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Launchpad couldn’t be more excited for Drake when he got the call. He landed a role in a big budget action film. He’s the deuteragonist, but who cares. It’s the second break he needs. Over the past few years, Drake was only able to get stunt work, side characters in straight to Blu-Ray movies, and one-off characters in daytime soap operas. When he got home, his boyfriend surprised him with a huge party.
Filming started that summer. Darkwing Duck’s uniform sat in their closet untouched. His civilian ego was too busy with filming, there was no time or energy to be a hero. Launchpad was disappointed (and lonely) to be out on the streets without Darkwing, but he’s the other half Darkwing Duck. He understands. He’ll be fine on his own. Drake’s happiness comes before his.
He wasn’t completely alone. Gosalyn would tag along. When school started, both Drake and Launchpad agreed that she wasn't going to be going on patrols. She had homework and pre-season practice for hockey. That was a week-long fight of dads versus daughter.
Sometimes Drake was gone for two weeks at a time. He and Launchpad talked to each other every night. His partner told him that filming would take about four months and he’d be gone for about half of that. He came home when they were not shooting his scenes.
Launchpad missed him, but kept those feelings to himself. When they first started dating, Drake was very understanding when his boyfriend would leave for a McDuck adventure. He could do the same. At the longest, the pilot was gone for five days. Five days pales in comparison to two weeks.
Launchpad always greeted him at the door when Drake arrived. He showered him with “I love you”s, hugs, and rapid fire kisses. That night, Launchpad asked to go out on patrol. He missed doing good almost as much as he missed his partner. Launchpad felt guilty about not going out every night. Paternal duties come first, hero work comes second. Dads need to be sure their kids finish their homework and drive them to school, practices, and anywhere else they may need to go. He did the best he could balancing being a single dad and getting some patrols in.
Drake refused to go. Launchpad asked every night. And Drake just as stubbornly refused. They instead spent their nights going over lines and discussing the movie. The way Drake would light up when doing mini performances was magical. Even when not on set, the fledgling movie star knows how to capture his audience. Granted, his audience was only Launchpad and Launchpad’s heart was captured the day they kissed.
He learned not to ask again. Only after filming finished, Darkwing Duck returned to the streets. What had once been a nightly endeavor to stop crime dwindled down to two nights a week. Three if they were up to it.
The holidays flew by. Drake was home in time for Christmas and New Year’s, the latter celebrated with the McDucks. Dewey and Webby questioned Drake relentlessly about the film until the actor stopped them citing his NDA with the studio. Launchpad noticed a change in his partner. He only smiled when talking about his acting. Otherwise, he looked bored. Irritated, even.
Ms. Beakley pulled Launchpad aside after dinner. “Why did you and Darkwing withdraw for SHUSH? His answer was insufficient at best.” The pilot’s eyes widened.
Launchpad answered her question without a word.
“Well, by judging the way you reacted, this is news to you. I realize he was preoccupied with filming, but you should have been able to receive orders. Did you not?”
He shook his head. Darkwing left SHUSH for the both of them. A buzzing noise vibrated throughout his skull. “No, I didn’t get anything Ms. B. We installed a jammer in the tower after the Megavolt incident. What uh… what did he tell you?”
The older woman eyed the man with concern. “‘You two had other things to work on and did not have the time for it’, he said. I dislike vague answers, but he cut the call before I could ask for more. I don’t know if you have noticed but, the man has been avoiding me all evening. Now I don’t mean to cause any trouble, but I know as your emplo- former employer, that I am owed no explanation for this behavior. But you are.”
At midnight, Launchpad kissed his boyfriend. Though hurt, it’s still easy to kiss Drake. It’s just one secret, not a big deal. Hell, they rarely fought. They’ll talk about it on the way home. Gosalyn was going to stay at the manor for the rest of the holiday break, so the drive back to St. Canard would be the perfect time for the two of them to just talk.
The snow started to fall on their way back home. The car’s wipers set to their maximum speed. The snow was too wet and heavy. It couldn’t blow off the windshield.
“What do you mean? DW?” Launchpad’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. His feathers looked whiter around his knuckles. Who knew that was possible? Drake's arms were folded across his chest. He sounded agitated.
“I don’t know how to explain any better, Launchpad.” He only calls Launchpad by his full name while under duress and for those private, tender moments. “I pulled us from SHUSH because my movie will open up so many doors. I don’t think crime fighting will get Gosalyn through college.”
“But I thought the pay from SHUSH was good.” Launchpad let Drake take care of the finances. He wasn’t used to having a disposable income and willingly forfeited his debit card after Drake’s bill hit the table looking at their bank account.
He huffed. “It is a decent pay. The money from the movie will eclipse anything SHUSH ever would have paid us.” He wanted to be done with the conversation. Launchpad wasn’t. He put his on Drake’s thigh. He ignored feeling the small duck tense up. In a quiet voice, he addressed the other problem.
“I wish you wouldn’t keep secrets from me. We’ve been together for a few years now, and I think this is the first secret between us.” Sadness bled into his voice. “All you had to do was tell me you wanted to leave and I would have gone along right with it.” The leg relaxed.
“Okay. I’m sorry, LP. I really am.”
Launchpad squeezed Drake’s thigh. “Hey, as long as we don’t keep secrets, it’s okay. I love you.”
After crossing the bridge, Drake confessed. “I think I like acting more than being Darkwing Duck. I like to do stuff on my own. Is that bad? Things just feel different now.”
Launchpad’s stomach flipped. “No, it’s not bad,” he immediately answered. “If you want to act, I am behind you.” I like to do stuff on my own. On my own. On my own.
“Thanks, LP.”
_______
After the film’s premier, Drake wasn’t around much. He’s busy in Duckburg with interviews, meeting with agents, and rubbing elbows with A-list actors. When he is around, he’s less affectionate. Kissing seems forced. It would be easier to pull teeth than to have a hug reciprocated. Forget about preening. Emotional absence hurts more than physical absence.
Launchpad still tries. He calls every night hoping to talk to him. Last summer, it was almost a race to see who could call each other first. When they did talk, he could barely get in a word edgewise. He listens to Drake lament. “I should have put in more effort into acting.”
Launchpad is the only one who calls these days. Drake doesn’t answer. Voicemail full. It’s been more than two weeks since they last talked. Another missed call. Or ignored. Launchpad doesn’t know and refuses to assume the latter.
The magic is no longer bliss. It's a hex Launchpad doesn't want out of.
He pulls out a small purple box from his jacket’s inside pocket. There’s no reason to hold on to it anymore. It’s never going to be opened.