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Gosalyn was worried. As she steadily picked her way through the streets, hopping over cracks and skillfully clambering over rusted and broken down cars, scarf flapping as she went, she couldn’t shake the twisting in her gut.
Max and she had made the decision to tell both her father and Negaduck after the party, when everyone had gone back to their respective universes and everything was pleasant and relaxed. While her father had been overjoyed (and maybe a little despairing that he was losing his little girl and that she’d grown up too quickly), Negaduck had been quiet. Too quiet. His hug had been just a little too tight, his voice a little too gruff and guarded when he’d congratulated her. His eyes, softer than they had ever been before, had hardened slightly. And then, he’d gone silent, distancing himself from the group.
Almost a week later, and he was still silent. She hadn’t heard from him, even after reaching out to him.
And Gosalyn, having gotten to know him over the past decade, had immediately recognised what he was doing.
He was walling himself off, protecting himself from pain.
He thought he was losing his Baby Girl.
Worry had given way to her patented fierce determination. Whatever it was he thought, she was going to snap him out of it. Physically if she had to, though she didn’t think it would come to that.
She walked down the familiar, rundown street, towards the ever familiar door. Pushing it open, she was hit by how silent it was. Not the usual silence, but the kind of silence that came from emptiness, a lack of presence. She checked everywhere, as he’d always taught her to do, senses straining to pick up the slightest movement.
Nothing.
No one.
He wasn’t home.
But he had been, recently.
That was fine. She’d learned to be patient. She would simply light the fire and wait for him to return.
It was a few hours before the front door was slammed open. Gosalyn jolted awake, unaware of when she’d drifted off on the sofa. She blinked and turned her attention to the archway, where he stood stock still, his usual paranoid checking of his territory forgotten upon sighting her. Completely silent.
The only sound in the room being the snap and pop of the log as it burned.
She smiled and pushed herself up to stand in front of him, hands on hips.
“Hey, Papa Wolf.” He suddenly seemed to come back to himself, eyes hard and burning with a tempered flame that, to anyone else, would have spoken of rage.
But Gosalyn liked to think she knew better.
“What are you doing here?” She tipped her head to the side, cocking an eyebrow, her expression carefully neutral.
“You weren’t talking to me. So I came to make sure you’re still alive. Which you are. Which makes me wonder why you weren’t talking to me.” He seemed to flinch and wilt ever so slightly. Anyone else would have missed it. But not her. She saw everything. “So?”
“So what?”
“So why’d you go quiet?”
“I was busy.”
“You’ve been busy before, but you always made time to send at least one message.”
“Well, this time was different.”
“How so?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, it really doesn’t.” She folded her arms.
“Are we really going to do this? The back and forth? Or are you going to man up and tell me what’s really going on?” He glowered, storming into the kitchen. Gosalyn followed. The atmosphere was tense, like it had been before they’d gotten so close.
She watched as he slammed cupboard doors open and closed, not looking for anything in particular, just needing something to do.
Anything that would take his attention off her.
She sighed.
“Negaduck. Will you please talk to me?” He wouldn’t look at her, kept his back to her, his head stubbornly forward.
“Got nothin’ to say.” His voice was too casual. She huffed.
“You’ve made that perfectly clear.” He slammed a cupboard door hard, the crash echoing around the kitchen. He swung around, finally paying attention to the fact that she was there, but resolutely not looking her in the eye. His eyes were bright, but not only because of the fire that roared just below the surface.
“What do you want me to say?! I’ve already said congratulations, what else do you fucking want?!” In that moment, she realised that she’d been proven right.
And she hated it.
“Is that what this is about? My getting married?” He flinched, glaring the table into submission.
“No, of course it isn’t! I’m… happy for you.” He deflated, seemed to lose his strength. He all but collapsed into a chair, a whoosh of air escaping his lungs.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him this vulnerable. Even after those three years spent in Oblivion with… that guy.
“You think you’re going to lose me.” He looked at her properly for the first time, finally meeting her gaze. Those icy blue eyes that were usually so shielded, so hard, were beginning to crumble. Gosalyn shook her head, rounding the table and gathering him up into a fierce hug. He grabbed onto her, holding her like she was a lifeline, all but yanking her down onto his lap.
“Don’t go.” It was a whisper, so quiet, but so vulnerable that he may as well have shouted it.
“Oh, Papa Wolf. I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, I’ll always be your Baby Girl. I thought you knew that?” He laughed, and if it sounded slightly watery, she didn’t comment on it.
“Sometimes I forget.” She pulled back and smiled.
“Yeah, well, next time I’m just going to punch you in the beak until you get the hint.” He grinned.
“Sweetheart, you won’t get the chance.” She cocked an eyebrow and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Worrying me! Do you know what I’ve been going through the past week? I thought you’d gotten yourself into trouble or something. Don’t you ever do that to me again!” He was laughing. Really laughing. She tried to look indignant, but couldn’t hold the expression for too long before she joined in. She stood up and stretched, much more relaxed now that she knew he was alright.
“So, you gonna stop being an idiot now?”
“I wasn’t…” Her glare stopped his very obviously flawed argument. He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah I’m gonna stop being an idiot.” She smiled and nodded.
“Good. Because I expect you to start stepping up and stop moping. And don’t look at me like that, you were moping. You’re family now. I want you to be there, Papa Wolf. Got it?” He smirked, standing from the table. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead against hers.
“Count on it, Baby Girl. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
When she finally broke away from him and went back to the Prime universe, he felt lighter than he had for the past week.
And started mentally kicking himself.
What the hell had he been thinking? What the hell was wrong with him? Distancing himself from the best thing, the only decent thing in his life. Probably making her think the worst, which, given his nature and where he lived and what he did, were not too far flung from the imagination. Probably causing her unimaginable pain and worry. He huffed.
She was right, he was an idiot.
Well, no more. She wanted him to be there. So he would be there.
Not just for the wedding. But for everything that life threw at them.
He wanted to do something. Not something grandiose, although he was pretty sure Dorkwing would pull something off that he would have to match, but... something. To show his approval. To give his blessing.
To make amends.
He made his way up the stairs and into his room. Flinging open the doors to the wardrobe, he began tossing out items until he found what he was looking for. An old battered leather case he’d found on one of his many outings while re-establishing himself as Lord of the Negaverse, stuffed inside a cardboard box in one of the old warehouses he’d used previously as a tertiary base of operations. He’d flung it in the bottom of the wardrobe, the new one that Gosalyn had got him along with the new furniture and new walls and new floors and new… everything. And then proceeded to try and forget about it.
Until now.
He sat on the bed that was already beginning to become rickety, running a finger over scratches and slashes that ran through the impressions of letters.
D.M.
Two letters. Two simple, silly little letters that he had, in a moment of rage, taken a knife to. He remembered it well, the day he abandoned his birth name and adopted his new identity. He’d wanted to burn the entire case and be damned, until he’d opened it and looked inside. So many memories were in it, all of them the good ones. All of them of Ana.
He huffed an explosive sigh, shoving the memories back into the dark box in the back of his mind where they belonged, and went back to inspecting the case. The lock had rusted shut, so he would have to jimmy it open.
He grabbed his knife and pressed blade between the lid and body of the case, twisting and pressing and cursing up a storm as it constantly refused him entry. Until…
Click.
Finally. The rusted, corroded lock gave and the lid popped open. Throwing the knife, which embedded, blade first, into his wall, he threw the lid back and began to pour through the contents inside. He didn’t pay mind to what he was pushing aside. It wasn’t important at the moment.
His hand closed around a small box, which he pulled carefully from its hiding place.
He opened it and inspected the contents inside, reaching for a soft cloth and polish he kept in his drawer.
And set to work.