring made it uncomfortable? Well, excuse meeeeee, I was only woken up by a cacophony of noise which led me to find a weirdly, semi-realistic duck in my living room! I’m so sorry you’re uncomfortable!

“urm...why does it look like that?” Jessica continued to ask.

Roger turned to look at her, they shared a confused glance which said a thousand words, only eleven years of marriage could achieve such abilities. He looked at the thing from the corner of his eye; Jessica moved to place both hands on his shoulders again. It was different than most animated anthropomorphic animals like himself; it more resembled the build and size of a real duck. Its arms or... wings, short and probably unable to touch its toes, its legs longer but not incredibly, it looked to actually be more designed to swim rather than walk. Toons like Roger weren’t meant to resemble their real-life counterparts to a tee. In most cases anyway, just to make them cute and eye-catching to a wide audience. Humans got pretty dull after a few hundred characters. Roger knew animals like the ones in ‘snow white’ were made to be as close to reality as possible but like he’d said, that was in 1937, this was a decade later, there was a difference. There was not many of this variety of toon or at least, more of animals on two legs and proportional arms like Roger; Roger would’ve known them... maybe they looked a smidgen familiar? But he just couldn’t figure out why...?

“I haven’t a clue...erm, excuse me?” he raised his voice; politely despite his home being broken into. He waved his arm a little and once the duck focused on him again Roger nodded, trying to be cordial.

“Yes, hello! what are you doing in our house?”

It just stared back at him. Roger raised an eyebrow and twisted his wrist as if to say: ‘I asked you a question’ but nothing.

“I don’t think it can talk, Roger...” Jessica predicted; after a few more moments of awkward, anticipated silence.

Roger was about halfway through nodding in agreement with her, when the intruder flew up and landed itself onto the mantel. It waddled itself along; Jessica and Roger watching with bated breath. Then! It started fiddling with their photographs. Roger gasped and ran over to the toon, he heard Jessica wheeze at his movement as well as felt her grabbing for him but it was too late; he was feet away, staring up at the duck. He had his hands curled into fists and placed onto his hips, face stern.

“Oh! No! don’t touch that, that's important! - hey!”

Roger bit his tongue when the duck suddenly flew down to stand next to him, chest forward as it walked/wobbled, Roger backed up as the duck continued to approach; eventually it would block him into a corner.

“Look, I’m warning you! I’ve got a flat iron! and your ‘do’ looks like it could use some primping!”

He extended the flat iron out, consequently pointing it at the duck’s face, who halted and seemed confused at the sight of such a normal yet horrifying weapon!

“Yea! And I’ll...pour burning wax on you...”

Roger turned to look at his wife and from the corner of his eye: as did the duck. So, they could understand them...

Jessica was looking down at the candle in her hand, voice and face equally unsure.

“Darling, how primitive-"

“SQUAWK!”

The duck flew towards him; Roger dropped the flat iron out of terror and started to run around the living room, defenceless and screaming as Jessica cried in horror, the duck landing some hard pecks on his head as she did.

“AHHHH! JESSICA, POUR THE WAX! GET A LIGHTER! WHY DIDN’T I TAKE UP SMOKING?! WE DONT HAVE ANY LIGHTERS!”

“Get off my husband! you little scribble you!”

She ran, her long legs quickly taking her to the perp, she grabbed him by the braces of his overalls and pulled him away from Roger. It writhed in her grip and so managed to break free; she put up a good fight before yelping and falling flat on her back. The duck, now free from her hold, launched itself accidently into the wall above the TV, a photograph from their wedding falling and crashing onto the floor at the impact. Jessica pushed herself up hurriedly, she gasped and scowled. If looks could kill. Roger thought.

“My wedding day! You little -! I’m gonna make chicken breast out of you!”

“-Jessica, how about hoisin duck, right?”

After it shook off the hurt that was flying into a solid wall, with a portrait in a glass frame, it narrowed its eyebrows and went back to squawking, then flew straight at them!

“AHHH!” Roger and Jessica held each other and screamed in unison.

After what felt like hours of being chased and in a comical way, no less, (things like hiding in the space under the stairs would happen, they'd both sigh, proclaim that they were alone, only for the duck to squawk from behind them) Jessica had somehow managed to catch the toon in a net. Roger recognised it as the fishing net they'd bought on that vacation to Malibu. She had confined the intruder to the kitchen so, Roger took the opportunity to run into the living room and call the police. 

“Yes? Someone just broke into our house, we’ve caught ‘em in a net now- not Annette, I don’t know an Annette-"

“Alright sir, what’s your address?”

“Yes, erm, 48 Messmer Street, Chuck Estates.”

After that was done with, Roger thanked the operator, set the phone down and went to walk away-

Roger had tangled himself in the phone wire. Okay, he did feel it brush against him slightly as he paced and turned around the room whilst on the phone... but he hadn't realised he'd trapped himself. He struggled and pulled until he fell onto the floor, free and scrambling to get back up; when he did, he halted to place the phone back on the stand. Then he resumed with running back to the kitchen. 

“Okay, my dearest! Help is on the- what are you doing?”

Roger watched as Jessica was kneeling on the tiled surface of the kitchen, pieces of bread in her hand, pieces which the duck was eating up greedily.

“I thought he’d calm down if I gave him some bread.”

“He?”

“Well, he can’t talk but he sure is difficult, like a man.”

Roger sat down beside her and crossed his legs.

“Very true, oh! Hey! Excuuuuse me, sir-”

Roger placed his hands on his hips, about to make a quip about the duck's awful table manners. He snapped his fingers in the duck’s face, as a result, he twitched and moved his head in every which way before meeting the rabbit's eyes. Roger produced an over exaggerated gasp at his moving pupils. His jeer changing from table manners to something else.

“My eyes are up here!” he scowled and pointed two fingers up to his eyes.

He then rested a hand on Jessica’s thigh, rubbing his thumb against it lovingly as if to say: "I know it's a serious thing." Jessica took his hand in hers. Being with Roger taught her that anything could be funny, well, anything but jokes about others who didn’t deserve it. 'Anything' meant: laughing at yourself but in such a way as to not invalidate the importance of the issue, just learning to deal with it and make the best of a bad situation. Hell, Roger even made murder jokes at his expense a few weeks after everything died down.

Jessica laughed.

“Oh Roger, only you can say that and still make me laugh.”

“A talent I am most proud of, my love.”

“oh, darling! -"

"Squawk!"

“We’re having a moment, shush!” Jessica raised her voice at the duck; pressing a finger to her pursed lips.

“Shhhhh!” Roger copied, “dearest, I see what you mean, we definitely have a man caught in our kitchen...the back talk is despicable!”

A few more minutes passed until blaring sirens and flashing lights made themselves known. 

“Come on, Roger, let’s get this sorted, then I can go back to dreaming about my outfit for tomorrow.”

“Do you have any relatives or friends you could stay the rest of the night with?” the toon warthog asked. His forehead red with the police hat, tightly shoved onto his head. 

Roger and Jessica shared a look.

“Nope, just us in this dog gone world.” He smiled, then crossed his arms over his bare chest.

“Okay...we can have someone keep watch here if you’d like?”

Roger looked up to Jessica again; she smiled and shook her head.

“No, we won’t be needing that.”

“Sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, goodnight Mr and Mrs Rabbit.”

“Goodnight! He likes white bread!” Roger called as they walked away, the overall-clad duck, staring at him from the back of the police car as he did. He waved at him cheekily, then closed the door. Luckily, nothing was smashed; the duck had managed to wriggle in through the open window. Oops.

Jessica had told Roger about the note in the car. She was worried about how it got in there... they came up with some logical solutions: it flew in by way of a toon wind and the trunk just happened to be open, stuff like that. She was relieved that the note hadn't implicated them... but the thought of someone being able to get into her car was scary, even if they were mistaken. Then, the police offered to stay and lookout. What if the two events were related? But she hated police and the car was safe in the garage... this had never happened before, Roger would've heard if any other break-ins had happened, plus the damages would be obvious. So, the letter had to have been placed there while they were doing errands. They didn't know where they lived. What if they'd been followed though? Well, in a gated community, it was pretty obvious to notice someone who was out of place... and she hadn't seen anything/anybody different or new. 

It'd be fine. In this moment anyway.

“Well! Come on my dear, I’ll get us some antihistamines from the bathroom... those will be sure to knock us right out!”

“Oh, good idea, sweetheart.”

.

The morning:

“Oh, darn!”

“Oh, darling, let me tie it for you...”

Roger felt his hands soak with perspiration from under his gloves, his heart beating fast with nervous anticipation. Last night he was jumping off of the walls with excitement but now, he felt butterflies swarm in his stomach as well as that. He breathed in deeply through his nose in an effort to calm himself as Jessica undid his tie, it was in a high tight knot, twisted and unlike any knot ever tied ever. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a tie...probably for the reception of their wedding? That was a while ago; he wanted to make an impression: a funny guy, stylish slacks. Thought he’d mix it up too, no better time than now, right?

He became fixated on watching her effortlessly drape the tie around his neck and under his collar, fold it over itself and somehow create a perfect tie. She smiled at him.

“You look so handsome, honeybunny!”

She stood up and guided him to turn and look into the mirror, her hands squeezing his shoulders.

“Oh, isn’t it perfect! I knew we still had those trousers!”

Roger looked himself up and down and beamed at her praise, anxiousness taking a backseat for a moment. He sure looked stylish, with an added flavour of professional: pink tweed pants with dusty pink braces, white button up and an identical blush suit jacket. then he comically pushed his hair back, a smug smile on his face while he placed both hands on his hips. After, he changed to leaning slightly to the left like he was posing on a car for a magazine, then he spun on his heel, adjusted his matching pink blazer by grabbing the lapels and pulling them downward, the garment instantly more form-fitting as a result. Jessica clapped and giggled when he pursed his lips like a model.

“Can’t forget the blazer as well, Jessica! Boy, do I look spiffy!”

Now without the distraction that was pretending to be on the cover of vogue, nervous energy started to build up inside him again. He was swinging his arms back and forth, leg bobbing at the breakfast table, so out in space that he almost forgot a crucial accessory. Luckily, he grabbed it just before they had locked up: a notepad and pencil. Oh, he was so ready to get Goofy's autograph! He had almost kicked himself when the papers published the aftermath of the Doom situation; Goofy was in amongst the crowd and he was too focused on the will and Jessica to notice! Although...that was a good thing, best to be a good husband before a good fan, Roger nodded at the thought. But everything worked out! He didn’t need to notice Goofy then because soon...they’d be co-workers! Oh, the thought alone made Roger feel faint, sitting in the passenger seat with the windows down to make him feel less congested.

He’d looked up to him for so long! Reading comics and watching his cartoons, referencing his slapstick repeatedly until he got good and fluid. This was such a-!

Timing and finesse...What if he hated my show?! Oh, I’d have to resign myself to death! Leave the house and groceries to Jessica, Eddie can have the lamp by the door; I was never too keen on that, now there’s just the issue of finding a way to erase myself from paper- wait, am I crazy!? Dip’s obsolete and besides, Jessica would miss my photogenic outfits-

“Sweetie, why don’t we put some music on? You seem tense.”

“Huh? Me? Tense? And Tex Avery is an alien, that’s what’s next to that in the: ‘world’s most ridiculous theories’ hardback edition. But for you, my love, I’ll concede, do you want-"

“Jazz"

“-Jazz? Oh! - I was right!”

Jessica smiled, looking at him from the corner of her eye before going back to focusing on the road ahead.

Chapter Text

. 

. 

The light stuns him momentarily.

It’s blinding.

More than it should, he thought, as he was growing accustomed to the darkness of the room he’d lain in for hours.

Two toon officers stepped forward and yanked him to his feet, then they shoved him into a chair and fiddled with some paper at the end of a table. He looked around, the room he was in this time was tiny, no windows, just this white table, dirty walls and creaking chairs. He tried to form a sentence, tried to choke out a vowel and ask for help but all he managed was squawk after squawk.

One of the pigs coughed. Rolled his eyes and tossed the bird a piece of paper and pen.

“If you don’t talk, save us the earache. Just write down what you were doing on private property, right. There.”

The pig demanded, his sturdy finger tapping against the sheet, after each of his two, final, proclaimed adverbs.  

The duck nodded obediently but instead of reaching for the pen, he brought the paper close to his mouth, a horrible retching sound emanated from the toon. With each cough and splutter he brought the paper closer to his mouth. The two hogs watched, confused and mortified as the duck’s throat appeared to swell.

The duck lurched forward and the taller pig reached out to push the creature away... but. After a scream from the cop, the tension in the room that was steadily becoming more and more horrifying... came to an abrupt halt; the criminal meekly coughed, heaved an exhausted sigh and planted the sheet of a4 in the centre of the interrogation table. The two officers shared a glance. The duck looked like that had taken his whole life-force... They looked to the paper; it was wet and... black?

Yes, black ink was most definitely seeping through from the side he’d been coughing into. Cautiously... the officer to the left reached out, slowly. Pinched the corner in-between his thumb and forefinger, then swiped it quickly, off of the table and away from the duck.

Their eyes widened as they gazed down at the page.

R A B B I T

.

.

.

BING!

Toast leapt from the toaster; Jessica caught them both with one hand, she then placed them on a single plate and called for her husband.

“Roger! Darling! You can look for anything stolen after your breakfast.”

It was Tuesday the 3^rd of June, the air in the Rabbit household was thick with nervous excitement; this was Roger’s first day and that meant an early start to the morning, Jessica had just finished fixing his tie and admiring his chic outfit upstairs, to come down and make some fast breakfast before they had to leave. He started at ten, a big jump from sleeping in till late... which is what they’d been doing for the majority of the past few months... it was almost like last night was the universe messing with them; the chances of being jolted awake, by the sounds of your home being broken into were slim, especially in this part of Toontown... but last night? The night before a very important day? That sounded like a story from a looney tunes short...

“Alright, dear!” He called from the next room.

She heard his footsteps follow. When the police arrived last night, they did search the duck for any stolen goods but no go. Roger could be paranoid when he felt like it though and most definitely when he was nervous... but she couldn’t blame him; that’d never happened before. Officers also had asked them if they knew the duck, to which they replied: of course not. That probably sounded rude... but in her defence, why would she refer to someone she knew as: “the duck.” She rolled her eyes; spreading butter onto her husband’s toast. ‘... police...urg...’ After finding nothing of interest, they left, said they’d keep them updated (whatever that meant) and now here she was, making breakfast later than she had hoped. The antihistamines she and Roger swallowed did help... although she was hoping to get up earlier, make Roger some eggs and broccoli with his toast; breakfast is important and she wanted to make sure he would be satiated throughout the day.

She heard him pull out a chair from behind her whilst reaching for the fridge but- instead of sitting down, she felt his hand grip hers, stopping her.

“Only a chauvinist would let their wife do all the work, I’ll pour our glasses, Jessica.” He popped open the refrigerator and turned to face her as he stood on his toes, fingers stretching out to reach the carton:

“Not that I’m doubting your ability.” He smirked.

“I know, dear... oh, I love it when you get opinionated.”

Soon, both plates of toast were set and consequently, their seats parallel from each other were filled; moments after, Roger's leg started bouncing, his digits, tore off the crusts of his toast and twisted the toon wheat into a barbershop's spiral. He was nervous. Jessica smiled endearingly. 

"I hope you plan on eating those crusts." Her voice was wrung with exaggerated sternness... Although there was concern there. 

He looked up; eyes wide, in comparison to the empty staring he offered to his toast. Looking like he'd been caught, he dropped the bread chunk in his hands. It limply fell onto the porcelain plate below. 

"Yes, dear."

She smiled dotingly. 

“You poor, skinny thing... I'm sure glad you have a good appetite... Usually anyway."

“If I could gain weight, I would, darling.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

But she liked him just the way he was, he knew that. Toons didn't lose or gain anything anyway... They are who they are when they leap off paper and they stay that way, for the rest of time... Well... All but faded, that's what you were really saying, you're glad he likes to eat... So he won't fade-

"Shut up!" 

"Today's the first day, you can't pretend like it never happened anymore." 

- and with that, her mind felt full, like everything she'd ever done in her life was irrelevant in this moment, her whole being and worth as a toon, relied on how she betrayed him and spinning her mind around why? why couldn't she just be left alone? Why did people care so much about her? I just want to be a good wife- she felt like she'd been thrown into another plane of existence; she was a different person days ago... happy and secure, that's what she wanted but now it felt like she was a completely different character- a villain! In moments! You can't pretend-

Pinching her leg under the table stopped that. When she looked up, Roger was eating his crusts, true to his word. Eager to fill the air, Jessica cleared her throat. 

“So, anything out of place?”

“Nope." Roger sighed. Emphasising the 'p'.

"Well." He continued, "it doesn’t look like it anyway... why bother sucking in all your paint to fit through an open window, to not steal anything?”

She shrugged.

She had calmed down, hand laid flat against the table as the other held her breakfast. Chewing on buttered toast silently, she thought about her shift that night, the songs she'd sing, the outfit she'd-

“-Erm, will you be alright when I’m gone...?"

Jessica paused in her gnawing to lock eyes with her husband. Her mouth was full so she hummed. Curious; he sounded too worried. 

“Just... you were pretty scared last night. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

She swallowed her toast. 

“Roger, I’ll be fine; don’t worry... Sure, it wasn’t the best night ever... but I’ve had worse...”

She placed a hand over his.

“Like ones without you...”

She wanted that to be romantic. Retrospectively it might have been... But Jessica felt regret form in her stomach after she'd said it; it was too real, too soon. Not that her gushy one liners weren't always true, they were but something about that one. It hurt and she knew why. So, Why did she say it? 

“...I’m sorry.”

Roger replied; after the small silence. 

“Why are you apologising?” She asked. Genuinely bewildered. 

“I wish I could’ve been there.”

The weasels, that's why he wasn't there. That night. He said he would've shown up if they weren't... She was waiting... Waiting... Waiting and waiting for him to come home but nothing. She still felt so dirty and she hoped he'd already be home so she could tell him she loved him. He would've said he did too, then he'd say they were going to be okay, Doom wasn't going to hurt them, he'd make sure of that. Exactly what he'd been telling her since she suddenly turned into a moping mess, staying in bed all day until work, paint getting paler, not eating until he made her... It was the same time the papers started writing about her 'sugar daddy'... The fact that you almost got dipped doesn’t bother you as much as this... you were scared but now you’re safe... this though- it shouldn’t either... really, you deserved to get dipped...

Her thoughts sounded far off and fast, she didn't really register them or analyse them. She didn't think too; they were just thoughts, true ones, they felt that way, harsh and strange but she didn’t want to look into it. They were so fast and quick, she forgot them and the truthfulness they stamped onto her after her mind read them out to her-

“Jessica...?"

‘I mean... come on ... you could’ve done better... but you know you’d give it up every time... for him...’

"Jessica!"

 ‘Geez, what’s wrong with you?”

"Jessica!”

“Huh?!”

“You spaced out again.”

His face was has knotted with worry.

“... Oh, I’m sorry...”

She looked to stare at her lap, her hands were holding each other within it... they felt damp.

“hmm, ya know... I don’t mind staying-"

Her eyes flew up to meet him-

“Don’t be ridiculous, Roger...! This is your dream, it has been for years.”

“There’ll always be one dream that comes before everything else...”

He smiled; sadness was in his eyes. She felt her palm be tickled with fur and automatically, she intertwined her digits with his. Her heart swelled.

“Oh, I love you, Roger...”

“I love you too.”

Gazing into his eyes. Blue eyes who she’d shared the best years of her life with... her heart felt tight and her fingers gripped around his tighter; he just gently squeezed back. He’s always been too good to be true... and how do you repay him? How?!-

“I still think you should go... you deserve it.” She muttered.

“I... Listen -"

His voice sounded strained all of a sudden... he was talking into his collarbone and breathed out a sigh after his words.

Jessica bit her lip.

“Okay... my love, don’t think I’m being rude because I wouldn’t, not to you... but... do you think you’re... okay...?”

Roger took his hand off hers to talk with them, waiting for an answer; she blinked. He sighed, made a face that said: ‘how do I say this...?’ then tapped his index finger against his skull.

“in the head?... dear?”

She was struck silent. Not offended. Puzzled.

“In my head?”

“-If there’s a bully up there you have to tell me... is what I’m saying... sorry, the thing before sounded wrong...”

“Oh... no, don’t fret, darling... I’m just... thinking.”

“About?”

“Things.”

“Bad things?”

“No, no! You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But I am.”

“Why?”

“Because, when you go quiet you look... scared, scared and sad... it really terrifies me.”

He looked so worried. It made her heart sting. The past few months had been so great; it was such a quick transition from what had been before... Jessica was happy to accept it as normal and not really breath a word of the days previous, that way she could convince herself that it never happened. She blinked, he’d been saying cute little things... he always did but the closer his work date got, the more he did them and the more he said she spaced out. They were always along the lines of: “ya know? It takes more muscles to frown than to not! So, what’s the happiest memory you have?” toons didn't even have muscles... but human culture was ingrained into them... the most recent one Jessica remembered was a few nights ago, Roger was being silly before bed and undid his bow tie, then tied it over his eyes, insisting that Jessica lead him to the bedroom like a true gentleman. That made no sense and it wasn’t supposed too; Jessica had laughed. When she got quiet however, he started up the happy talk monologue and at that point she was smiling again; she pushed him into the bedroom.

“... is... that why you keep telling me to think happy things?”

He was silent for a bit. Fiddling with his gloves.

“Is that a good thing to recommend?... or, or is it offensive? -"

“No- Roger... I love you; I don’t want you to be scared of me-"

“Dear, I’m not scared of you! I’m scared of bad things happening to you-”

“My point is, I’m fine... I don’t need to think of happy things-"

“Tell me what you’re thinking about then.”

“It’s nothing-"

“Jessica, I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“I’m not, I’m pigmented, look.”

“Yes, I can see that! but you’re not inside your head! Why don’t you want to tell me?”

‘Tell him what...?’ Jessica thought. She didn’t want to fight with him, they never fought anyway... she couldn’t remember the last time the really had a ‘fight’... Oh, wait, now she did. It was when he proposed, he’d said a bunch of stuff about being ‘undeserving’ and ‘that he was lucky he got this far.’ She wasn’t going to let him talk about himself like that. She heaved a sigh, head spinning with thoughts.

“...I don’t understand...”

His hand landed atop hers again and when she met his eyes, he looked soft, sincere and sorry.

“What don’t you understand?” He asked, voice like butter.

“I’m...I’m fine... I’m just upset about almost losing you.”

‘That must be it. Although I don’t want him to worry about that... I should feel upset... but he’s oh so kind... so I get that.’

“... Do you promise that’s it...?”

“I promise.” Jessica crossed her heart.

He leaned back slightly, thumb gently caressing the skin of her hand as he smiled... albeit small.

“Okay... if you say so... and you never ‘almost lost’ me, dear."

He locked together their fingers again.

“I’ll always be right here...”

She felt herself swoon at the gentleness in his voice, his caring eyes and soft touch. She smiled, using her free hand to place it over her heart; then... she frowned, lip trembling slightly as a rational thought ran through her conscious mind.

“I just... I shouldn’t have... never almost lost you...”

He raised their hands higher when he shuffled his chair closer to her. Somehow, during their conversation he’d moved from opposite to right beside her. She didn’t even make a note of it... she liked this closeness.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you hearing things? I said you never almost lost me... is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No... I’m just happy to have you next to me...”

He reached up, to tuck some hair behind her ear-

“Me too... so you don’t have to worry, okay? I’ve loved you for over a decade and I’m not going to stop now...”

“Oh, darling... I love you more than you’ll ever know...” Jessica cupped his face in her small hand -the other still interlocked with his- and pulled him forward, to kiss him lovingly.

.

.

.

Time: Tuesday the 3^rd of June, 1947. 10 minutes till 10 o’clock:

Roger drummed his fingers on his tweed clad legs, the jazz number coming to slow stop. They had parked a few minutes ago but Jessica silently waited as Roger sat, his feet shuffling. When the song’s last note was cut off by the radio broadcaster’s static-y voice, Jessica clicked it off and turned to him with a smile.

“Ready, sweetie?”

He stared at his hands a moment longer, the yellow bobbles of toon wool, that had formed on his gloves, entrancing him. He blinked hard and sighed, lifting his head to smile at his wife, the light of my life...

“Do you think you cooooould...?”

“...I cooould...?”

“Hold my hand when we walk in?”

“Of course, dear, you don’t even need to ask.”

The seat buckles snapped and the sounds of the Packard's doors shutting resounded, Jessica waited at the pavement, waiting for Roger to circle around the car and meet her. Once he did, he brushed down his suit, breathed in deeply and turned to her with a nervous smile. She smiled back at his cuteness and extended a hand to him; he took it and they started walking. Jessica brushed her thumb against his gloved hand and in response, he squeezed hers carefully.

“So, you’ll be okay back home...?” Roger asked as they walked through an almost empty walkway, a pavement surrounded by a sea of green grass. Jessica looked down at him, a small smile on her face.

“With the break in... I’m talking about this time...” He clarified.

She hummed, smiling wider.

“Oh, Roger... I’ll be fine, the police said they’d keep us in the loop... and I’m just going to go shopping until I have to work anyway.” She swung their hands between them, as she continued to gaze down at him.

Roger tightened his grip as he put power behind his swinging also, he grinned before using his free hand to point, shaking it:

“Remember, the peanut butter cookies I like changed their recipe...they’re disgusting now!”

-his voice turned comically serious, then genuinely revolted nearing the end of his statement.

“I remember, darling.”

The gentle breeze was cool but warm... Jessica breathed it in happily. The studio was monumental... especially when compared to Maroon studios. Maybe that’s why they didn’t question why they were talking to one another about cookies, rather than talking about how big it was... Roger was already nervous and he was one to bounce to and from emotions quickly, he just needed to shake out his nerves, act like this was normal... then he’d get all excited and perhaps intimidated... Jessica knew this; Roger wasn’t a toon of predictability however. Sometimes he’d just freak out... or be very happy and semi silent when shoved in front of his dream of... years. But something told her he was still preoccupied with making her feel smooth sailing.

“Oh, that really upsets me when I think about it too much...”

He grunted playfully; Jessica looked down at him, he was looking at her, ignoring the building entirely.

“I’m sorry, love.” She cooed.

“Don’t worry; life goes on, my dear...”

“Do you want me to get beef, Roger? Or are you eating vegetarian today?”

“Oh, I’ll be naughty; it’s a special day! get me some of the beef!”

“Alright, but you had chicken a few days ago, this’ll have to be your protein for this week or else you’ll be ill.” It was her turn to wag a finger at him now.

“Yes, I know... oh, the perils of being a rabbit!”

They were told to show up at the animation department, where all toons from the studio collated. It was shaped like two equals signs, only with a line going right through them, the wall was dotted with rectangular, glossy windows and strangely... the pavement below Jessica’s purple flats felt nicer than regular cobble. A toon bird flew down from one of the windows, pulled a worm from out of the real, green, lush, even grass, then flew back where it came. Jessica looked to her husband, he was smiling bigger now, the reality of everything probably dawning on him again. She beamed. This wasn’t anything like his last gig. This was living!

They entered the second door to the department, the middle one of the three. Roger held the door open for her and twisted his wrist in a sophisticated manner, she played along by bowing her head a little, giggling all the while. The inside was just as clean, prim and impressive, as the sweet-smelling grass outside. The walls were white, the floors the same, except tiled and shining... Jessica could make out the outline of her face in them. Brown oak doors were engraved with illustrations and multiple humans in dress suits milled about, opening and closing them with scripts in their hands.

“Jessica, look!”

She turned towards the sound of his voice, somehow, he was yards away, to the left of the room, peering over a small, exact model of the studios. She joined him in his ogling. The set was in the corner, the walls of which displayed several pictures of Walt Disney, the previous studio as well as their stars. One picture, captured Mickey Mouse perched on his artist’s shoulder, he was smiling and pointing down at piece of paper in Walt's hands.

“We’re here...” Roger pressed a finger on the glass the model was encased in, his digit landed on a little sticker, it pointed to the animation studio with a red arrow, a bold and mystical font spelled out: ‘You Are Here!’ on top of it. Roger read those words out in a mumble. Then he placed a fist below his chin, eyebrow raised as he hummed-

“Hmmm?... strange...”

“What about it?” Jessica asked.

“I was just thinking how odd it is that such a structure...! could fit my whole world inside it.” He smirked, a hand on his heart as he gazed up at her.

“Roger! You little dreamboat!” She smiled widely, booping his nose; they were in public... if they weren’t...he would’ve gotten a kiss.

“You must be Roger Rabbit.”

-A voice interrupted them, bored and monotonous, a strange combination given the breath-taking building. They looked away from each other’s eyes to see that standing over them, was a lanky toon. Tall and dressed in a blue suit which adorned a Mickey patch on the shoulder, a straight and perfectly symmetrical striped tie and black, spotless loafers. He had a pale face, a gravity defying hairdo, under eyes with a purple, blue-ish tint and red, facial hair decorating his upper lip.

Roger recognised him after a moment of staring. He was from that bomb of a film, The Reluctant Dragon. He was the father, that was it! He was glad he hadn’t taken Jessica to see it...when the reviews came out and they described the setting, he was confused; it was a fantasy universe, where in the methods to bring toons to life hadn’t been discovered... However, told in a documentary kind of style, apparently it was supposed to be educational... show how toons were ‘animated’ before 1908... only it was more advanced and not accurate all; Donald and Bambi were there and clearly interacting with the human characters... So, it only served to confuse Roger. A movie like that would’ve been awkward to watch in the theatre. How the actors must’ve felt, playing a character that didn’t exist? Pretty morbid... but whatever! A few duds had to be on your record, right? But what a dud it was... Roger liked to think of himself as a good person and that meant: noticing something wrong when it was shoved right in front of him. Feminism was important and he’d learnt a lot since leaving Oregon. Therefore... the life drawing scene in The Reluctant Dragon, wasn’t funny to him.

Just... creepy, from what Herman had told him.

He didn’t ignore prejudice, how could he? When he and Jessica had witnessed it with their own eyes. He wasn’t comparing his struggle as a toon to those of humans facing discrimination... because that was unfair. Toons weren’t treated with respect and he knew that, the only way to truly make it was to be in the spotlight. Luckily that was Roger’s thing but at least he was given a semi guarantee of ‘making it'. However, anyone who wasn’t white or American or English, were treated like aliens. It was difficult in this world to find someone who was open to conversations he and Jessica had. When they were dating, they had tons of fun, visiting central avenue and jazz bars, it’d been essential for him when he thought about it. To learn and recognise his own bias, that had been fed to him way back in Oregon and then LA. He hated how studios created such dehumanising characters so, he’d join in with protests but still, he was a toon at the end of the day. He had to be someone’s art to be an actor and if he accepted Disney of all places, he’d be as handsy-ousty with criticism than he would be with anyone else. It was a magical place...yes, filled with his idols, everyone however, has something they could never truly understand. It was sad that it was impossible to be employed be a genuinely nice person; he wasn’t going to just roll over and accept it. If he had to be a toon, he’d do his job and work his damnedest to get people to understand the damage they’ve created. Make them realise it, accept it, change it and spread the word, what better way was that than with animation? Maroon was... a maroon so wouldn’t always do as he suggested but he had a copyright agreement back then; there wasn’t anything he could do, well, work wise. Therefore, he’d do other things, like protests and talking about the issue. You couldn’t just sit there and watch people’s lives be torn apart!

“Yes!” Roger spoke up, voice a few octaves higher.

“Wonder what gave you that idea? Also, gotta say, I love the quartz... or is it chromium?” He finished.

‘Good introduction, sweetie’ Jessica thought, proud.

The once eccentric and excitable character, Father. Sighed, his dull eyes staring right through Roger.

“Brick... Sir.”

Although, Roger just smiled. Tugged on Jessica’s hand and giggled under his breath.

“Dearest, hear that? I’m a sir!”

“You bet you are, cutie pie.”

Father just blinked slowly at the interaction and his mouth, pulled itself into a cumbersome frown.

“...right...” He began.

“If you’d follow me, I’ll show you around your department and the studios, then to your office.”

“An office! Well, I could just move in!” Roger laughed heartily, “But not without you though, dear.”

He looked up at her, he was wearing a cute grin. Jessica moved some hair from out of her face and smiled, kneeled down, straightened his collar and lapels, then rested her hands on his shoulders, the pads of his blazer gave them a broader, rectangular shape, he did look handsome! His excited, nervous eyes; they were hypnotic.

“Alright, sweetie, have a good day, I’ll be back to pick you up a six.”

“Don’t forget to have a good one yourself, darling.”

“Oh, Roger... how I love you...”

She hugged him, arms looping around his torso so her hands landed back on his shoulders, her right on his left, her left on his right. She smiled wide into the nook of his neck when she felt his arms wrap around her too. Then she squeezed him tight but not too tight, preparatory to pulling away.

“See you later, honey.”

“Goodbye, the apple of my eye.”

He placed his hands on hers, still on his shoulders and patted them before she drew them away. Jessica straightened out her skirt, chuckling under her breath before standing back up.

“The lyrics to my instruments.” She replied.

“The blue of my sky.”

“The for- to my -ever!”

“The-"

Father tapped Roger’s shoulder. His expression was still unenthusiastic when Roger turned, his chest also heaved lowly with uncomfortable breaths. He smiled nervously then called back to Jessica:

“To be continued!”

She covered her mouth to laugh, then placed a hand against the door, pushed it open slightly and whipped hair from out of her face in one fluid motion, to blow Roger a kiss. The toon lipstick stain she blew, fluttered towards him but playfully hovered and dodged as he reached for it; eventually he caught it in his hands and when he met her eyes, he was beaming.

“Got it!”

He celebrated. The lips were flapping wildly in his closed fist; his face peered curiously close as he slowly opened the cage he'd created... then he got attacked by a swarm of kisses.

.

After rubbing away all of the lipstick stains, Roger followed his guide, who’s walk was made in long, bored strides. Every time his patent leather show met tile, it echoed loudly, like he was forcing his whole weight down, onto his sole, like a child who was angry but giving someone the silent treatment... so their way of airing their frustration was through actions; Roger was busying himself with staring, wide eyed, up at the photographs on the walls and at the water tower, that was visible through the window, to notice.

They walked through a long, pristine hallway, the white floors and walls were spotless and it -for some reason- scared Roger more than he thought it... should? But in a good way! They rounded a few corners before Father started to get a bit... antsy, turning every which way before sighing, leading him outside and walking wordlessly before his limbs fell loosely to his sides, his hands veined. Deadpan stare straight ahead at a door labelled:

"ART CLASS

LIFE DRAWING"

Roger raised an eyebrow. 

"I bet your net worth that your sneaky little co-star's in there." He elaborated. Roger stared up at him, slightly shocked but not really...

Herman’s lack of morality was one of the reasons he couldn't and wouldn't consider him a friend. He guesses he just held out too much hope for people; apart of his brain always seemed to whisper: 'nooooo! No one could be that dense...? Why would someone be so... stupid! Uncaring, rude- Urgh forget it, why do I even bother!' Whenever Herman did something stupid and the whole crew saw it. It's been, what? A good couple of months since they last saw each other? Herman wanted to do this today? Alright... okay...

"Trust me, I've worked with his type and this has happened before, only they thought it was hilarious! So, they scripted it."

Roger pulled a face.

Then a different one-

Now it made sense!

That scene from The Reluctant Dragon... did Herman really accept the contract just to do this 'joke'...?

"Are you coming?" His guide asked, impatiently. 

He was some strides away now and Roger found himself awkwardly pulling at his glove but at the question, he quickly shifted, his arms moved to stiffly cross over one another, his eyes narrowed and his foot tapped against the floor, quick but slow and audible.

"I don't think so... and it’s not because I'm taken, I'm not an ignorant pencil pusher, if you're getting doodled why should it be a frenzy to see someone like that, hmmmm? Give him a pad and a pencil, chum. Because it's their body not yours!"

Father stared wide eyed down at him, blue under eyes seeming bluer now. He stuttered and shuffled a bit.

"I- I was thinking the sa-"

"-I'm not babying him... he'd see me and think it’s peachy keen."

He did.

But Roger wasn't going to let that ruin his day. No, no, no! This was his day and no person, toon or otherworldly entity was going to rain on it!

So he just rolled his eyes when Father came back, holding Herman up by his jacket. Herman smiled at him however and after Father put him down, he moved to stand next to him, babbling about how long it's been while Father helplessly tried to scold him.

Roger just cleared his throat; it took a few coughs for Herman to shut up though.

He stared up at him.

"...What?"

"What!? Jeepers, every time I think: you can't possibly sink any lower and you prove me wrong each ti-"

"There's my pal! Geez, I did miss ya Rodge, come on now, let's get this done quick." He pulled a cigar from his back pocket-but then, he stopped walking ahead of them, to stare at their guide. feeling his pants urgently as a look of horror washed over his face. 

"Where's my lighter?" He must have left it at home or lost it in the struggle, "I'm getting shaky, mac, do you have a-"

"No; you've wasted enough of my time already." Father spat.

Roger bit back a smile at Herman’s glower and sulk.

Whatever, it's not about him, you can afford to be selfish once in a while.

-

“If you look to your right, you’ll see the Studio's restaurant... where your fellow cast members will eat lunch-”

“Rodge, are you sure ya don’t wanna smoke-"

“Yes Herman, I’m sure I don’t want to smoke, thank you.”

“But are you really sure? -"

“Uh-huh, thanks.”

“Okay... huh? What we looking at, lunch?”

Father sighed and rolled his dull eyes.

“Yes...lunch, this is where you’ll eat lunch.”

“Are your ears on?” Roger quipped; harsher than his usual demeanour. He looked down to Herman, eyebrow raised and eyes half lidded. Herman however, didn’t take him seriously.

“Hey! Not all of us can have super hearing like you!” he sounded offended but Roger knew he was completely unfazed and it got under his skin. His ‘sneaky co-star' was probably one of the only people he actually wanted to upset-

‘Roger? Come on, just breath, remember what Jessica said? Everything will work out in your favour, she knows it. Has she ever stirred you wrong before? That’s right! So just -'

“So, what were you busy with anyway?”

Roger blinked then stared back down at Herman, who was walking faster on his little legs, just to keep up with him...something about that made Roger want to walk faster- 'Roger! Come on!'

“Huh?” he replied.

“...thought your ears worked...” Herman mumbled; rolling his eyes back and pulling a grimace.

“You said you were too busy to call me! What were you busy with?” Herman finished.

“Well, I had time off, Jessica and I like spending time together-"

“What did you do?”

“Well, we played board games, made dinners together, stayed in bed all day-"

“Did you play golf?”

“Of course, we did-"

“I could’ve come.”

“It was a romantic thing-"

“Golf?”

“Yep... you wouldn’t get it.” Roger mumbled this time. Herman wasn't very good with getting dates and that was a good thing. For two reasons-

“Hey!” Herman raised his voice again; still unthreatening although, he was only so if he was shouting at Roger, like when he butted in about the will, if Roger insulted him he never paid it thought, like the idea of someone not liking him was too preposterous to not be a joke.

“So, did you talk about... ya know...?” He lowered his voice; Roger furrowed his brow.

“... what?” He responded; voice refusing to reach Herman’s level of ‘incognito’, his tone was still a mixture of annoyed and unbothered, not like anyone noticed though.

“The thing...?”

“What thing?”

“Ixnay on the Acme-nay.”

Roger took a silent moment, he let his eyes drift as he thought- when he understood, his breathing stopped momentarily. He looked down at Herman, his whiskers were twitching, he felt his lower lip falling; the thought of someone being so stupid...!

“We did but why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering...”

“Well, don’t. It’s not your business.”

“Well, it was when the papers published it.”

Roger scowled. Eyes wide and piercing.

“...okay, okay! Sorry... geez they should make you do that face on the show... that way I’ll actually feel like a baby in trouble.”

Roger sighed.

“- and here, you’ll see the-" Father was talking to himself at this point; Roger wanted to listen, be polite and give out a good aurora about himself but each time he tried-

“Still, you share a house with Jessica, you wake up every day and see her, right there, where you left her. That’s enough right?”

“Listen, I’m only gonna say this once so remember it, good and well. She was ill, okay? On fading’s door, I’m going to spend time with my wife, before you. I love her and I promised to look after her, in sickness and in health.”

“...you could’ve at least put some sugar on it-"

“-God! You’ve got to be kidding me?!”

They both turned and looked at that- and standing there, in a hot pink ensemble, frowned face, crossed arms and restless, tapping webbed foot, incased in a leather heel- was Daisy Duck. Herman raised an eyebrow at her exclamation while Roger just matched Daisy’s glower.

“believe me, the feeling’s mutual...” he shot back.

She stuck up her beak, then pushed back her bow as if it were hair and she just flipped it elegantly over her shoulder- although she didn't... so, Roger just cringed. She stepped closer, hands on her hips, accidentally or purposefully pushing Herman out the way to get more in Roger’s space. But Roger didn't find that funny; only because he was too busy simmering from the inside- gosh, she's only hurting herself! Does she even know the meaning of feminism!? She insults my wife and I do the right thing: call out her disgusting behaviour; then she acts like I murdered her whole family!? Wait- did I just make a murder joke? I didn't even notice that time- maybe because you're not a murderer, Roger! Shut up, brain! I'm seriously busy right now! 

“Put a sock in it, hare! God! It’s not enough that I get to read about you in the papers, now you’re where I work?”

“Urm... don’t flatter yourself...” Roger stepped back when she was leaning too close for comfort- “You’re making it out like I’m following you.”

“You know what I meant, gosh! If you’re half as good at acting than you are at dressing yourself, I say: hang up your jacket now, fluffy.” She spluttered.

She backed up, shaking her head like he had just sneezed all over her. Why was she acting so... difficult? Surely she had better things to do than scream at him. Roger rolled his eyes hard; he certainly had places to be today.

“If you don’t like it, just close your eyes, huh? Do you have to lay an egg? Right now! I mean come on, really? In front of Dad!”

“Father-" Father corrected.

“Father?” Roger echoed.

“... urg...It’s gonna be pretty hard to ignore you, when you’re wearing such a ridiculous get up!”

“Oh this? Well, at least I look good in pink... who’s ya tailor? Because better tell them, to hang up their jacket. Now.”

Roger wasn’t a 'confrontation' type of toon, neither was he an insult-someones-appearance-toon but if he was, he was only so for a valid reason and to him, making sexist judgements against his wife was one of them and he wasn’t going to hear otherwise. She let out a gasp at his response and he simply pushed his way past her. His audience followed; Father sped up to be the one leading again. Then, a flurry of office people rushed through the space he'd created between himself and Daisy; effectively blocking her from pursuing them. Roger looked back and tossed her a smug grin, her face visible but obscured by white polo shirts and dress pants. She scowled.

“See ya, feathers!” He waved mockingly. 

“You... stupid rabbit!” She squealed. 

“You’re pretty steamed, huh Roger?”

“What on earth are you talking about? Today’s my day.”

“Yeah, definitely... what did she do to get your ears in such a knot?”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t really understand-"

“You’ve used that joke already! Tell me !”

“Maybe some other time-"

“- God , did Jessica ever tell you that you’re a real tease, Rodge?”

“ Watch it .”

.

.

Okay, so things didn't always turn out how you'd expect them to but that's the randomness of life! Roger wouldn't have it any differently! Not at all. He wouldn't exchange his chance meeting with Jessica, or how he discovered all those discarded comics in Oregon, or how some suit just flicked gum onto the pavement and watched him tred in it and now he was walking with a definite lump on the bottom of his foot-

He was fine. Truly, honestly. He was smiling! Because this was it. This was still so hard to comprehend, to fathom! He could handle Herman for the joy of performing, he handled being tossed around by Raul and being sketched for posters he refused to pose for, like for the cartoon: 'The little injun that could'. He did as much as he could then and probably still now- but here! Things already felt different! Toons were roaming about freely, not confined to a trailer until show time, there was a huge cafe! Well- in comparison to Maroon's. The air smelt fresh, cars weren't driving by or constantly honking- this was going to be fantastic! He could just taste it!

Speaking of trailers, an office! How professional sounding is that? Oh he might even get a little name plate and a desk like Eddie! 

.

.

"Urm okay, but whyyyy is Roger’s office bigger than mine?"

They had basically walked around the world that day, if Roger was concerned. They visited a film score, who - off the cuff- made a jingle in tune to his tripping over himself when he walked through the door, they visited ink and paint and saw some characters getting makeup-ed. 'too bad this stuff doesn't stay on but I'd be out of a job!' one of the ladies joked to him; she was dusting eyeshadow over a toon: a girl and harp hybrid, golden hair to match the instrument attached to her back. That foley session where speakers were blasting music and noise to various types of toons, ones who haven't been born yet, so when they are, they actually sound like a train- well, if you are one... Roger remembered finding it difficult to talk when he was ripped off of the page; not that you needed a foley session to talk... it was reserved for specific things; a skilled artist could easily create a cartoon who could immediately start talking... because they themselves could talk... and they drew it. They visited the maquette-making department, something which they did before drawing and breathing life into a toons final stage, just to make sure they got everything juuust right! 'Jeepers! Such care and dedication for perfection! No-one else makes toons this way! Heh and apparently my features are 'all over the place' ha! Well guess who hired my all over the place face! Bird!' Roger looked at his watch. 

'Already 4 o’clock? Well... I guess time flies when you're having fun-'

Roger blinked at Herman’s question; the 'office' in question was more like an oversized storage cupboard. 

'Well, I' d be having more-'

"What do you mean... bigger?"

He pursued; staring straight ahead into his office didn't disappointed him... too much. It was probably just his imagination running with the prestige which is the word, 'office'; it really was his mistake. Besides, he didn't care for material things, he could clean it up, take a copy of one of his wedding photos from home, put it in a frame and then on his desk, yeah! That'd be lovely! 

Their offices were right beside each other, in a long hallway in the underbelly of the animation department. The thin strip of corridor was burgundy and being underground, didn't have any windows; lights in cobweb dusted glass shades, shone a yellow ray down on them. The doors to said offices were open for them, they were thick and had engravings of 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs' etched into them... they must've been old. The inside had grey paint spanning the walls, red carpet and a long but small desk staring at them from the end of their rooms, behind that, was a small chair and a window.

"I can tell from a mile off-" Herman replied. 

"Does that hurt your ego?" Roger mumbled. 

"You little! -"

"It's probably because statistically-" Father shoved his hand in his surprising deep pocket and pulled out a wad of paperwork. 

"-Roger Rabbit is more popular. He has gotten more media coverage and as a result, people are taking notice of his acts against injustice and... you're just a baby, not much you can do other than play such, overall that makes Roger more versatile compared to you when it comes to casting rolls. Besides, everyone loves a success story."

Maybe it was just his imagination but Father sounded a bit resentful. Mostly, Roger felt his face become hot with flattery... also, nothing better than soiling all over a narcissist's ego.

"People have been talking about that?" He asked as Herman was going through his: 'mouthing swears and wriggling uncontrollably' routine.

"Injustice?" Father asked; Roger nodded, "Yes... you didn't know?"

"I urm... don't like the news-" He embarrassingly admitted. Jessica only insisted on him getting a paper recently so she could cut out the picture of them kissing in it and stick it to the fridge, he didn't really read it... but if something was worth reading about, social injustice or the funnies he'd certainly catch wind of it, then read it.

"Are you pulling my chain!?" Herman eventually burst, "-what do you mean? Success story?! I'm full of successes!"

"Well-" Father fingered through his stack of papers again, "-according to the toon records, Roger Rabbit worked multiple jobs and owned a one bedroom apartment before being hired by Maroon studios in 1944-"

"You know all that about me?" Roger asked, suddenly feeling naked with all this information just out for everyone to read... not that he didn't overly mind; he'd never done anything wrong.

"They probably have ya freaking birth stone catalogued, how come you never told me you were poor?" Herman spat, his chubby hands on his equally chubby hips.

"I think I might have... also, the way you say poor smells wrong-"

"I haven't even smoked yet! So, don't come at me with that-"

"I mean, insensitive! It was the war; everyone had issues! I had to provide for two peop-"

"Wait- how long have you been married?" Herman’s expression momentarily changed from anger, to baffled confusion. 

"Eleven years..." Roger deadpanned, "but why does it matter to you? Again?"

"...It doesn’t, I'm just saying!" Herman was fumbling now, it sounded as if he was genuinely surprised to hear that. Even though he'd definitely told people before he'd been married for a while, do people just not listen? Or do they think it's bizarre to believe he'd be married for so long... Nah! They definitely don't listen! 

"You can continue this later." Father interrupted, "I'll be back in ten minutes after you've gotten something to eat, then we can look at the set."

He brushed past them, waking down the mahogany coloured hallway until he turned. Expression strange-

"Then, you sign the papers."

.

"Bacon and avocado please."

"Coming up!"

.

Tock,

.

.

.

"I can't believe you've been married for eleven years?!"

"You gave me a figurine of yourself for my tin wedding anniversary."

"So?"

"S-so? Do you even know what a tin anniversary means?"

Herman just stared at him as he sipped on his gin mixed with orange juice through a straw. Then he shrugged.

"Oh nevermind..."

Roger leaned back into his chair. Only having nibbled on the pityful veggie option the cafe gave out; he promised Jessica he'd have beef and that was his meat for the week... if only he weren't a rabbit, then he wouldn't have rabbit ideas and ways engraved into his lines and colourings. He supposed he looked fed up, leaning back with his leg crossed, foot resting on his other knee. But he wasn't, he actually felt pretty calm and optimistic, staring up at the white, steel panels of the ceiling whilst happy instrumental music played. He was just annoyed with Herman really... but that had happened before; he'd be fine. 

There was just something different about this place that screamed heaven... maybe that sounded a bit brainwashed but Roger just couldn't describe it! Only feel the feeling it gave him and said feeling could be felt just by looking around: toons, toons everywhere! More than humans, rushing about and looking professional just like everyone else, papers of scripts under their arms, pastries in their hands, mingling in their own friend groups... he'd never seen anything like it! Maroon Studios was influential and they did have power and money to make expensive cartoons. But the lot was far smaller because Maroon was a stubborn cheapskate (he spent ages haggling Dumbo and half the cast of Fantasia from Disney), even though the studio made tons of cartoons, they only had enough room to film a short and hold auditions at the same time; as a result, Roger didn't really know his allies at all.

It just felt... laid back, homely, accepting. 

'Laid back! Ha! I'm laid back in a chair! Art imitating life!'

That’s all that words he could think of to describe the way he felt.

The music flowed through his ears more freely now that he'd thought about all that, it was welcomed; he wanted a break from his brain. The music made him think of gags and jokes which could be in timing with it, slamming again a door: drums, falling from a building: flutes and violins-

'Oh, the live orchestra is going to be so fun! Acting to a real, live music band is going to be so much more exciting than a playback!'

"- You're awfully quiet."

"Huh?"

"You're quiet, Rodge!"

"Well, it’s a nice atmosphere, music, smells, people! Would be a shame to talk and spoil it." Roger hinted, then rocked himself on his chair; closing his eyes and turning an ear to the direction of the music. 

"Right..."

'Pfft, he doesn't know me at all... Rodge? What does that nickname even mean! Sounds nothing like Roger!'

.

Tick,

.

.

"Here is one of the main stages of your department." Father extended a palm in front of them, presenting the obvious stage, one of many in the animation department. The studio lights and cameras awakened an excitement and urge in Roger, it made him realise: he knew he missed work; he didn't think he missed it this much.

"I thought we were signing autographs?" Herman threw back. He was chewing noisily on some gum. Turns out, going hours with only one cigarette fueling his body, made him more complicated than usual, he was wriggling for something to do and Father eventually tossed him some spearmint gum. Seemed to help.

"An autograph, yes-" Father answered, ticked off. "But we just thought it'd be a nice treat for you to watch some production-"

"Who's acting?" Herman continued interrogating.

"Right now, they're filming some last minute scenes for: fun and fancy free... you-" He directed to Roger, pointing a skinny finger to him.

"'news head,' have ya heard of it?" That nickname was far from what Roger was; he smiled.

"Yep! Come on, I know important stuff!" 

Maybe ol' dad liked him!

"-Well, you can watch them for a bit, I just need to make sure he's in his office, ready for you. Plus I need a drink."

"Okay!" Roger waved.

.

Click, clack-

Tock-

.

.

He knew Goofy was in this upcoming film. So he raced to the plastic chairs, which were a ways a way from the actual set. Herman had lazily dragged himself to be next to him but after a few minutes of silence, Roger got confused. Herman was gone. Probably 'romancing' someone. He rolled his eyes and just continued watching, waiting, hopeful for anything interesting to happen...

Waiting...

Waiting...

'How many head counts do you want, Tim? While we're young as you say, right? Urg ... this is almost as boring as watching the news...'

'Oh well, I'll surely see him! We're... partners now...! Ekk!'

He sighed.

'Okay, let's see-'

Roger looked for his guide, every which way but... nothing. He leaned forward in his chair, his palms supporting him by holding the plastic of the seat beside his knees. However, as he was about to check on him by way of spinning aimlessly until he found the water cooler- The lights dimmed, people were getting in formation and the stage lights clicked on, the white, shining beams stunned him a little. 'Yep, you’ve definitely gotten rusty, Roger...' Then, the director called, in a deep but much more calming voice than Raul’s:

“Alright! Guys! We have 3 months till release; we’re gonna have to knock this scene outta the park!”

Mumblings from staff and backstage sounded like they agreed with him, then, Roger felt his heart leap out of his throat-

Goofy appeared, casually, from behind the toon dining room set. He was nonchalantly pulling up his belt and kicking up a heel as he spun. He then pulled out his chair, plopped down -almost soundless- and took his place card, to throw it to a stage hand nearby, he smiled when they caught it and they grinned in return. He felt his heart pound; this was suddenly too real. Dream territory! Like his wedding day and first cartoon combined! He’d never actually processed being this close, this close to someone whom he’d admired and respected for so many years... He had to be cordial! Make an impression! Be polite and save all his excitement till after the very important shoot... he knew how annoying it was to get interrupted when he was on a roll and he’d not want to ruin any possible acquaintanceship -or hell! Friendship he could have with-

“Alright, come on! Tick tock, Mr Mouse! Donald!”

-The director shouted. This time, Roger jumped slightly; his tone was harsher, condescending, authoritative.

“Just you wait! ya impatient-"

“Can’t I just pretend to be upset?!”

“Donald! Don’t be such a baby! H-Hey! Stop tugging on my tail! Or I’ll pinch your beak, right where it hurts!”

Okay, perhaps he’d misheard; he was a fair distance away from the set... yet that hadnt stopped him from hearing before- distance that is... ‘an optical illusion! I must be further away than I... feel...I am...’ because he couldn’t have possibly heard Mickey Mouse...back talking, or more surprisingly, berating or threatening violence... it was the strangest thing to hear that spoken by such a falsetto, usually cheery, voice. Which... it couldn’t have so why was Roger even debating it? No one on the set even batted an eye; he was definitely mistaken.

“You’re not listening to me! It’s serious! –“

Donald replied. He knew his cartoons, he knew his comics. He could understand Donald quite a bit... something Jessica praised him on whenever it came up in conversation.

“Mickey! Donald! Enough of the domestics, come on.”

Right, so maybe he wasn’t hearing things... but that's fine! Everyone gets stressed on the set, once in a while! Just look at Herman! He looks cute and innocent yet smokes ten cigars a day... if that. Speaking of which... we're was Herman anyway? -

“We’re coming! Gosh, I always have to be the one to clean up your mess, Donald!”

“I didn’t do anything! Why can’t you take me seriously!”

“Because no-one can understand you anyway!”

“You just did! You doggone stubborn rodent! -"

“Mickey!”

“We’re coming!”

That silenced the director and while Roger felt strangely threatened... the director just turned to face away from the stage, rolled his eyes and sighed, he also threw a glance to Goofy, who merely shrugged, a sympathetic smile on his face. Okay I'm confused... Oh! I wonder if Goofy will sign my pencil from that artist guy, It'd look swell on a cute little stand and I bet Jessica would let me display it on the mantel if I-

“Come on, Mr Rabbit, time to sign your agreement.”

There he was. Father and Herman. Roger nodded mindlessly, letting his eyes drift back to the set and Goofy-

“Oh, yes..." he nodded slowly as his eyes sailed east from Father's.

Then he registered what he'd said.

“-OH! yes! Of course, take me to it!”

Herman scoffed; Father just nodded.

“That is my assignment, yes; this way.”

.

.

Tick,

Tock ,

Cree eaaak -

.

Roger walked in first. Just like the contracts, they apparently had to do this separately also. He didn't mind.

It was a pretty unassuming room. Long, high ceiling... but plain and calming to the eye.

There were two men sitting behind a odd looking desk. It had an elevated, diagonal surface for drawing on; Roger thought that would've stopped showing up since the character design portion of animation- they were really gunning for a theme huh? They greeted him with a smile and a hand shake across the table. Now closer to it, Roger noticed it looked too glossy; it was a toon table. Also larger and somehow less tilted; it was definitely decorative-

Tick,

Tock,

That was only cemented when one of the men in Mickey patches, adjusted the table and it became significantly flatter. 

Technology, gosh, next thing ya know there'll be phones you can carry right in your pocket!

“Just for protocol, all of this information is correct, yes?”

   Name: Roger Rabbit.

 Species: Toon.

Gender: Male.

Composition: Indian ink, gouache paint, 68gsm paper.

Height: 3ft 5.

Family: (1) Jessica Rabbit. (Spouse)

Marriage certificate, created: 1936 5^th March.

Place of residence: Toontown, Downtown LA, 48 Messmer Street, Chuck Estates.

Original artist: unknown, owned by Maroon studios 1944 – 1947.

“Yep... that’s right.”

“We thought so.” They smiled.

They took that out of his face and laid flat against the table, his copyright agreement-

Tick-

"Just sign on the dotted line, Mr Rabbit."

Roger picked up the pen next to him. He spun it on the fingers on his right hand before moving it to his left-

Tock-

The instrumental music seemed to dim and light, background buzzing became more apparent, the air felt slower-

Rog -

Tick

-er

Tock

The legs on the chairs of the suits across from him squeaked-

Rab-

Tick

Footsteps from far off and beyond the strong oak door, hurried and pounded-

-bit-

Tock

Full stop.

"Okay! That's done!"

Everything felt too fast now. Tweeting birds were more audible, the smiles across from him less wide-

Roger looked up from the page to met their eyes- then the agreement got snatched away from him and replaced with a thick, stack of papers. The pen he used to write his name, fell limply from his hand at the surprise abruptness. 

"Because this is your first day, you can just look over all the ideas we have mapped out for your character."

"Read through that and get back when you're done."

He hauled the stack of pages off of the desk and when he was outta there- leaned against the door with a sigh. Father reluctantly asked if he wanted any help, his fingers were fidgety and pupils the same, dancing about in his sockets but Roger couldn't really pay him any attention.

What just happened in there...?

He was still smiling! 

This is going to be absolutely, amazingly, bomb-bastically!- just BRILLIANT! 

.

“Hmmmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmmmm.”

“Hmmm...”

Jessica was brushing her hair, humming in front of her mirror, looking up at the reversed image of the dressing room's ceiling. She was excited to get home and talk more with Roger about how his first day of work was but first, she had to finish her shift. It was twenty minutes past seven when she glanced at the clock. At Maroon Studios, Roger worked early and finished late, if they were doing an easy short, he’d probably clock out at about four or five, then he’d surprise her with a bouquet of roses when he got home early. But mostly, he finished late at about half six or seven. That was okay; because Maroon wasn’t a long distance away from Toontown; he could walk it. Disney however, was in Burbank California and they lived in Downtown LA. Luckily Jessica only had to show up to work at seven, the club itself opening at 6:30. Effectively giving her enough time to pick up Roger when he’d be done at six. Her honeybunny said that maybeeee they could do with a better system? Roger expressed guilt for making her drive so much, he said he was being a bother. But she didn’t get the fuss. She enjoyed it, seeing so much of him. So, she stopped him before he started; Roger couldn’t drive, he’d tried many times; he just couldn’t wrap his head around it... he wasn’t one for certain multitasking... slapstick multitasking? A piece of cake! Patty cake multitasking? Equally a piece of cake. Others though...? not so much... that’s fine however; he’ll always be a better lover than a driver.

She picked out a green dress (with Roger’s help), it was a lime green, ruched in places while a straight line of fabric ran down the front, that and a sweetheart neckline, emphasised her thin waist. It was floor length; the fabric hid her darker green pumps. She placed her hair comb down, Roger’s notes to her which she’d collected, catching her eye as she reached for her watercolour set; she smiled to herself.

She clicked open the eyeshadow/paint palette and grabbed a brush from the corner of her desk, wetted it with her tongue and swirled it in the pink shade. Jessica painted her eyelid in between rewetting the brush, until her eyes were done- the base anyway. Next came the face glitter, she packed it on her pink lids, then opened up a pigment pot, the crushed paint was in a lighter rose colour and she applied it to her cheeks, with a thick paint brush. After rouge gouache lips and a coat of metallic shimmer on top, she was done. Sighing, she sat up from her stool and mindlessly glanced at the lyrics to the songs she’d be singing, despite already knowing them by heart.

Looking herself over for a final time, she nodded. Ready; she took her woolly coat from the rack and wrapped it around herself, all before opening the door of her dressing room, to step out into the cold evening. She let out a breath, her face feeling hot from under all the makeup. She turned to lock the door, calm and aloof but when she faced toward the outside world, she jumped and squealed slightly.

Because sitting there, or more rather, leaning there: was a toon, a toon broom. But not a fantasia broom; it had a red broom head and a lighter brown handle. She knew it wasn’t static because it was dancing as best it could, (with being on an incline against a brick wall) dancing to the muffled music emanating from the club. The stilted movement was disturbing; it looked like it was struggling to move but still trying as it shimmied itself across the brick... the music, distant and the rain pattering on the concrete added to the scary scene. The ties holding together its head, spread out like arms whilst the head separated in to two, to imitate legs. Despite how unsettling it was to look at, she wanted to ask if it was from the club, or somewhere around... but her squeal had alerted security.

The broom froze, acting as if it was a lifeless toon prop. She frowned; this meant it didn’t belong to the club. She ignored the bouncer when he asked her what was wrong. Instead she just kept focusing on the broom, squinting at it’s frozen demeanour. She checked to see if the door was locked from behind her, jiggling the handle in a firm grip, just in case it wasn’t as innocent as it seemed. Although it didn’t really ‘seem' anything honestly. She scoffed under her breath, then made her way to backstage.

“Are you alright, Mrs Rabbit?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just a-" she turned to point out the toon... but it had vanished. She stood staring, gripping her faux fur coat in confusion.

“Urm, never mind... it was nothing.” She mumbled.

The bouncer nodded firmly, prior to moving back to stand behind the door open to the public. Jessica narrowed her brows, now alone, she took the opportunity to stare at the place were the broom once was. She inched closer, growing curious and the sparks from the Redcar and the buzz of the rain helped fuel that; she shook her head after a bit of perplexed thinking. Then walked a few paces before holding onto the steel banister, wet with rain. Her heels echoed as she ran down the stone stairs, using the extra key on her chain to unlock the door to backstage.

Shouting and laughter filled the air and Jessica quickly locked the door behind her.

Okay, so that was strange but Jessica had more important things to think about. Besides, the more she thought about it, the more ‘normal’ it seemed... Well, not normal but- not noteworthy. Spooky... weird... but- Whatever. Jessica made her way to the stage, setting her coat on an empty chair as she did. The band were already setting up their instruments when she arrived. The curtain was drawn but the bustle from behind it was loud and busy. Jessica stared down at her gloveless hands. The stage lights glimmered down on her wedding ring. She breathed in and out slowly. She loved to sing, she loved this job. She hated the men but that was easily fixed; she had control on this stage, if she didn’t like what someone was doing, she’d be allowed to do what she thought best; it was her act. If she wanted to kick a guy for trying to look up her skirt, who’s going to tell her she can’t? She definitely wouldn’t take being told she couldn’t, Jessica wasn’t one for not putting up a fight.

“Alright! Positions!”

Putting up a fight. Her hands grew sweaty and her eyes, unblinking. “You didn’t put up enough of a fight; you let Maroon walk all over you... you let Acme touch you-"

“Lights! 10, 9-"

She shook her head. “You promised Roger you wouldn’t do that, come on, just breath...”

“5, 4!-"

“It all comes down to Roger, you’d do anything for him... and you’re not even bothered by it...”

“3!”

“Why would I be...?”

“2!”

“Because you love him! Are you immediately forgetting everything with Maroon?!”

“1!”

Her thoughts were fast, cluttered and unorganised. She sucked down a hurried breath as the curtain shifted, an applause began as the fabric rose; Jessica quickly composed herself, smoothing down her dress. The band then started up the instrumental, Jessica listened closely and counted the beat until her cue. The curtain was up, Jessica saw the people sitting in the crowd, around tables and congested around the runway but she didn’t really see them.

She heard whistling and claps, gasps and groans but she was just listening for her cue.

She felt herself blindly reach for her wedding ring, fiddling with it. For comfort. That somehow made her feel happy, her calm regaining; she was going to flaunt this ring. She was in love, had been for a while and she wanted everyone in this room to know it. Adrenaline pumped through her. A smile forming on her face. Green nails match my dress, she noted when she looked at her ring, she appreciated the fact that Roger picked them even more now. She didn’t care what people thought, truly. But this was her stage and she wanted to make a fool out of every man who thought they were handsome, or cute, or interesting to her. Because- I’m sorry but-

“Here I am, there you be...”

A slower, blue-r and jazz-ier version of the 1929 song: ‘I’d rather be blue,’ began to bounce off of the walls of the club.

“Miles and miles away from me...”

“I can't see the good in goodbye,”

Jessica stayed glued to the centre of the stage; she was rocking slightly, her hips moving along with the song.

“Still...! best of friends have to part,”

“Don't lose sleep and don't lose heart,”

“No need, so baby don't cry,”

She animatedly kicked a leg up, turning to walk to the left of the stage. She stared up to a dark corner of the club, her brain entirely focused on not breaking a note. She heard the crowd in front of her, mostly comprised of men, talking and woo-ing... but she only thought about slowly, naturally, raising her voice as the verse grew shorter.

“I'd rather be blue thinking of you,”

“I'd rather be blue over you,”

“Than be ‘happy’ with somebody else...”

She glanced down at the tightly formed group below her. Their eyes grew wide and sparkled, they nudged the guys sitting next to them, mumbling how she was looking at them. Pfft. Jessica gave them all a dirty look and their faces fell. At the reaction she inwardly smiled but outwardly, she just jutted forward her left hand, presenting her silver, reflective wedding ring. She drew it back to rest on her hip, whipped her hair over her shoulder and gave them all an unimpressed look: raised her brows, lowered her lids and turned her lips down into a judgmental glower. They looked defeated. Perfect!

“I can't live without ya, outcha!”

She sauntered away from the left, to plant herself back in the middle of the stage.

“For you I'm strong,”

She lifted a hand to rest against her forehead dramatically:

“I'm crazy about'cha, outcha magoutcha!”

With every ‘cha’ she jived along: bending her knees to move up and down.

“Don't stay too long,”

“I need a little ah, little ooh, little oh,”

She breathily moaned, for the purposes of a good, emotive song but the audience to the right didn’t necessarily understand that; she looked to them, frowning then walking to stand above them.

“And I'm knocking on wood...”

She knocked on the stage’s structured panels, keeping in tune with her previously sung words.

“Ah, honey hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,”

“It's so hard to be good!”

“I'd rather be blue thinking of you...”

“I'd rather be blue over you!”

“Than be ‘happy’ with somebody else...”

“Will I be good? Will I be bad?”

Glaring down at a man below her-

“Don't be a fool, you fool.”

She used her tiny foot to step on his fingers, they shouldn’t be so far on the stage anyway. He pulled his digits away, shaking them to relive the sudden sting; he laughed nervously, said something to the tune of: “feisty” under his breath to his friend. Jessica tossed him a scowl and made sure he knew she was calling him a fool.

“My little flat, I'm turning that,”

“Into a Sunday school,”

“While you're away, I'm here to say,”

“There'll be no iceman there.”

“Singin' the blues I'm gonna use,”

“Nothin' but Frigidaire!”

Now in front of the band, Jessica raises her hand to the sky, preparing for the final, long, note.

“Still...I'd...! rather be blue thinking of you,”

“I'd rather be blue over you, than be ‘happy’!”

She took a breath-

“With somebody...else!”

Bum, bum! The curtain fell and an applause followed.

-

Jessica practically flew off the stage when the curtain fell. She performed five songs in total that night, pretty good. But all that was on her mind after that was over, was getting ready to leave so she could see Roger; she rushed to her dressing room, too caught up in thinking about greeting him and being flirty to remember the broom from before; she did halfway through unlocking the door. Turning to look behind her, cautious and slightly on edge in the inky blackness of the night...

Only to find... still nothing.

Hmm. Jessica hummed to herself with a shrug; she finished twisting the key, slid herself inside and locked the door.

She wet a paper towel in the small sink, situated in the corner. Its white pipes were exposed, the dish itself was small and triangular in shape... it reminded Jessica of her first, one room apartment. Dabbing the wet tissue on her face made the water-soluble makeup slide right off. Quickly, she then unzipped her formal dress and pulled a more casual, day dress in purple over her head. She kicked off her shoes, moaning slightly at the cramped feeling in her ankles, then snapped off her clip-on earrings. Hastily, she slid into some flats and folded up her green dress; in such a way that she could snuggly fit it inside her bag. Coat all buttoned, makeup cases closed, lights off... time to go home to her honeybunny.

-

“Roger, darling! I’m home!” she called; taking off her coat and draping it on the hanger.

Roger appeared from the living room, bounding over and jumping, after years of practice and routine, Jessica caught him, bridal style and without breaking a sweat. He kissed her cheek and laid his head on her shoulder. She felt his hands fiddling from around her shoulders. He was excited; she grinned.

“Yay! You’re back!”

“Oh, sweetheart! I missed you too.”

-She kissed him properly. He cupped her cheeks and kicked his legs up and down happily, when she pulled away she smiled; despite the water she splashed on her face, she had managed to vaguely stain his lips.

“I’ve got a hell of a night planned, Jessica! I set up your foot bath, put on that quiz show you like! Prepared the hors d'oeuvres and the cuddling train is ready to blast out of the station! Choo, choo!" He bent his elbow and simulated a train horn being pulled.

"Oh! Also! - come on! I want to show you how I cut the slices on the apple pie! I didn’t even use a ruler!”

She put him down and playfully tapped his behind with her palm before following him. She giggled when he looked back, eyes wide and mouth open with pretend offense.

"You just behave yourself, there isn't no line!" He laughed, form positioned like he was scolding her. But he wasn’t, he had a glint in his eye.

"Not on my watch there isn't."

.

Chapter Text

“Miss, Krupnick?” “Your buttons are...wayward.”

Jessica, with perspiration coating her digits, fiddled with the pearlescent buttons on her purple dress; after having a very awkward staring match with the woman tasked with guiding her to the shoot. At her statement she raised an eyebrow, followed her eyes to her chest and eventually spun around; all while her face stayed stiff in a big-eyed look of silent horror, then the door clicked shut from behind her. The door to a different room than her last assignment and the one before that, before that, before-

She let out a sigh.

What is the matter with me? Jessica glowered down at her fumbling hands. This had been happening all too regularly, her sudden affinity for misplacing her keys, drifting off and looking into a corner, daydreaming whilst fastening the buttons on her dress. It wasn’t particularly surprising to be out of sorts given the country’s predicament but Jessica knew that it wasn’t that, in fact she was positive she knew what was happening yet she found herself unable to comprehend it. But why?

‘The chances of him feeling the same way about me are slim to none, you know that.’

The sly remarks, the downward glances, the constant insults and inability people and toons had to take her seriously, why would he fall for a girl like that? He was better suited to a pretty girl, one who’d blend in with the crowd whilst also being acceptably stunning, both in personality and appearance and maybe his artist had already drawn him a love interest? Probably ready to fall in love with him.

That stung.

Changing in and out of several dresses followed and each time Jessica had uneven buttons, or an unzipped back, or she forgot her shoes. She got home at 6 that day.

It had been about three weeks since she first met Roger Rabbit, three weeks since she took the events schedule from the bulletin board and the following day asked him to come to...’fish swallowing’ with her...she would have picked pole sitting but she had worked that day and by then the event had passed; it was probably for the best, Pico Boulevard was about a 15-minute cab drive away and Jessica needed to save money. It hurt, to be struggling to buy coffee and bread whilst working in a world that wasn’t affected that badly by the stock market, that being the fashion/photography business, the magazine industry was hit hard and profits dropped but she still should have been doing better. She was a toon however; someone had to take the credit for her lines on paper, the lithograph colour added to her pictures, they got more money than her; she wasn’t a drawing anymore she was a person. She couldn’t even decide where she lived, her artists- aka bosses, picked this place out for her:

Your living space was in one room, you’d have to pay for showers; as a toon, she was lucky to remain semi-decent looking without a shower- for longer than humans anyway. Toons would be fine in water for a bit but it wasn’t really a good idea to take regular showers if you wanted your ink to stay strong. The price for a shellac varnish bath or shower was more money, much to every toon’s dismay.

Her single room home was on east fifth street, an infamously poor area of Los Angeles. Los Angeles was a movie monopoly and seemed to be doing fairer than other places money wise. Movies meant stars and eventually that meant toons... but she hadn’t seen any toons on east fifth street, aside from the faded.

She was so happy to finally see another toon, especially one who was such an infectious personality like Roger. Even if she wanted to go out and see other toons outside of work (why would she though?), she couldn’t, she couldn’t just move; for some reason, her bosses didn’t want her running away to live her own life without coming home to exactly where they knew to find her, no matter how small the distance was, she was apparently: ‘untrustworthy’ and if she chose to stop paying for her room, she’d just be confirming their judgement, she wasn’t untrustworthy.

Her artist and colourist: Mr Harris and Mr Miller, received requests from photographers in LA, they’d take her to the ‘studio’ for that day and later she’d appear in a fashion magazine or something like that. Every job they sent a cab to drive her to the business side of LA... it just showed how every choice she could make was already made for her.

Prices rose after a significant deflation; things were apparently stabilising but they didn’t feel that way, the threat of war slowly moving closer by the day. America was still traumatised from World War one... leaders insisted they’d remain neutral but that didn’t help the nervous atmosphere clouding the air... and especially for toons, who were disposable, un-killable tools.

But even with all this hurt, this past month had felt great. As great as it could possibly be. The mornings seemed brighter, her smiles felt less put on and she was singing more, when she was brushing her teeth, when she was fixing her hair, when she was in her dressing room.

It was all because of him. He was so happy, he radiated pure joy even though he was job-hopping and living in a world on the brink of war. It made her feel something she had never felt before. He was so purely himself it inspired her. She couldn’t properly describe it but she knew that this was serious; whenever she saw his face something about it drew her in and she eventually figured out why: because it was his, his aura felt safe and even when they were spectating pole sitting or watching someone swallow gold fish, she drowned out everyone else, all the judgemental stares and whisperings, just listen to him and experience the feeling of home he gave her. A feeling she’d never known before.

The day after she had first met him, they attended the lobby’s fish swallowing contest. Clapping and cheering filled the cramped space as the man in a white button down, red socks and greasy hair took a heaping gulp of live fish. Jessica and Roger were tucked in a corner, thankfully ignored by people and covered by the majority of eyes from their low-down position on stools.

“So, what are you doing for work right now?”

Jessica asked, leaning in the direction of his ear amidst the noise, then she looked at him cautiously, nervous at being the first to start a conversation like...this. With someone who potentially wanted to talk more. She didn’t have a clue how to start.

“Oh... Well...nothing really, I was working as a busboy to get enough money to come here, just to find out who’s signature this is.”

He answered, at first, he was unsure but then that enthusiasm reached his voice again and Jessica found herself being pulled further in by his personality. He moved his left arm and folded the hem of his yellow glove over itself to show to Jessica: a smudged signature in grey, once it was definitely black and readable but now, Jessica had to squint to make out the first letter. He drew his hand back; he wasn’t really smiling but a hint was there. Jessica's nose scrunched up at the realisation:

“...You don’t know who drew you?” She asked, tone a mixture between sad and jealous. To be free to move from Oregon, she didn’t really think much about it till now; maybe his artist was travelling? But to know that he did it voluntarily made her crave the same lifestyle and he was trying to find them? He didn’t know the power he had, as little as it was.

“Nope! but wherever they are, they’re definitely not in Oregon, I know that for sure.”

“May I ask how you know that?”

“There’s no animators there!... and not to sound too big headed but I think you need to know a bit about art and animation if you’re gonna make lines as smooth as these.”

She smiled and giggled, chortle being concealed by the crowd’s cheers. Maybe it was just her imagination but he seemed sad that he didn’t get to hear it... but back to business; she had to warn him about artists and their greed-

“My plan is to visit all of the places with the big studios, there’s Disney, Warner brothers, then Fleisher in New York, sure they’re black and white but ya never know, right?"

“That’s... very ambitious.” Not sure how to tell someone so chipper how she really felt.

“Well...I didn’t really think much about how I’d get the word out but...I’m just so happy to finally be here and maybe find my purpose! They can’t keep me on hold for long until I’m replaced with an identical rabbit, right?” He laughed but Jessica frowned.

“...I suppose things will...just sort themselves out.” He opened his eyes after laughing, a genuine smile on his face and something behind his eyes Jessica couldn’t quite pinpoint. Regret? No. But something close.

“So, how did you end up in Oregon anyway? if you don’t mind me asking?”

He seemed to stiffen and Jessica felt guilty, guilty for making someone feel like how Mr Harris made her feel.

“Oh, it’s a looong and incredibly booooring story...What about you, Jess? How’s yourself?”

‘Jess’...that felt nice, like she was a part of something. She was glad when his smile returned but she was still worried she had hit a nerve.

“Urm... Well...” ‘where to start!’ here inner voice jested sarcastically.

“Well...I work as a model-"

“You certainly have the smile for it, Jess.”

Something about how he said that over anything else- not her waist or chest, or legs or hips. Made her blush madly behind her already rouged face. He said her smile, he gave her a nickname! For the first time someone was talking to her and not at her.

“You really think so...?”

“I know so!”

She grinned and her shoulders bunched up to press against her cheeks. He smiled back.

“I can call you ‘Jess', right?”

“Of course!” A little too loud, some people turned in the direction of the sound; she coughed and lowered her tone: “...it has a nice ring to it.”

But... he couldn’t possibly- never in a million years-

Knock, knock.

“Miss Krupnick? Ready now?”

She was still in the room. Purple dress fitted perfectly to her figure; the knocking got louder when she didn’t answer. She stared straight ahead at the wall. She’d known him for almost a month, he wrote his own material he talked about his dreams-

Knock, knock.

She wanted to be a part of them.

.

Knock, Knock

.

...Knock, Knock...

.

.

His skates fit snuggly on his feet. Tight actually...but the director still insisted that he fasten the straps securely -more like painfully- to make for that perfect toon roundness. It hurt. However, looking at Minnie’s bow: unmoving and almost surgically attached to her head. She probably hurt more. 

"I'm nervous, I've never done slapstick like this." She confided in him, "at least for a while..." she mumbled under her breath; her fingers fiddled with each other, her own skates clacking against the grey, matt floor of the corner they'd tucked themselves into.

He ducked his head a little to see her fallen face, when their eyes met, she smiled and he bathed in the sight that was Minnie’s cheeks: different from the usual pale white of her eyes, now they were red. The acrylic used to paint her was a beautiful shade and he was glad he could finally see it.

Despite how pretty she was, she'd need to get a cold water bottle against her to calm it, lest the director catch her without blocked colours.

Although, in this moment, he thought he was allowed to bask in it.

"Don't worry..." He cupped her cheek and guided her eyes to meet his level. 

"You only have a few little falls to do."

Minnie started to scrunch up the hem of her dress. Woolly gloves wrinkling under the intensity of her squeezing but her breathing was slow and deep. Thankfully.

"You've been great in rehearsal! Perfect for a newbie."

Her eyes properly met his, cheeks getting bigger and filling his palm as another bashful smile spread across her face.

"...You'll be fantastic. I just know it."

He finished. Minnie pushed her face further into his own gloved hand. Eyelashes fluttering against his wrist just as a stage hand walked by.

"Thank you..." she whispered.

"No problem... let's get some ice for you, toots."

Suddenly she opened her eyes fully-

"Ice?" She asked quizzically, head tilted and eyelashes blinking rapidly in confusion. 

"You're heating up pretty good-"

"Oh! No!" She yelled, ultimately attracting attention which was the exact opposite of what she wanted, he presumed, "How embarrassing!" She spoke in a whispered tone. She had since backed up and held her warm cheeks in her own hands.

"It's just me, Min-" he sounded almost unsure.

"Not you!" She waved a hand at him incredulously, "Everyone else...!"

He looked out and onto the set:

Goofy was struggling with his skates and Donald was reading over his script; Pluto sat obediently where he'd told him to wait. His tail wagged when they caught eyes, he waved at the dog's 'tongue out' expression, before looking back to his Minnie. 

"Look, we've got at least half an hour 'till Goofy gets those skates on."

She turned to what he indicated. At the sight of Goofy stumbling and falling everywhere but his seat. The stage hands divided: half laughing and half frustrated. Minnie smiled again. 

"So, what's ya say me and yourself take a trip to the refrigerator? They won't even know we're gone!"

Minnie looked at his pale face, at his pitch-black pupils surrounded by plots of pure titanium paint.

Her lips turned upwards into a sweet, gentle grin and nodded.

"You're right, come on then, Mickey."

Mickey held the door open and Minnie smiled... not too sure what to do with his hands now. He decided on clenching them into fists as he walked. He peered over to Minnie, their pale faces standing out in the dark, enough for Mickey to see her smiling to herself, staring straight ahead as their skates clacked and echoed off of the dim walls of the hallway. He swallowed and went back to looking forward himself. This was going well, right? he did everything he thought he was supposed to do? She was his girlfriend, right? Or his wife? Whichever- he felt he was attracted to her but why did everything that they had before... why had it vanished from his memory? 

He didn't want to be rude; she certainly seemed excited to see him when she leapt out of the animation department not long ago. He'd been told about her, how he should act and all that, they had shown him his previous cartoons in an effort to refresh his memory but-

He didn't want to ask if she felt the same feeling; she could get upset and he wasn't trying to be mean, he was just a bit confused. Besides, this might actually be going somewhere good.

They reached the end of the small, unlit, grey, windowless hallway. Facing them: a door on the right wall, it was adorned with two handles: a 'normal' one for humans and a lower one, for them. He then opened a second door for her, letting her step in first with a bow, she giggled and he found himself for a moment, getting lost in his own character, that this mouse in front of him really was someone he'd known since forever. 

But not because he felt like he was falling in love, they hadn't done a cartoon on that yet so, he supposed he didn't really get it but more so: that he should just accept this as the norm; it was easier. 

The 'kitchen' was white and a dull humming was heard from within it, the floors where tiled and yellowing slightly and a circular table sat to his right, adorned with a table cloth, an empty vase, discarded newspapers... Two wooden chairs stood around it. Cupboards lined the back wall, amongst them sat a sink with a curtained bottom.

He watched as she opened the refrigerator, its small build perfect for them, no adjustments needed, it stood on four, dainty, stylish legs but supported a big, spherical monitor atop its head. Minnie scanned its insides for anything that'd fit the bill.

Watching her like that, for some reason, triggered something within him... he felt himself disassociating almost- like he was the viewer watching them on screen. Yeah... that’s more like it... we are the perfect couple! I kind of like this world... I'm successful, I've got a partner...-

"You alright?"

Minnie asked, pulling him out of his moment. She was holding a glass water bottle to her face.

"Hmm mm! Just thinking about...lies- I MEAN lines!"

She smiled. But it felt different than the rest she'd tossed him, she spun around to the sink immediately after, grabbing a dish towel to help loosen the metal cap of the bottle; she wasn’t drawn to be particularly strong. The silence that fell over them afterwards as Minnie drank and closed the fridge, felt thicker and filled with nervousness. He wanted to speak but he couldn’t afford asking anything right now. Not when filming was to start soon. He had to keep it professional. 

He breathed a smile when she connected their hands. It felt forced.

As they left the kitchen/staff room, Mickey noticed something he hadn't thought to comprehend before- the humming had carried on into the hallway and a door sat parallel to the kitchenette, it had the same dull grey aesthetic and wood markings, same dented nature and even a handle that was silver and circular- but that was just the issue. 

He felt Minnie move and link arms with him, humming to herself: Donald’s number which he'd sing in the cartoon, oblivious to his staring at something else. 

The door had just one handle. 

Ringling bros and Barnum & Bailey 1935 route:

September 23rd-24th: Dallas, Tex.
September 25th: Fort Worth, Tex.
September 26th: Waco, Tex.
September 27th: Austin, Tex.
September 28th: San Antonio, Tex.

Dad was 69 years old and their clowning days were far from over but he still insisted on keeping track of the circus' route. "Now they’re in San Antonio," dad had croaked through the phone. Having travelled around America with dad, Eddie had a chance to narrow down the options on where he wanted to settle, Teddy too. Strangely they both picked Downtown Los Angeles, Eddie wanted to live on a street with affordable travel and Teddy liked the fact that he was close to his favourite cartoon characters. Cartoons were a passion of Teddy's which started when they were still on the road:

"You really should come, Eddie." Teddy smiled as they walked the opposite way of the wind, people setting up the tent behind them. "The meetings aren't as boring as you'd think, toons need their struggles aired."

Eddie shrugged. He didn't doubt Teddy, he was just... busy. He had a lot of 'embarrassing-to-admit' fun, reading crime stories in between shows. That was probably selfish but, in his defence, he'd spent the majority of his existence not really knowing what he'd wanted to do. This was a nice change.

"I'll come, just not right now." Is what he settled on.

Teddy on the other hand, seemed like he always knew what he was doing. He's the one who got him watching cartoons in the first place, although he didn't watch them as much but he liked them; Eddie always considered himself a silly soul, that's why he was still involved in the circus while Teddy was already thinking of stepping out and courting someone. Teddy was simply hooked on toons and both of them were- for some reason- very interested in delving deeper than what the library had available. Teddy had found things he didn't like and rightly so. Toons being wrongfully sold, toons going missing and no-one caring... a long list of misfortunes basically.

Teddy found a group of people and out of work toons with the same interest: educating people on toons and their mistreatment. Every day or every other day, he came back home just spilling with new information to tell him and dad. Eddie felt like he was already far more knowledgeable than he was before, just by hearing Teddy talk about things. Although saying he knew everything was most likely false; he'd still like to attend. 

Having being... Two quite eccentric brothers (that's what being raised in a circus will do to you.) They could afford to do as they pleased on the train, of course until they woke up in a new location. Teddy had taken it upon himself to stay at home 9 times out of 10, after discovering his new found fixation; this didn't cause any rifts, seeing as Teddy was pretty long and lanky and wasn't the best adept to backflips and all that; he'd mostly spin plates but he enjoyed it, the atmosphere was infectious under the tent. Their dad didn't mind, in fact! He'd asked Teddy if he wanted to incorporate a tribute to some of his favourite cartoons into the performances.

Looking back, Eddie might have thought his brother was going through another phase, like when he used to wear loafers everywhere, or when he made his own clothes out of discarded drapery curtains. But even years later it stayed and had morphed into a permanent stay within his brother, cartoons weren't just something he enjoyed, like how he used to be really into Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, obsessively so... he was doing everything in his power to air the ugly parts of it all. Eddie was proud of his brother.

Now that he bought an office space, Eddie thought he could actually start to make a (at least local) name for himself: Eddie Valiant, private investigator! 

Today, Teddy came around, taking pity on his bed; he was living in his office space for the moment. Then he asked if he'd like to see the new Mickey Mouse cartoon with him: Mickey on ice. "It's opening day!" Teddy had said, "maybe after, we could get some peanuts and alcohol!" He'd continued. 

When they had left the theatre (they disappeared just as the main movie was about to start; Teddy would hardly watch films that weren't animated and Eddie wasn't fond of the title so, win win!), Teddy was gushing about how he thought the swift movements in Mickey (as well as the rest) were amazing and how you could definitely tell he'd gotten a higher frame rate per second. Eddie then asked how toons changed their frame rate, Teddy surprisingly shrugged and subsequently, Eddie’s eyebrows shot up.

"Same as slapstick I suppose: practice."

They continued walking down the street, the air was cool and the sky: a pale blue. Eddie was sure glad Teddy stopped by, dragging himself away from his shared house with his pals just to visit him; otherwise, he wouldn't have felt the need to step outside, even for a moment. 

"Lunch time!" Teddy heartily cheered as they passed the unfamiliar boarders of a restaurant, brown wooden floorboards made a satisfying sound as Eddie walked across it and the almost mahogany, glossy-like walls, made him feel like he was underdressed...despite the typical tables and uniforms, the friendly prices and ordinary menu...still.

"Pretty 'out of the ordinary', huh?" 

"Well, I don't know!" Teddy smiled, having found a spot he liked after a moment of walking through the eatery. He draped his usual red blazer on the chair's back before sitting down. Eddie felt plain in just a white polo shirt but he realised his brother probably looked like he'd lost his way; Teddy always dressed like he was an artist, sometimes, Eddie would suddenly acknowledge this... he supposed he had become desensitised to it.

"We're not going to live forever you know, Ed, I like trying new things."

They sat in comfortable silence as they scanned the menu, when they'd both decided, Teddy took it upon himself to ask for a waiter. 

"...er, waiter!" He outstretched an arm towards the figure, decorated with the place's colours.

But when the staff member turned, Teddy crawled into himself because that waiter was a-

"Erm- I mean- waitress, I'm sorry-"

Her heels clicked against the floor with each step she took, brunette locks blowing slightly in the makeshift wind she'd created with her long strides, ruby lips were drawn in a judgmental straight line. Teddy adjusted his glasses and smiled sheepishly. Hoping to repair his mistake, he scanned her dress front, ready to compliment it- but then he realised that it was a uniform and she probably wouldn't appreciate that; at that point he'd been staring at her chest for longer than one really should- her eyes turned steely and she tapped her pencil against her pad aggressively, making him jump-

"What would you like to drink?" She asked through gritted teeth. 

Teddy wanted to apologise for the situation but combined with his constant awkwardness and tendency to bounce between thoughts, he became confused and ended up blurting:

"Er-er what about food? -"

"That comes after, right now, what would you like to drink?"

Thankfully, Eddie spoke for them both after that. She didn't look up from her notebook as he did, choosing to only mumble an unenthusiastic 'thank you'.

"Well... if it's any conciliation, I'm glad I'm not going to live forever now..."

Teddy mumbled once she had vanished. He expected Eddie to laugh or at least make a quip and roll his eyes... but... nothing. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his head to look at his brother. He was staring away from the table, eyes locked to the bar, dazed expression written all over his face, he was simply enamoured. Teddy pulled a face that unmistakably read: disgusted. 

"Eddie?" He tried, "Eddie!"

"Wasn’t she beautiful?"

Was the answer he finally received. 

Teddy spluttered. 

"Are you kidding me, Eddie?! She almost ate me!"

"So? I can have preferences."

"Pre- what!? Eh- oh! Never mind!" Teddy glared and slid back into his chair.

.

"Light, damn it."

CLICK.

Roger finally got his lighter working; he set his cigar a blaze and tried to breath in the fog. Cigars made him feel less hungry and that's basically all he felt at the moment. A loaf of bread cost 8 cents and butter was 36 cents. Cigars were only 5 cents each... and he snagged the lighter from some heavy breather downstairs so, nothing for that. When he thought about it however, the bread ended up being cheaper than the cigars... He didn't know that they weren’t edible! Oh well, he's paying for it now. 

He coughed and perfectly circular rings of smoke floated up to the ceiling. 

"Figures..." Roger glowered, "Even the air I breath turns toony..."

He adjusted his place on the mattress, letting his tired gouache joints relax against his mediocre pillows. Things weren't like how he'd pictured, not at all. Two months in the big city...He definitely didn't anticipate being a cleaner, he wasn't the best either; he was clumsy and not in a 'practiced', 'cartoony' way, he really needed to get better at that kind. Yet here he was: scrubbing the floor of some scrawny man and his annoying wife, for basically nothing. He finally became aware of the fact that because he was a toon, people looked down on his existence. He was a replaceable doodle, a feeling-less creation that couldn’t be killed. He could be un-faded whenever someone pleased, never allowed to choose life for himself. Learning all this information about his biology all at once was... a shock wave. 

At least before he thought he just looked funny... now he was a completely different person- being, in fact. It really confused him- still and at first, he couldn’t quite comprehend what exactly everything meant, all he knew was: that he saw cartoons, realised they were like him and suddenly he had the idea, passion, motivation, drive, whatever! to do the same as the comic characters: act, it happened so fast it was inhuman. 'Well, of course.' Roger thought. 

He didn't even know what Los Angeles was- well, he did? But not exactly! It wasn't his fault; he couldn't go to school in Oregon. He couldn't know everything. 

Looking up to the ceiling was when he sighed. Muscles- if he had any- throbbed from the sweeping and polishing that was the majority of his day. He clenched his fists; he was reminded of the extra mess that the woman of the house intentionally threw at the ground, just to watch him pick it up obediently. 

Fun.

He thought if he let the word 'toon' roll of his tongue more, he'd actually start believing it. Although after the train over, then all this aching and smoking- it made him realise that he didn't have the energy to pretend like he knew who he was anymore.

None of it makes sense. He fell backwards onto the mattress, resenting the toon in him. If there was any. Of course, there is! Look at your stupid hands! 

"Everything sounds great on paper, making people laugh... but in real life everything is for people... I'm a drawing! What does that even mean!?"

Something burned within him and when he came back to his senses: his hands were clenched. Fingers were digging into his palms; he felt his eyebrows change his face into something grim; a snarl bite into the cigar in his mouth.

At the feeling of the end of the cigar being cut in half by his teeth, then falling into his mouth, he jerked, spat out the rest into his hands and felt himself feel faint as he coughed up the chewed-up end of nicotine. It looked like a dead piece of mouse was sitting on his bed.

He wanted to swear.

"F- J- J-Jeepers!" Is what he finally chose.

"I hate cigars... but you taste so good..." He cradled the salvaged corpse of his said object in his hands. 

He discarded the ruined cigar and lit up another with his shaking digits, he stood beside the window until the sky went dark, he heard distant yelling and screams; that was normal. He looked down when a different sound reached his ears: heels on pavement. Below, Jessica smiled, cheeks red and eyes big. She waved up at him and he waved back. She gave him a thumbs up, motioning to his cigar and he smiled sheepishly. Then, Jessica disappeared from his view when she pushed open the doors of the building.

Roger stood in the cold air for a moment longer. Breathing out a deep breath of smoke... before slowly pulling himself away from the window, closing it and rubbing the stub that was his cigar into his ash tray, until it was nothing. 

It was weird. He hated every inch of toon that was within him until he saw her. Almost like he was wearing a mask around her. He felt in those moments he enjoyed being a toon. But he shouldn't; that's wrong. Actually not really, the same time however-

She did say she only talked to me because I'm a toon. That's nice, I guess, I've got that going for me.

Men are pigs or something... gotta agree with that, God I'd hate to be that stuck up...

Back to the toon thing-

I don't like it. Well, I do... I don't, no! I don't, well-

Roger, shut up.

He didn't want to handle this, all this pressure and bottled up frustration as he swept some man's floor! Might make him commit murder; combine that with the disgusting uncertainty and...!-

He whispered into the wall closest to his bed... gargled sentences of nothing. A few moments after he closed his eyes against the wallpaper, breathing in deeply whilst. A shrill yelling from outside made him jump; he fell backwards, knocked over his pile of comics/'collection', smashed his elbow into the right wall and finally landed(or collapsed) with his feet directly parallel to the ceiling... a slew of 'be quiet!'s from the two neighbours either side of him followed...but when they ceased, a gentle tapping from below asked him if he was alright. Roger knocked back, drumming his knuckles twice onto the floor. That meant yes.

I have to end this. Now.

He thought, back still stuck in this 'not rehearsed at all' slapstick position. His eyes were struggling to stay open- he had a thought of not moving and just passing out here but he wanted his sheets and awful pillow... when he woke up the next morning, still on the floor and body hurting, he knew what he'd decided. 

But he just didn't know how.

.

Chapter Text

June the 6th, 1947. Happy D-day.

It was a beautiful day! Eddie thought so as soon as he rose, everything was going great, so far anyway. His office was all repaired, his car was getting miles on it, he almost always slept at Dolores'. (Not to mention the eggs in the morning!) Nothing could wreak his good spirits!

Oh yeah... I still have to find something good enough to satisfy Daisy.

Still, not even that could really bother him; he liked work. Sure, Daisy was annoying and he desperately wanted something more but you've got to make the most-

Before he knew it, Eddie was one trillion words of research deep, reading about toon impostors and impersonators, Companies pasts and all that... he was never really versed in anything like this; this was more Teddy's thing, looking for toon related factoids and misjustices. But darn, did Eddie feel himself be suddenly sucked in! He felt happy. This felt like he was connecting with his brother... except not really. But... it also made him feel guilty for not putting in the effort and doing this stuff while Teddy was alive.

Teddy would have really liked Roger.

One thing Eddie found interesting, was that in 1944, "Mickey Mouse" was used as a password for admission, admission to naval officers, who were gathering for an invasion briefing at a southern port, weeks before D-day. He would've known that as well, if it weren't for April of '43. He stopped digesting any kind of toon media after that. But Dolores seemed to have continued, collecting bits and pieces from newspapers. That explained why this snippet was here, flattened between two books on her bookshelf. 

"Working hard?"

A voice cut through his silent fixating.

"Ah-huh..." Eddie nodded. Not bothering to turn around and meet her gaze, too gripped by the animators strike of 1941. He remembered that. That was when Valiant and Valiant was years deep into being a 'reliable' business... and a great example of 'a retribution', talk of the town!

"Hello! Anyone in there?" Dolores playfully tapped at his head.

He jumped. She laughed. She stood over him, a smirk on her face.

"Huh?" He mumbled, slightly anomoured by the light that flew in from the window and how it shone around her.

"You know you don't have to actually find anything, right?" She placed her hands on her hips. Smirk softer and eyes conveying something like: 'be reasonable.'

"I know." Eddie said simply.

She shrugged to herself. 'I tried.' Eddie put his head back into Teddy's old collection of toon books. He'd skimmed through two already but these biographies, they really had him paralysed in his seat. There were more fictional books in the collection; Teddy liked them a bit more. Eddie liked life stories, animators accounts, the history of the work place- Teddy was fascinated by that as well... but in a different way: he loved seeing what the actors got up to at home, the boring stuff almost everyone does. But it really captivated him.

"So," Dolores continued, "I said: when do you think you'll be done?" 

"... Urm... give me a minute, okay?... where do you wanna go?" He mumbled as he turned the page.

"Nowhere... what ya working on?" She leaned over, waist hanging on his shoulder. She knew what those books were; they'd moved them to her bookshelf only four months ago... give or take.

"...Er, well-" He stuttered. Slightly bashful at how his hastily planned 'schedule'... got so easily tossed to the side. Also, strangely embarrassed by his reminiscing.

"Aw, Fantasia, I loved that film!" Dolores interrupted, "... the good parts anyway..." she chuckled. Then picked up a hardback, simply titled: 'Fantasia.' published by Simon and Schuster, 1940.

"Yeah!" Eddie grinned. 

A sweet silence fell between them. Dolores placed the book back down... gently. She looked into her boyfriend's eyes... the biggest smile Eddie thinks he's ever seen, was spread on her face.

"I'm proud of you, Eddie..."

He smiled back, probably equally as big.

"I'm going out to buy some new shoes; I'll be back in time for lunch." She kissed his cheek.

"Okay, I'll be here." He called as she pulled away, her footsteps were loud on the wooden floor... then the door to their room clicked shut... and those clacking of heels... soon dissipated...

The air smelt fresh... the sky was blue and soup was on! In Burbank California.

The days following his first played out mostly the same, except now, he and Jessica forced themselves to get up earlier. Mornings now started with Jessica pulling him out of sleep at about 6:30 (usually, she was the late sleeper...), then freshening himself up ten minutes after, filling the bird feeder at 8 or earlier, followed immediately by a cooked breakfast and a rush to slide into his work clothes: his cartoon counterpart's iconic overalls and bow tie. Then finally, hopping in the car and driving for an hour before a goodbye kiss told him he was bang on schedule:

9:59, one minute to spare! 

Herman however, wasn't as practiced. 

Roger had been reading over the stack of papers they threw at him, making notes on storyboards and scripts. Soon the board would get together to approve their wishes and if Herman didn't look over his homework now, then he'd have to perform an unfortunate scene involving a diaper and a rotten sandwich.

But Roger wasn’t gonna give him the heads up on that.

Normally, they said, the story team would present their ideas to them... but because they had had their eyes on them for all the months proceeding Maroon’s passing, it was just easier to hand them all the plans they'd made whilst. After these cartoons were out of the way, story pitch could properly start and Roger was very excited to be able to get his input in, in real time. He could see it now: "Change those stars to birds, p-p-please!" Then they'll say: "Yes, Mr Rabbit!"

It'd be great! Maroon’s directors always had a specific vision that needed reaching. Disney on the other hand, had artists and artists were... Well, flexible. 

Because most of his day had to be spent cartoon-less at the moment, they insisted he attended 'classes', just to get warmed up! Back into the slapstick groove. After all, it had been a long time and the only physical activity Roger really saw during that time was golf, golf and pat-

"Tea cake, anyone?"

A sweet voice called. Hands flew up and the figure dressed in powder blue, handed the treats out accordingly. 

They also gave him a list. All the things they expected him to do each day until then. Shooting hadn't begun but lazing around wasn't acceptable. Herman had gotten a list too although, he didn't do slapstick... or that much to warrant a warm up. Good thing too. So Roger could only assume he was lazing.

REQUIREMENTS:

1. Hand back notes for at least one cartoon. 
2. Practice form.
3. Look over ink and paint's colour suggestions.
4. Physical exam.
5. Have fun!
6. Repeat until further notice.

The day following his first, he handed back his notes for three cartoons. Then he was basically burning none existent calories for the remainder of that day and the next. After that he swung by the ink and paint department, they were thinking of changing his clothes to blue, yellow or maybe green. Roger remembered frowning. Physical exam was pretty dull and done the same day as ink and paint, just standing on a toon scale; it measured his pigment by way of seeing the weight of all the things it was sitting on top of. If it was still saturated he was in the clear. Ironically, the toon charged with monitoring that was as pale as a sheet of card stock.

"Perfect colour, Mr Rabbit." He had groaned through dull, colourless teeth.

Maybe that was purposeful.

It had only been three days so far but he was almost through with all the story boards. They said they just had to approve his notes and compose a backing track for the first cartoon, in no time, they said, he'd be asked to get dressed in his new outfit and start filming. This was so exciting! Any minute now! Any minute now!

Roger waited, waited in his new pair of acrylic painted, blue overalls.

Truthfully he was being a bit of a (forgive me, Roger thought) stinker. But that's only towards those who deserved it! So it was justifiable. On their second day Herman let slip that he didn't know they had to read that stack of papers. Roger brushed him off uncharacteristically and nobely offered to look over Herman’s for him. Eagerly, Herman shoved them into Roger's lap, stating something like: 'Oh, Rodge, you lifesaver!' Before rushing back to the café to get more alcohol. 

Roger had smirked and just scribbled about two notes in the stack, both of which matched his opinions- if they were equal enough, filming would start much faster! Besides, Herman wouldn't mind, he liked sucking his thumb.

He sat in a chair similar to that of a director's, reading comics until he had to start exercising again. He wished to visit Goofy on his set but movies weren't as fast going as shorts; he'd be there for a while and most likely, with his hands full.

He still definitely had lunch though! But for some reason Roger stayed sat. Sat as stage hands ate tea cakes and Herman drank half his paint weight in orange juice laced with gin. Roger sat, head resting against his fist, legs crossed, quietly flipping through a comic book. He was hungry but he just continued reading. 

Timing and finesse... he stared at the Goofy on the comic page.

He was so excited on that first day, had his pencil and pad ready and everything! But he'd missed his chance, if there even was one... yet that was fineee, then the next day, he was booked... had a lot to do, including the costume change- since then, he'd felt a sort-of-self-consciousness all of a sudden and it was stupid! Jessica had said sweet things to him, back when he confided in her over dinner last night, he was talking about his day, as he always did - he found it strange; It's not like he couldn't handle things changing, he'd just moved companies because his boss was murdered for Christ's sake and after a bit, he had grown fine enough to joke about that; why was his outfit such a big deal? Sometimes he'd have strange episodes of self depreciation and this one, was all because blue WAS NOT HIS COLOUR AT ALL. Jessica had smiled through it all and put a pause on dinner... she got him all worked up and then had to fly off to work! He stayed up waiting for her to get back, sitting in bed, lamp on and wide eyed, unable to sleep after the confidence boost she'd given him. Although... he did feel guilty for feeling such a way... because there was something he very much so wanted to talk to her about... but aside from that-

Why am I acting weird? I don't act like this! I want to get up and run and talk to him now! Right now!

At that he narrowed his eyebrows, closed the book and left it on his chair. He blindly waved to the people who called out a goodbye; his eyes were focused on the path ahead as he made his way to the Studio's restaurant. 

He passed a window on his way there- but stopped. He stared at his reflection through it. The windows are so clean I can see myself, passed through Roger's mind but his loudest thought was how strange he looked. The ink and paint department were insistent: 'you look eye catching in blue, Mr Rabbit! Trust us!' But Roger just frowned. 'Maybe eye-catchingly ridiculous!' He felt like he faded into the wall! Red suited him much better but even the higher ups liked this change so, maybe he was just being silly.

He sucked in a deep breath, chest beating with nervous energy as he willed himself to carry on, carry on and turn the corner-

The reception place he'd grown accustomed to, greeted him. He stuck out his chest, trying to look like he knew exactly what he was doing as he walked like it was nothing, passing business men and colleagues a like. A lady from the ink and paint department gave him a wave; he waved back as they crossed paths, he mumbled a small 'hey' under his breath which... he was most certainly glad no-one heard; his voice cracked straight through the middle of it.

Before he could even manage an embarrassed eye roll- he'd arrived. The cafeteria was right in front of him and above all others, standing 6 foot, easy(with a slouch!), was Goofy.

'No biggy, Roger, just... walk up and say hello! You love people! You're a people pleaser, a people fanatic, you have a people obsession! A-'

"Excuse me!" 

Roger felt someone push past him roughly. 

"Sorry!" He called; not sure if they'd heard him or not.

He had learnt this lesson many times before. He shuffled up against the wall; his gaze was still locked onto the towering toon. Jeepers! He looked like he was waiting for the cue to poison him or something. 

'No! Nobody cares what you're doing, they expect this even. Where were we... right! A people...a person? A...'

'Oh, for heavens sakes just move!'

Okay. Okay. Okay! Roger smoothed out the wrinkles in his new, cornflower blue outfit and breathed in deeply, putting his best foot forward he strode. His hands kept opening and closing back into fists; he felt his engagement ring clang against his wedding ring when he attempted to shake the nerves out of him-

Humans moved and revealed an already established friend group: Goofy, Donald and Minnie. Minnie, surprisingly. 'Oh, great, I have an audience to witness this-'

Goofy had his plate stacked, almost as tall as him! with meat and potatoes, Donald was holding two plates in his hands and a third on his head, he moved from his left to his right foot sporadically to keep it balanced, they were most likely for his nephews. Minnie held a large tray in her hands, it had several dishes on it, obviously not all for her.

He cleared his throat silently. Pulled a pencil and paper from his pocket and speed walked- 

Now or never!

"Hello!" He blurted. 

Goofy looked down to meet his eyes- he's looking at me! Lord, if you're real, save me!-

"So! you probably don't know me- but I know you! Not from school or anything-- not that we go to school! But you know what I mean! Ha ha funny! If I sound nervous it's because I am! I swear I'm not usually this deranged! I've just looked up to you for so long! I really, really love your work! Please sign this! I-think-my-heart-just-stopped!"

A moment of silence- that probably was only three seconds, yet felt like three hours- passed before Goofy just smiled.

"Okay." He said. Incredibly normally...as if that mess of an opening speech didn't just happen right in front of him.

Roger squealed under his breath as his idol, his inspiration, his muse!(Second only to Jessica, of course) took the paper and pencil from his hands.

The tall toon continued to smile as he held and straightened out the paper with his right hand. He twirled the graphite pencil in his left a few times before scribbling his signature, big swooping lines captivated the silence until Goofy met Roger's eyes again and extended the now priceless piece of paper out to him.

"There ya go!" He grinned.

Roger looked down at the note:

'From your pal, Goofy.'

A little smiley face was doodled beside it too. Roger could barely contain himself. 

"Thank you so much-! Ug! Sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly- I'm-"

"I know who you are, silly! Roger Rabbit! I knew even before that whole 'murder' fiasco!"

Roger stood stiff, staring, mouth agape. Did he really just hear that?

"...wha? Re- you? REALLY!?"

Goofy nodded and maybe Roger had imagined it but- Donald and Minnie seemed to as well.

"Yep! It's nice to have some more toons with a sense of humour and actual talent around here!" Goofy laughed. Before looking off in a very specific direction, almost like he wanted someone to hear him say that. But then he looked down at the duck beside him, friendly grin bright on his face. "Looking at you, Don." He complimented. 

Roger faced Donald. He supposed they were somewhat familiar with eachother? Not really, just that for a temporary moment in time, he and Daffy opened Jessica’s act at the club. Jessica had said he'd said hello (at least she thought it was hello,) and had told her she could sing... other than that though-

But that didn't stop his giddiness for him as well. Donald was definitely the most popular toon at the moment, he was Disney's problem child-golden boy! A cool combination; Roger nodded enthusiastically at Goofy’s statement. 

"Hehe..." the duck smiled; looking up at his friend, then Roger from under the rim of the plate on his head. He struggled again, as it wobbled too and thro. Roger stood, readying himself to potentially lift a plate of meat and veg off of a literal legend- but Minnie swooped in, managed to balance a tray with multiple plates in one hand whilst her other: reached out and took the troubled slab of porcelain off her friend's brow.

Her and Roger made eye contact after Donald thanked her. Minnie smiled sweetly at him and he smiled back, still in awe that this was actually happening! 

Also-- TALENTED!?

"You think I'm talented!?" Roger nearly yelled. 

Goofy did his trademark laugh and Roger’s cheeks started to hurt from his wide smiling.

"Artists! So critical of themselves!" Was his reply.

"I wouldn’t call myself an artist! You on the otherhand- all of you, really!-" he opened his arms, motioning to the three of them.

Donald laughed, Goofy turned bashfully modest but Minnie just shrugged, looking like she didn't think she deserved that same sentiment. 

"Hey! I mean it! Really!" Roger said after noticing her down expression.

She smiled to herself, rather embarrassed as she looked off, fixated with a far corner of the room.

"I don't know, it'd be nice to play first fiddle for once... but thank you." She went back to smiling cutely, meeting his eyes once more. 

"You hungry? Why don't you get something and sit at our table?" Goofy then asked.

Okay, my heart has actually. Definitely. Exploded. 

"You mean it!? That'd be great!"

The three of them waved and each declared different variations of: 'see ya!' Before disappearing through the sea of people to sit down. Roger watched them go, standing still... until he suddenly bounded into motion, grabbing a tray and mindlessly filling his plate. Spinach? Carrots? Gravy? Three kinds?! Yes please!

When he sat down, Donald’s three nephews stared at him unblinkingly. He shuffled in his spot... Cleared his throat... Still, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes. Gulping... He turned his attention to his food. He was sat next to Minnie, who now had only one plate to her name. It's contents? a muffin.

Roger had frowned and groaned a bit at that, he didn't want to intrude but it did remind him of when Jessica was ill, not too long ago... When his eyes lifted back up, the triplets were still looking at him. Scarily silent...

Roger tried a nervous smile. That triggered-

"Who are you?" One asked.

"Are you that murderer?" Said the next.

"How does it feel to kill somebody!" Exclaimed the last, slamming his hands down on the table in excitement.

Roger blinked. Goofy chucked and Minnie shook her head with a smile. Roger didn't consider himself 'experienced' with children, despite how he made content which a big population of them saw... and how he worked with a man-child. Despite being married, Roger and Jessica never thought of starting a... quote on quote...family. Because they were eachother's family... plus, rather selfishly, they just wanted to love eachother unconditionally and relentlessly... so, taking in something that required the same treatment, constantly, would be impossible. 

Although, he thought he was pretty good at being nice. That'd work.

"Boys!" Donald suddenly scolded, he sat to their left and even though he was wagging his finger sternly at them, his other hand, was motherly stroking the head of the closest triplet to him, Roger thought it was Dewey. Donald dropped his finger and continued-

"Dont be rude! Let your meal stop your mouth!" He picked up Dewey’s spoon, loaded it with some food from his own plate and piled it, equally, onto each of his children's plates. Donald picked specific items off of his dish for each triplet: a roasted potato, an extra slice of lamb and a few pieces of cauliflower...That might have looked rather forceful if it weren't for how their eyes lite up, or how they turned to look up at their uncle with a beaming smile. Those foods were probably their favourites.

"Yes, uncle Donald." They all cheered. 

Huh, so that's nice parenting. Roger thought. He smiled but decided to still voice that what they’d said wasn't really offensive, to him anyway. Him right now, to be specific. 

"Er- no! It's okay... but no, I'm not... but if I see the guy you're referring too, I'll make sure to ask him that."

The triplets grinned and the speakers hanging from the ceiling began to play an appropriate, happy slew of soft... string-like music...

...

Warner bros studios. Burbank California.

...

...

"Easter Yeggs, act 1, take 2... Action!"

Melodious music played... and the filming lights shone harshly onto one toon, a toon who's grey, fur-like markings, stuck statically to the fake grass as he chewed loudly and comically on a brightly coloured carrot.

The rabbit, who was already well trained in ignoring the harsh brightness- and often times soaring heat the lights caused, focused (seemingly) carelessly on the prop book in front of him. The book was empty on the inside, predictably... but had written on its cover: How to multiply. Which in of itself, warranted no pages, for a toon anyway. 

He layed on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him... he hummed and chewed, hummed and chewed... until a suspicious, persistent moan overpowered the backing track. The rabbit forced motion lines to appear around him. He closed the book with haste and slammed it to his chest, more motion lines scattered away from him before immediately vanishing into nothing. He knew he nailed his expression; in the corner of his eye, he saw smiles spread onto the blurry faces of the humans surrounding him.

He spun around, his carrot and book were tossed into the air; off screen... he noticed the culprit-

"CUT!" The director called, "Camera change!" He twirled his finger and people rushed to met his demands.

The rabbit was lifted to his feet by two stage hands (as if he couldn’t do it himself). The girls took the gag book and carrot out of the shot. Then they powered his face with some more titanium white pigment, lightly dusted over a big, pink, powder puff- all that before getting out of his hair. They flew to stand obediently beside the director. The toon's eye twitched. Suppressed annoyance and anger dangerously close to exploding, all over the set.

He moved to position. The director readied his pointer finger and-

"ACTION!"

A larger, brindle furred rabbit sat, crying big tears into his gloveless hands. He was revealed to be the one behind the moaning. He had his head in his hands... and a basket of brightly coloured eggs beside him as he sat on a log of wood. The smaller, grey rabbit slide into frame, inspecting the sorrowful lagomorph. Quickly he smacked the toon on the back! Although in a more, well-meaning, 'cheer up!' Gesture, that usually required less action lines. But given the other bunny's predicament, it was funnier for big, harsh, spark-like lines, to flutter away from the grey bunny's palm.

"Eeeeehhh? What's up, Doc? Ya sitting on a tack or something?" He layed a hand on the toon's back, comforting-like. Before pulling away to stand upright, hands on his hips as he waited for his co-star to say his line-

The brown rabbit stood, eyes droopy and voice downtrodden with what sounded like snot blocking his air passages- 

"I'm the easter rabbit... and I'm supposed to be happy and gay...ehh..." he sighed, "when I deliver the eggs... but my feet are killing me..." he sat back down on the toon log, cradling his large soles, as more tears fell from his face. He rocked back and forth whilst Bugs answered:

"Well, I'm not doing anything! I'll deliver the technicolour hand fruit, for ya!" Bugs spoke, brooklyn accent getting caught on his teeth somewhat- but that was the appeal, he'd heard.

"I don't think you can do it..." the easter bunny motivated.

"Don't worry, Doc! I'll be okay!" Bugs cheered. Then he hopped happily off screen. The egg basket, hanging securely from his arm.

"Well, remember...! Keep smiling..." the easter rabbit called... the camera focused in on him; he turned his baggy eyes to stare into it and whimpered:

"Every year I get some dumb bunny to do my work for me... ehh..."

The camera held for a few moments, then-

"CUT! camera change! Long shot!" 

Stage hands clambered together and all heaved the toon background out of frame, instead replacing it with a rotating background. For human films, if a shot needed a person to be walking with the camera following them, then they'd do just that. But for toons it was different, it required an enormous, fully painted background to be moving, meanwhile the toon would walk on the spot, it was just easier that way... for some reason. Once they had everything set, Bugs got his face powdered- again. As well as his basket of eggs shoved back under his arm; once he had control again, he itched his cheeks, adjusted the basket to sit comfortably on his arm and readied himself for his cue.

"Okay! Start rotating in... 3, 2... Action!"

A man almost hidden by equipment, started spinning a large wheel and immediately, the background started a slow... but gradual speed up in rotation. Bugs skipped on the spot, in a way only a toon could. Then without getting winded, he sung a tune:

"Here's the easter rabbit

Hooray!

Making life funny

Hooray!" 

Hands flew up, signalling to the man behind the wheel. He stopped and Bugs timed his hault to seamlessly fit-

"Phooey...!" He grumbled.

"I'm glad I don't have to do this for a livin'...!" 

'ha, that’s funny', he thought, face starting to itch again and eye aching to twitch. But he powered through it. When the rotation started again, he almost mechanically, resumed his wide-eyed, smiley expression. 

"I am gettin' looney-Tuney, tetched in the head

This whole thing is gooney, I shoulda stood in bed"

"CUT! Let's see if we can finish the next scene before lunch!"

The set was changed again and a downward angle was achieved. Just for a second however, before it resumed its regular position. Bugs was stood outside a toon shack, grasping its handle-

"Well, here's the joyous bunny's first stop!"

He stated optimistically, before allowing himself in.

Another set change. 'My jaw is starting to hurt...' Bugs thought; he couldn't stop gritting his teeth. Watching dead-eyed, as the other toon to star in the short, got pulled to their feet.

"Here's the easter rabbit

Hooray

The happy easter rabbit-"

He continued to sing, circling around the small, red headed toon, who sat in a wooden box... holding a gun to their lips, imitating a pacifier.

"Here, kid, have an egg." Bugs said and with an outstretched hand, held an egg to the child... After of course the camera changed, again. 

"I want an easter egg! I want an easter egg!" The toon yelled. His pale hand shot up and smashed the painted egg into Bugs' face, despite the Easter theme, it was raw egg that suddenly covered Bugs' face. 

"I want an easter egg! I want--" the toon kid continued. 

"Why, you little--"

The grey rabbit grumbled, a white handkerchief covered his very genuine scowl as he scrubbed away the toon yolk. The red headed child circled him. 

Then kicked him. Hard. 

'Funny how humans think this doesn't hurt.'

"Yeow!" Bugs yelped. The handkerchief flew away from him and the two began to dance- the kid advancing forward slowly... while Bugs cautiously backed up, like a true rabbit cornered. 

Only about three seconds had passed when-

"CUT!"

Bugs stared straight ahead, into the stage lights. He brought a hand up to sheild his stinging eyes.

"What?" He asked. Voice nearing on pathetically drained, rather than extremely pissed.

"Bugs! You missed your line!" The director's form was obstructed by the harsh light. But its presence alone, made his skin crawl and his teeth scrap against each other, once again.

"My wha-"

"Your line, Mr. Bunny, your line!" The figure continued.

The two girls from before rushed to his side. Pushing the script in Bugs' face.

"Look:" the brunette explained, "'Someone'll get hurt, probably me-'"

He nodded, pretending to care. The girls were now getting on the director's nerves, (oh, what a shame) judging by how he called them both over and dismissed the mistake entirely. He instructed Bugs to just carry on from were he left off. He found it stupid how they wouldn't just let him do it again... but he didn't have the energy to argue. 

However, that thought lingered when he, or another toon, did mess up and they shot it again. Why was his slip-up any different? Admittedly however, it didn't bother him that much, it was just something he found himself thinking about when zoning out. This was probably because things like this weren't uncommon. They liked to keep him in the dark about what they were doing. He couldn't read minds, if they communicated between themselves that'd they'd redo that scene again, he certainly didn't know about it.

The call for lunch reverberated off the walls. They had almost finished act 1.

He didn't complain... but today he felt an itching. That itching only grew when people got in his space again, tossing he and Elmer off of the stage, to properly organise it for after lunch. They had shared a glance and in that moment, he'd never felt closer to his estranged coworker. Elmer had shrugged and walked away; Bugs stayed put. Anger boiling and brain bouncing within him-

He was just going to have a civil conversation. No matter how much his teeth ached for an argument. 

"McKimson?" He called.

"Hmm?" The director met his eyes. "Bugs! Knew that was you, what do ya need?"

"Can I just, have a word?" He replied. Fingers feeling heavy suddenly. His nonexistent heart bounced in his chest. "I'm gonna give this mac a piece of my mind-" the imaginary devil on his shoulder cackled. The angel on the other, swiftly rebutted: "no, no you're not."

"Of course, one moment." McKimson smiled.

Another wave of uncoordinated rage filled his being.

McKimson guided him. They ended up enveloped in the dimness of a corner. Stage hands moved about in front of them, completely oblivious to Bugs' tapping foot and McKimson's dumb grin.

"Listen," Bugs began, "I'm not having a rhubarb with you- and I know you haven't been here all that long. But every time you're in the director's chair, everybody's significantly more handsy."

"Excuse me?"

"I can stand up by myself, I don't need people constantly moving me about, do you understand?"

He apologised profusely, Bugs felt a disgusting mixture of satisfaction and rage. Satisfaction at his guilty face... and rage at the fact that this grown man, had to be told that being dragged about bothered him.

"Thank you, Don't let it be a problem again." He responded. Then walked away without turning back. Stride conveying nothing but a professional calm. But inside he was bubbling.

He flew open his star door (not bothering to properly lock it), passed his chaise lounge, piled high with props and just stood, still in the middle of the red- nearing on burgandy, room. He stretched, bending his back backwards and shaking his limbs out wildly. Sighing as a small rush of pain shot up to his head, he plopped into his vanity chair, the pain slowly fading.

'Missed my line...geez, I wonder why.'

“Urg...keep smiling... what a crock of-”

"Knock, knock!" Came a spluttering voice. Despite how well-and-truly frustrated he was, Bugs felt a smile stretch onto his face, without even trying. He lifted his head, through the reflective glass of the mirror, Daffy met his gaze. The duck winked cheekily, pointed finger guns at him and leaned back. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bugs laughed through his nose. He turned around to face him, sitting backwards in his vanity stool.

"Miss me?" He asked.

Daffy grinned.

"You kidding? I was flying without you... I came here to comfort you! Knowing you'd be a wreak without my essence in your presence for longer than 10 minutes...! A mope without a hope without my body close! A horse without its rider...! Consider yourself lucky! If I left you any longer you'd be dead! No need to thank me!"

"Hmmm..." Bugs hummed with a smile.

"That sounded very detailed, duck." He continued, his voice it's usual smug but laced with something else.

"Sounds almost autobiographical..." now in front of the mirror, his smile was bright; he watched as Daffy started to rummage through his pile of discarded clothes. He always stole something of his, claiming that he was only 'sharing'.

"I can see you, you know." He chuckled.

Daffy scowled at the back of his head before meeting his eyes through the looking glass, his pupils looked lost for a moment, Bugs let out another chuckle. 

"Well! I can see you seeing me so, I guess we both can see." Daffy quipped before walking over. 

He nudged Bugs, jabbing his elbow into grey paint as he used his hips to shove him more off of the stool.

“Hey!” Bugs found himself laughing. Glad to get a jolt of joy after the day he'd had so far.

“This stool is big enough for the two of us! Move!” Daffy laughed back.

But with his laugh being... predictably, Daffy, he was basically just taking quick breaths in. To anyone else, it my have sounded like he inhaled a hard candy and couldn't breath- but Bugs found that he liked that he knew it wasn't that, that he was close enough to know... also, it just sounded somewhat nice.

“I am! I’d just like a warning.”

“warning-storming...” Daffy stuck out his tongue. Then planted his bottom, firmly into the leather cushioning of the chair. He gave another mischievous smile, this one read: 'ha, won.'

Daffy started playing with everything on his desk, per the norm... but a bit after he grabbed Bugs' latest script, laughing under his breath whilst he read, the rabbit finally spoke up:

"How did story pitch go?" He asked.

"Let me tell ya, it's no 'Daffy Doodles'... who's running the show down there anyway?" Daffy replied, turning a page as he did.

"The same macs that always have...” Bugs frowned. Absentmindedly playing with the makeup pots in front of him.

For something like thirty seconds, he just watched Daffy as his fingers fiddled. Daffy kept flipping through pages and giggling. Eventually, he met his eyes. He smiled, softly and silently, sweet and sincere. Happy. Bugs found himself throwing a tender smile back.

"Are you alright?" The duck asked, breaking the silence. He was less 'looney' than his normal self. More cautious and quiet.

"I'm fine." Bugs responded plainly. Picking at the vanity's peeling paint.

Daffy tapped his hand.

"Don't do that, it drives me crazy." He unintentionally spat all over Bugs' face.

"It's my table." Bugs retaliated. Wiping saliva off of his cheeks.

"You... you look different, what happened?" Daffy continued; with some hesitation. 

No response. Bugs will admit, he really didn't have a valid enough reason to want to blow up so much. The girls were annoying, the filming process is long and tiring... watching one off toons can be painful- but it wasn’t new.

Daffy wasn't good at being a comforter and Bugs found himself appreciating that in the sickest way; Daffy would ask or press for details if he saw he was upset but he wouldn't get very far; he wasn’t the biggest fan of awkward atmospheres. He'd say something nice, give him a leftover chocolate bar and excuse himself from the room until he felt like it was over. Bugs didn't have to speak about it and that was a good thing. The things he'd been doing recently, he was in no way proud of... and he honestly wanted to just go on like they never happened once he'd had his fill.

But apparently trust was good in a relationship. 

"... do ya... wanna talk about it?" Daffy's voice was painfully cumbersome. His face the same, when Bugs looked at it he chortled.

"I'm fine. Just frustrated."

Bugs knew he shouldn't have said 'frustrated' as soon as it left his mouth.

"Who was the director?" Daffy spoke with a greater level of confidence than before, "If they're anything like that Bob Clampett was, then he's definitely got a bias. Why do those types work with toons anyway?"

Daffy scoffed.

"Talk about Bob Clam-sweat, peee-ewww! Oh! Ahoo! Ahoo!"

The toon was an enigma. Something was misleading about him. People assumed that he was stupid, silly, daffy, every minute of the day. He was silly, he'd loose himself in his silliness sometimes, joking around and poking fun when he really shouldn't, doing his famous scream-laugh whilst... but he could also be endearingly oblivious. Sweet when he wanted to be... but also ruthlessly sarcastic, dry witted, smart and selfish. It was strange. He wasn't supposed to be like that... but he was.

They drew him to be silly. Just in the same way they drew Bugs: they sketched into him ideas of extreme sneakiness and calculation! But he was also suave and cool... extroverted and strong-willed... that's what he felt like he was, not to sound too conceited. His scripted equivalents more exaggerated responses did appear, just in slightly different situations. But that was still him.

But how could Daffy own sarcasm and unknowing narcissism like it was ingrained into him? It was amazing.

"You know why, Daffy..." He decided to answer the question instead, "...but no, seriously, I'm just tired." Bugs responded after a moment of blind staring.

'Why do those types work with toons anyway?'

Because we're just props... which people can project their disgusting opinions onto with little to no backlash-

But it wasn't a director like that. Well, Bugs couldn't really tell; he was only directing since '46 and despite common misconception, people can have a year of good behaviour under their belt but still never show their true colours... the director was Robert McKimson and Bugs was disappointed that a talented guy, especially for his age, turned out to be another toon-user, without even knowing it, no less.

"So... you're okay?" Daffy was cringing.

'Poor guy...' it was funny to look at though.

"Yep. Do I look okay?" Bugs smirked.

"I think you look great!" Daffy mellowed back into his usual 'fast talking', eccentric self; then he mumbled in an embarrassed tone:

"Just... wanted to check..."

Okay, that was just sweet.

Bugs couldn't help but beam. He had the gross urge to smother the toon in front of him with all his love.

“Where do ya wanna eat, duck?" Bugs tried his best to elevate his own, genuine happiness, by using his voice. Talking louder and a bit higher. Pushing everything else in the background of his mind to the deepest corners, just to live in this moment.

He even brushed his hand over Daffy's. The duck looked up, wide eyed at the grey bunny's warm smile. He immediately glowed, smiled like he'd won an academy award and Bugs felt sickly-sweet knowing he could do that to someone...

"Anywhere that sells chicken." Daffy answered.

They walked to the reception together. Daffy waved when people called his name, a smile -which shifted from excited to smug- prominent and wide on his bill... but Bugs didn’t even look when people waved in his direction.

The hare opened his mouth to speak when they arrived at the desk- but Daffy had already inacted that same plan. They were both extroverts at heart. Daffy liked being lazy but he was still outgoing. If that made any sense... their synergy in that moment made him grin a bit. But not for long.

Daffy big-headedly 'sweet talked' until the woman behind the counter got the message. She handed them a pair of toon 'passes', lanyards that were reserved for toons; they'd definitely be recognised and hounded in public, by children and super fans and idiots. Although... not many people really cared because toons were just 'a thing', surely some of the novelty had worn off since 1908. But there's still a lot of humans who don't know everything about toons, or cared to know.

Yeah, they couuuuld eat at the studio... but he and Daffy preferred not to.

The cards dangled from their necks as they walked. The colours were bright and 'brand' red. On it had the company's name as well as a string of bold words, written in yellow text:

“Yes, I’m me but I’m on break. No looney business, please.”

Per-request, they stopped at a random place. Because of course they had chicken. 

They did this most of the time. But generally they liked to 'spread themselves thin' when it came to this stuff... that meant, a majority of the time, they'd be eating at a different place.

"Lay off the carrots." Daffy said once they'd received their food. Both comfortable and seated.

The duck lifted a finger to the sky. Sporting a 'matter-of-fact' attitude, he continued:

"I can't be with someone who has orange hands." 

Daffy was just being silly. He was just heightening and exaggerating his emotions. Because it was funny... and he was happy. Bugs pulled a lopsided grin.

The hare hovered over his meal of vegetable soup and carrots.

"You know full well that only happens to humans." Bugs pulled his side of carrots closer to him, shielding the dish with his arm. "These are real carrots; don't deprive me of this." He semi joked.

"Fine, die young, see how I care." 

He was slightly disgusted at Daffy's poultry lunch; being a bunny, he was drawn to vaguely resemble as such and sometimes that resulted in toons of this kind, having tendencies that aligned with their real-life animal counterparts. Even if the tendencies were untrue, if the artist who drew them thought they were, there was a possibility they'd gain it, by sheer force of imagination that flowed from the artist to the pencil.

He couldn't stand meat, cheese... or anything like that. 

Pure black coffee, oatmeal in water, fruits and vegetables... It wasn't everyone's favourite but it was his.

Daffy on the otherhand-

He was nothing but salt and sugar: a glass of chocolate malted milk, sat tall beside his plate of fried spring chicken and french fried potatoes.

It was weird to see an anthropomorphic duck, chomping down in his 'not-really' cousin. But whatever. 

Daffy kicked his legs back and forth happily, chewing while wide-eyed and without a care in the world. Bugs found it cute, as anyone should... but he was also, just ever so slightly... ashamedly jealous... at how comfortable Daffy was within himself... especially! When he'd suddenly realised, that people from a table opposite them, were staring openly at him, at them. Whispering loudly to themselves about how: 'that was Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny.' To prove a point, Daffy opened his eyes as wide as he possibly could and stared straight back.

The table that fixated on them, were a family of four. The children were teenagers and despite the fact that Warner and Bugs alike, prided themselves on how the looney tunes were for a more... 'adult oriented' audience, seeing two adults in the flesh, geek-ing out whilst their children hid behind napkins... was a sight to see... and not exactly a pretty one.

"Isn't he ridiculous?" Said the father of the family. Pointing at Daffy's expression. 

"Do you even hear yourself? Because you're sounding more like the ridiculous one, mister." Daffy whispered to Bugs from behind his greased hands.

Soon; the kids dragged their parents out of the restaurant. Bugs breathed deeply once they'd vanished. 

"Why do ya think it's called a cartoon?" Daffy asked once they'd left. He'd said it as if what had just happened, didn't.

"What?" Bugs turned to face him. Humoured. 

"I get the toon part, just not the first bit-"

"'Car'?"

"Yeah, why's that?"

A brief silence passed as Bugs went back to eating his carrots. Daffy waited expectedly, his palms were flat on the table, his pupils curiously staring him down.

Bugs shook his head.

"... Why do ya think I have the answers to everything?"

"You know," Daffy stuck up his nose... beak? Whatever it was, he stuck it up.

"Porky said the same thing when I asked him: why's it called 'piggy back'?! I need more intellectual friends..." 

The duck retorted, finishing off his sentiment with a loud crunch of a fried potato. 

Bugs sat still for a moment.

"... Why is it called 'piggy back'?"

"See!?" Daffy perked.

Several loud gulps of malted milk, then resounded-

"... Speaking of cartoons!" Daffy started once he'd finished. Chocolate covering his lips. "Are you going to take me to that Disney travesty, once it comes out?"

"If you're positive-" 

"Positively!"

"You're not going to make commentary the whole time?" Bugs raised an eyebrow. 

"Nope!"

"Really?" He wasn't convinced. 

"Yes!" Daffy raised his voice. Frustration rang clear in his response to the hare's smug trepidation.

Anyone else might have found it strange how Daffy wanted to see a film staring his, diametrical, mallard rival. However, Daffy and Donald’s act -and therefore, conflict- was scripted, if it wasn't obvious enough... and any mac who didn't know, could easily find out otherwise if they read the club's playbook:

'All acts are throughly premeditated as to not cause harm to our audience.'

"So what if I'm loud and overbearing?! You still fell for it." Daffy crossed his arms.

Couldn't argue with that.

“...Daf, stop fishing for compliments, you know you're-”

'One fish away from becoming a heron.' is what Bugs was going to say... but-

“-simply the best..?” Daffy grinned.

"No, actually you're-"

"The most devilishly handsome toon- NO! MAN! In the the world?" The duck continued to interrupt, attracting a few stares with his sudden rise in volume. 

"I'm never going to speak, huh?" Bugs deadpanned. 

"Fine!" He spat, literally and figuratively, "Trample me with your disconcerting words...! Which I'm sure you're struggling to think of on the spot."

With a roll of his eyes, Bugs conceded; in a way (as well as many others) he knew best: surprise.

 "...Alright...!" He sighed, raising his hands slightly before lowering his voice from a loud exhale of breath, to a hushed whisper, one only Daffy and the hard wood of the table could hear:

"Ya got me, ya Hotsy-Totsy bird, you." 

He remarked teasingly. 

That stunned Daffy. Just as predicted. 

After chugging down the rest of his beverage in an effort to calm himself, Daffy rolled his shoulders and giggled. Half surprised and infatuated, half (which towards the end, fully took over) conceited validation. 

"Aww... thanks."

"No problem." 

A moment of silence passed; this time, Bugs was expectedly waiting. Watching as the toon beside him, just resumed eating his chicken with his hands, eyes somewhere else.

"...Ahem." he eventually coughed. 

"Yes...?" Daffy looked up from his plate, a sliver of food hanging from his mouth. Bugs didn't give him an answer.

"Sore throat?" Daffy guessed.

Bugs planted his face into his hands. 

"... urg... and you say:..."

The duck blinked... and for a second, just stared at the floor. Puzzled. Then realisation lit up his features-

"Oh! Sorry, you're a bird too."

"Thank you." Bugs groaned. 

“Did ya hear about Maroon?” Daffy derailed after a gasp left his beak, clearly indicating: that he'd meant to tell Bugs this far sooner but had forgot. 

“What’s to hear? He kicked the bucket.”

“No! Back in Downtown, they say they’ve got an animation department down there!”

"I thought they couldn’t draw." Bugs stated. His non-question, was charmingly muffled between audible chomps of carrot.

Daffy shrugged.

“They’re learning too..."

The hare nodded. He looked down at his plate... he was saddened, saddened that his bowl of orange goodness, was almost empty-

"Bugs?"

He focused his attention back onto his date.

"Yes...?" He asked apprehensively; Daffy seemed strangely focused and serious... looking blank faced at Bugs' own. His eyes were big and locked onto him confidently.

"I'll get better at romantic ques, I promise."

-Was his answer. He tilted his head afterwards, an infectiously happy smile, then spread over his face. 

Bugs felt his face burn pleasingly... he was in awe. Smiling wide he whispered:

"... Thank you."

All of the joyrides and pain... somehow they didn't matter in comparison to seeing Daffy smile, his smile was so uncharacteristically sweet... loving and grounded, without a surprise punchline... or even a suspicion of one. Bugs felt his heart ache with happiness and cold-hot chills ran up his arms.

He couldn't stop grinning as he continued to eat his carrots.

.

Daisy was so stubborn.

In more ways than one. First, she told him what he already knew:

Her and Donald had a public split, she applied for full custody- she had to wait around two months for the court hearing to actually happen...

Which is completely normal. But she acted like it was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened. That was probably heightened by the fact that during the preliminary hearing, Donald was having a far better time than her, things were obviously in his favour. It was only after that- after months of self preparation, only to be absolutely plummeted by Donald’s clean record- did Daisy realise that she needed help.

With maybe 12 weeks to spare, in which time the court would write up their final report. Daisy came to him, with wads of cash in her pockets..

She really should’ve bit the bullet and perhaps he should’ve denied her request, after hearing about the story thus far, that is. But Eddie was still struggling and the job paid well, especially from A-listers like Daisy. Plus, he liked snooping.

But just as Daisy’s story went: Donald was spotless.

His temper was barely existant, only truly apparent when he played monopoly or some other game... and you couldn't go to hell over a bad temper. It wasn't even destructive. In the cartoons, when he worked with his nephews, they were always smiling cheerily, this was because they found it funny to watch their uncle fake-explode; he wasn't like that at all.

Daisy said Donald had just about gone crazy, Eddie listened when she'd explained and admittedly... it did sound bad.

He'd been gone a while and Eddie could sympathise with that.

She said he had difficulty sleeping, he didn't like crowds, he was hyper-alert, trying to gauge every possible threat when they were out. He wasn't angry or abusive but he was more distant with her- and even with the kids at first. But he quickly fell back in love with them, so quickly, she was sure the children barely realised. But in love with her? He was not.

However... Eddie was uneducated about toons and 'brain health'... Teddy wouldn't have been- but he was. So when he researched the topic, working at his best-est ability... all he found was how studies deemed: the possibility of toons having 'illnesses of the brain', inconclusive. Either way, Daisy commented on how Donald was seeing some: 'toon help'. He'd never hurt anyone in one of his 'dazed' episodes, he fed the triplets everyday, dressed them, cleaned them, entertained them, he wasn't incapacitated... so he was, again, in the clear.

Eddie had about given up. Actually, probably fully.

But oh well, like Dolores said, he didn't have to fulfil her needs to still be paid. An eye for an eye...? A nickel for a... dime?- basically, she was rich and he wasn't so who cared anyway?

So he continued to read his brother's old books. Some were more... childish than others... but even those Eddie found himself liking somewhat. He had not a care in the world as he continued to read, a book more to his tastes: The history of toon evolution. 

First with caveman sketches, then Egyptian etchings, years of these drawings, each bearing the same goal: ingraining life into the lines. Zoetropes were revolutionary, soon afterwards, came the first toons. It was at this point when Dolores came back. She'd asked him what he wanted to eat, he said pork and as he read about the introduction and later semi-abolishment of speech bubbles, the salty sweet smell of bacon filled the apartment.

The golden light and cool air that flew in from the window made Eddie smile deeper- he didn't even realise he'd been smiling.

Dolores yelled that she'd be plating their food in five minutes. Eddie called out a response, then turned another page. He was reading a section on: 'the rising stars of the 1930s.' 

These included: Popeye, the Looney Tunes, the original Tom and Jerry, now Dick and Larry... and coincidentally (or not really) Donald Duck, who first appeared in film, in 1934.

Humming pleasantly, Eddie continued to bounce his pupils over the words-

Then he stopped. His eyes fell on a sentence... a bit further down than his original placement. He pulled a confused grimace, then moved his face closer to the page, as if his eyes were the problem- but this wasn't a 'Tragic Life of Porky Pig' where something like this would be an obvious smear.

No, this was official Disney, official Warner, official Fleischer- it was a history book. Said so right on the cover, engraved in silver metallic... there was no mistaking it.

His finger moved under the words he thought he'd seen, his inner voice repeated the sentence over and over... his brain was bouncing, excited at this new revelation! But also worried... dreadfully puzzled and perhaps a bit... downtrodden at the sentence... so much so, that he started creating storylines that would make what he'd seen better- make them make sense... but they were stupid. This was real.

This was it.

"Take that! That and that!" The small toon yelled, thrusting a generic medieval blade against one of the same make- the owner of which was his identical brother. Only right now, he didn't have any brothers; right now he was the world famous, world adored... Denis Fowl!

What was their uncle's friends' office- was also a pit, filled to the bottomless bottom, with golden coins, a wreaked ship and a dismantled fairytale cottage. A cottage that was also known as: a large wardrobe all three could squeeze into. 

Medieval swords? English style cottages? Pirates? Yep, the timeline was thoroughly thought through. 

Spinning so his emerald, silk cape danced around him, Louie- no, Denis Fowl, took the high ground. The dismantled ship (vanity) wobbled dangerously beneath his feet and strangely, his pursuer: Michael Rodent reached out to brace him.

But once he found his footing again, they resumed their positions.

"You'll never defeat me, Michael!" Denis jabbed his sword into the villian's bubble. "This has gone on far too long!"

Michael straightened his posture, scoffed, then adjusted his helmet.

"You don't know who you're dealing with, I am the almighty!-"

"Enough! Pathetic lifeforms!" 

A thundering voice interrupted. 

"Oh god! Not the ruthless... evil, vile-!"

"YES! tis I... Dewey duck!"

"Dewey!"

The golden coins, the cottages, the pirate embellishments- they all faded as Louie broke the reality. A silk cape was actually a green dress, with it's arms tied around his neck, imitating a cape. Albeit a very weird one.

Huey's helmet, was his red cap; just altered with black lace and red flowers. Two fake roses, in fact. They were attached to the sides of the hat. Almost like ears.

"What?" Dewey asked, he looked confused as he stood: high upon Minnie’s desk.

"You're supposed to be Dewdrop Duck, not yourself!" Louie scowled.

"Yea! I was writing the script before uncle Donald tucked us in! Remember?" Huey affirmed.

Dewey jumped down from the desk, grunting and rolling his eyes.

"I don't want to be her!" He confessed, "I want to play Denis!"

"It's my turn to play Denis! I earned it!" Louie stated, outstretching his arm when his brother came closer. Keeping a distance between Dewey and the dress thrown across his back.

"He's right, Dewey-" Huey mumbled. Spectating his siblings awkwardly. 

"Fine!" he relented. "But can we pretend that for this scene, Dewdrop is still trapped in the caves from before? I wanna be me."

Huey and Louie debated the question in a shared glance, not happy that their story (mostly Huey's) was being changed; when they looked back to Dewey, he was comically pleading. Eyes wide and pupils big, hands clasped and lip trembling. That always worked on uncle Donald, all three of them could attest to that. But being on the other side of it- it was really hard to say no.

"Well... okay, I'll just rewrite it at home." Huey sighed.

"Okay! Rewind!" Dewey brightened up and ran back behind the desk. At that, his brothers followed: moving back into their places.

Louie cleared his throat; the scenery from the fantasy, slowly floated back into the room.

"This has gone on far too long, Michael, give up!"

"Denis! You don't know who you're dealing with... I am the vengeful!-"

"Enough! Pathetic lifeforms!" 

They both spun. Faux gasps escaping them.

"What you see isn't a mirage... yes! Tis I... Dewey duck!"

The following five minutes contained: a mad chase around the office, things from shelves fell, papers flew- but the triplets each took turns in pursuing eachother, all oblivious. Each of their character's motivations, were written out and solidified. Each of them, had an objective to fade at least one of them. Denis was the hero, the only one's who wanted to kill him were Michael and Dewdrop.  

In the original script, Dewdrop was supposed to fade Denis. But in a magical miracle of love, Denis was to return. Getting back up when he was knocked down, just like always!

But now the script had been switched, no-one knew what they were doing; they all ended up chasing eachother with cardboard swords, laughing. Instead, wordlessly exchanging their story game, for a game of tag.

Louie ran, lungless body somehow out of breath. He reached forward, finally poking Dewey with his craft weapon.

"Nooo! I'm dying!" Dewey haulted. Then limply fell onto the messy floor. He reached a hand up to the the ceiling, rolling his eyes back and groaning.

"I'm... fading into... 2d lines... this is it! Lights out...! Goodbye cruel world!-"

Click!

All of their heads spun, they were like three needy dogs. All of them hoping to see-

"Uncle Donald!"

They celebrated. The three, then dropped their weapons; running joyfully. Readying themselves to jump into their uncle's grasp. Donald, who's arms were open wide, stretched a smile onto his bill. 

He wrapped his arms around them. 

He kissed them each on the head. Three times for each duckling and after one final biiiiig squeeze, he dropped his hold. Standing up and smiling down at them. 

"I missed you too." 

They looked up at him and smiled. Movement suddenly came from behind the doorframe. The triplets watched, curious, until their honorary uncle Goofy appeared. 

"Hiya boys." he waved. 

"Hello, Goofy." they replied in perfect unison. 

"You boys, better help me tidy this mess for Minnie." Donald extended an arm to the pile of clothes on the floor, also know as: the heap of golden coins. The triplets smiled nervously. 

"Supper's waiting at home." Donald cooed. Patting them on the head before guiding them further into the mess.

As they walked, the jingling of metal was apparent; in uncle Donald's gentle fist, was Minnie's office key. That answered the question of her absence. She probably went home. 

Donald opened the curtains to reveal: an almost ink-black sky, staring them down. 

They didn't realise how late it'd gotten, that's movies for you, shorts are shorter. 

They'd filmed later before, just not recently. 

Yeah, she'd definitely gone home. 

"I want cheerios!" Louie cheered.

"I want marshmallow cones!"

"I want yum-yum cones too! Actually- both! Can I have both uncle Donald?" Dewey bounced on the balls of his webbed feet. 

"The windows aren't open." Donald commented; the little ducklings began to run and jump around him, "-it's like a green house in here!"

"Uncle Donald! Uncle Donald! Are we gonna be in the film yet?" Dewey asked. 

"I don't think so-"

Cool air filled the space when Donald clicked the window latch open-

"Uncle Donald, look at me! I can finally cross my eyes!"

A short quiet blanketed the room as everyone turned to Heuy, who for a moment-struggled to actually get his eyes to stare into the centre of his face. After a few 'wait-'s and 'let me start over!'s, he pulled it off.

Three pairs of eyes, just blinked several times at the sight. 

Donald praised him however. Clapping and having... perhaps, a bit of an overzealous reaction to just some crossed eyes. But he was a hundred percent genuine. 

"That's great, Heuy! I'm sure it'll come in handy."

"Uncle Donald!-"

"Louie sweetheart," Donald interrupted-

"You're going to trip over that dress, it's scaring me." 

Louie looked down at the hem of the green dress that still hung from his neck. His uncle then untied its arms, causing the garment to be removed from Louie's self. 

"I don't want you to strangle yourself." 

"I know what I'm doing!" Louie laughed. 

"Well... just ask Minnie if you can wear a different dress next time, a shorter one."

Donald compromised. He loosely folded the dress in his hands, then collected some disgarded garments from the floor. 

As he walked away and to the wardrobe - Dewey leaned into Heuy:

"We were supposed to ask...?" he whispered from behind his hand. 

Once Donald organised the clothes back into their separate drawers, he turned- and with an optimistic but authoritarian clap of his hands, stated:

"Now, tidy-up, then you can get your yummy cones-"

"Yum-Yum cones, uncle Donald." The triplets corrected.

"Yummy, yes... come on, clean up."

The team of five dispersed. Starting from the corners of the dismantled office- and working around, until they were in the middle. 

"Thanks for sticking up for me today... and last time." Donald muttered as they moved along. Goofy shook his head earnestly. 

"No problem, Don... sorry I had to hit your caboose...haha..."

"No, it was better than having their vision seen... I just hope I did it well enough-"

"I don't see the fuss, you're a great actor Donald, you even convinced me you were a starving farmer on the brink of madness back there-"

"It's because they think it's funny... or atmospheric... I think, I'm not sure."

Donald shrugged with nervousness wriggling under his skin, then an unexplainable rush of-

He closed his eyes tight. Gripping the cup in his hands -or more rather, squeezing it- until his paper knuckles were as white as his 'feathers'. He took a few deep breathes... before finally peeling open his eyes.

All better.

Thankfully, Goofy hadn't noticed. 

"You're gonna be okay, Don, I promise you." The lanky dog encouraged. 

Donald forced his face to make a smile.

"Uncle Donald!" One of his children had skipped over- "Look, look! An empty champaign glass!"

"Put it back, Dewy."

"Aww..."

"Uncle Donald! What about this notebook? It's sparkly!"

"I'll buy you a nice sparkly book of your own tomorrow, Heuy; put it back-" 

Afterwards, he aimed his attention back at his friend, "Thanks, Goofy."

Another impassioned expression washed over the toon's face-

"Don't mention it... Good luck on your report, I know you'll win!"

"That means a lo-"

"Yeah!" Heuy barged into their conversation. Confidently beaming.

"Definitely!" Dewey added.

"Promise you will, uncle Donald!" Louie begged, more on-edge than the rest.

Donald’s heart ached at the sight.

"Oh, boys... no matter what happens. I'll always be your uncle." He kneeled down, brushing his palms over each of their heads.

They didn't seem too satisfied with that answer. They pulled their uncle down by the neck and shoulders, just to hug him more closely. Goofy stood tall above the scene.

"Listen to me! I know he will! Ya see, your uncle Goofy can see into the future...!"

"OooOooo!" The three immediately brightened. Faces hopeful and souls hopelessly gullible. 

"Goofy sees happiness...happiness and..." he pressed his hands against his skull. Groaning as he convincingly pretended to be desperately making out a vision.

"Champagne?" Dewey butted in.

"Sparkly books?" Followed by Huey.

"Aunt Daisy’s paint smashed into the dirt!" Louie hit his palm with his fist-

"Louie!" His uncle chided.

"What?" The duck shrugged. Heedless. 

"Well!" Goofy redirected the conversation, "I see two out of three of those-"

"I bet it's mine." Dewey blustered.

"You're kidding! I'm getting a notebook tomorrow! Uncle Donald said so himself!"

"It's mine guys! Don't even pretend that it isn't, it's sad watching you lie-" Louie gloated.

"Goofy sees Uncle Donald in your future! To stay!" The dog voiced above all others.

The children screeched, cheered and danced at the obvious display- but whatever it was, it didn't matter; Donald and Goofy dotingly watched their celebration. 

"YAY!"

"I knew it!"

"YAY, YES!"

"This calls for a celebratory drink! Right? Uncle Donald?" His blue nephew laughed as he presented to his uncle: the champagne glass from earlier.

"Dewey..."

Donald eyed his nephew. His voice stern yet his bright face, conveyed something different. 

.

.

In the calm Suburbia that was: 'Muybridge, 1893rd street', in a luxurious, white, toon home... who's walls were tastefully decorated with an appropriate overgrow of leaves and flowers. Daisy Duck sat, head in her hands as she breathed deeply. Her lungs had just been heaving and she felt a headache start to burn and press against the sides of her head. After another breath that made her head spin- she looked up and wiped the crusted tears off her face 'feathers'; she leaned back. Trying to find reason... it was such a quiet day.

It was that stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!-

Her head throbbed.

Breathe.

Donald and her were always friends; with something that smelt like love. He was alright... contrary to his films, he was quite calm, a family man at heart, who didn’t always have a lot to say and sometimes seemed stone faced and empty... but he really wasn't. He was difficult to understand but she had gotten the hang of it eventually. He didn't snore, he didn't swear, he liked wearing black which complimented her blue and pink outfits.

She might have fallen in love with him.

She'd told him so before he'd left for war and he seemed happy. Happy and willing to make more of an effort to actually be able to love her himself. She'd kissed him goodbye and he was gone. Just her and her boys... They were pretty agitated... but they had had their moments.

But then he came back- he still didn't snore... but now he talked in his sleep and made a habit of staring blankly into corners, his breath would be unsteady. He'd jump away from her touch, he'd hold onto his knees and rock back and forth, slamming his head into a wall once. He'd let a few foul words pass his lips, all in hushed whispers.

He was daft.

But they couldn't take her word for it. They wouldn't, it was 'impossible', they said. She'd lost any hope of living her life to the companies standards but when the one thing she could have looked impossible to keep, there was only one solution... but even that was crumbling too-

The small table beside her shook. She jumped at the vibrations and consequential noise. She got herself together quickly, smoothing down her wet hands to handle the phone.

"Hello?" Her tired voice croaked. Fingers nervously pulling at the phone cord.

"Daisy? It's Valiant, I think I've finally found what you've been looking for."

Chapter Text

Thursday the 5th of June. 1947...

A bustle of suits, an avalanche of voices, persistent tapping of feet... all of it consumed the board room. Men of different shapes and sizes -but all the same in complexion and bigotry, yelled ideas at one another. Screaming into a panicked void which couldn’t respond. Everyone was a fluster all over again. It had been too long. Science was still unsure. Could they have perhaps gained sentience...? The door creaked; the men spun instinctively. Once they saw that prim and moustachioed face, they all closed their mouths. Chairs squeaked against the floor as they all sat, tucking themselves further under the long table. The noise was uncomfortable with the silence.

The man who parted the personified sea, took his seat at the end of the table. His assistants stood like bodyguards beside the closed door. A moment of silence occurred... the man with enough power in money, to defeat an athlete -without having to move from his seat- busied himself, ringing his hands and coughing into his collarbone. Acting extremely casually... despite how he masterminded what started all of this. He knew the consequences. Probably more than anyone else.

He finally lifted his head. Meeting their gaze.

“I’m disappointed.” His voice was a steely monotone.

“I truly am.”

Anticipation and nervous adrenaline, were behind everyone’s lips as they breathed. Eyes flew around the room when the opposing man caught them staring into his own.

“In a moment, I’m going to stop talking so you can explain yourselves-"

“But first... I need to thank you.”

On his command, a brief quiet washed over them. Surprise and confusion appeared in the waiting men’s eyes.

“Thank you, for causing me such grief when I already have a trillion problems of my own!”

“We have a movie coming up, Donald and Goofy are deciding to be difficult! We’ve got shorts to film, comics to make, Carl Barks wants to make more of his ducks!? We have new characters to market- I really don’t need this and it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you men. This has never happened before, that lock is secure. SEALED. It has been, since we’ve arrived here, not once in a decade has it been disturbed! Someone was being stupid! Must’ve left it unlocked! You know what young people and women are like! What if they stumbled upon it and snuck some out?”

“But sir! You have to consider that-"

“SHUT UP!”

Everyone shrunk into themselves, like turtles crawling into their shells. The man was standing now. His finger was pressed so hard against the table top, that the tip of it started to turn a yellowish white. His eyes scanned over them. The men were silent, even their breathing was barely audible. His eyes melted through them. The way the look shook them, his eyes might as well have been bullets, flying towards them.

“... Listen, this is what you’re going to do:” he finally spoke. Voice a loud mumble -but it still filled the room. As well as the men he addressed, with nervous, childish fear.

“You’re going to call these inkblots, all the ones we didn’t account for-" he dug into his suit's perfectly ironed pocket and slammed the paper that was within it onto the table. The ones closest to him, saw that it was an organised list of various humans and toons... written in perfectly italicised writing. Must’ve had his wife write it up for him. Toons that they no longer used and those (toons and humans alike) who knew their employees well enough to have been welcomed into the premises, were scrawled on the off-white paper. 

“-and tell them to come in for questioning.” the man faced his head towards the ground but he kept his eyes up, making him look like a starving animal, ready to pounce.

“If a human wasn’t responsible, then a toon was...” he whispered... hauntingly. It was scarily odd and awkward to see this side of him, the side which talked about his creations- his children, in such a way... especially whilst using such derogatory language towards them. Out of all the stooges, he was the one who was thought to be the most unusually favourable of the toons. Everyone liked cartoons... but who'd care enough to relate to them on a personal level? Not even him.

The tension that floated in the air was thick as the man took his seat. So cumbersome, it would be a task to cut.

The man purposefully took as long as he pleased when pulling out his chair. It created that skin crawling noise when it dragged endlessly against the carpeted floor... when he was comfortable, he rested his chin on his outstretched fingers. His face was like a disappointed father: stubborn. Nothing could sway what was in his mind. But the men were still eager to plead their case if asked-

“... Now, explain yourselves.”

-so, they did.

“Sir, we were thorough-" one said.

“We investigated, fired and replaced suspicious stage hands and janitors-" said another.

“We checked everyone’s desks-"

“Multiple times-" someone added.

"We made some home visits."

“We inspected the toons offices.”

“We dealt with Valiant-”

“That’s something else!" The boss came back to life. Hovering over his seat as his knuckles pressed into the desk. When he'd shouted, spit had flown from his lip, far and fast.

"How did he get his nose in this debacle!?”

“We found out that Daisy heard about the situation and told Valiant, thinking it might affect her custody case-"

“How did she find out?” he asked. Still spilling over with rage but the tone had shifted. He was more curious than madden. Perhaps a bit frantic. 

“She claimed that Minnie told her-”

“And? Is there any truth to that?”

The men blinked. Hot shivers passed through each of them, like a telekinetic dodgeball, catching them all out. With all the rushing and looking and talking- how could that have passed their minds? -

" Well? "

Someone took one for the team:

“We- we’re not sure-"

“You’re not sure!? You useless shrimps! Once this is through, I demand that that girl of mine, be in my office immediately!” he took a deep breath. Eyes turning amber in the golden sunlight of the morning. “Do I make myself clear!?”

“Yes, sir! Mr Disney!”

Minnie’s morning started as it usually did: Pluto licking her face until she stirred enough to laugh and push him away, her legs feeling light and heavy all at once when she’d climb out of bed, her skin was paler, eyelids purple...

She got ready. Prepared Pluto his breakfast and while he ate his lovingly crafted meal of fried eggs and bacon, she tidied her sheets. Fluffing the white pillows and brushing over the spotless duvet. Her single bed all done, she checked the time – for a second time, then she hopped in the shower, brushed her teeth and did her makeup: a tan/fawn paint pigment, was used to liven up her face, as well as some blue on her eyes, to hide her tired lids.

She opened her wardrobe, picked out one of her many bloomers, a short skirt and a matching pair of shoes and of course! - her bow.

She kissed her pooch goodbye, right on the charming little bump on his head. She assured him she’d be back soon and that when he can, he'd come with her to work. He was just not needed today. After hugging him for a final time, Minnie tore herself away. She waved when he appeared in the window, watching her in her car. Those big eyes and fallen ears, told her that he knew she’d be gone for a bit. Her heart swelled. She blew him a kiss and watched him through the rear-view mirror until she no longer could.

Minnie tapped the stirring wheel restlessly. She had to arrive early, get everything for everyone, do boring work- but at least she was still asked to show up. She kept her lips tightly sealed and when she finally opened her mouth to breath, with the studio’s gates on the horizon, she noticed how dry and tired it felt.

When Minnie arrived, she felt slightly sick. Her stomach felt light and empty; it was a chore to walk. She felt tingly and weak... exhausted by trekking from her car to the entrance. She headed to her office and unlocked the door. That way, Donald and his children could get in. Huey, Dewey and Louie weren’t like Pluto. They were permanent, rambunctious, needy children- and in a way... so was Pluto. But while Pluto hasn’t really high maintenance... i.e., he didn’t three meals a day... just one and the treats he’d hide throughout the house would be enough to satisfy him. Those boys were not dogs; Donald took them everywhere he went. Minnie suspected for his own piece of mind also.

Donald didn’t want them to stay in his office. They could get hurt by one of his awards- his more lavish ones which he kept here for that reason. Also, they might read the documents from the court and that’d just upset them.

Minnie didn’t own grandiose awards and the boys seemed to like dressing up in her clothes. So, them camping out in her office wasn’t a big deal. Although, she did have to suppress her deep worry that the boys might stain her clothes. She liked keeping her fashions tidy.

Before Minnie had opened the door however, she’d fetched some food for when the ducklings would arrive, it’ll keep them going until lunch and then later, after a full meal, she’d give them some smaller snacks. Lest them feeling sick. When that was all done, she headed to her weekly saturation test.

The room was small, more of a closet than a room. The door was tall and darker than the others. It was situated in the dead end of the hallway of toon offices and was noticeably further away from the door besides it. All the doors in this lower layer were separated by what looked like the same width of space; this one wasn’t... yet the room was smaller than any other Minnie had seen.

She entered. The dark room was cramped and smelled of old clothes. There lay a haggard hospital bed, a skinny book shelf, filled with dust and books years old and finally, a large saturation scale, almost the height as the toon manning it, it stood flat against the right wall. Wallpaper was peeling, it was grey in colour and the wall underneath was pale and a patchy brown. Minnie drew her limbs closer to one another; she never appreciated the lack of cleanliness the space bared, she was worried that her outfit would be muddied. Her baby blue outfit, it was perfectly coordinated and it’d ruin her day if it were to be spoiled.

The toon in charge guided her with a quick gesture; in compliance, Minnie took off her shoes. Bare feet tiptoeing carefully over the dirty floor, she walked further into the closet. Stood on the scale; the toon managing her, held her shoes as they waited.

A pinging sound happened after a few seconds of nothing. She waited for him to jot down her results. When pen left paper, that was her signal to step off. She slid her shoes back on desperately.

The tall humanoid was wordless as he looked over charts.

“You’ve barely passed, Miss Mouse.” He spoke.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I suggest that you head to the cafeteria and get some food, if you haven’t brought any yourself.”

“Okay, I’ll do that right away, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss Mouse.”

She made her way down the corridor of toon offices. The quiet amplified her breathing and the hammering happening in her chest. The walk felt uneasy. The dim hallway, with red walls and carpet... doors dotted the parallel walls, doors which were beige and had light peaking from the gaps at the bottom of them... it felt like she was being watched but she couldn't pinpoint why. The loneliness and the silence probably didn't help... but it wasn’t like she was in any danger or anything, this was Walt Disney Studios. She'd be safer down here than in most streets Downtown. Still, the emptiness was awful; she found herself feeling sorry for the toon who worked in the saturation room. The only windows here were in the offices; the shadows that collected in every corner turned into a dark black... the saturation room didn't even have a window, out of every room, it needed one most. Quickly, she moved and ascended the stairs.

The lobby looked fuller. More people were arriving. Minnie better start getting everything together, make sure everyone's needs were met. Then she could sit down for a minute. 

Gentle taps from oversized shoes, marked an audio map, leading one to the set of: 'Fun and Fancy Free.' 

It hurt. It stung. She was supposed to be in this movie but just like everything else... it amounted to nothing. She had only blinked and then she was replaced. She saw her replacement: a golden harp, half woman, half harp. She was beautiful, both in her face and her body, it only served to make Minnie feel sick and uncharacteristically angry. More so sad actually. Incredibly, hopelessly sad... she didn't like her rude thoughts: 'at least I can walk and move without being man handled' and while that was true... she still wanted to switch places with the harp, ever so badly. 

Even though she knew she'd be tossed to the side once production was over.

Minnie went around, asking everyone what they wanted. Someone wanted some turpentine to clean up the set, another wanted a new reel of film; most people requested food. She did as they asked.

On her way to get the turpentine, someone asked her to clean under their desk; she was small enough to do so. She agreed and shimmied under the table, her nose pressed against the wood and she felt panic rise in her chest. She scrubbed quickly, closing her eyes tightly to try and forget where she was. Her breathing became uneven and her limbs shook. The fearful thoughts were still there and reachable but- in the foreground of her brain, it just sent a mantra to clean. Just clean, you’re cleaning. Cleaning. Cleaning. Cleaning. Then, she wondered why this was even necessary? It was a table that a regular person couldn't even see the bottom of- as if they could read her mind, people started to laugh at her panic. That's when it made sense. She didn't know what to do. So, she slowed down her scrubbing and opened her eyes, she breathed deeply, forcing herself to be calm and not spill over with tears.

When looking for the film, someone told her to fetch some paint and fruit for drawing reference, she did. Eventually, the film made it into the person’s hands, the reel of film and the turpentine, to be exact- but people complained at her lateness and didn't even say thank you. The whole team nodded in agreement at the distaste, the majority started berating her for not filling their stomachs. She apologised meekly. Wanting desperately to explain how she'd been doing jobs for so many people- nevertheless she didn't. It was really her fault; she didn't have to do all those things that ultimately slowed her down.

On they walk to the cafeteria, she whispered everyone's food choices, after she did, she nodded, knowing she’d got it right. 

The words the saturation worker had said... immediately, they filled her mind. If he recommended it, shouldn't she just do it? Surely, she needed it? But not enough. But maybe it was enough? She could start again tomorrow if it wasn't- but that would mean that today was a failure! She held a silver tray in one hand. Brain bouncing from thought to thought as she tried to maintain the appearance of normalcy on the outside. Her hand wavered between things she wanted and things she knew the staff wanted. Eyes all over the place, moving from one snack to another. 

"Are you alright, dear?" Asked one of the cafeteria staff.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you."

She said, her voice was the most monotone it could ever possibly be. Her eyes never left the food in front of her.

Things were happening, thoughts were so loud but the world around her was so quiet, it made her skin prickle. She needed to make a decision now. She was getting exhausted just from thinking. A debate was happening in her head: 'get a sandwich, just imagine the taste, I need it now!', 'don't get a sandwich' and 'if you're going to eat something at least make it sensible! like an apple'- It was too much handle. She'll figure it out later. She got the last of everyone's orders and flew out of there. This way, she'd have stuck to her fast. It wasn't broken; her mind could rest for a while, knowing she'd done well.

Sometimes, she’d get food stuffs and her head would be held high, she'd be completely unbothered and maybe even put off by the confectionary. But other times, it felt like she was choosing between life and death. Sometimes she'd be scared to get close, frightened that she might snap and make a big mistake. But everything was fine. Her mouth was still flavourless, her stomach still empty. She was alright, everything was going to be fine.

She was back on schedule! What to do now...? Oh! She could head over to ink and paint department and see if they needed her to model for any toon clothes, standing up, statue-still for a while, would be a great distraction! Plus, it wasn't lazing around.

She gave the set a final glance. Confident that everything was alright for the time being, she left. Beginning to make her way to-

"Minnie!"

She would've felt indifferent but productive, maybe frustrated at her name being called; that meant another chore. But the squeaky voice that yelled it... she recognised it and valued its company. Three children, lead by their red-clad triplet, came bounding through the establishment, ignoring any and all business men wanting to go about their day- when they reached her, they jumped at her feet excitedly. Minnie smiled at how Donald frantically ran after them. When he was stood in front of her, he petted each of his children on the head, pulling them towards him and scanning them- like he was seeing if they'd been hurt.

"We're okay! Uncle Donald!" Dewey whinged. Pulling himself out of his uncle's grasp.

"Just don't run away like that again!" Donald scolded, "You gave me a heart attack!"

"You're all wearing your hats today," Minnie pointed out, unintentionally redirecting the conversation, "do you have a shoot? -"

"Mr Barks wants our suggestions!" Huey enthusiastically cut in.

"Yeah! He's making some more characters for our comics!" Louie finished and to answer her question: all of them, pulled from their hats: a 'Donald Duck' comic book. Along the line of them, Huey pulled out his first and like a set of dominos, the others followed.

"I wonder who it'll be!" Huey said. He opened his comic to a random page, as did his brothers. They all started to scan the pages with shocking synchronicity. 

"Better be someone good!" Dewey commented.

"I hope it's a dog!" He added. He jumped up and down as he did. Donald put his hands on his shoulders, calming his excitement by securing him to the floor. All with a gentle touch, mind you. Dewey looked up at his uncle and smiled, Donald booped his beak dotingly. 

"No, cats are way better!" Louie spat.

Dewey stopped staring at his uncle. His mouth hung open at his brother's exclamation. A dramatic, bordering-on-asthmatic, gasp emanated from him. 

"You're not my brother anymore!" He stomped his foot. Donald shook his head with a roll of his eyes, Minnie laughed and they shared knowing glance. 

Huey -completely ignoring his brothers squabbling- continued to talk as his eyes remained stuck to the brightly coloured pages.

"Maybe they're drawing a nicer auntie?" he flipped a page-

"Screw aunties! How about a cousin?"

"Dewey." Donald berated, although there was no real threat in his tone.

"What?" Dewey asked, once again, he was wide-eyed, looking up, by way off: bending his neck as far back as it could go. Donald suppressed a coo and drew his bill into a fine line.

"Don’t say that, it's not very nice-" 

"Screw?" Dewey tilted his head.

Donald closed his eyes. A single, drawn-out breath, escaped his nose.

"Yes, that."

Minnie giggled at the interaction. Dewey, partly oblivious to his 'punishment', met her eyes and grinned at her laughter. The speculation continued:

"A doggie cousin!" Huey yelled.

"A cat cousin!" Louie yelled louder.

"A rich cousin!"

"Yeah! A millionaire!"

"A billionaire!"

"A trillionaire! -"

"Alright boys, that's enough." Their uncle interrupted.

He didn't want their hopes to be held too high; it was most likely a villain, not at all a nice character, never mind a rich one. He'd have to supervise this villain’s creation and make sure that if it had the chance, it wouldn't overpower him and hurt his family.

He focused his attention onto Minnie. Guilt immediately struck him; when she replied to his look with a smile, he'd realised: he'd completely forgotten to tell anyone about Carl Barks wanting to see him and the boys; Minnie had left her office open longer than she needed to.

"Sorry I didn't tell you about the comic session- I've just been so stressed about the...- a-and with my-"

"No, no, it's okay. Don't worry, Don." She waved him off.

Donald shook his head: yes. But deep down... he knew it really wasn't okay, he'd put her at risk doing that. He needed to keep his circle close and secure, so it not be sabotaged in any way. He'd only told Minnie about his amphetamine usage once she saw him swallow some pills at work, by that point, he had probably already ingested 7 pills that day, it was lunch after all. That and the help he'd been getting, it wasn't the greatest and oftentimes he felt like he wasn't taken completely seriously... but it was the best money could buy for people like him. At least the boys got to play in the room next-door while he poured his heart out, only to receive basically nothing back in return. 

Minnie continued; she understood Donald was a bit all over the place, she would be too... although he shouldn't be so nervous. Everyone knew he'd win. Then again, she hadn't been apart from her children for years (if she had any), the threat of losing them again, no matter how slim the chances, were most likely all the same kinds of saddening. 

"When you're finished, there's treats in my room, like shortbread! Plus, some water." Minnie marvelled at how three pairs of eyes widened in elation.

"What do you say, boys?"

"Thank you, Minnie!" They cheered.

"No problem!" She beamed.

The triplets started to get restless, moving around and reaching to grab at random things on the floor. Donald never let them stray too far. He chatted to Minnie about Pluto and about getting all together again once filming was through. Eventually the boys wrangled themselves away and managed to negotiate well enough for Donald to let them migrate a bit. They moved to stand beneath a promotional picture for 'Fun and Fancy Free'. They pointed and laughed at the mouse on the front: he stood, proudly perched on the neck of a beanstalk, grinning widely. Dewey curled his hands into fists and placed them on either side of his head, imitating ears. He hunched over and stuck out his tongue, his brothers laughed. Donald kept stealing glances at them whilst they conversed.

Minnie was in the middle of talking when Donald interrupted her-

"You okay, toots?"

She was rendered silent. She wasn't expecting that.

"Mm?" She pretended like she hadn't heard him. A small smile spread onto her face but it didn't reach her eyes.

Donald looked behind her again. She heard his children yell in response, he nodded to them. But she didn't dare turn, instead she stood completely still, that fake smile still prominent on her face.

"You haven’t been looking so good." He spoke.

The seriousness of his tone made her feel like a child herself. She swallowed.

"... I don't know what you mean-"

The triplets returned. Pulling their guardian by the sleeves of his black sailor suit.

"Come on, uncle Donald! Millionaire-dog-cousin!"

Donald tried to continue their conversation but whatever he'd wanted to say- fell from his mouth and onto the floor in the form of pitiable whines, his eyes darted between her and his children whilst. Like he didn't want to have such a serious talk with them there.

"Alright, boys!" He resisted and as he was being tugged away, he swivelled to meet her eyes; declaring:

"I'll talk to you later, okay Minnie? Take care of yourself."

The last part sounded like a demand; a worried one. It was so raw and unmoving, so solid and sure, Minnie felt embarrassment rush to her cheeks after she'd heard it.

"I will..."

Her whisper felt so loud. It was quiet and small but she felt it echo through the halls of her brain, sticking to her insides. Weird clarity breathed from it when she replayed it in her mind. She watched them walk away, happy and jovial they were, ducklings skipping and laughing. She felt an itching to run after them and ask for help, she wanted that comfort and that outright concern and questioning- but she knew that if she wanted that feeling again, she couldn't make such a scene. Also, the spotlight that the questions shone onto her... it was so hot it hurt, she hated it and felt angry that it was turned on in the first place. She liked it and loathed it all the same.

Her limbs dragged and swung limply. Walking without a purpose. Head down and arms curled into her chest, fingers were light as they trembled against her front. She didn't know why she kept moving... just to hear the sound her shoes made when they hit the ground? She didn't know, maybe. Maybe... she felt overwhelmingly emotional. The urge to make a break for the door and never come back was so strong, the way this place made her feel... she wanted to burn it to the ground in that second. She wanted to run, find a place no man had found before, hide and scream and cry and not come back even when people noticed she'd gone- but she wouldn't really; she needed this-

Hurried footsteps. 

Her brain became alive again, hoping and praying that it was Donald running back to her, ready to interrogate her again. But when a clear voice rung out, shouting her name with no difficulty. She sunk into herself. Before slowly and tiredly, spinning around to see who'd called.

"Mr Disney would like to see you, miss Mouse." Heaved the man.

.

.

.

A lavish inkwell... a sleek clock; doubled as a pen-holder... an expensive collection of figurines and antiques... all of them alike, decorated one: Walt Disney's office. The room had a perfectly organised colour scheme; gold was smartly dotted throughout the room. Smart, in how: it appeared in just the right moment, between those of white and black, giving ones eyes a minute to rest.

He extinguished his cigarette into the glass ash tray beside his elbow. Flexing his fingers until they pleasantly popped. Tapping against the extortionate surface that he slouched upon, he read over notes that were waiting to be approved or denied. His suit was spotless, the only wrinkles that it produced were small and somehow dashing in their own right. The legs of his trousers were ironed to perfection and the gold cufflinks on his sleeves sparkled in the light that shone from the window diagonal to him.

A gentle knock was hit against the door.

He let it linger for a moment...

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Minnie Mouse stood there, accompanied by his secretary. He nodded at the latter and she walked away, back to her post... Minnie remained, small and unassuming.

She was gripping the door handle with a shaking hand. Her other, fiddled with the hem of her blue skirt. She looked straight ahead; their pupils were stuck on each other. Walt appeared fine however she was anxious, the look in her big eyes portrayed as such, never mind the way one foot pensively stepped in and out of the room.

Walt smiled; he had been untroubled when he'd received a drawing of Minnie he liked, all of his ideas were good, he knew this- but the design had to align with the one in his head, the design had to make a pair with Mickey’s. He was hoping she'd be spunkier... but the lines were all there; no bother trying again when the personality could be easily faked. Of course, with good acting! Despite Minnie’s gullible and emotional nature, she could play the role of: doting, not-too-independent, housewife when the cameras were on.

He knew that as soon as he'd seen her, that this was his Minnie. His innocent, loyal, bow-wearing, toon. Not all the pieces came together, they never did. Sometimes he'd drive himself insane, tossing and turning, stewing over the ‘what ifs?’... and the: 'what he wouldn't do's, to have her be everything he wanted her to be. But he had to remember: the personality on screen was them. Mickey, for example, was a hurricane... something Walt hadn't planned for. Still, he was Mickey; he was his and he was perfect. Obviously. Also, his attitude had grown on him. Such a prickly toon; people overestimated him, they busied themselves by spreading all types of things... but what harm could a toon do really?

Walt closed his eyes.

Obviously, some, just look at this situation... and that Doom character- but his boy? No. He was just an honest cartoon.

If you drew them correctly, toons would do what you wanted them to. People needed to understand that. A shame that he didn’t draw them but his creative input was enough to influence their personalities. Which is why, he still had such faith in some- but still, other artists drew for the company; that meant they had also made an impact on them as well... which is also why, he was positive a toon would be eligible to be a culprit. Why didn’t he just draw them himself? Because it seemed like working for him brought with it: enough good influence to sustain thousands of toons for a lifetime.

“Minnie! There’s my little girl!” he lifted himself out of his seat slightly, smiling at her ears more that her eyes as he did; those iconic circular ears... they were genius, something his genius created. So recognisable and dynamic!

She finally felt confident enough to fully walk into the room.

"How are you, today?" He asked, the door clicked shut shortly after.

“Hello, dad..." she mumbled quietly. Her big hands held onto each other, they hovered unnaturally over her bare chest.

“I'm good." Her arms dropped to her sides, they were moving and swaying. Her fingers were dancing in the air. Rather than worry about why she was so restless, Walt thought about how smooth her animation was. Another achievement of his.

"Why did you want to see me?”

“Sit down, my dear.”

The mouse did as she was told, moving quickly to sit on the green couch neighbouring his desk. Even though couches were made for lounging, Minnie sat upright and stiff, like she was actually sitting in the world's most upright chair.

He spun his body towards her. His left arm still sat on his desk, moving slightly, rotating his chair as he looked down at her.

"So, how has your doggie been?" He began.

She seemed to ease up some. Smiling to herself. Eyes pulled away from his. Rather, she chose to let them jump all around the room, she did meet his again, at least a few times- but eventually, she focused her attention onto the porcelain Panchito sculpture on her father’s desk. She twirled her thumbs as she continued. The stuttering she had been doing before she’d focused on the bird, coming to a stop.

"Great! I bought him some new toys recently and he just loves them! He does the cutest little thing when he-" she was talking with her hands. Walt sensed a ramble and rolled his eyes.

"That's lovely, how about our Mickey? Are you keeping him in check?" Walt deferred.

"Urm- well, actually -" She blinked a few times. Expectant and puzzled.

"Such a scamp! What a hoot! Let's see... How about Figaro?" 

"I assume he's good... He belongs to Mr Geppetto, I haven't starred in a cartoon with him in-"

Walt cut her off again; he didn't want to be reminded of how Minnie only owned a dog.

"And that sassy Daisy, hmm? How about her?" 

She took longer to answer this time. She started to play with the broderie anglaise design on her bloomers. Facing her gaze towards the ground.

"... Did-did you bring me in to talk about everyone?" She asked. "Be-because I haven't - was I? I haven't spoken to Daisy-" she said. She looked everywhere but him again. Tone a mixture of painful perplexity and urgency.

Walt pulled at the tail of one of his eyebrows.

"Oh! You haven't?" he moved more in his rotating chair; mock surprise, radiated from his voice.

Minnie started to blink rapidly.

"Er-er, no...?" She answered. Unsure of herself but telling the honest truth. 

"Why haven't you two spoken?"

"Because I'm Donald's friend." She said, in a self consciousness but matter-of-fact way.

"...Yes?" Walt raised the eyebrow he’d been tugging at. A laugh escaped him.

"Donald doesn't like Daisy, dad." Minnie sunk into herself. His laugh confused her. She fell back into looking from object to object, from dust mite to dust mite.

"A shame that is. What a burden." He sighed. Minnie couldn’t see what he was doing exactly; her eyes were glued to her knees. Even when her brain shouted: ‘look up, look up!’ Minnie was frozen in an uncomfortable, scared state. She couldn’t really explain why but at the same time she knew. She craved his attention and validation... yet just when she thought things were getting better, they’d go back to how they were. She was replaceable. Didn’t he care?

Maybe he didn’t notice. She was probably making a big deal out of nothing.

He’d done so much for her; she should be more grateful.

He must love her.

She swallowed.

Just do it, just say what you want to say!

"Am...am-" Her voice was normal- maybe a bit louder than usual- but she abruptly turned down her volume when her nerves took a hold.

‘Am I a burden, dad?’

Was what wanted to say. But the words never formed on her tongue. 

An awful silence washed over them. The sounds of her father’s chair squeaking sliced through her. Shivers rippled over her body when she focused in on his breathing. The air was too thick, her face was too hot and she was being too strange. She had to snap out of it. But she couldn’t; she felt like she couldn’t reverse the mood she’d created. She had disappointed him by answering his question wrong, not that it was wrong... but it was obvious he wasn’t pleased.

"... Now, I need to ask you something."

Minnie coaxed herself into looking up and meeting his eyes.

"Urm... Okay?" she muttered. Things would be okay if she acted like they were; she straightened up and pressed herself to keep holding eye contact with him, no matter how abnormal it felt.

"If you haven't spoken to Daisy... Why has she been saying that you two go out to lunch?" 

What? Lunch!? She might have before- but not since the break up. Daisy was being unjust and incredibly unfair to Donald; it was like she didn’t know her anymore. She wouldn’t betray her friend’s trust like that. Donald was different now but he still made an effort, he’d just talked about hanging out again, doing activities together and...

He was obviously sorry that he’d been somewhat neglectful in their friendship, the Carl Barks appointment probably made him realise that more fully... but he had a reason to be distant; even with those explanations, he tried. He wouldn’t do anything maliciously. Why would Daisy paint him that way? That would be awful... evil. She wouldn’t dream of lying to her friends, hurting them or thinking squat of their feelings. Lunch? Why would she stoop so low? Just to eat lunch? She wouldn’t even eat lunch! Does she look like the type to eat lunch!? What would she eat? An egg salad? Drowning in relish? The restaurant’s walls would probably be low-key, more like a cafeteria; the tables would naturally be grey, boring and plain- yet somehow the customers would be smiling. Especially the well groomed, entrepreneur, family man, whom sat across from a toon, who’s face adorned the walls, the uniforms, the logo- the merchandise! The man would be laughing and smiling; she’d be sad but feel wrong for feeling such resentment. You should feel happy for them.

He said he didn’t have time to eat. Yet there he was, eating egg salad.

Minnie flinched. Her face contorted briefly and she closed her hands into tight, painful, fists.

"I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't." She choked out.

Eyes shut, mouth a thin line; she breathed through her nose deeply, trying to calm herself in a discrete way. Walt just stared. Squinting at his daughter. He mumbled something under his breath before proclaiming:

“Hmmm... Okay... She must have been fibbing."

“I guess so..." 

The only sound for a minute, was the natural hum that travelled in the air. Minnie raised her head, willing her eyes to peak up from beneath her eyelashes, try and look at her father. He had moved to fully face his desk. He was writing something in quick, silent jerks of his wrist. He’s done so much to me... of course he loves me. That’s when she acknowledged the photos. They were on the table directly behind him, two photos encased in glimmering frames: his children, his other children. They were two girls, 13 and 10 but in the photos, they were much younger. The pictures were beautiful, wholesome. They captured loving, unforgettable moments; it made her heart ache for multiple reasons... But Minnie didn’t have a picture. She wasn’t given a place... despite how much Walt insisted that she was his.

It was so confusing and awful. It was moments such as these that made her feel justified in her anger and sadness. But then there were other times... times were she truly felt like apart of a family. The way he and his wife gave her gifts each holiday, the fact that he’d given her Pluto, the way he’d mention her in interviews sometimes... they way he called her ‘his little girl.’

She ducked down again... blinking quickly; she was forcing the sudden wetness that had washed over her eyes to cease- before something awful happened. She was scared. Eyes wide open, down towards the carpet. In an almost dissociated state, her brain egging her on whilst... urging her to speak her mind. Confront him.

“Dad?" She managed.

"Yes?"

Her thoughts were screaming. Jumbled and a big mess, was her brain-

"... T-Tha. That's-a-nice-wrist-watch." She’d chickened out; better to keep things calm and stable. She needed a moment to breath.

"Thank you, my sweet. It's a Kelton,” He shook his wrist. The jewellery jingled at the action. A satisfying ‘ping’ sounded and Walt smiled. Minnie gave one of her own.

“-you can thank Snow White for that. Give her my gratitude next time you see her."

Her faux smile dropped a little.

Snow White hadn’t been used since 1937. Minnie had starred in shorts after that, she’d made him a pretty penny too. She knew that he bought that watch just last year; why wasn’t she thanked? She understood that Snow White made a lot of money for the company- but still, he thanked her before ‘his daughter’? What about all the work she’d done during the war? How about her dedication to the art? She tried her best -acting to the best of her ability- besides a man who both exhilarated her and hurt her, her father knew this. He knew about her troubled relationship with his favourite. Yet he kept approving stories with them together. She knew they were characters, that their romance was supposed to be a part of them. She knew that but why couldn’t they be written differently for a change? Wouldn’t her father’s supposed love, urge him to change his mind and do as such?

"...okay..." she let her shoulders sag disappointedly.

“Speaking of movies... I’m got some ideas for upcoming ones.”

Minnie sensed a ramble.

“Music alongside animation...! Imagine a beautiful toon women, short dress and high boots, wrangling fish and cattle! What a prize for a charming, everyday-man, cowboy, wouldn’t you agree?”

He started to sort through the papers on his desk. He selected certain sheets, stacked them on top of each other, then tapped the cluster against the desk. He extended them out to her. She smiled nervously, cold digits reached out and grabbed the ivory cards.

They were preliminary sketches. Uncoloured and rough. But even then, Minnie could see that the toon, was indeed beautiful. She had a perfect, oval-shaped face... red hair styled in braids, said hairdo only accentuated an already flawless jawline. Dressed in a cowboy hat and suede boots, a definitely very short skirt and a shirt covered in tassels, she was tall and slim but curvy, thick legs and round arms and just enough chest. She was gorgeous. Minnie couldn’t find one thing they both had in common.

Small, delicate hands? No.

Long, red hair? No.

Hourglass figure? Definitely not.

Eyes with sultry, pretty lids? No.

pouty lips?  Never.

She felt herself become hot with nerves. Put-on-the-spot hot. The uncomfortable embarrassment that burned her skin but was also cold and itchy. She passed him the drawings back with a straight arm, almost robotic were her movements. She sniffled but tried to play it off as a giggle. He was waiting for an answer, he was obviously proud of himself. Minnie searched her brain. Anything! Say anything! You've been staring for too long and it's so hot it's unbearable! 

“... like? Fantasia?”

She bit her lip. What a stupid response!

"Yes, I suppose.”

He continued basking in his self satisfaction, he was ignoring her but talking to her, the way he spoke about his ideas, it sounded like he was talking about someone else's; no one should employ such toxic, positive language and unashamed brags when talking about their own ideas.

Minnie looked down at her hands, tremors shook them as they sat in her lap.

“Donald might be asked to star in it.”

She looked up. Anxiety still prevalent but now she was hopeful. Hopeful and incredibly tense. 

"Will I - maybe be in it...?" She asked. She had to push the words out; otherwise, she might have said nothing. 

But to repay her bravery, her father just laughed heartily. Unintentionally or otherwise, he was mocking her.

"Don't be silly, dear! I haven't even written that idea down yet, not everything about it anyway; I couldn't possibly know who'd star in it and who won't." 

‘But you just said Donald might be in it?’

Minnie was indescribably crushed. Her voice threatened to crack and waver if she spoke, she just felt it.

"... Yeah... sorry...” Was what she ended up saying.

"... Well, I've kept you for too long, better go before they see you're gone." He breathed. Adjusting his chair noisily, was another indication of his eagerness to end this interaction.

"No coffee makes men upset, darling." He laughed to himself, staring straight through her, "Speaking of which, on your way out, ask Sandra to pour me a coffee." It wasn’t even a question. He expected her to do it. He knew she’d do it.

"Okay, dad. Bye." She pushed herself off of the couch. Already halfway across the room when-

“Oh, and Minnie?”

Stop. Stood in front of his desk, she felt optimistic. Why did he want to be in her company for longer than he needed? Was he going to surprise her? Tell her he loved her? Maybe ask about her health? Mention her saturation results? -

“Yes, dad?” She gave him a small smile and raised her voice a few notes higher.

“When you find time, get Daisy to come and see me.”

Oh.

She just stood for a second.

Then she released a breath, it was small and unnoticeable but inwardly, she sighed heavily, so heavy that it rippled through her chest and hurt. Upset and unexplainable sadness consumed her; her father’s response... should she have not had such high hopes? She felt her throat clog momentarily; the need to cry came rushing back. She forcefully gulped down all of the saliva in her mouth. Trying to quell that impulse.

“... Alright, dad, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Minnie darling.”

Minnie did as she was told: she instructed Sandra to send in her father’s drink and made a mental note to direct Daisy to him when she next saw her... even though she would really prefer not too.

Her hands were close together throughout the walk down the hallway, her large heels clacked against the floor. People passed and if they nodded, looked or waved at her, Minnie didn’t know; she had her head down, watching her feet take her were she needed to be, with eyes unblinking. She looked like she was hypnotised under their influence.

They'd been talking for over 10 minutes. Now the place was congested. Minnie saw toons she knew well and ones she didn't know well enough: like Tinkerbell. She was floating over the chaos, snickering behind her hand, the jingling of a bell chimed; that was her voice. Tinkerbell and the rest of the 'Peter Pan' crew, had been around for a while; production on the film was halted multiple times. No movie had yet been released but they were still here. People recognised them from writings in the news; they had gained a bit of a following. Pixie dust sprinkled over her as the fairy flew overhead; Minnie sneezed.

When she stopped spluttering. She spotted Daisy across the crowded room. She was posted in front of something- then a man shifted and Minnie saw that Roger Rabbit was trying to get around her... but she just moved to block his path each time, shaking her head as she did. Roger threw up his arms- then someone blocked her view again. She'd tell Daisy what dad had said later...

She scuttled back to the set.

.

.

.

.

“Give me the blue crayon, Dewey!”

“No, I already told you: all the blue crayons are mine!”

“Uncle Donald!” Huey whined.

“Dewey darling, you have plenty of blue crayons to spare.”

“... okay...” Dewey sighed. Glaring at his brother as he reluctantly tossed him a cyan crayon.

“Good boy.” Donald patted his head.

Carl Barks quit working at the studio in 1942 but soon was given the opportunity to work again- however, from a different location. He’d sent the people in Burbank his ideas for the nameless: ‘Donald Duck Christmas special comic’ but out of bare-minimum, common curtsey, they let Donald and his nephews approve the character appearing in it first; after all, they’d be working together and more importantly: in Carl’s description, he wanted this character to be a part of their family. Donald tried to relax in his chair, holding the arms a bit tightly as he did. A sigh was invisible beneath the sounds of children's chatter. His boys were right to some degree.

He peaked over at the table again. For once ignoring his babies. The typed-up sheets of paper, sitting bang in the middle of the small table. Blood was pumping in his arms, he gripped the chair with a greater level of intensity -his fingers started to tingle and a heartbeat drummed within them, pulsating and pressing against the paper that was his skin. He felt adrenaline course through him, cold and anxious, anticipating and waiting for something, the feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach but not the good kind- butterflies who were feverish and rabid, hungry for flowers and desperately trying to find them; they thrashed about inside you, just to find the smallest nibble of one. But it was futile, Donald understood this but they didn’t; there was nothing he could do to calm them.

A new member of the family?

He’d have to mingle with them, form a bond with them, his children too! He couldn’t take that; he couldn’t trust another person with his boys. He couldn’t let another person in his circle, period.

He couldn’t even relax for one minute! Humans had the privilege of waiting until a daughter’s friend -or a son’s- became family. That friend would evolve into son-in-law or a boyfriend. Same scenario with a pregnancy, they’d have at most, nine months to let things sink in. The most Donald received was a phone call, one that told him: how a new toon was going to be created. Going to be, no doubt in the statement, another difference in humans and toons. That daughter’s ‘friend’ from earlier, might turn out to be a huge ass! He’d be kicked to the curb and the family would never have to see him again. With this though? No, this was going to happen.

And to top it all off! On the day of the ‘approval session’, he was told that it wouldn’t be a one-off character, it’d be a relative.

He was getting emotional, too internally frenzied. He had to calm down. On the outside, he just seemed out of it. Eyes huge and breath leaving and entering only through his nose. Inside, he was wracked with worries and loud, blaring thoughts. It was draining him of all his energy; he was sitting in a chair, for God’s sake!

A sudden burst of anger made him grit his teeth behind his bill. Hard, he was full of passionate, raw, enraged feelings and he didn’t know why. He hated it. Eyes blinked open and three ducklings gradually became less blurry.

He needed to be better for them.

They were sat on the floor, his precious little angels. Dressed in red, green and orange. Dewey was in orange despite his adoration for blue. Donald hated doing that to him; he himself, hated dressing in blue. However, they made him. He touched his black suit. Feeling ease from looking at it... jet black material with white and yellow accents. It reflected the light when he moved it, the light that hung from above them, a yellow bulb, it gave the walls a slightly brown hue. He brushed his thumb over the fabric of his sleeve, watching as the light curled around it. But Dewey didn’t overly mind. He'd picked out his orange shirt this morning; Donald didn’t do anything wrong. It was okay.

The pot containing all the crayons toppled. Donald jumped in his seat.

“Sorry, uncle Donald.” Huey said sweetly.

The duckling lent down and picked up the pot; he let the pencils drop back into the plastic tub. The sound of them hitting against the container made Donald hold the arm of his chair again, knuckles obtruding dangerously; he didn’t want to lose control and clench his jaw in front of Huey.

But he’d already made an awful mistake. Huey had seen him get startled. It had happened before but he still hated it, viscerally. Maybe despising it more each time it happened. A sick, sticky feeling of shame filled Donald. He folded his arms and crossed his legs, perhaps giving himself a hug with his own limbs.

He took a deep breath. Sitting still in his chair. His boys giggled amongst themselves; Donald looked at them: all of them had their legs crossed, sitting on the grey carpeted floor; their elbows rested on the wooden coffee table. Pieces of paper were thrown about in front of them, all covered in childish scribbles and brightly coloured doodles. The prompt sheet, written up by Carl, sat in the centre. It had ideas that Carl himself wanted for this character-but it was up to the children to add embellishments in their own special way... Well, Donald too but he’d do his last.

Automatically, a smile made its way on his face. There! Everything’s okay... Louie turned around and beamed at him, he did so as soon as that thought started to reverberate in Donald’s skull. He smiled back, eyes bright and full of love. He was alright, he could relax. Positioning his back to a more comfortable lounge -the teal chair looked brighter as he did. He let himself sink pleasantly into the cushion. His fingers now hung limply from the chair’s forelimbs. Closing his eyes momentarily; he breathed deeply once again.

The room they were in, they couldn’t have shoved them in a less appealing space- people were under the impression that this place was heaven. Donald felt a smug grin pull on his cheeks when he looked at the bland walls and floor. If heaven looked like this, he’d be disappointed. No windows, one door, two chairs. It was void of personality and ‘magic’, it lacked the fragrance the rest of the place did... a cuboid closet- and it was that sudden comparison... that inspired the thought: ‘this is like the therapy-’ he froze. It wasn’t exactly like his room but the more he sat in the chair- a chair whose linen, green-ish, blue fabric felt like tiny knives beneath his fingers as he rubbed them against it, rubbing until his digits felt numb- the more he stared at the windowless walls, the more he began to see the similarities. See the similarities and distinctly remember what he’d said in that similar room-

His heart started to race; he felt his black shirt start to dampen. Brain screaming, telling the mouth to gulp down harsh breaths- but he kept it closed. His chest hurt, it felt like someone was sitting on it. He needed to open his beak but he still kept it shut; he couldn’t let the children hear this. Wilfully, he breathed silently through his nostrils.

The rooms looked the same- they looked the same. This room was small and colourless, the other room was larger and paler but it still had all the same kinds of boring- he tried to look as normal as possible. He crossed his legs again. Shuffling to the right, as much as he could, the back of his head faced his boys. He shakenly put his head in his hands, in what he hoped was an unsuspecting way. He didn’t want to think. Donald wanted to have a good day, he needed one of those, after last night, after his nightmares- he needed a break.

The dreams, yesterday’s dream- he remembered blood, he remembered spilled ink, that pile of upchucked paper and paint. He smelt dirt, smelt the metallic stench of the gun in his hands, it had just been fired. One memory prevailed: He remembered how his face hurt, cheeks stung; there was no way to help the hurt... his face was contorted, pulled in open mouthed horror, bill wide open and quivering with each breath that escaped it. Tears had fallen and wet his face, they travelled, passed his mud-covered mug and onto his tongue. Webbed feet and discoloured legs, were uncomfortable in those boots. Flesh with the illusion of feathers, was more paper goose bumps than paper skin. As the wind blew in his face, hardening all of the dirt and mess on it, he felt vomit pool in his suffering throat. A uniform that was already covered in ink- the mess of papers of who once was lay under those awful boots. His uniform was covered, the patch on his shoulder probably was too... the embroidered patch that sat proudly on the uniform's arm...

‘Fighting for Walt.’

He was covered in sweat- his uniform was encrusted with ink- no, blood. TOON BLOOD.

What did he do? What did he do to deserve this!? He had to keep moving; everyone else just kept walking- stomping over the toon’s papers like they were NOTHING. He just wanted to go home!

In an unsteady hand, was a sliver of varnish. Donald blinked; tears that were close to overflowing, thickly coated his eyes. Some ran down his face but he was quick to wipe them away (the sleeve of his black sailor suit doing that just fine). He finally opened his mouth, from it left a shallow- but much needed breath. He didn’t realise he’d been seizing the front of his shirt in a stranglehold, he looked down and released it, his ribbon was wrinkled now. Phooey.

But he was here.

He was here. Oh no. He chanced a glance...

 ...

The boys were still smiling, talking to each other as they drew. Thank God. They hadn’t saw.

The varnish in his hand. Opening his palm, he observed it- and immediately the pain hit him. He had been pulling at the feathers on his head. Feeling his head and sure as sugar, his fingers found a definite dip in his skull. He’d just ripped a chunk of varnish off of his head. Or, to humanly translate: he’d torn off some surface layer skin in his panicked state.

He pivoted; his neck hurt like he’d laid on it wrong for hours. Black acrylic eyes, aimed themselves up and at the clock.

It had only been a few seconds.

Oh, that’s a relief.

He was okay.

But he got lucky. It could’ve been minutes- or hours.

He needed to be better for them.

Swallowing his shame, he straightened his posture.

“It’s getting late.” He croaked. “Let’s see what you boys have done.”

“Okay!” all cheered. They collected their papers, scooping up the wax covered pages and rushing to show their uncle. Donald quickly tossed the varnish piece to the floor. 

The three skipped to him. When they were surrounding him, each held up their papers, they talked over each other, all demanding that he must see theirs first. Donald managed a chuckle.

He took Huey’s from his hands.

The paper he held, it was one of the world’s most precious works of art. Black pencil lines made up the form of the character: it was a duck, just as the prompt had instructed, however this duck had feathered cheeks, almost like sideburns or a beard of some kind.

“So, what’s this?” Donald pointed to it.

Huey shoved himself halfway onto Donald’s lap, pointing at the doodle's face as he explained:

“The shorter bits are his hair but I couldn't decide if I wanted him to have a beard, so he wears a scarf that doubles as a beard.”

“Is it a grandpa?”

“No, it’s just a duck.” Huey stated. The upmost of confidence in his tone.

“But I imagine that he used to be really cool, like cowboy-adventurer-pirate cool! That’s how he met you! but now he’s old, he’s like a daddy to you now-"

“So, a grandfather then?”

“Yes!” He contradicted.

“So, just like you: he’s really sweet and gives nice hugs and he can make you feel better when you’ve hurt yourself.”

Warmth spread out from Donald’s chest; a hybrid of happiness and guilt permeated his head.

“Oh, Huey... that’s so sweet, thank you.”

“But what about you? Wouldn’t you like a character who’d pay more attention to you?”

“He’d pay attention to me.” Huey nodded, “But he’s your daddy, please like him.” He pleaded. 

“Of course, I like him...!” Donald chuckled. Pulling Huey in for a side hug before planting a kiss, square on his forehead. 

“Thank you, very much.”

Huey giggled. Happy with his uncle's comments. 

“Look at mine uncle Donald! He’s a super, crime fighting, duck! Plus, he can speak to ghosts- and! He can do magic! and he’s blue!”

“I can see that Dewey,” Donald said jokingly.

The drawing was more blue crayon than paper. In the centre of the page (although veering to the right,) was a duck, a younger one than Huey's. He wore a blue coat, with lighter blue hems and spats. Ghostly doodles surrounded him, as well as majestic purple sparkles. In the distance was an exploding bank, dollar bills rained down from the sky, that was probably the 'crime fighting' element he'd mentioned. Donald smiled at the silliness but dug one foot into the ground; the explosion reminded him of the past. He wasn't going to ruin this day more, the burning to his heel distracted him and discreetly covering the burning building with one hand helped. Dewey let his uncle's comment sink in-

He stuck out his tongue, Donald laughed.

“And he isn’t mean, see he’s smiling!”

“That’s lovely, sweetheart.”

Dewey looked proud of himself. Standing tall and proud, then...

Finally, Louie. Donald frowned at his slumped posture. He seemed happy when he was drawing... maybe the other drawings had made him unsure of his own? Donald drew him closer to the group and slowly, Louie handed him his picture. It was certainly different from the others. One reason, being how: Louie's very obviously depicted toons who already existed. It was the four of them, they were wearing their typical colours, sitting beneath a blue-orange sky, a picnic basket sat amongst them and a colourful mess was under that: a cross hatching of waxy, vibrant pigments, made a crochet blanket. Their messily interpreted faces, were all pulled into smiles.

“What's this, Louie?” Donald asked.

“... I couldn’t think of anyone, I'm sorry.”

The older duck quickly picked the boy up, sitting him on his lap.

“That's alright.” He murmured in a motherly, baby-voice.

“You didn’t have to think of anything..." he combed through his boy's hair. His brothers nodded at their uncle's declaration. Louie smiled and snuggled deeper into a black, cotton-polyester covered, chest.

"It's very good anyway, are we eating lunch...?”

The two other ducks craned their necks to look at the picture. Louie remained silent for a second. 

“...remember that summer? When it was just the four of us... and we went out every weekend?” his voice was small. Donald watched over him, heart twisting with each twirl his fidgeting fingers made around each other. 

“...we'd take a picnic to the park and then stay until the sky was orange.” he mumbled into his jumper. “I miss that.”

In that moment, Donald felt himself become trampled by feelings of immense sadness, unbelievable anger, horrible guilt- all of it. The duck in the drawing, he knew it was him- but staring at the blissfully happy grin, he barely even recognised it as himself. He felt so disconnected from who he once was. Did everything from before really happen? The picnicking and the fishing trips, did he really plan them? The most he did now was take them out to the store or walk them around the neighbourhood, that, or a trip to the shopping district to get candy. He used to be much more fun.

How could he do this to them?

“...we can do that again?” Donald asked. Louie looked up at him. Those wide, jet-black eyes, stared up at him with innocent glee.

“This weekend?" Donald continued, "Would you like that?”

Louie nodded. Enthusiastically. His brother's released squeals of joy and anticipation! 

“I wish aunt Daisy was never drawn." Louie abruptly confessed.

Donald felt nothing at the utterance... at most, an itching of anger... at how she'd made his boys feel.

“Louie...” he murmured.

“I know it sounds bad... I just miss the time... before she was around...”

...

He held him close and nuzzled his head against his.

“... It’s going to be okay; you’re going to be okay... I’ll do whatever I can to make it better...”

“I promise.”

Donald thought it'd be best if they left. But before they did, he wrote on one of the empty sheets:

'Make it a distant relative.'

After handing over the documents, they made their way to Minnie’s office. The boys ran down the hallway of offices. Shouting and bellowing incoherent nonsense. Laughing at how their distorted voices echoed.

"I love you, with all my heart I do." Donald said; once they'd settled into the room and eaten some biscuits. He'd checked over the office; although he trusted Minnie, it was still wise to inspect for any sharp or unpleasant objects. He was in the room's entryway, hands rested on his knees when he spoke, his children stared up at him with crumb dusted mouths. With a smile Donald wiped them off with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'll see you at lunch." He spoke. Chuckling at Dewey's resistance to being cleaned.

After he'd finished up, he dusted off his clothes.

"I do that because I love you."

The boys -in their magic, triplet way- shared a glance, then in perfect simultaneity, they spoke:

"We love you too, uncle Donald!"

The feeling that gave him... it would never be described accurately; he felt such absolute joy, it be couldn’t detailed, you just had to feel it.

"Aww... you're just the cutest!" He squeaked. He bent down and took the three in his arms. Sighing happily and closing his eyes. He'd lifted the ducks off of the ground slightly, swaying them side to side in his gentle, unshakeable hold. The triplets giggled against his chest and much like their uncle, they breathed out audibly, audibly and cheerfully. 

"My bundles of joy...!" He acclaimed in a dreamy drawl.

He had to leave eventually. Succeeding him setting them down gently, he held onto the door, pulling it closed; he peaked his head through it before disappearing. 

"Bye, bye, my babies! Have fun!" He waved.

"Bye, bye! Uncle Donald!"

He had only moved a few feet, then he looked over his shoulder. What if a chair fell on them? What if one of them got a paper cut and needed a fresh coat of varnish? He thought back to minutes ago, it was difficult knowing that one of his boys were anxious. It really hurt; was there more he should be doing? Something he was accidentally executing that made them sad? He really tried not to feel numb, he did all he could and he felt like it had gotten much better. His friendship with Goofy and Minnie (and Goofy's partners) was still difficult to navigate and it wasn't any fault of their own. Rather, it was his reluctance and sudden awkwardness, his inability to be vulnerable with the people who were his best friends. It had happened with the children as well. He couldn't explain it, it was like he didn't know how to talk or interact anymore. sometimes, it'd be more prevalent than others. Not every one he had, could be like the bond he had with his boys. He felt so focused on them and their relationship, that he was left unmotivated when it came to the rest in his life. He didn't want to try and love Daisy, he was sorry; he did promise her he'd try. But he couldn't. It was just too much, couldn't she see that what was being asked, was all too much of him? That it was just too emotionally taxing? That he didn't have enough love left in his heart to make a good husband? She didn't and in her annoyance, they'd managed to create a divide that could never be patched. Daisy had tried to cross it, in her own way... but Donald just started to sleep on the couch. He didn't want her in his house.

He was hoping they'd still be friends. But just like Walt, Daisy was stubborn and it confused and irritated Donald. It wasn't like he was a catch, if she wanted company so badly, she could surely find it elsewhere. 

He shielded his eyes when he arrived. Weaving through cables and staff; eventually, he'd made it to his makeshift dressing room. A red cover, was tossed across a divided room for privacy. The room was just two slates of wood that protruded from the back of the set, whenever a project was occurring, they'd always be dressed up like this. Donald didn't know why this was how they chose to do things; the planks weren't even affixed to the wall. He pushed aside the sheet/door and stepped into the room. It was like a backstage really; anyone could just waltz in whenever they pleased. Although he knew he wasn't the same as 'organic beings', biologically speaking, it was still dehumanising to be intruded upon when half dressed.

He threw on his blue outfit. A peasant garment as opposed to a sailor's uniform. The toon fabric fit on his body, in places physics would deem impossible... but it was all for the sake of capturing that animated look.

He stared straight ahead, into the mirror. 

He'd fix that scab he'd made in his skull.

Opening a bottle of varnish released an all too familiar smell, for every toon. Donald took a seat and poured some into his hands. Quickly, before it dried, he rubbed it into the imperfect dint in his head. He'd let that dry for a moment, then he'd be as good as new.

He wiped off the excess with a discarded tissue. Having nothing to do now but wait, he slumped in his stool, resting a heavy head in his hands as his stomach bubbled nervously. Gazing into the reflection's eyes. Beginning to drift off while still awake. 

There were certain things which only served to set him off. He'd always had a bit of a short fuse. Maybe...?

In his cartoons maybe. Maybe in real life too, if by short fuse you meant: having a no-nonsense attitude. Without cameras in his face, he'd probably react to a difficult situation with a questioning remark, that didn't necessarily mean 'tantrum'- however, he knew that if he were pushed hard enough, he could definitely fly off the handle. But not as far as his cartoons portrayed, never that far.

But ever since he'd returned, there'd been a different atmosphere. He was more difficult. Reluctant to go back to that state of loving vulnerability- worst of all, he felt it towards his children. He hated that it had affected his connection with them; all he'd wanted when he was gone, was to be able to hold his boys, kiss them and tell them how much he loved them. But when he got back, he was scared. He didn't want to lose what they had; if he did, it'd kill him.

He still remembered the day they were born into this world; he was also reluctant at first; in a much different way. Having children was as much as a change to him, as it would be to anyone else, surprisingly. That first night with them, was something he'd dream and smile about, still to this day... it was a weird day, completely different and chaotic. He couldn't put his feet up and smoke in his living room anymore and dinners took longer to cook... yet the feeling of little, defenceless ducklings, sleeping peacefully on his chest, gripping the collar of his sailor suit like it was a lifeline- it was the best feeling in the world. He'd leaned his head against Louie's, eyes were closed. He recalled his smile. Things were finally coming up 'Donald'. That moment was his. Those were his babies and no-one... no-one could ever take that away from him.

When home welcomed him, something similar happened. Luckily for him, they hadn't aged a day. He was finally favoured in that regard; he knew a big population of his other comrades, probably went home to a dramatically different family. Trying to form a bond with (a now) teenaged child, would be much more exhausting. But that night, his darlings cuddled up to him and the sounds of their breathing with their gentle touch, it was all he'd needed to lull him to sleep. After years of sleepless, noise filled nights... they had made everything okay.

He smiled.

The varnish was definitely dry now. He reached behind him and grabbed his hat, a brown, linen, toon knit, hat, with a blue feather blooming from its top. Putting it on his head, made him realise: how he looked ridiculous; never mind, he was used to that. His eyes were sunken and a faint pigment of blue, dusted the rims of his lids. That colour just followed him, didn't it? He searched the table for some white paint-

The 'door' flew open.

"Hiya, Donnie boy."

A smug inflection engulfed the air.

"Mickey."

'Donnie' plainly stated. No emotion was heard in his voice. It was ice cold...

He refused to turn around. He kept his hands flat and attached to the vanity in front of him. Mickey faltered, then scoffed loudly. Donald felt his feathers quiver and flare up in silent rage.

"Wow, no 'hello'? You better shape up, if ya know what's good for ya."

It was hard holding back his emotions, especially when it was Mickey he was talking to. 

It was really tiresome. Ever since 1939, he'd been doing this. Everyone had to adapt to his behaviour, it was ridiculously stupid. Donald and everyone else had seen the films... read the accounts, they knew how things used to be. How they got to this point, was beyond him... but here they are, they were here and they were barely holding themselves together. Goofy, Minnie, Clarabelle and Horace were his friends, Mickey wasn't apart of that group -and to him, he never was- but at one point, he definitely was, he used that (just like he'd use everything else,) and played it like a card in a game of poker, Minnie kept being pulled in and pushed away again. He used her, just for his own benefit and everyone saw that, they all tried to shield her, as best as they could but in their line of work, it was extremely difficult to stop every interaction. It didn't help that in those moments, they were playing as themselves; it blurred the lines of fiction and reality. What was love and what wasn't? He basked in the control he held over people, over her. Couldn’t he see how horrifically far gone he'd strayed?

"Are you talking into a mirror?" Donald spat through gritted teeth.

He hated the rush of anger that held him so suddenly. Mickey would grab at that heated response and hold it above his head for days. Also, he just despised being angry, it was disgusting. He shivered. 

"What are you yacking about?" Mickey asked.

"Don't play dumb." He evened out his breathing. This conversation wasn't new. He wasn't the only one to initiate it either; it was fathomless to fight the urge and not engage in it, his friend -no matter how complicated it was at the moment- was being tossed around like a baseball and seeing her being exploited and broken down... seeing how she declined so quickly, with no evidence of wanting to change. Hurting because of him. It was just infuriating.

"You're not even good at it." He finished. 

Mickey just shook his head as he opened a drawer. He sorted through it for a moment before he took out his costume, he was acting so nonchalant; it wasn't the right attitude for the conversation and that spoke louder than words ever could.

Mickey had his back turned when he carelessly spat:

"I think you need another dosage of your 'looney pills' -" 

"I'm NOT insane!" 

"Tell that to the shrink, not me."

He was trying to get him riled up. He didn't care if emotions were harder to handle for him now, he wanted him to explode. Donald held onto his stomach, breathed through his nose and closed his eyes; still gripping onto the table... but now with an iron grip. He had a moment of this... before he was roughly shoved- pushed out of the way so abruptly, that he almost fell face first onto the floor.

"Move out the way, half pint. I need to get camera ready." 

"Half pint? You're 3ft tall!" 

"Yeah? And who else is? You sure are high tempered but those scrawny duck-legs don't match it, pal." 

Breath. Breath.

"Whatever, you're not worth my time." Donald whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. 

"Why bother speaking to you, when you could just as easily talk to a wall?" 

He was on his way out, proud that he'd walked away... when-

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, nut." 

He removed himself from the room; he was scared that if I didn't, he'd do something he'd most certainly regret. Red hot anger bubbled beneath his skin. Being misunderstood messed with his head; more so nowadays. He wasn't a freak; he wasn't a freak. He wasn't a freak.

He didn't want to be a freak...

He took himself into a corner, not where the front of the set faced; it was too crowded over there. He stayed in a place which the back of the stage looked over. Tucked in the shadows, with his own arms holding him and stare empty. He felt strange, almost numb but still incredibly sad. Something about that conversation- it brought to the surface all the negative feelings, all the shame, everything awful he’d thought about himself today.

'Why did you think that?'

'Why can't you just snap out of it?'

'Everyone knows you're a loon.'

The amount of air that left his nose, harshly and quickly, was more than a photosynthesizing plant, working at full speed, could ever wish to produce. It was true. They were true. He was insane, he was unstable, he was a freak. Everything he did, was just a facade to cover up how he really felt inside, he wasn’t even having fun working anymore. If he could have it his way, he’d quit. But did anybody know that? No. All the time, people said he was good at his job. Was that just because he was a mindless toon? Like so many others, only produced to perform one thing, over and over again? Whenever he did his job, he felt nothing; if it was a scene that brought back memories, he’d be torn up, inside and outside... but it wasn’t like anyone ever questioned it or put his well being first. Eventually, he calmed down. Luckily, he hadn't been seen. 

“Alright, people! Countdown starts now!” Yelled one of the directors.

In the blink of an eye, they were ready: Mickey, Donald and Goofy. In front of them, lay an expansive, super-sized, banquet of delicious food. One of the scenes they needed to finish before release, was this one: a cinematic moment of toon movement, slapstick and acrobatics. People made sure everything was ready... then... ‘3,2,1... action!’ the three of them ran across a mammoth table, exclaiming joy and elation at the food scattered across the vast landscape. Mickey tackled the celery and Donald flew at the cheese. Expertly, the duck chewed off enormous bits, continuous of each other, without choking. Goofy scaled an equally large toon prop whilst people manned a second camera. When it was time to get back into character- Minnie walked into the room. The sight of Goofy, holding a behemoth of a knife above him, guiding green peas down it, it made her mouth water. Boy, she was starving. She had to sit down.

Goofy was plummeted by the peas; he was catapulted into a plate of bouncy, scarlet, jelly. The camera addition from before, assured that his flying would be filmed chronologically and seamlessly. He forced his body to spring up from the squishy surface when he made contact. Toon props certainly followed toon rules but not to the same degree as a living toon; Goofy had to strain himself to complete these seemingly smooth, effortless acts. People thought they could just jump up and down and the work would be done for them- bull. Just look at when humans visited Toontown and had to obey their physics, it was clunky and clearly off. That’s what happens when two worlds collide. He belly-flopped into the jelly when his higher altitude jumps were through; all of the energy he’d sent to his feet and legs, still bubbled inside him when he ceased moving them. The jelly jiggled for a second more, that, combined with his lower half’s abrupt stop, caused his bent-up energy to shoot up, passed his stomach and chest, his skull and ears, all before collecting in his nose, he let it tremble for the gag but he soon held it, stopping its movements. Goofy started to run on the spot, trying and failing to grab the blue hat, which had flown off whilst he was in the air; he purposefully ran without moving forwards, when his character finally realised, he wasn’t getting anywhere, he stopped. This caused his pants to comically fall but again, all that excess energy was still left; Goofy channelled it in an indescribable way, making his trousers, look as though they wriggled to life, shooting back up to his waist. He smiled then jumped at his hat. This spring loaded them into a montage of Goofy flying through the air, trying to retrieve the head wear.

He continued to twist and spin and exert extreme amounts of energy as he performed, eventually landing into a bowl full of nuts. That was her cue.

“Who’s there? Who is it?” called a gentle and dreamy voice.

“It’s the harp!” Mickey asserted. The camera, by this point, was filming a locked jewellery box.

“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!”

Goofy and Donald acted as the stepping stool that allowed Mickey to peer into the key hole. She was trapped but even with the obscurity, she still looked beautiful. Blonde, golden hair with brown eyes to match, brown eyes that’d melt anyone’s heart.

“How’d you get here?” Mickey asked.

“I was kidnapped by that wicked giant!” the harp explained.

“Oh...” Mickey mumbled understandably.

Then-

“A giant!?” he expressed with terror.

That was the end of that scene; the set was cleared after a few more takes. The standing cardboard backgrounds that made up the harps prison were moved; those were needed for when she’d get a close up shot; the camera couldn't fit inside the real toon box. They swiftly transitioned into the next scene that needed perfecting. They had already filmed all the life action scenes; a playback was used to speak the lines of the real actors:

‘You leave it to Mickey, just watch.'

Said mouse was then released from the giant's hand. He walked the length of his palm. Eyes on his toes, muttering loudly:

“10, 20, 30... wow! What a lifeline!”

The toon playing the giant, could morph himself into any size, as his role required- but that also meant: he wasn't permanently ginormous. He had the ability to make the limb on screen, large and obviously: giant. Meanwhile, the rest of him remained normal-sized. To make for easier filming.

“What about this one!” the redheaded toon asked; shape-shifting his other hand to also be large, so he could point to another wrinkle in his palm.

“Oh! I don’t believe it!”

Mickey rigidly faced the camera. He shrugged and pulled his mouth into a thin line; his eyes were wide. The pose, as well as the animation that built up to it, looked almost identical to that of another toon mouse: Timothy Mouse, from 'Dumbo' fame. It took imagination and talent, passion and improvisation, to act like Donald or Goofy. Mickey was on the cusp of reusing animation, stealing other people's routines ever so subtly... but no-one said anything. 

Minnie's head tilted to rest on her shoulder as she watched. He was lovely, he could be. She wasn't bruised enough to have an excuse to be displeased and he was genuinely kind when he wanted to be. He'd hold her hand sometimes, kissed her sometimes... he knew exactly what to say to make her feel better. She could make this work. She loved him. Then the director yelled: 'cut'. Mickey momentarily lost his balance- but he caught himself; for some reason, he turned to Donald and Goofy, eyes piercing. The acclaimed toon scowled at them and pointed a harsh finger in their direction, jabbing at the air in belligerence.

Mickey claimed it was their fault he tripped. Donald looked like he wanted to faint; Goofy just looked annoyed, Minnie dare say... pissed. His arms were folded, his stance tall and unmoving, eyes half lifted. Fed up.

"Mick, we haven't moved." The dog's voice was aggressively robotic. 

The director told them to stop... but Minnie had already focused on something else: 

He was treating his friends- her friends, like crap. Wasn't she the one who resented the idea of eating lunch with Daisy, after everything she'd done to Donald? Yet here Minnie was: holding on hope for Mickey, when he was no better than that duck, he was worse, in fact.

Didn't she care?

What about her friends?

Deep inside, did she only care about herself and her wants? Did she secretly feel like they were second-rate?

She was selfish. So unbelievably selfish.

She was a terrible friend.  

An instantaneous sound made her jump. Suddenly, everyone seemed more alive: talking more energetically, moving from their seats- or from the general area they'd been stuck to for the majority of the time. They must've finished that portion. Minnie acknowledged how her 'bones' felt eerily hollow; how her stomach gurgled... her tongue turned even more dry and barren. All of them, made her feel disgustingly ill.

"Okay! that was fantastic!"

"Goofy, you were a bit flat on that last movement; let's try that part again."

Goofy opened his hands and shook his head incredulously, as if to say: 'are you serious?'. Minnie frowned. Goofy was amazing from what she'd seen.

"So, I was good?" Mickey asked audaciously.

One of the three directors sighed.

"Yes, Mickey. You did good." He groaned.

"Okay then. I want a snack. I'm taking a break."

"Mr Mouse! - Mickey, wait-"

Mickey threw off his hat, the light and thin fabric, somehow managed to hit the floor audibly. It sounded like a flat hand slamming against a brick wall.

"I'm taking a break, Morgan!" He screeched. 

Morgan's head fell limp, another suspire escaped him. After a few moments of quietly muttering with the other director's, he performed a pirouette- and pointed right at her.

"Minnie, fetch Mickey something to eat. Now, please."

Both Goofy and Donald turned panic-stricken. Stepping off of the elevated floor of the set to bargain with the director's; all they were met with, were incensed eyes. Minnie could feel how the looks controlled them, she was changed by them, even with their faces ignoring her. 

"Don't, I'll go-"

"What? You can't go! Get back on that stage!"

"You can't get Minnie to do it; she's been on her feet all day-"

"It's not that late, Donald! I should hope that she be on her feet!"

"You can't let her take it to him."

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"Whatever is happening between them, is none of your business. She's a grown toon." Added a second director. 

"Minnie!" Those merciless eyes, now scrutinised her soul. "Get your boyfriend a sandwich!"

"NOW!"

"He's not her boyfriend!" Goofy interjected. Squaring his shoulders, so that his already intimidating size, was double the threatening it could be. Despite his gangly frame, Goofy was unusually tall for a toon. 6ft1 with a hat and size 18 1/2 shoes on his feet.

"Do I look like I care?" 

Well, he did look like he'd hesitated. But the reminder that this was a pliable toon, must've won over his emotions because he matched Goofy's stance with one of his own.

"Just send someone else!" Goofy wasn't backing down.

"You two just won't get it! You're scribbles, drawings people laugh at, she's getting him his stupid sandwich and you're going to listen and do as you're told!"

"But you don't understand-"

"I understand plenty! Get back on that stage or there will be no stage to get back onto!"

.

.

.

Minnie stepped into the cafeteria once again. Her once tired and unmoving body was now bumping with undecided energy. She was a conflict of emotion.

"Hello!" She skittishly blurted. 

"Hello, dear." Replied the woman behind the hygiene shield. 

"Can I get a ham sandwich please, with some water?"

"No problem!"

She wasn't over her revelation. How could she be such an unbelievable hypocrite- why was she so useless? In every possible way?

Her shoulder was then poked roughly. She jumped out her skin. Her black eyes, came face to face with... a baby's. A toon baby. They sat on a chair which had -at least- 5 books between it and his behind. A tuft of blonde hair curled up from his head, it was tied with a cute, pink bow. Minnie pulled a face at his goo-goo stare.

"Helllllooooooo!" He slurred.

Minnie blinked. The cup in his hand caught her eye: a glass, half full with orange juice. (Probably spiked with something.) It had a red and white, striped straw poking out of it.

"Urm... hi."

"When do you get off of work?"

...

What was she supposed to say!?

"Same time as everybody else...?"

He looked like he was going to speak again... but then he fell back in his chair, hitting the floor like a toon anvil, orange juice had spilt all over him.

Her sandwich was ready.

The lady gave it to her a graciously as she could; then she leaned over the counter, inspecting what had caused the chaos. The toon lay asleep on the ground, drool was running from his mouth and juice ruined his once pristine diaper.

"I swear to God! This is the last time I serve drinks to that baby!"

Before Minnie had gotten completely out of earshot, she heard:

"Hey! Can someone get this toddler back to the Rabbit room? Thank you!"

.

.

When the four walls around her were yet again, those of the set, Donald found her in the crowd of people. She held a porcelain plate, pensively to her chest. They made eye contact, Donald shook his head, mouthing the words: 'Don't listen to him.'

She nodded.

Mickey fiddled with his belt from what she saw through the gap in curtain. He barely ever gave her a passing glance... but Minnie couldn't help staring. Wanting so badly for him to feel her eyes and meet them... but he didn't. He always left her optimistic, like when he mentioned how he might accompany her on a dog walk; he never did, then there was the 'dip' situation: Benny sounded the alarm, quite literally. He was screaming through the streets, driving so fast he'd circled through Downtown and Toontown, probably more than once. Photographers flew like flies, populating a still active crime scene. The vultures had directed them, 'them' were: the toons who'd escaped from the comfort of their homes to investigate the commotion, some were still in their work clothes. Donald was wearing blue and she knew he hated that outfit. Mickey, ever the pleaser, followed their demands as the cameras rolled and flashed. He smiled at her and tugged her into a dance. But when the people had gotten all their footage- or had been driven out by the police. He let her go and walked away from her. Instead, he caught up with Bugs Bunny, who flinched at his touch. Everyone's attitude switched when the cameras were on. Without even thinking about it. Goofy and Donald stood closer to Mickey to give the impression of a friendship. No one wanted to be tossed away and at the end of the day, Minnie didn't hold it against them; she knew the behaviour to 'play up' was conditioned into all of them... even Roger Rabbit had called Acme a 'genius'; his face twisted in disgust after. It looked like he'd been possessed for a moment, possessed by a demon... who wanted nothing more than to make the public happy and comfortable. Don't complicate things, if it hurt, the public wouldn't be able to take it, if a man was a monster, then manipulate the masses into believing he was an innocent victim, it'd save them from making the difficult decision of hating him or not. Even the best of them, toons who were strong and stood their ground... but when faced with a camera...? they still fell victim to the brainwashing that was: being family friendly or neutral. If you were too opinionated you weren't funny.

That baby... Herman was his name, had been opinionated before he'd noticed the lenses but he'd pulled a wide eyed, begging, baby face after Valiant had been shocked by a hand buzzer. That alone seemed to fix things a tad. Not fully. Spoiled toons were just more likely to push their luck. Mickey was more coordinated with his however. 

He knew what to do, he'd pull out the 'Mickey card' whenever he pleased, not even for monetary reasons, Minnie knew he probably felt happy at her obedience... but that also meant that he might like her, at least a little bit. Because why her? Out of everyone?  

Well, the answer was probably a bit obvious... but there was still a chance of the opposite-

No. 

But he could change. He'd proven as such... 

Hadn't he...? 

She pushed open the curtain.

"What do ya want?"

He called from behind his shoulder. Sounding like asking that question was one of the biggest burdens he'd ever faced. He was trying to get a lighter working; was too busy to look for himself. A cigarette hung from his mouth, muffling his speech slightly and endearingly bobbing when he'd spoke.

The lighter clicked again...

A habit he'd picked up from Walt.

"I got you some food." She muttered lowly. 

Identical eyes, looked into each other. They might have looked similar- but the people behind them, their emotions and beliefs, couldn't be more different. 

"Oh, it's just you."

The flame finally ignited. Mickey shoved the nicotine-stick into his mouth, breathing it in deeply. 

"What did ya get..." it wasn't a question; he took the plate carelessly and dissected the meal. 

Minnie watched. She felt like what he was doing, was somehow targeted to her... in a weird way; it was to do with food- but she was probably looking too much into it. Plus, she was hungry. She waited for his response; it was the only distraction she could hold onto in that moment.

"Good enough."

Wasn't worth the wait.

"Could use some more flavour next time... a nice bag of chips would go with this just fine, not just flavourless water."

He fingered to the glass she'd placed on the vanity. That gloved finger wriggled in such a manner, that gave off the impression of irrational disgust. The 'muscles' in his digits flew away from the cup like it was poison. 

"I'm sorry, Mickey."

"Like I said, it's good enough." He wasn't reassuring at all.

Smoke billowed around him when he breathed, the cigarette was plucked from his lips, he kept it in between his first and second finger for now. A big bite of the sandwich occupied his mouth. As he ate, he continued to make commentary, waving his hands around him as he did; the smoke drew lines in the air.

"At least you got this below par crap and they didn't. I'd be covered in it if goofy walked in, holding it above his head like he's the fucking statue of liberty. He'd trip over his clown shoes and fall like a sad sack of potatoes."

Usually, she'd talk him through why he should give their friends the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps babying him, telling him: she knew he could see them like he used too. She didn't support his behaviour, she’d told him it wasn't right; she wasn't forward enough... harsh enough... and being reminded of how she'd react normally, combined with Daisy’s lies... It made her feel absolutely evil.

She'd held her tongue a lot that day. But she couldn’t anymore.

"You... you shouldn't talk about them like that."

Mickey’s aura changed; he faced the projector which held his megalomania, onto her.

"Killjoy. I can do whatever I want."

"-n-No, you can't say those things."

"What the hell, Minnie? don't get your skirt in a twist. It was just a joke. What, do ya not get it? You're supposed to be a toon, this is your area."

"I know what I am..." she whispered. 

"I do too." He took another bite of the sandwich she'd given him. "You think you’re bigger than you really are."

"I- I don't-"

"You know, you're not a star, right? People would celebrate if you left. Why bother showing up? Unless you like scrubbing tables for people?"

She was always speechless during moments such as this, still just as mousy and sad as expected- but this still shook her to her core.

"Just mess up the things you have at home and clean them. You come here to make yourself feel like a member of Disney."

It was like he could read her mind, like he'd rehearsed all of the things that'd maybe relate to her insecurities, in the mirror religiously. 

"You're not Disney, you're just Minnie."

"Why- Why are you so mean to me? To us?" Her tone was begging. 

"God, I'm really the only sane one here, aren't I?" He continued to toss his arms around; angrily and with warning, the smoke from his cigarette, spinning and multiplying tenfold. 

"If you think the truth is mean, then you're more lost than I thought." 

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone knows you never eat."

The world stopped moving. 

"It's getting annoying."

Everything was silent but head-splittingly booming.

"Every toon knows that you get what you're given."

'No-one cares. Everyone knew but no-one cared. He didn't care'

Images of her father flashed in her brain-

"It's not daddy's fault he made you look like that."

No. Thoughts and feelings were scrambling, she needed a minute to breath, to collect herself- but his voice clogged up the air, leaving her no oxygen to swallow up. She was seething. Uncontrollable, burning anger and sadness vibrated her whole being-

"Just- JUST SHUT UP!"

Oh, God. What had she done? She was already on thin ice with him and now she might have potentially ruined whatever she may have had with him-

Mickey was staring at her. In his face, she couldn't help but see her true love, the one she knew could improve if he just tried. The one who- if he just took a break from acting like a child, could be a loyal and respected man, maybe even a husband. For a split second, she thought that she'd gotten through to him. Maybe she'd knocked him down a peg? Then his eyes narrowed. Chest pushed forward as he looked her up and down, looked straight through her, like she was an annoying piece of food that refused to be scrubbed off a plate.

"...geez, Minnie calm down."

"No one wants to hear you scream like that; the way you speak normally is worse enough."

He spat those statements, then pushed passed her. The fluttering of the curtain was all the company he'd left her. Alone, with legs shaking, moving the world where she stood. Her head was airy, she was so sad she wanted to sit down and cry, she was so angry she wanted to break the glass of the mirror. Her reflection, in the mirror image, she saw all her flaws. She looked pathetic. Trembling and hunched. Pale faced and small. The reverse image scowled. Grunting and shrieking was barely heard- but was happening behind a closed mouth. She tossed some items on the vanity to the floor, quickly and roughly, so as to not give herself a chance to contemplate the action. Feeling satisfied with how paint pots had been opened and ruined, sprinkling the floor with iridescence and colour, plastic mingled with the pastel chaos. She had control over them.

Didn't he realise that she might die?! Didn’t he care!?

She had to face reality. He never cared. All those cartoons she mulled over... all those black and white shorts she barely remembered. Ones she hoped he still did, deep in the corners of his mind, the evidence that he was a nice person, that he loved her before. It would never be the same again. Maybe it never was.

In a quiver, the mess turned from oddly satisfactory, to extremely petrifying. Regret and guilt weighed heavy on her stomach. Oh no. Tears finally fell from her face. The instant hyperventilation kicked her in her toon heart. She ran to the cloth curtain, not the one that lead out and into the congestion. The opposing one, that marked a path to nowhere. She got tangled in the cotton drapes, making her that original level of frustrated and sad all over again. Once she had wrangled herself free. She ran. Out of the set, through the reception, down some stairs, where she found a musty, grey corner and cried.

She thought back to that day. The day Doom was killed, the day Mickey had held her and swayed with her...

Mickey’s silhouette was completely colourless when in front of the setting toon sun. Minnie’s eyes were wide. The brightness started to sting them.

But she continued to stare. Watching him leave into that perfect sunset. People were still smiling... laughing and smiling and singing... Mr Valiant and his lady-friend were striding in tandem with the Rabbits. Minnie wanted to cry. Donald touched her shoulder, jumping made Minnie register the people around her: Goofy, Clarabelle and Horace. They all gave her adoring looks, it was a nice moment, almost uplifting... before Donald's triplets pulled him away; giggling childishly. Goofy let go of Clarabelle's hand, he walked in his awkwardly charming way towards her. Kneeling down to her level, highlighting his nearly human, bony legs. They were so long and thin, not even his baggy trousers could hide the sickly look of them; Minnie only truly processed that fact when he was curled in front of her like that. He had smiled and took her hand, pulling her to walk with them. Clarabelle was on Horace's arm, her head nestled against him; his policeman's uniform bunched up at the elbow because of her secure grip. His arm was around Goofy's shoulders and Goofy’s held her in a gentle grasp, his thumb brushed over her shoulder affectionately. Minnie buried her face into the side of his slacks and as they walked, a few tears fell from two makeup-ed eyes, they stained his trousers but he had just squeezed her sweetly. Donald was in front of them, holding two out of three of his children by the hand. He'd turned around and smiled sadly at her, she returned it this time...

Why did he have to be like this?! Didn't he know that they were made for each other? Literally?! Didn't he want to be a big happy family? Everything would be so great if they'd all get along like they're supposed too. Just like in the cartoons...

She’d been sitting on that cold, dirty floor for a few minutes. Nothing but her cries filling the space... until footsteps approached. A breath escaped her- eyes opened and observed the darkness, that putting her head in her knees had created.

"Minnie, girl?"

It was a southern accent that had spoken those words. An undeniable voice.

Minnie knew it was safe to carry on crying. But her face remained buried, her body stayed twisted in a fetus position; it was painted with despondency. Goofy pulled up his pants in a very, fatherly-mannerism, type way; he slid down to the floor and threw an arm around her.

"It's okay... you're going to be okay..."

"I'm so sorry-"

"Shh... shh, enough of that now... Goofy's got ya."

Adjusting his trousers, wasn't the only dad-like thing he possessed. The way he calmed her and held her, oh so lovingly, he was the dad she wished Walt could be.

"This life is hard... but it's the only one guys like us have. We have to stick together." Goofy continued to soothe. Speaking quietly and mildly. No judgment. 

"The ones who care will let you know that, without having to say it."

Minnie’s breath caught in her throat; when she retrieved it again, it came out in hurried, harsh gasps. Goofy's hand stroked her head lightly.

"I- I know... I'm so s-st-stupid!"

"No, no, you're not... You just need to learn how to love yourself, that's all." The second -but original- giant -but gentle- toon brought her in closer, nearer to hugging her now.

"Shouldn't be hard; you're amazing." He recommenced.

“I- I’m not-"

“Yes, you are-"

“I’m not! I saw him have lunch, I- I- I still give him chances when he hurts you! I’m a hypocrite! I make excuses for him but I don’t for Daisy.” she shamefully admitted. Splutters and whimpers collapse onto the floor afterwards. The toon beside her, comforted her in his soft hold, unmoving and steady, even with her admission. 

"Minnie, he hurts you too, you're just as much of a victim as we are. You more, actually."

"But-"

She was starting to feel better... with all the clarity his words brought. But were they really fact? She still found contradictions to dispel the statement. But maybe- that was more reasoning and reaffirmed his proclamation. She had to make sure he'd heard everything she'd said; it was possible that he'd missed some details. 

"But... Lunch...? And-" 

"No, no ‘lunch’, I’m telling you: you’re wrong.”

That's when the sound of water, sloshing in a cup, reached Minnie’s colossal ears.

“Let’s just sit here for a minute." Goofy spoke amidst the liquid-y noises.

The thing the director had said-

"But filming... and it's still the beginning of the day-" Minnie parroted.

"Just sit for a bit, they won’t know where to find me for at least a little while...” He chuckled faintly.

“Drink some water."

The sodden sounds drifted closer; a paper texture brushed against her arm. Minnie finally urged herself out of her limbed prison. Cold air hit her face. A white cup stared her down, Goofy was also; an infectiously, affectionate smile was on his face.

"Hydrate yourself." He spoke.

It just sat in her hands. It tempted her, she considered taking a sip- but for right now, she just held it to her chest, that was hydrating enough.

Minnie leaned against him, her tears started to dry on her skin but each time she blinked, more flowed; she was just breathing as steadily as she could muster, living in the comfortable silence that had flown over them.

"Hey...? Wanna hear a story...?"

The mouse sniffled. 

"Okay..." she coughed.

"It's one of my favourite cartoons." Goofy settled into a 'bedtime story' narrator voice, it was far better than the disembodied voice in 'Fun and Fancy Free.'

"See: this kid swallows a rattle and this rabbit has to take him to the hospital..."

.

.

The sky had dimmed. The air had gone cold and Daisy Duck was getting ready to go home. The bow on her head sat proudly, just as perfectly upright as it was when she left the house that morning however, she still fluffed its sides after packing her bag, a black, brief-case reminiscent, doctor’s bag. Her pink coat was buttoned stylishly and its belt was tied in a bow, matching that of the fuchsia one on her head. She left her office, traversed the empty hall and just as she was about to open the door to outside-

"Daisy!"

Walt Disney had left the confines of his office to stomp the grounds of the reception. Daisy’s hand fell, ceasing its reaching out for the door.

"Yes?"

"Where have you been all day?"

He didn’t stop moving until he was directly in front of her. His sharply shaped eyebrows were downcast in accusatory anger.

"I was in story pitch." Daisy defended confidently, "That and the ink and paint department, I still design clothes down there."

"Well, I distinctly remember asking you to come speak with me today."

"No-one told me."

"Someone has now." Walt sassed.

Daisy’s eyes widened, the tiredness of the day finally falling and clarifying her mind- or maybe the abrupt confirmation that he wasn’t at all happy, was the nail that hit her in the heart. It starting bumping wildly. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? What could she have done today to warrant a talking to?

"Come on, step in my office." Walt said, "Let's have a chat."

 .

.

.

"I just miss what we had... that's all."

The duck eventually breathed. Embarrassment shaking her body, her go to preservation for such shame was to cover it up with brass credence-

"A little white lie never hurt anyone." She hissed.

"Who told you then?" Walt’s interrogator-tone, didn’t once falter.

"Clarabelle." Daisy revealed. "You know she's always chewing gud." Daisy teased. Trying to push the upset spotlight off her.

"... right..." Walt scribbled a note on one of his many expensive sheets.

"Can I leave now?" Daisy asked moodily; it was only to camouflage her mortification.

Walt didn’t notice or didn’t care to notice her flushed face; he flashed her an inflamed grin.

"Of course. In fact, why don't you take tomorrow off?"

"My pleasure."

She did go home; not needy for bed- instead, scared and not at all sleepy, fidgety, irreversibly neurotic.

Present day: Saturday the of 7th of June, 1947...

A clock shrieked; a chiming filled the room.

“...fire... fire...!” came a mumbling. 

“I’ll save you...!” the lisping accent continued. Covers shifted and a white, fluffy arm came out from the fabric- but the typical: carrying-one-to-safety as the voice suggested, didn't happen. Instead it just fell limply and around the person he was addressing: a half awake toon, who was now rubbing her eyes; groaning whilst her husband snuggled deeper into her. She pushed herself up and twisted to look at the clock.

“It’s the alarm...”

“Oh...” he murmered, “so, there's no fire...?”

“No.” she plainly stated.

“...Lovely...!” he yawned, resuming his cuddling.

But his wife moved, slipping out of his hold to stand up-

“Where are you goingggggg?” Roger sulked.

He finally peeled open his eyes. Watching as Jessica adjusted the duvet, lifting it and laying it back down; softening its creases. Her hair was up in rollers and her night dress matched the morning light, barely peaking up from beyond the horizon.

“To freshen up, I have to go to the club.”

Roger itched his own face; he laughed sleepily at her answer.

“Jessica, you silly-beautiful-Billy..." Roger pointed at her, he was reaching, trying to boop her nose- but was to cosy to lift himself up and do so.

Jessica smiled. 

"It’s a full moon...! Ya don’t need to go...! Lest the public be eaten alive by my werewolf wife...”

“No.” She laughed. “Remember, we need new members for the band? I have to oversee the auditions.”

“Ooooh...! It’s all coming back to me now.” a yawn muffled the following words: “Wake me when you’re about to head out...”

Jessica turned and sat on the bed, facing the ensuite with a tilted head, taking out the plastic cylinders in her hair-

“Okay, honey.”

But with still half of her hair full of rollers- she leaned back and whispered in his ear:

“I think you’re beautiful too.”

“Stoooop! Not here, Jessica! Not when the children are watching...!”

“You’re delirious.” She smirked. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes in endearment, “-you wouldn’t think you were an early bird.”

“You know I’m kidding!”

Roger started to giggle uncontrollably-

"Give me more compliments! STAT! We're losing the patient! I'm seeing stars...!"

The toon threw back his head, rolling back his eyes dramatically. As soon as he heard her giggling, he sprung back to life-

“Hey! Remember last night on that show? That guy shot spit from his mouth like a spit fire! Get it? Boy, I'm good! Most definitely. Oh, yes. Good eye, Roger, good eye...!” He babbled energetically-

"That and he spoke to that woman like she was an alien. What kind of people are making folks who are more toon than human these days?" He asked disbelievingly. His face then contorted into one of disgust:

"Yuck! I just reminded myself of birth-" "conceive-ation...? Human birth, that is. I wasn't-”

“I- I'm a rabbit!"

"I know you are." Jessica cooed tenderly. 

She kissed his head, he still had his eyes closed- but he smiled and moaned happily behind a closed mouth, craning his neck to push further into her, shaking his legs in giddiness from under the sheets.

"I'm going in the shower." She said once she pulled away.

"Okay, I love you."

"I love you too."

Jessica left into the bathroom to get ready.