Chapter Text
Scrooge McDuck was waiting in the foyer for the newlyweds to walk in the door to the mansion.
“Elise! Zan!” Scrooge greeted them jovially when they arrived. “Welcome back! How was your honeymoon?”
“It was wonderful, thank you, Mr. McDuck,” Zan said politely, but with a sideways glance towards her new wife.
Dr. Elise Schwanz arched an eyebrow at the billionaire and Scrooge’s smile slipped slightly and he began to sweat.
“Yes, thank you,” Elise said, her voice calm and even. “It was rather generous of ‘someone who would like to remain anonymous’ to call the hotel and arrange for the rest of our meals to be paid for, as well as a complete spa package and anything else we might need during our stay. We particularly enjoyed that bottle of wine.”
“Ach, well, I suspected that you two would have a fine appreciation for that particular vintage,” Scrooge said, knowing there was no use denying that he was the ‘someone who would like to remain anonymous’.
Elise’s eyebrow got higher as she asked, “What did my idiots do?”
“Oh, nothing!” Scrooge said quickly. “They’ve been healthy as horses, keeping their noses clean and out of too many dangerous situations! Not a single scratch on them, not even a papercut!”
Suddenly, Zan’s eyes went wide as she saw Newton and Honker cross from the dining room to the den—and what they were carrying.
“Honker! Newton!” She shouted. “What have you got there?”
“Axes!” Honker called back, showing Zan what they held before resuming following Newton, who either hadn’t heard his name being called or pretending he hadn’t—and, being deaf, only Newton knew the difference and whether his hearing aids were on or not. “We’re going outside to throw them! Oh, and welcome back, Mayor Owlson and Dr. Schwanz!”
“What?” Zan exclaimed. “ No ! Where did the small children get axes ?”
Elise just narrowed her eyes at Scrooge, who smiled awkwardly.
“What is going on here?” Elise demanded.
“Er, well, you see, this is not your idiots’ work,” Scrooge said. “You see, the wee ones had a bit of a run in with Mad Ducktor—”
“They had what ?” Zan exclaimed while Elise looked unfazed.
“—and it prompted them to pose the question of whether or not Gyro has the same skills with throwing knives as Mad Ducktor,” Scrooge continued. “And, well, Rosa and Beakley are far, far too obliging in attempting to satisfy everyone’s curiosity.” He paused, then added, “They have a lot of very sharp things to throw between the two of them. An alarming amount of sharp things to throw…”
“Such as axes,” Elise said flatly. “Which have been placed in the hands of small children.”
“Er, yes.”
Elise sighed and rolled her eyes. “McDuck. You owe us a rather nice first anniversary trip, you are aware of that, right?”
“Yes, I am aware,” Scrooge said quickly. “Wherever in the world you want to go.”
“Great. Zan’s always wanted to go to Iceland,” Elise said. “I assume all of my idiots—not just the ones in capes—are in the backyard?”
“You’d assume correctly,” Scrooge said, making a motion for her to lead the way.
Elise rolled her eyes and marched out to the backyard.
Outside, Rosa’s eyes gleamed as she unrolled the oilcloth on a folding table, revealing a set of long, thin throwing knives.
“These are the closest I’ve got to Mad Ducktor’s knives,” Rosa explained to the watching group, mostly the kids. “Designed for speed.” She pulled one out and showed them, then went to the next roll. “And these!” She showed them that the edges were more serrated. “Are more for causing damage to your target! Oh, and here’s the throwing stars!”
“Can’t forget those!” Webby said. “What’s life without throwing stars?”
“I want to be a ninja!” Dewey exclaimed, reaching for one, then pausing, looking up at Rosa for permission. When she nodded, Dewey grabbed two to hold onto, striking cool ninja-poses for no one in particular.
“So, like, is this a cop thing?” Natasha asked suddenly as she picked up one of the knives. “Being literally armed to the teeth with just about anything and everything?”
“This is more of a Rosa thing,” Raymond answered, though he was admiring Rosa and Mrs. Beakley’s collections with much interest and appreciation.
“It is very much a M’ma thing,” Fenton said with a nod, slightly amused with how enthusiastic his mother was over showing off her rather vast collection—and knowing that this was only part of it.
“Have you ever had to use these in the line of duty?” Gandra asked.
“No,” Rosa said, sounding very disappointed with her own answer. “These are just for fun.”
“Your definition of ‘fun’ and mine are very different…” Mickey said with a nervous chuckle, a little intimidated by all the sharp objects.
“My definition of ‘fun’ is the same as M’ma’s,” Gosalyn declared, her eyes gleaming. “Can we start throwing now and get the fun started?”
“How about you let Rosa and Mrs. Beakley show you how to do it before you just start grabbing knives?” Donald suggested.
“Yeah, let’s have the experts show us how it’s done!” Della cheered, rubbing her hands together.
Rosa and Mrs. Beakley each grabbed a selection of knives and throwing stars before going up to the target lines. No one had said anything about there being a competition… but it was clearly about to become a competition between the two of them.
“This is the first time either of them have ever had real competition, isn’t it?” Abner asked as they watched the two women throw knives at their respective targets, each hit sinking into the bulls-eye.
“As far as I know of, yes,” Fenton said.
“Think it’s safe to say the same for Mrs. B,” Donald added.
“I must confess, it is quite a delight to witness Rosa display her skills with alternative forms of weaponry,” Storkules said.
“I’m glad you’re delighted, because frankly I’m both impressed and terrified,” Drake said. “How do we know so many scary women in our lives again?”
“You know full well Rosa isn’t the scariest woman in your life, Drake Mallard. I am.”
Drake jumped a foot in the air at hearing Elise’s voice behind him.
“Hey, Elise!” Launchpad greeted happily, while beside him Drake held his hand to his chest as he tried to recover from the scare. “Welcome back!”
“Hmm,” Elise said, folding her arms over her chest as she watched as Rosa and Mrs. Beakley continued to throw sharp objects across the yard. “Glad to see you waited until I returned before you upped the ante on stupidity. I hear Gyro is supposed to be throwing some of these?”
“It was not my idea,” Gyro said defensively. “Trust me.”
“It is a scientific endeavor,” Violet informed Elise.
“Yeah, an experiment!” Boyd added, nodding.
“It’s an experiment alright,” Elise said dryly. “As to how quickly you all can test my patience.”
Finally, Rosa and Mrs. Beakley ran out of things to throw. They both looked at their targets, then each other’s, then exchanged a nod of mutual appreciation.
“You have impressive technique,” Mrs. Beakley said as they retrieved their knives, throwing stars, and other pointy objects.
“Thank you,” Rosa said.
“Where did you learn?” Mrs. Beakley pressed. “Obviously, not at the police academy. A Cabrera family tradition, I presume?”
“No. As far as I know, I’m the only one in my family who does this sort of thing. I am entirely self-taught,” Rosa said with no small amount of smugness.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Beakley said, eyebrows raising. “I am now even more impressed with your expertise.”
Rosa nodded then switched the knife in her hand so that she was carefully holding the blade, handle extended towards Gyro.
“Your turn,” Rosa said with a smirk, eyes gleaming and suddenly reminding everyone of a shark.
Gyro groaned but took the knife.
“Why is Gyro throwing knives again?” Zan asked as she warily—and wisely—took a few steps backwards from where she was already a safe distance from the throwing line.
“Because Mad Ducktor throws knives,” Huey explained.
“And he’s, like, scary good at it,” Dewey said.
“So we want to know if Uncle Ro is as good at it as Mad Ducktor,” Clara finished.
“And God forbid some mysteries of life remain mysteries,” Elise said as Gyro reared his arm back. Only Rosa was brave enough to stand beside Gyro as he made the throw.
They all watched with baited breath—most of them ready to duck or run—as Gyro threw the knife.
It was rather anticlimactic, as the knife landed tip-down in the dirt a few paces away. Far, far from the target.
“Again,” Rosa ordered, handing Gyro another knife.
“Really?” Gyro demanded flatly, gesturing to the knife in the ground. “I think that told us all that we need to know.”
“Really? Giving up on an experiment after one attempt?” Rosa said, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “I thought you were a scientist.”
Gyro glared at her, but took another knife.
“Release a little earlier this time,” Rosa critiqued as he drew his arm back again.
Gyro heeded the advice, and that time the knife made it into the target. It was not a bulls-eye by any stretch of the imagination, hit the very bottom of the target, and only stuck for a fraction of a second before falling out onto the ground, but it counted as a hit to the target nonetheless.
Gyro took the three additional knives that Rosa offered him, and by the end of it, two of his five throws had stuck in the target.
“Well, I think we have a confirmed answer to our question,” Boyd said.
“Yeah, that Gyro and Mad Ducktor have two very different skill levels when it comes to throwing knives,” Dewey said.
[Which just leads to another question,] Newton said. [Where did Mad Ducktor’s skills come from?]
[“That,”] Gyro told Newton. [“Can remain a mystery of life.”]
“Alright, who wants a turn?” Rosa asked.
“Me!” all of the kids—and a few of the adults—said, throwing hands in the air.
Elise scowled, and turned to Maria. “Did you bring desserts tonight?”
“I was asked specifically to make a German chocolate cake that only one person was allowed to touch,” Maria answered, smiling faintly. “I presume you would like a slice now?”
“I want a slice so large it would otherwise be considered three,” Elise responded, her voice and face deadpan.
Maria’s smile grew and she nodded. “Coming right up.”
A while later, Clara stood at the throwing line, a knife in hand, staring down a target, allowing Rosa to guide her grip on the knife. She glanced beside her, where Dewey was throwing the throwing stars like frisbees at the other target—and not getting very far—and she just hoped that one of the knives hit the target.
Clara took a deep breath, checked her stance, and drew her arm back like Rosa showed her, then threw.
Clara gasped and bounced onto her toes, squealing as the knife hit the target. It didn’t hit dead center, it went a little high, but it hit!
“Good job,” Rosa praised.
“That was amazing!” Clara said.
“You know what will be even more amazing,” Rosa said, handing her another knife. “If you can do it again.”
Clara accepted the knife and challenge, throwing knife after knife.
The last one sank in dead center.
Clara’s cheeks were pink, her smile was big, her eyes were gleaming with pride in herself. It was the same feeling as when she finally nailed a ballet move she was struggling with, the same feeling as when she executed a kick or punch just right under Donald’s coaching.
Rosa and Mrs. Beakley exchanged a glance. Not only was Clara good at knife throwing, she was officially hooked.
Mrs. Beakley put her hand on Clara’s shoulder, smiling fondly as she said, “It’s always such a blessing to be able to witness the moment a young woman realizes that she is a deadly force to be reckoned with.”
“Welcome to the sisterhood,” Rosa said with an approving nod.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I know what I’m getting Clara for Christmas,” Natasha commented wryly to her siblings.
Gyro snorted in laughter, but Maria said nothing, just staring blankly ahead, Abner standing behind her and rubbing her shoulders and kissing her cheek. Maria was not sure how she felt about Clara’s new-found obsession with throwing knives—especially as it seemed to be an obsession shared with Mad Ducktor, whom they recently learned also had an obsession with Clara herself.
On one hand, Maria knew her daughter was happier now since she’d moved to Duckburg than she had ever seen her before.
On the other hand, did that happiness have to involve throwing knives?
“Where’d you get all of these knives anyways, M’ma?” Louie asked when he came up to the table to make his selection for knives. “It’s a pretty big collection. I mean, Beakley’s, I get. Spy. But what got this collection going?”
“This collection got started because I found the right kind of man,” Rosa answered. “Ham figured out that the way to my heart was to get me shiny and deadly things as presents.”
“Good man,” Kevin commented.
“The best,” Rosa said, her smile now reminiscent. “Have never found another like him, that’s for sure.” She picked up a knife from a particular set and sighed. “I asked Ham to marry me when he gave me these for our first Valentine’s Day. Knew he was the one, then and there.”
Webby gasped, her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide at the romance of it all. “Did he say yes?”
“They did get married, Webs,” Lena said, rolling her eyes.
“He said yes,” Rosa confirmed to Webby, who squealed with delight. Rosa glanced down at the knife in her hands and sighed again as she ran her thumb over the edge carefully. “Throwing these around always brings back memories of Ham…”
“Anyone else thinking about their dead husband while throwing knives might be concerning, yet that is one of the most romantic things I’ve heard in my life,” Minnie commented.
Rosa nodded slightly, something in her expression saying that she wanted a change in subject right before she turned to Elise. “You know, rumor has it that you used to pitch softball.”
“One of the few times a rumor is true,” Elise said as she used her fork to scrape the remains of frosting off her plate.
“Want to see how those pitching skills work with knives?” Rosa asked.
Elise arched an eyebrow, fork in her mouth. Then she rolled her eyes and took out the fork saying, “Can’t beat them, join them.”
“Woo, go Elise!” Gosalyn said, starting to clap as Elise took a position in front of the target, Rosa beside her.
As they went, Fenton watched his mother, a twinge of worry in his gut. Rosa’s words were repeating in his head, her sad smile all he could think about.
Was his M’ma okay?
*****
“Hey. Suit. Earth to Fenton, come in, Fenton.”
Fenton blinked as Gandra’s fingers snapped in front of his face. He shook his head slightly, clearing his head and coming back into reality. He and Gandra were sitting at a booth in a diner, catching breakfast before work. He hadn’t realized he had zoned out.
“Sorry, you were saying?” Fenton said, grabbing the straw wrapper on the table and starting to play with it.
Gandra put her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands, smiling fondly at him as she asked teasingly, “What were you thinking about so hard over there, space cadet?”
Fenton took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Do you think M’ma is lonely?”
Whatever Gandra had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Gandra frowned and lifted her chin off her hands.
“Do I think your mom,” Gandra repeated slowly. “is lonely?”
Fenton nodded.
Gandra’s brow furrowed. “Do you think your mom is lonely?”
“Yes. No. Maybe?” Fenton sighed and dropped the straw wrapper in slight agitation.
“Talk to me, Suit,” Gandra said, pulling over her orange juice and sipping it. “Did something happen?”
“I guess I just keep thinking about the other night, at family dinner,” Fenton said. “When M’ma was talking about her knives and how they remind her of my dad.”
Gandra nodded. “Yeah, but I think that’s more sad than lonely. And, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being sad. She loved your dad a lot, and still misses him, even after all this time.”
“I know that, but there’s just one thing that she said that I can’t stop thinking about,” Fenton said, resting his elbows on the table, his cheeks against his hands. “About how she’s never found another man like my dad.”
“There is no other man like your dad,” Gandra pointed out. “I’d never be able to find another man like you, and you’d never be able to find another woman like me. One of a kind snowflakes and all that.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Fenton said. “But I also don’t think she’s ever… well, she’s never found anyone that comes close to my dad because she’s never looked.”
Gandra’s brow furrowed. “Rosa’s never dated? After all this time?”
“Not as far as I know of. Unless she was really secretive about it.”
“Or you were totally oblivious.”
“I mean, that’s a viable option, too,” Fenton confessed, nodding. The waitress arrived with their food, momentarily disrupting the conversation, and when she was gone Fenton said, “I guess, now that I’ve got you and we’re talking about building a future together, I’m just worried that… well, that M’ma will be lonely whenever we eventually move somewhere together.”
Gandra nodded as she used the side of her knife to cut into her omelet. “You and your mom have only had each other for a long time. Pretty much your entire life. I get why you’re worried about her. As much as she’s your mom and took care of you, you’ve also taken care of her.”
“Yeah,” Fenton said. “I guess… I just want to make sure that she’ll be okay. That she has someone. I just keep thinking about her coming home to an empty house all the time and that’s… well, it makes me sad. And then it also makes me worried, because what if something happens to her? If she gets hurt or sick, there’d be no one there to notice or help her. But it’s more than just a safety thing, I just… I want her to be happy.”
Gandra reached across the table to put her hand over Fenton’s. “I’m not going to say that you have nothing to worry about—because, yeah, I think you’ve got some valid concerns, but concerns that won’t actually become concerns until far, far in the future—but for now, I’m going to focus on answering the first thing you asked me, which is if I thought your mom is lonely. Which is a ‘no’. From what I’ve seen, she’s not. So I hope that at least helps you worry less.”
“A little,” Fenton confessed. “Thanks, cariño.”
“Anytime, Suit,” Gandra said.
When they arrived at the Money Bin shortly after for work, they both paused at noticing an unfamiliar car in the parking garage. The car was clearly a police vehicle, marked Rouen County—the county that the City of Duckburg was in.
Fenton and Gandra exchanged a glance. Something must have happened either during the night on one of Darkwing’s calls, or very early in the morning on Duck Avenger’s, to warrant a visit from the county sheriff’s department.
“I’m going to make a stop by Mission Control,” Fenton told Gandra, who nodded.
“I’ll let Gyro know,” Gandra told him as they got in the elevator, each pressing the buttons for their respective floors.
Fenton stepped off at the Mission Control floor and caught sight of Storkules, Penumbra, Melissa, Andy, and Charles gathered around—clearly trying hard not to look like they were watching what was happening in the conference room, and all of whom were failing.
“What’s going on?” Fenton asked. “Saw a Sheriff’s car in the parking garage. Everything okay?”
Melissa’s eyes were gleaming and her tail was wagging, a wide grin on her face as she said, “Rosa has a visitor.”