Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sleep eluded Donald as the light of the full moon shined down on his houseboat.  He slammed his pillow over his face, desperate to finally pass out.  Unfortunately, that only resulted in him gagging on a loose feather that had broken free from an old patch job.  He really needed to fix that...again.  

A familiar wave of rage filled Donald as he continued choking.  The pillow, with how old and threadbare it was, easily tore in half as he ripped it apart.  Thankfully, it seemed the sudden burst of energy had managed to clear his throat.  Donald took a few deep breaths and stared at the destroyed mess that used to be his pillow.  Its contents all scattered across his tiny bedroom.  He definitely wasn't going to get any rest now.

"Aw, phooey."

Donald sighed sadly as he climbed down from his hammock.  While he should probably start cleaning up, Donald found himself with little willingness to devote to the task.  It could just be a future Donald problem.  Gods know he has plenty of those.

Stepping out on deck, he winced at the scent of chlorine that greeted him.  There were certainly drawbacks to living in a pool.  There were drawbacks to living anywhere, Donald supposed, and he should at least be grateful that he was at least back in civilization.  He fought the urge to shudder.

The island had been paradise when compared to being imprisoned on the moon, but Donald had been quick to realize that he had basically exchanged one cell for another.  Sure, he knew how to survive in the middle of nowhere, so that was already one less direct threat hanging over his head, and it wasn't like he was even injured that much from his crash.  However, after about the third day, Donald understood what the true cost of his escape had been: Crippling Loneliness.

All alone from any sentient beings for an entire month, Donald knew he was starting to crack when he told a crab scuttling on the beach to go clean up its room or it wasn't getting any dessert after dinner.  There wasn't any dessert on the island.  There was hardly any food at all!  

Donald thought he had struck gold when he found those watermelons randomly growing in the island's center...until they started talking to him.  Of course, looking back, that was probably a result of all the seawater he had been drinking.  It still didn't make the sight of Gladstone eating Mickey Melon any less traumatic, though.

Donald took another deep breath.  For all its faults, the island did remind him of how much he missed being on the ocean.  While he did initially buy the houseboat in an attempt to circumvent the rising rent crisis in Duckburg, as he was suddenly responsible for supporting three ducklings and himself despite never having a job before, Donald couldn't deny that he had a few ulterior motives.  The smell of the ocean, when he wasn't forced to drink it, was always such a comfort to him.

The moon, too, used to help calm Donald through hard nights.  No matter how far away he was from home, on whatever strange content, or mysterious mountain, or deserted island without any dessert he found himself on, the moon always remained.  It was always there, just to light up the night and provide the tide to his beloved ocean.

That was something else he was never going to see the same way ever again.

Without the ocean or the moon to alleviate his anxiety, Donald turned to a third form of relief.  He had mostly given up smoking after the boys hatched.  Not only was it bad for their health, but money was always too tight for Donald to indulge in something as short term as a pack of cigarettes.

However, José had been kind enough to slip him a cigar as they exchanged goodbyes after their trip.  Panchito had also been gifted one, but he smoked his during a pit stop on the way to Mexico City.  Donald didn't.  Partially because he didn't want the kids to catch him smoking, and, personally, he didn't want to have to hear about it from Scrooge.  It had been his uncle who originally warned him that smoking would only further ruin his already scratchy voice.  Years of "I told ya so!" made the sentiment less of a lesson and more of a grating grandstand.  

Donald pointedly faced away from both the mansion and the full moon as he lit up.  Cigars were quite different from the cheap cigarettes he was used to, but it did the trick in steadying his nerves.  Even still, Donald couldn't stop thinking about the moon looming behind him.  He briefly considered hitching a ride to Ithaquack and asking Selene to cover it up or something.  Obviously, he couldn't ask her to get rid of the moon permanently, but perhaps she would at least consider doing away with full moons every month?  

Donald choked out a bitter laugh.  How pathetic was he?  Afraid of the moon.  

"Quick!  I saw him go that way!"

His lungs burned as he barely managed to duck behind a rooftop AC unit.  He pulled his cape as tightly around his body as he could, hopeful that the dark color would camouflage him in the shadows.  Unfortunately, the full moon seemed determined to expose him anywhere he went, and he was soon sent on the run yet again.

After all this time...Was this how the great Duck Avenger would finally be caught?  All because he couldn't stay out of the stupid moonlight!  

How pathetic was he?

Of course, that's not what happened.  The Duck Avenger was able to evade the law, in order to fight for it again another night.

Donald brushed the stray ash into the pool and waved away the lingering smoke.  That was a long time ago.  Back when his insomnia was a boon rather than a burden.  He couldn't leap across rooftops if he was falling asleep halfway.  A fond smile crossed his beak, before he forced it away.

It wasn't that Donald didn't feel nostalgic for his nights spent galavanting around Duckburg as the Duck Avenger, but it was hard to remember such times without a grain of salt.  As much as it was a thrill to punch out purse snatchers in dark alleys, it was also a pain to have to ice his knuckles for a week afterward.  His escapades and injuries only escalated the longer he wore the mask.

While Donald had managed to successfully keep the truth of his nightly activities secret from his family, that didn't mean that they weren't suspicious.  Luckily, he was known for being the clumsy one on their adventures.  Donald made sure that the rate at which he was hurt, or missed a step, or leaned tiredly against an obvious booby trap definitely picked up a noticeable amount.  That stopped most questions from Della about any new wounds that he might have forgotten to cover up.

Scrooge didn't seem to care, however, as he was too caught up dealing with the Duck Avenger to pay attention to Donald.  All these years later, and Donald could still laugh at the irony.  

Of course, all things must come to an end eventually.  

Donald gave nearly seven years of his life to protecting the city, even if they repaid all of his heroism with slander and vitriol.  Sure, his first outings were more on the trickster side, (He could never live down the time he sent half a million of Scrooge's dollars raining down onto the city while the elder duck was tied up due to one of Glomgold's schemes.) but Donald learned to be better. 

It wasn't his fault that the news reporters, especially that Angus Fangus, were constantly undermining his good deeds.

Return a lost dog?  Get accused of stealing it.  Stop a robbery?  Have it implied that he was in league with the thieves.  Save people from a burning building?  Be labeled an arsonist.

No matter what good Donald did, his legacy was painted worse than that of the very criminals he was determined to take down.  Anyone else would have probably seen the writing on the wall and given up.  There were plenty of moments when Donald wanted to just that.  However, for as many publicized detractors, Donald still found the occasional supporter.  Usually, amongst those that he saved.  

One kid went so far as to leave a home made thank you card taped to the park bench that Donald had originally found him crying on.  His mother was less than happy to see that it had been the Duck Avenger who found her missing son, but the boy was quick to defend Donald as his hero and not his kidnapper.  

It was then that Donald truly saw the value in his work.  So what if every news report called him a menace?  Donald knew the truth, he was making a difference where it mattered.  To those who needed help.  So long as someone needed him, then the Duck Avenger would be there.

This vow was what ultimately led to Donald hanging up his cape for good.  When it became clear that Della wasn't coming back, Donald came to the sobering realization that the she triplets left behind didn't need a hero, they needed their uncle.  

The Duck Avenger didn't go down in a blaze of glory.  

Rather, it was through a poorly timed step during an impromptu battle against his long time nemesis: Scrooge McDuck.  The two had encountered each other on the docks of the marina late one night.  

The fury behind his punches wasn't staged, as Donald was still in the throes of his grief about Della, and he very much blamed Scrooge for it.  Still, he made sure to let his uncle lead the fight to the edge of the docks.  Scrooge lunched, and Donald used the opportunity to fall backwards into the water.  

It was a new moon, so the entire ocean seemed as black as the sky.  Donald quickly ditched his cape and mask, letting both float to the surface while he swam over to his newly purchased houseboat anchored nearby.  The Duck Avenger was no more.

The papers weren't kind to him, not even in death.  Despite the fact that no body was ever found, the Duck Avenger was declared dead and Scrooge McDuck was declared the savior of Duckburg.  Donald was pretty sure he then got the key to the city for it, along with the retrieved mask and cape to keep as a trophy.  Kind of messed up to celebrate his murder like that in Donald's opinion, but it wasn't like he was going to be the one to stand up and complain.

It didn't matter anyway.  A decade later and nobody even remembered the name of the Duck Avenger.  

Donald did find himself conflicted when Gizmoduck first showed up in Duckburg.  Not only was the news attempting to pull the same slander campaign against Gizmoduck that they had used on him, but that botched bank robbery could have gotten someone hurt.  Huey was literally right there in the line of fire!  Not to mention how determined Huey was to track down the wannabe hero.  Donald almost considered coming out of retirement if this was the best that could be found to replace him.  

Thankfully, Gizmoduck shaped up, and so Donald was able to remain out of the game for a little longer.  Of course, that was right when the whole moon invasion happened.

How could he ever forget that?

With his cigar almost finished, Donald snuffed the end out on the railing.  It left an ugly dark mark on the wood, but Donald didn't care.  He could always just paint over it later.  There were plenty of other burn marks and such all over the houseboat that were hidden underneath layers of paint.  The result of being incredibly accident prone while raising three rambunctious boys.

Donald sighed.  He loved his nephews more than anything else, and he almost lost them to that madman Lunaris.  Their plane was literally shot down over a deserted island!  What if he hadn't already been there?  Would he have been able to find them?

...Would they have ever found him?

Donald watched as the sun slowly began to rise up over the horizon.  He rubbed his eyes.  Of course, it would be today of all days that he had to operate without any sleep.  Still, Donald refused to miss Huey's Junior Woodchuck graduation.  He had gone to every one, ever since his nephew first joined.  While Donald didn't care much for his own time there, as he always had a complicated relationship with nature, he knew just how important it all was to Huey.  

Plus, this was the first time that Della can attend.  That was reason enough for Donald to go.  He had given her a few photo albums to borrow, but Donald knew that looking at pictures couldn't compare to actually being there.  She was finally able to make memories with everyone, as well as be able to know for sure that her family was safe.  

The thought of anything happening to them while she was left trapped on the moon and unable to do anything, must have been near all consuming at times.  

Donald should know.

Between the weird dancing bird, the lightning rain, and the giant man eating bear, a mosquito made of metal shouldn't have seemed as out of place as it did.  

While his family were all busy gawking at some old notebook, Donald was in the middle of a showdown with the same mosquito that had been bugging him since the start of the ceremony.  It had chased him all through the woods on their adventure, yet it refused to be satiated.  Even the blood offering that Della had suggested he make wasn't enough.  Nope, the stupid bug just hovered around him the entire time.  

To make matters more annoying, Della wouldn't just let him kill it.  She cited some Woodchuck rule about respecting nature while in nature or whatever, but Donald couldn't care less.  Finally, with everyone distracted, Donald was able to make his move.

A quick punch sent the mosquito flying straight into a nearby cave wall.  Take that, nature!  

Unfortunately, Donald soon found his victory interrupted by a strange feeling.  He looked down at his hand, and noticed the small trickle of blood trailing down from his now bruised knuckles.  Confused, Donald slowly stepped over to the dead mosquito on the ground.  Except, it wasn't a mosquito he found.

Mosquitoes weren't usually made of metal.  And, to Donald's knowledge, they also didn't have camera lenses for eyes.

He should tell someone.  He should drag the fake mosquito over there right now, so that Scrooge could—

Donald froze.  Scrooge, Della, and the kids were all excitedly talking about their next adventures.  They all seemed so happy.  So safe.  Donald glanced down at the robot bug.  He didn't know who could be targeting his family this time, but they've made a huge mistake.  

Because, Donald was here this time.  He wasn't going to let anybody hurt them.  Not again.

"Hey, Donald!"  Della called.  "Uncle Scrooge said if you're not in the limo with the rest of us, then he's making Launchpad leave without you!"

"Coming..."

Donald looked around quickly, before shoving the fake mosquito into his pocket.  He also made sure to cover up his injured hand.  Della clapped him on the back when he reached her.  

"Don't worry about what Scrooge says," she quietly told him.  "I won't let you get left behind again."

Donald smiled, more determined than ever to protect his family.

Chapter Text

For almost a day and a half, the fake mosquito was burning a hole in Donald's pocket.  It wasn't hard to keep it hidden.  Everyone was kept busy trying to locate the first one of the lost mysteries.  The trouble had to do with Donald and finding an opportunity to visit the underground laboratory at the money bin.

Donald wasn't a scientist.  Just because he could recognize that the mosquito was some sort of robot, didn't mean that he could figure out much else.  He didn't know how it worked or even where it could have come from.  However, Donald did know someone who could figure that out.

"If you're looking for my intern, then you should know that he's out of office currently.  I heard Gizmoduck was cutting the ribbon at a new grocery store parking lot, or something else just as unimportant."

Donald wasn't surprised by Dr. Gearloose's dismissive attitude when he entered the lab.  His nephews typically only came around to hangout with Fenton, while Della was still seeing red over being forced to chew black licorice flavored Oxy-Chew for a decade.  

When he noticed that Donald hadn't left, Gyro looked up from his tablet.

"I told you—"

The remains of the mosquito were placed silently on the desk in front of him.  Gyro's eyes flicked between them and Donald.

"Why are you putting garbage on my desk?  What even is this thing?"

Donald glanced around, making sure that Manny and Lil' Bulb weren't nearby.

"This thing was following me and my family the other day."

That certainly piqued Gyro's interest, and he started to take a closer look.  

"It's certainly some advanced technology.  I've never seen anything like it before...Does Mr. McDuck know about this?"

"No," Donald shook his head, "and I'd like to keep it that way for now."

Instead of asking what possible reason Donald could have for hiding something like this from Scrooge, Gyro only hummed and got back to the mosquito.

"Clearly, it was designed with espionage in mind," Gyro concluded after a few more minutes of tinkering.  "It's equipped with a broadcasting system that feeds into an external hard drive wirelessly, all while being controlled remotely."

Donald nodded his head like he understood what that all meant.  

"Do you know who sent it?"  He then asked.

Gyro shrugged.  "I could possibly reverse the source of the last signals exchanged, however, that will take several hours.  If you wait until tomorrow morning when my intern returns—"

"No offense," Donald told him, " but I'd prefer to keep Gizmoduck out of this for now.  The less who know about this the better."

"Hmm.  If I was being stalked by a sophisticated robot mosquito and someone had information on it, then I'd prefer to be alerted by them.  However, that's none of my business.  Return here at midnight for results, Tall Nephew."

"Alright...wait, Tall Nephew?"  Donald tilted his head.

Gyro angrily threw his hands in the air.  

"What?  Am I expected to remember all of your names?  I'm a busy scientist with a hundred other, far more important thoughts that I need to keep complete track of at any given second.  None of which involve committing the various members of Mr. McDuck's family to memory.  So yes, you are designated as Tall Nephew.  Now, give my regards to Hat Nephew, Blue Nephew, Green Nephew, and Girl Nephew, and I will see you later tonight, Tall Nephew."

With the robot mosquito taken care of for now, Donald left the lab and reunited with his uncle.  Scrooge was a bit miffed that Donald had wandered off, but he did buy Donald's excuse of getting trapped on the elevator.  He's gotten trapped in the pantry enough times that it almost seemed inevitable that he'd get stuck bouncing between floors for almost an hour.

When it was time to leave, Scrooge barred Donald from entering the elevator with his cane.  Apparently, he didn't want a repeat of earlier, so Donald was relegated to taking the stairs.  Annoying, but not unexpected with his bad luck.  And, if Donald accidentally dropped his wallet somewhere along the way, then that was also just par for the course.  

"Thanks for the ride," Donald told Launchpad as they crashed into the parking garage of the bin.

"No problem, Donald!"  Launchpad gleefully replied.  "You just take all the time you need to go find your wallet.  It's going to take me a little while to get the limo ready, anyway.  These airbags don't repack themselves!"

Donald awkwardly nodded.  He felt bad for manipulating Launchpad like this, but it wasn't like he had any other option.  The busses had long stopped running for the night, and Donald's car didn't have proper clearance to enter the bin.  It was better to just let Launchpad think he was helping a friend who lost his wallet and didn't want to wait until the next day to retrieve it.

Besides, this wouldn't take him very long.  

...Right?

Gyro met Donald at the elevator as the doors opened to the underwater lab.  A grim look was set on his beak, and he shoved a tablet into Donald's hands.

"It appears that Mr. McDuck has some powerful enemies."

"What else is new?"  Donald asked.

He scrolled through the various pages.  A detailed schematic of the mosquito was featured, along with some reversed engineered blueprints.  Donald didn't linger on them.  His focus was instead drawn to something else.

"F.O.W.L." Donald read aloud.  "What's that?"

Gyro snatched the tablet back.  Donald watched as he flicked his finger across the screen a few times, before landing on a new file.

"The Fiendish Organization for World Larceny," Gyro explained.  "I was unsure what that could be about as well, especially with how cutting edge the design of their spy bug was.  So, I did what all great scientists do best, and I relegated all research to an intern."

Before Donald could protest, Gyro held up a hand.

"Don't worry, it wasn't Fenton or Manny.  I already took into consideration your request to keep this between us.  Though, why you forced me into this position I don't understand.  Also, and do keep this in mind for next time Tall Nephew, I'm not on your payroll.  So I don't have to do any of this."

Donald lifted an eyebrow, "Then why are you helping me?  You could have called my uncle at any time, and I wouldn't have been able to stop you."

At this Gyro looked off to the side and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well...about that.  At first, I was honestly just curious about the bug.  Robotics are my livelihood, after all.  I also was curious about how they kept it from turning evil, but that's not the point.  The actual reason I didn't alert Mr. McDuck was because of how I, or that is to say, how my intern obtained the information on F.O.W.L."

At that moment, Lil' Bulb peaked out from underneath Gyro's lab coat.  Donald didn't know much about robots, but he had plenty of experience around guilty children.  He took a closer look at the files on the tablet.  His eyes went wide.

"You hacked into S.H.U.S.H.?!"

Gyro immediately grabbed Donald's arms, while Lil' Bulb held his beak shut.

"Would you keep that grating voice of yours quiet?  We don't know who else could be listening, and I do have cameras all over in here."

Donald mentally counted to ten, one of the first techniques he learned in anger management, before taking a deep breath and nodding.  Lil' Bulb and Gyro then released him.

"So," Donald stared down at the tablet, "you don't want Scrooge to know that one of your inventions hacked into the super secret spy agency that he was a part of."

That made sense.  Gyro's robots had enough of a reputation with turning evil.  The last thing he needed was such incriminating evidence of the fact.

"I believe, Tall Nephew, this is what's known as 'common ground' between us."

Again, Donald nodded, and he began to read the files in earnest.  The information did not bring him any comfort.  F.O.W.L. was a secret organization that had been a real thorn in S.H.U.S.H.'s side since the late 1960's.  However, according to the official report, they had been wiped out over a decade ago.  Most of the records had been redacted, but Donald could still see the main agent in charge of the case.

"Agent 22."

What Mrs. Beakley did before becoming Scrooge's housekeeper wasn't that much of a secret.  Why she decided to give it all up was a bit more of a mystery.  Although, considering the dates, Donald could make an educated guess that it had to do with Webby.  

What didn't make sense was why would she be confident enough in the destruction of F.O.W.L. to retire if they were still around eleven years later?  Donald didn't like this.  

"Perhaps, they went underground?"  Gyro suggested.  "Whatever damage this Agent 22 caused was clearly massive, so it would stand to reason that F.O.W.L. would pack up what was left and regroup.  From what we've read, this organization seems like the type that's centered around not only their goal, but their leader as well."

Gyro's theory did seem to have merit, especially when Donald saw that even S.H.U.S.H. themselves had been unable to confirm the identity of the head boss.  In fact, only one confirmed member was listed.  

The image of Black Heron sent a chill down Donald's spine.  Even all these years later, and he could still remember the fear he felt when he and Della were at her mercy.  Luckily, a bit of quick thinking from Uncle Scrooge ensured their safety as his rightful heirs and meant that she couldn't kill them or else she'd loose the magical papyrus forever.  

(He also recalled the lengthy NDA that their uncle made them sign afterwards in order to prevent their mom from learning the true extent of their adventure.)

"We need to find out who the leader is," Donald told Gyro.  

Gyro immediately shook his head no.  

"What do you mean by we, Tall Nephew?  I'm already going to be in enough trouble as it is if anyone finds out about the whole hacking into classified documents from a secret spy agency.  Of which, you'd better keep quiet about if you know what's good for you.  My robots might turn evil occasionally by accident, but rest assured that I can always do it on purpose for once."

Donald glared up at Gyro, who only sighed.

"Look, clearly we've discovered something major, the means of how put aside for both of us.  What we know for sure is that there is an evil organization that has been successfully hidden for a decade from even the very people whose job it is to keep track of them.  And now, they're after Scrooge McDuck and his family, at the very least.  Why exactly?  Your guess is as good as mine, Tall Nephew.  However, I think now may be the time to alert Mr. McDuck—

"No!"  Donald snapped. 

Surprised, Gyro recoiled back slightly.  Donald took a deep breath, another tip from anger management.

"We can't tell Scrooge or anyone else in my family about what's going on.  That will only put them in danger."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Tall Nephew, but they're all already currently in danger," Gyro argued back.  "What difference does it make if they know about it now or later?"

"Because, I have the chance to actually protect them this time!"  

Gyro's eyes went wide.  

"You're really risking your family's life to play pretend as some hero?  Newsflash, Tall Nephew, not everyone can be the next Gizmoduck—"

"I'm not risking their lives!"  Donald's face slowly began to grow red.  "I'm trying to save them!  Lunaris targeted my kids specifically to mess with Scrooge's head, and it worked!  

"If Scrooge were to find out that F.O.W.L. is after him, what do you think he'll do?  He'll rush in without any information on who exactly is in charge, think he has the upper hand because he's Scrooge McDuck, and then the leader will take out everyone else before he can do anything about it!"

Donald took several shallow breaths as he attempted to calm down.  Gyro stood there silently, as if he was pondering Donald's words.  Finally, when it seemed like Donald wasn't going to lash out anymore, Gyro spoke up.

"I do agree that the moon invasion was handled poorly by your uncle, even if we were successful in the end.  While Mr. McDuck does plan for nearly inevitably, he tends to fall apart when holes are poked in them, or when your family is put in the direct line of fire."

"Exactly," Donald told him.  "If he thinks that the kids, or Della, or anyone else he cares about are in danger, then he's not going to wait.  You said it yourself, F.O.W.L.'s existence depends on its leader.  Agent 22 caused a lot of problems for them, but they were still able to rebuild.  If we tell Scrooge now, then we lose the chance to find the leader for maybe another ten or more years."

Donald's eyes wandered over to the desk where the robotic mosquito was still lying on.

"Who knows what else they could come up with in all that time?"

Gyro, too, looked over at the mosquito bot.

"Even so, Tall Nephew, what do you suppose we can do?  Sure, I'm a genius, but even that has its limits.  And, no offense, but you're..."

Gyro gestured to Donald's, well, everything.  Under other circumstances, Donald would have probably agreed.  He was just Donald Duck, and that almost never meant much.  However, there was one thing Donald could do better than anyone else.  He could sacrifice himself in the name of his family.  So long as they were safe, he could walk into the underworld with a smile on his beak.

His family didn't need an uncle anymore.  They needed a hero.

"Have you ever heard of the Duck Avenger?"

Chapter Text

Donald pulled at the collar of his new costume, only for Gyro to slap his hand away.

"Don't mess with that!  It's incredibly sensitive material, and still highly experimental."

"It feels like polyester," Donald complained, before catching Gyro's glare.

"Well, you were the one who claimed to have a cotton allergy," Gyro reminded Donald.  "Now, how does everything feel?"

As Donald gave his answers, Gyro made a few marks down in his notebook for each one.  They had agreed to keep all reports and plans on paper rather than digitally.  That way, not only could they not be hacked, but it would be easier to burn any evidence.  Because, the last thing they needed was to leave behind anything incriminating.

When Donald first pitched his idea, Gyro, predictably, wanted to go in a different direction.  A more Gizmo-esque direction, but Donald stood firm.  He's not trying to hurt anyone, so he doesn't need any fancy robotic weapons.  The Duck Avenger was able to get by just fine with only his fists and occasional leftover gear from Donald's adventures with Scrooge.

 (Portable oxygen tanks were just as good for mountain climbing as they were for clearing the smoke from his lungs after saving people from an apartment fire.)

However, Gyro wasn't going to let this go so easily.  In the end, he presented Donald with design that even he couldn't refuse.  As it turns out, Gyro was very familiar with the Duck Avenger—

(Even if he had been living in Tokyolk when Donald was active.  His grandmother had apparently once gushed in a letter all about the nice young man in a mask and cape who found her lost dog, and so Gyro was prompted to look into what was going on back home.)

—so he had a decent grasp of Donald's old costume.  

This new one, however, was a far cry from the craft store fabrics that Donald had originally worked with.  Gyro was correct when he said that it was experimental.  The fabric was composed of nanoscopic metals fused together like a sort of chain mail, which allowed it to be impervious to most close range weapons, as well as small handguns, and even somewhat resistant to moon lasers.  

His cape, while iconic to his old look, was also now a second form of defense.  It had been designed in a similar manner, only it was also both electricity resistant and fire proof.  All Donald needs to do is shield himself with it, and he would be fine.

While Donald remained adamantly opposed to any robotic weapons, he couldn't expect accomplish anything without using force.  After some back and forth, (and Donald having to literally put his foot down against anything pie related) he and Gyro settled on a compromise.  A titanium lined belt chock full of gadgets and minor tech was wrapped around Donald's waist.

Smoke bombs were, of course, necessary for anyone ever trying to make a quick escape.  A grappling hook, something Donald actually learned the importance of from observing Webby, was also added to his belt.  Flash grenades, sleeping drugs, and just about anything else he could potentially use were skillfully packed away in the belt's various pouches and compartments.  With so much gear on him, Donald almost felt more like Darkwing Duck, rather than the Duck Avenger.

Thankfully, the rest of his outfit was far more reminiscent of his old one, only with slight improvements.  

His boots were far more durable, while his new mask clung to his face with a special adhesive and was nearly impossible to knock loose.  Although the greatest improvement, in Donald's opinion, was a pair of extra padded gloves.  He could now throw punch after punch without any risk to himself.  

Honestly, if he could go back in time, then Donald would have added those to his original design.  

"One last thing."

Donald heard Gyro say.  However, he was too distracted by all the bells and whistles of his new costume to notice when Gyro fished a small pill out from his pocket.

"Tall Nephew, look over here for a second."

"What do—GAAAK!"

Donald gagged and held his throat while Gyro quickly wiped off his hand.  When he finally was able to take a proper breath, Donald was practically seething with rage.

"What the hell was—Wait, is that...is that my voice?"

Donald uttered a few test phrases, delighted by how clear he sounded.  It reminded him of the brief moment during the Shadow War when...Donald's eyes went wide with realization.

"Is this a voice modulator like last time?  Why did you give me another one?"

Gyro rolled his eyes.

"Because, Tall Nephew, your natural voice is too recognizable.  Mr. McDuck would know it instantly, as would the rest of your family.  Not to mention that we have no idea what F.O.W.L. knows about you, but I'd bet they'd be able to ascertain your identity rather quickly."

Donald blinked.  He hadn't even thought about that.  However, before he could sing any kind of praises for Gyro, the chicken just had to go and ruin it.

"Besides, your voice has been grating on my nerves since we first began our joint endeavor."

"...Gee, thanks," was all Donald sarcastically huffed in response.

Gyro roughly handed Donald a small pillbox.

"Here are some extras.  While I did design these modulators to be easily concealed within your larynx while in use, I recognize that there might certain situations where you might need a quick removal, and later replacement, of the device.  To get rid of it, simply apply a quick burst of pressure to the modulator like so."

Gyro held one of the extras in his hand, before pressing down on it rather hard.

"With enough force, you should be able to activate the muscle stimulator, and then your body should be naturally prompted to eject it.  Or, it will malfunction, paralyze your throat, and then you will most likely choke to death.  You should be alright, though.  Just be sure to hit it in the correct spot."

Donald rubbed his throat, not sure if he could even feel the modulator properly.  

"Couldn't you have just, I don't know, made an off switch or something?"

Gyro waved at Donald dismissively as he took a few more notes.  Donald grumbled under his breath.  He needed to get ready for the next part of the plan anyway.  If he didn't get this exactly right, then everything that they had been working towards for the last month would be for nothing.  

"I still don't understand why I need to risk my reputation as an inventor just so that you can show off."

Donald rolled his eyes as he dropped down from the vent.  Scrooge's office lied dark and empty before him.

"Because," Donald hissed into the earpiece, "this needs to be impressive.  F.O.W.L. aren't going to care about some random villain sneaking in just to steal a couple of coins from the bin.  Glomgold already did that!"

Of course, Glomgold also used a time pausing stopwatch to mentally torture Scrooge to the point that his uncle was practically considered insane.  Donald still felt a little ridiculous about the show of emotion he put on at the funeral.  Still, in his defense, he honestly thought it was real.

(Scrooge and him had a long talk afterward, and he promised to tell Donald personally if he ever planned to fake his death again.  However, Donald forgave him rather quickly.  He would have felt like too much of a hypocrite otherwise.)

Donald threw a smoke bomb, exposing a thick grid of lasers jutting out from nearly all directions.  In addition to creating his new costume and equipment, Gyro had been burning the candle at both ends in order to build an updated security system for the bin.  Both he and Donald could see the direct need for one, as they had no idea what the current extent of F.O.W.L.'s reach was. 

Unfortunately, upon proper inspection through tracing the radio signal of the mosquito, it appeared that several bugs were already placed throughout the building.  In the board room, Scrooge's office, and there was even one in the lab.  They debated destroying them right away, but ultimately decided that they could use this as an opportunity.  

While it would have seemed suspicious for all of F.O.W.L.'s spy bugs to have suddenly been found and taken down, Donald was able to work it into his original plan.  What better way to get F.O.W.L.'s attention than to show that he knows they're watching?  

Donald made sure that each bug caught a glimpse of his masked face before he crushed them.

That part over with, Donald was now moving onto the more public side of his scheme.

The cameras Gyro recently installed were all facing Donald as he effortlessly dodged the lasers.  Bobbing and weaving through the field, Donald channeled his inner Dewey with how gracefully (as well as how showboating) his performance was.  Of course, that's what happened when someone spent hours "testing" out the new prototype security system for Gyro.  

(And, if Donald just so happened to memorize the exact layout of the lasers, then that was only a coincidence.  It's not like Donald was ever going to break into the bin.)

He made sure to give a little wave as he fell backwards into the money pit.  While he didn't do it nearly as often as Scrooge, or even Louie, Donald knew how to swim in gold.  It was a simple swan dive, and in the end Donald was able to scoop up a considerable amount of coins.  

As he made his way back up to the office, Donald made sure to show off his stealings to the camera.  

"Are you finished in there yet, Tall Nephew?"  Gyro squawked into the ear piece.  "We only have a brief window to send out the footage out before the police, and more importantly, Mr. McDuck, get involved!"

Donald pointedly brushed him off.  It wasn't enough to make a mockery of both F.OW.L.'s bugs and Gyro's security system.  Donald knew that if he truly wanted to be put onto F.O.W.L.'s radar, then he needed to show that they shared the same goal.  Slowly, Donald reached for the can of spray paint on his belt.

Donald dropped into the lab, unnoticed by Gyro.  A thin layer of haze covered the air, and Donald could see the barely concealed ashtray out on the desk.

"I didn't know you smoked," Donald commented as Gyro jumped in surprise.

"Yeah, well...not as much as I used to,"  Gyro weakly replied as he waved away the lingering smoke.  "That doesn't matter.  Point is, did you get it?"

"Check the footage," Donald told him.

While Gyro went to the computers, Donald was busy storing away the gold in a special lock box previously set up.  It would be far too risky for him to hide the money at home, but he still needed access to it incase F.O.W.L. wanted some proof of his crime.  Gyro was reasonably certain that none of his interns would mess with a crate labeled Radioactive Substances.

"Alright then."

Gyro was sat at his computer typing furiously.  Donald came up to his side.  

"Using the signal that from the mosquito, I've managed to triangulate a location to send the footage to.  You do realize that when I do this, there's no guarantee that F.O.W.L. will even respond.  Are you that certain about this plan of yours?"

"Trust me," Donald said with a smirk, "there's no way they are going to ignore what I've done."

Donald managed to stumble into the mansion the next morning for breakfast, just in time to watch Scrooge receive the inevitable call from the police.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I WAS ROBBED?!"

Chapter Text

Enemies for you are a DIME a dozen! 

—The DA

"What does the district attorney have against Uncle Scrooge?"  

Donald heard Huey ask as he stared up at the vandalized wall.  While kids had all gathered around to ponder the spray painted message, Scrooge and Della discussed the break in with the cops over by the money pit.  Donald elected to play babysitter and wait with the kids instead.

Webby shrugged.

"Aside from probable tax evasion, who knows?"

Dewey shook his head.

"We don't know that this...admittedly, Dew-lightful pun, is really from the district attorney.  We don't even know if it's meant for Uncle Scrooge—"

"Of course, it's for Scrooge!"  Louie argued.  "It's in his office, above his fake number one dime, and who else around here has a ton of enemies and money?"

"Glomgold does," Webby reminded him.

"Oh yeah.  I'd totally buy that the district attorney was after Glomgold!"  Dewey agreed.

"But why would the district attorney leave a message for Glomgold in Scrooge's office?"  Huey asked.  "I mean, wouldn't an official letter make much more sense than spray paint?  Though, I do have to admit that this method is vaguely more threatening—"

"IT'S NOT FOR GLOMGOLD!"  

Louie snapped, prompting a round of "Chill out, bro" from his siblings.

Donald had to stifle his laugh at his nephews and niece's various speculations.  With all the drama and hullabaloo of everything, Donald hadn't gotten the chance to remove his voice modifier.  He also wasn't all that eager to try after Gyro's explanation.  It seemed he wasn't the only one finding fault with Gyro's designs.

"I just don't understand how Gyro's security system could fail.  I paid good money for that!"

Donald deftly moved over to the side as his disgruntled uncle and sister joined the group.  

"Well, don't you worry, Uncle Scrooge!  We won't let some big palooka get away with robbing our family!"  Della roughly put her arm around Donald's neck.  "Right, Donnie?"

Donald stood there silently, before nodding yes furiously when he noticed that Scrooge's gaze was now lingering on him.  He recognized that suspicious look on his uncle's face, and Donald knew it could only mean trouble for him.  Luckily, Scrooge had bigger things to worry about than the odd silence of his nephew.

"At any rate, this investigation is going to impact our search for the Lost Mysteries of Isabella Finch."

Upon the chorus of disappointed whines from the children (and Della), Scrooge was forced to stand firm.

"I'm serious!  We can't go off galavanting around the world on adventures, right now.  Not while my money sits here vulnerable to any thieving delinquent!"

"Maybe Uncle Scrooge is right," Louie suddenly agreed.  "After all, how can we expect him to be in the right headspace for treasure hunting when my inheritance—I mean, his money is at risk!"

It seemed that the threat against the money appeared to have at least swayed Louie to Scrooge's side.  Donald knew there was little that could get between that boy and his potential inheritance.

"Well, we're just going to have to work super hard to solve this mystery!"  Webby excitedly announced.

"Oh yeah!  New family mystery!  Let's DEWEY this!"  Dewey enthusiastically gave Webby a high five.

Donald smiled at the exchange.  It was a nice reminder of why exactly he was doing all of this.

Donald had been waiting on pins and needles for any response from F.O.W.L. following his raid on the bin.  Gyro originally told him to give it a few days, as they were probably busy assessing whether Donald's actions were beneficial or a hindrance to their cause, whatever that may be.

It didn't help that Gyro would also have to be the one to contact him should the organization reach out to their beacon.

So, now Donald was stuck playing the waiting game.  It seemed that his family was as well.

With no new information on the mysterious "DA", the family was growing divided over how to handle it all.  

Some members, mainly Della, were growing restless over the lack of adventure.  She was in the camp of no news being good news, and so she was ready to just put the whole thing behind them already.  Huey, too, seemed surprisingly eager to start exploring the lost mysteries of the journal.  However, that was more likely due to the personal stake he held as a Junior Woodchuck.

Meanwhile, Scrooge and Louie were taking a more cautious approach.  The break in really seemed to rattle the old duck, while Louie was more concerned with the actual theft.  

Scrooge spent hours pouring over the security camera footage, however, Gyro had edited most of the incriminating material out.  Only a few blurry shots of Donald entering the office and one of him spray painting the wall remained.  Since nobody knew who DA was, that also meant that they didn't know what he was capable of.  As far as they knew, he must have hacked the cameras himself, providing Gyro a perfect scapegoat.

Still, Donald doubted that Scrooge would hold off on adventuring for much longer if there was no other sitings of the thief.  

Finally, taking the middle ground were Dewey and Webby.  The two of them were absolutely itching to uncover another family secret.  Apparently, figuring out Della's disappearance, and later Donald's anger management counselor, had gotten the kids hooked on conspiracies.  However, with almost nothing to go on, (their only lead of the district attorney being immediately disproven) it was clear that they were also feeling anxious for a return to normalcy.

The tension was thick enough throughout the entire mansion.  It was clear that the family couldn't keep pulling in such different directions for much longer.

Like with most things, it was Scrooge who stepped up to lead.  He called a family meeting after only three days.

"Alright then, family," Scrooge addressed the group gathered living room.  "Now I know we've all been a little on edge about this whole break in at the money bin, but I want to assure you all that I've given it a lot of thought—"

"So does that mean you figured out who it was?"  Louie interrupted.  

Scrooge looked off to the side.  "Well, not exactly, lad—"

"Oh, so the police have then?"  Webby asked.  "Good thing too, Dewey and I were pretty much sunk when it came to our own investigation."

"No," Scrooge angrily shook his head.  "Hmph, they call themselves Duckburg's finest, yet they couldn't even find a donut if I were to wave it in front of their faces—"

"Hey!  That's not a nice thing to say, Uncle Scrooge!  Fenton's mom is a detective!"  Huey argued, before realizing the obvious.  "Wait, why don't we call Gizmoduck for help?  I'm sure Fenton would know all about a new villain in town."

"No offense, but unless the DA has weather powers, then I don't think Gizmoduck is going to know much," Dewey disagreed.  "You should leave it to the professional secret solvers, bro."

Huey rolled his eyes, "How exactly has that been coming along?  Because, just yesterday you and Webby claimed to be going on some big investigation, but I know for a fact that you had Launchpad drive you guys to Funso's."

"For your information Hubert, we actually made a very important discovery there."

"Really, Dewford?  Then what was it exactly?"

"Oh, I can tell you.  But I won't!" Dewey smugly looked off to the side and crossed his arms.  "Just know that it was super life changing!"

"Funso's got a new virtual reality spy game installed," Webby suddenly revealed.  

Upon Dewey's betrayed look, she tilted her head in confusion.  

"What?  You said that you weren't going to tell him, so I thought that meant I was supposed to."

"That's it?  A new video game.  How is that even remotely life changing?"  Huey demanded to know.

"Because, it's my new favorite video game of all time, that's why!"

"You said that about Uke Till You Puke last month."

"Yeah, and that was a long time ago.  Face it, I bet even Gizmoduck couldn't be my high score."

"You take that back!"

Sensing the beginnings of a physical fight, Donald automatically stepped in between the two boys.

"Stop it!  Both of you!"  He firmly told them.  

"Dewey, you don't need to be wasting your allowance or your time on a video game."

Huey stuck out his tongue when he thought Donald wasn't looking, prompting Dewey to do the same.  

"And Huey," he turned to his oldest.  "We're not gonna call Gizmoduck. We don't need him to get involved."

"Why not, Uncle Donald?"  Huey asked, clearly confused.  "I mean, I know you didn't exactly trust him at first, but Gizmoduck is a literal superhero!  It's his job to stop bad people."

"It should be about protecting people," Donald mumbled under his breath before he could stop himself.  

Fortunately for him, it seemed that nobody noticed what he had said.  Still, he was quick to shut his beak after that little slip up.  The last thing he needed was for someone to actually listen to him for once.  

"I think Donald's right," Della, surprisingly, spoke up in agreement.  "I'm not too sure about this Gizmoduck guy either."  

She immediately threw her hands up in defense when it looked like Huey was going to protest.

"It's not that I don't think Fenton isn't a great guy, or that I don't trust him, or anything like that.  He did some super great work during the moon invasion!  It's just, the last time that there was a guy in a mask running around Duckburg, he wasn't exactly the most...heroic.  Especially, not when it came to our family.  I guess I'm still a little stuck on those memories."

Donald suddenly felt a pit in his stomach.  He didn't realize that Della would remember the Duck Avenger.  No one else seemed too!  Then again, he was still very much active before she went to the moon.  The two of them never had any significant interactions as far as Donald recalled.  

However, that didn't stop Della from falling victim to the anti-Duck Avenger propaganda machine of Angus Fangus's near constant media coverage of him.  It also didn't help that Donald got his start as the Duck Avenger specifically targeting their uncle.  Della was probably glad to learn that Scrooge killed him.

Wait.  

Donald thought for a moment.  

Does she even know?

The kids clearly didn't even know about the Duck Avenger's existence, so they wouldn't have told her.  Donald also doubted that Della would come home after being stranded on the moon for a decade and then ask about the random vigilante that used to pull pranks on Scrooge.  

Maybe, she really didn't know?

He suddenly found himself extra thankful that Gyro had scrubbed the footage.  Della would have probably seen him and then immediately connected the dots...

"Uncle Scrooge, what if it's that same guy?  I mean, he did have it out for you back then."

...like that.

Donald immediately bit his tongue.  Mentally, he told himself not to panic.  That this was fine.  That the worst thing he could do was appear suspicious.

"What makes you think that?"  Donald carefully asked.  "That seems like a stretch to me.  Scrooge does have a lot of rivals."

Della frowned at him, but it seemed that a little uncertainty could go a long way.

"Yeah, I think Uncle Donald has a point.  Plus, wouldn't we have run into him before now?"  Louie added.  "He's got to be, like, super old if he was around before you ended up on the moon.  Not Scrooge old, but more like you and Uncle Donald."

It was amazing how in just two sentences Louie could bounce between being Donald's favorite kid, and then all the way down to third runner up. 

Della, it appeared, had similar thoughts based on the look that she was currently giving her youngest.

"I mean, by that logic, it could still be possible."  Webby turned to Della.  "Who was this guy anyway?  Is it someone we might know about?"

"Oh yeah, totally!"  Della told her.  "I can't remember his name, but he was all over the news.  Starting fires, stealing stuff, just general bad guy behavior.  Scrooge and him also had this whole rivalry thing going on after he—"

"They don't need to hear about any of that!"  Scrooge suddenly snapped.  

Donald lifted an eyebrow at his uncle's outburst.  It seemed that he wasn't the only one surprised, as he obviously caught the rest of the family's attention as well.  Upon everyone going quiet, Scrooge cleared his throat.

"At any rate...it's not him.  So, there's no use in discussing the past."

For a moment, Donald thought that Della was going to push for more.  He knew his sister wouldn't be satisfied with the lack of explanation.  However, something in their uncle's tone seemed to shut her down.  

Donald, too, noticed Scrooge's obvious reluctance to discuss the Duck Avenger further, which puzzled him.  After all, why wouldn't Scrooge want to brag about one of his greatest accomplishments?  Saving the entire city of Duckburg from its masked menace should definitely be a point of pride for the old duck.

"What I wanted to tell you all earlier," Scrooge announced, clearly wanting to change the subject, "was that I have decided that this family has taken a long enough break from adventuring.  I did some research, and I believe that I have discovered the location of the first of the lost mysteries!"

The mood of the room immediately changed as everyone excitedly began discussing the upcoming adventure.

"I want everyone well rested and packed up.  We leave bright and early tomorrow to find the Lost Lamp of Collie Baba!"

Scrooge left to inform Beakley of the plan, while Della went to go prepare the plane.  The kids all fanned out to do their own things as well.  Donald was left to linger alone in the living room.  

There was absolutely no way that he could go on this trip.  What if F.O.W.L. were to try to make contact, and Donald missed it because he was busy treasure hunting on the other side of the world?  

Everything he had been working toward would be for nothing if he missed that call!  

Well...if they even call him at all.  

That was the thought Donald had been dreading this entire time, that he was waiting for nothing.  That F.O.W.L. hadn't fallen for his trick, and Donald truly had just been gambling with his family's lives for no reason.  

Was Gyro actually right about him before?  Was he trying to recapture some long lost feeling of being needed?

Donald's complete inadequacy when it came to stopping the moon invasion still remained a wound on his self worth.  An infected mark that refused to do anything other than fester the longer he went on knowing that his family was currently in danger.  

At least on the island, he had the task of surviving each day to keep those worries at bay, along with the faint thread of hope that his warning message had been received.

Of course, knowing now that it had been in vain, and that his efforts resulted in nothing other than delaying any chance of his rescue, Donald realized just how unnecessary he was to it all.  Sure, he joined up with his cousins, and then later followed the others onto the space ship, to help in the final battle.  But, it didn't come down to him in any meaningful way.  They still could have done it all without him.  

Donald just couldn't shake the feeling that he should have done more while he was on the moon.  That there must have been something else he could have done to stop Lunaris before the moon landers even got to Earth in the first place.  That he shouldn't have let himself be muzzled and thrown into a cell.  That, during his fight with Lunaris, he should have been willing to give absolutely everything in the name of protecting his family.  

Instead, Donald selfishly fled from the scene without even knowing if his warning had gone through.  And, more importantly, without taking down his enemy first.

He refused to make that mistake again.

Donald suddenly felt his cell phone vibrate.  A single message from Gyro flashed on the screen:

Expect the call tonight.

Chapter Text

Donald grimaced when swallowed one of the voice modulators, unable to ignore the scratchy sensation he felt when it settled in his throat.  Still, he couldn't argue against the result.  It still amazed him just how clear his voice sounded.  The rest of the houseboat was silent as he smoothly worked through a few basic tongue twisters to pass the time.  

Gyro's message had been vague enough to keep Donald on edge all evening.  Donald had hardly touched his dinner, nor did he fully engage in the conversation at the table.  He had told his family that he simply wasn't feeling well and wanted to turn in early.  That little lie would also come in handy if he hoped to propagate the idea that he was too sick to join in on the adventure the next day.  

When the proxy device (courtesy of Gyro) attached to his phone finally began to ring, Donald took a deep breath.  This was it.  Shifting to the signature brazen attitude of the Duck Avenger, Donald answered the call with a smirk.

"I'm guessing that this means my message was received.  Tell me, did you all over at F.O.W.L. enjoy the show?"

"...It's certainly been a popular watch amongst my agents," a dull voice on the other end of the line reluctantly informed him.  

Donald thought it sounded familiar, but he didn't know from where.  Then again, he might just be acting paranoid.

"However," the voice continued, "I'm more interested to learn how exactly you became aware of my secret organization."

That comment confirmed that he was definitely speaking with the leader.  Donald almost wanted to pat himself on the back.  One faked theft at the bin, and he was already on speaking terms with the very person he needed to find!  Now, if only the rest of his plan could go this well.

Donald leaned forward and began lightly tapping his fingers on the kitchen table.

"Why does it matter how I found out?  What matters is that I believe we share a common goal, and so I would like to join you."

The line went silent for a moment, and Donald swore that he could hear his heart pounding away inside of his chest.  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the leader picked back up again.

"While I appreciate that you have gotten straight to the point, I regret to inform you that F.O.W.L. is not accepting new members at this time."

The air left Donald's lungs.  He needed to bring this back around fast!  Donald sighed, he knew he what he had to do.

"No offense, but I don't think that you know who you're talking to."  

(While it was ultimately meaningless, Donald still told a silent apology to the little boy who made him a thank you card all those years ago and called him a hero.)

"I'm the original scourge of both Duckburg, and more importantly for this conversation, Scrooge McDuck.  I'm the devil in the details of Angus Fangus's reporting career.  Call me vengeance, for I'm the Duck Avenger!"

"The Duck Avenger...yes, I am familiar with your reputation.  Don't take this the wrong way, but you sound considerably more alive than I would have thought, given what happened."

"Well, the media hasn't always been so accurate when it came to their stories about me,"  Donald replied through gritted teeth.  "Let's just say that I was on an extended leave of absence, however, certain recent events have brought me out of my retirement."

"Am I right to assume these 'events' that you refer to are all centered around Scrooge McDuck?"  The leader asked knowingly.

"What was your first clue?" Donald scoffed.  "You seem like a smart guy, though, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was before the spray paint."

The leader did not seem amused.  

"While your break in at the McDuck money bin certainly was impressive, I am running a business, not some sort of villainous empire."

An all too familiar sense of frustration began to build within, and Donald forced himself to breathe through it.  He'd dealt with egotistical businessmen for nearly his entire life.  He just needed to calm down.  He could do this.  Donald suddenly thought back to the files.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the infamous villain Black Heron a founding member of F.O.W.L.?"

"...Begrudgingly, you do have a point,"  the leader was forced to admit.  

"However, a few stolen coins are hardly the justification you seem to believe them to be in order to be considered for membership.  I am going to need a more substantial reason to allow a glorified prankster to into my ranks."

Donald had to bite his tongue at being called a "glorified prankster".  Even if his heroic deeds were largely ignored by the press, Donald could at least take minor satisfaction in how much of a threat against the public he was labeled as.  Like they say, all publicity is good publicity.

"So, another agent completely devoted to taking down Scrooge McDuck isn't good enough?"

"Hmm..." Donald heard the leader hum.  "I'm curious to know, what exactly do you think our goal is here at F.O.W.L.?"  

Donald lifted an eyebrow.

"Up until a second ago, I would have said something along the lines of defeating Scrooge McDuck once and for all.  After all, that tends to be most people's."

"That's what I thought."

Donald's eyes narrowed as his temper began to slip through.

"And what exactly is it that you thought?  If you don't mind my asking."

He seriously needed to calm down.  Antagonizing the leader of F.O.W.L. like this definitely won't help his chances of being able to join.  He should know that much by now, after all the job interviews he botched by letting his anger get the better of him.  

(Potential bosses didn't quite appreciate having staplers thrown at their heads by prospective employees.)

"My thoughts were that you were just another revenge seeker who is under the false assumption that they can just use my organization's resources to trigger the next Shadow War or alien invasion, and then plunge the world into even more chaos in their petty quest to exact 'vengeance' against Scrooge McDuck for whatever inconsiderate slight that he caused them.  You, Duck Avenger, are no different from any other villain."

Donald dug his fingers into the kitchen table as he fought hard against the urge to fling his phone at the wall.  How dare this two-bit terrorist speak to him like this!  Deep down, Donald knew that this was probably going to cost him any chance at joining F.O.W.L.  That he should just suck it up and try to find another way to convince the leader of his worth.  That his family's lives depended on him remembering at least one single technique from anger management in that moment.

Unfortunately, Donald couldn't hear any thoughts over all the blood rushing to his head.

His face turned bright red, and all of the stress that Donald had been feeling for the past days (weeks, months) came flooding out of him in a fit of righteous fury.

"Since you've already seemed to have written me off, let's get a few things straight for posterity's sake.  My problems with Scrooge McDuck are mine alone.  If I had ever wanted to kill him out of revenge, or spite, or just because I felt like it that day, then I would have done it by now with my own two hands, alone!  You claim to know about me, what my intentions must be, but the truth is you know as much about me as I know about you!"

The line was deathly silent as Donald took a few deep breathes.  If he hadn't ruined his chances before, then he had completely obliterated them now.  Donald weighed his options.  He still had plenty of blackmail over Gyro, so that would probably be enough to keep the inventor quiet about his identity as the Duck Avenger.  

They'd also need to find a way to tell Scrooge about F.O.W.L., without revealing how exactly it was that they found out so much, and then somehow convince him not to go rushing in bagpipes a blazing.  Donald grimaced.  It would be easier to get a fish to stop swimming and climb trees instead.  This was the moon all over again—

"Alright then," the unexpected sound of the leader's voice startled Donald so much that he nearly fell backwards in his chair.  "Tell me, do you truly want to stop Scrooge McDuck for reasons other than the fact of what he's done to you personally?"

Donald blinked, confused.  Still, he did his best to tailor his answer to what he figured the leader would want to hear.

"Yes," he told him, "I do want to stop Scrooge.  I want to stop him from hurting innocent people caught in the crossfire of his latest battle with someone else who he's wronged or feels threatened by his perceived greatness."

Again, the leader went quiet.  Donald hoped that this meant that he was considering his response.

"Perhaps, I was a bit hasty in my initial assessment.  You should understand that this organization is something that I have been working on without rest since its inception decades ago, and I have held F.O.W.L. a singular purpose since.  The details of which I believe are irrelevant to you at this time.  

"However, the fact is that Scrooge McDuck has positioned himself as my greatest obstacle to achieving this objective.  I don't want Scrooge McDuck gone, I need him to be."

Donald had heard similar threats made against his uncle for years, but, for some reason, the cold conviction of the leader sent a chill straight down his spine.  Still, he needed to remain in character.

"That's why you should be surrounding yourself with the right people for the job.  I don't know who you work with other than Heron, but I do know that she has her own grudge against Scrooge."

"Agent Heron has her hangups, yes, but she has more than proven her worth.  You're going to have to try again if you wish to make a genuine case for yourself.  I recommend that you offer up something a bit more substantial than simply disparaging my underlings."

Donald thought for a moment.  While he had always been forced to think on his feet, whether as an adventurer or a vigilante, Donald Duck was no idiot.  It was clear to him that the leader wanted someone dedicated, but emotionally unattached, to the task of eliminating Scrooge McDuck.  As this act was apparently paramount to the success of whatever F.O.W.L.'s true goal was.

(Although, with "fiendish world larceny" for its name, Donald could wager that it wasn't anything good.)

Donald tried to think of what made his uncle so special.  His wealth, while certainly a good guess, must not have been the answer based on how disinterested the leader seemed by Donald's stealings.  Scrooge's leadership during world ending crises wasn't it either, seeing that the leader seemed so inclined to blame Scrooge as the cause of such catastrophes.  With those two options both struck down, Donald could only think of one other characteristic so uniquely intrinsic to Scrooge McDuck: His adventuring.

With a silent prayer to whichever god happened to be listening, (except Zeus, he was a jerk) Donald made his move.

"How about this?  I have it on good authority that Scrooge is currently searching for the lost mysteries of Isabella Finch."

"Is that so?" 

The leader's coy sounding response immediately set Donald off, and for a moment he feared that he had believed wrong about what he wanted from him.  However, a brief flash of relief calmed him back down when, instead of shooting him down again, the leader decided to press him for further information.

"You wouldn't happen to know if he's discovered anything meaningful yet?"

Donald let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding.  

"I might know something.  That is, if you're really interested."

"Well, that would depend on the information itself.  I'm sure that my agents could discover whatever it is, but I get the feeling that it will already be obsolete by then."

A half smile found its way onto Donald's beak.

"It sounds to me like you could use someone with my skills, after all."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Duck Avenger," the leader warned. "You have still yet to even disclose what it is that you even know."

"Fair enough," Donald conceded.  "Although, forgive me for playing my hand close.  How do I know that you won't just take my tip and then run with it yourself?  Remember, I still want a place in F.O.W.L."

"How could I possibly forget?"  The leader's exasperation was clear.  "Alright, let's consider this a trial run for membership.  I want you to act on this information you have.  Bring back something that you believe is valuable to F.O.W.L.'s cause, and then contact me again through your previous methods.  I will arrange a board meeting with the other agents, and you can present your findings in person.  We will then take a vote on whether or not to admit you based on your findings and performance.  Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes.  I can work with that."

"Then I will await your contact, Duck Avenger."

The line went dead, and Donald immediately ripped the proxy device Gyro had created off of his cellphone.  He threw it across the room, uncaring even when he heard the sound of it smashing.  

His chest burned as he fought to bring his breathing under control.  Tears pricked in his eyes, and his whole body shuddered as if he were trapped on the peak of Mt. Neverest without even a jacket.  

Donald tried to think of the ocean.  The endless expanse of lapping saltwater, the calmness of staring out at the horizon, the desperation as he begged to see at least one ship crest over the impossibly distant line, the terror that gripped his heart as he realized that the ocean was probably going to be the last thing he was ever going to see—

Donald forced himself to reach for his phone.  His thumb trembled slightly as he typed out a message to Gyro.

Got the call.  Meet me at the Duckburg marina.

He thought a second, before adding, 

Bring cigarettes.

Despite being docked in his uncle's swimming pool, Donald still paid rent for his spot at the marina.  He had figured that, it was a good idea to keep the spot available if he ever wanted (or needed) to move back.  The idea lessened its hold on him each day, but Donald kept the space regardless.

A single light tied to the end of the dock illuminated Donald as he waited with his back to the ocean.  Finally, a pair of headlights circled into the parking lot next to Donald's car.  Gyro stepped out into the night, clearly unimpressed by Donald's choice of meeting place.

"Tell me why we couldn't have just done this in my lab?"  

Gyro asked as he tossed an unopened carton of cigarettes.  Donald caught it effortlessly.

"Because, it's too late for me to ask Launchpad for a ride," Donald told him while fiddling with the plastic wrap.  "Besides, he needs his rest.  The family is going on an adventure tomorrow."

Upon opening the box, Donald immediately reached for one of the cigarettes.  However, before he could get out his lighter, Gyro stopped him.

"You can't smoke with the voice modulator in.  It messes up the circuitry—"

Without missing a beat, Donald delivered a rather forceful punch to his own throat, and then shortly after, coughed up the modulator.  Gyro cringed at the display as Donald pocketed the saliva covered device.

"There," Donald said with his voice returned to its natural raspiness, "problem solved."

"That bad, I take it?"  

Gyro asked as he reached for a piece of gum.  (Black licorice flavored, of course.)  Donald wheezed out a humorless laugh between puffs.  

"I spoke with the leader.  He's definitely after Scrooge, but he's apparently just a means to an end."

Gyro hummed as he chewed.  

"Well, that makes sense with how old F.O.W.L. is according to the S.H.U.S.H. files.  I doubt that Mr. McDuck was even on their radar until he was recruited for that first mission."

"I guess so," Donald reluctantly nodded.  "Either way, I've still got work to do.  I'm not a member, yet.  I think the leader is convinced that I'm nothing but a clown.  Just another villain looking to kill Scrooge without any care towards the destruction I cause to do it."

Gyro rolled his eyes, "I told you that you should have acted more serious.  If your rampant showboating is what ends up costing us, then—"

"Relax," Donald flicked his cigarette, watching as the ashes landed in the dark water below.  "He's giving me a chance to prove myself.  I just have to bring him something useful, and I already have an idea what he's after."

Gyro looked like he wanted to say something else, but he slowly deflated the longer he looked at Donald.  Finally, he huffed out a sigh and looked away as he crossed his arms.

"As long as you know what you're doing."

Donald let the cigarette butt fall onto the dock, before he crushed it underfoot.  He looked up at Gyro.

"Would it make you feel any better if I told you that I did?"

"...I don't know, Tall Nephew.  However, I do know that I wouldn't have stuck my neck out this far for you if I didn't believe in your plan."  

Gyro ran a hand through the feathers atop his head.  

"I ran the numbers today, on your probability of success…"

Donald lifted an eyebrow, "Do I want to know?"

"Would it make you feel better if I told you?"

Donald actually smiled at that.  The two of them stood silently on the dock through one more cigarette, before Donald handed the box back to Gyro.

"Here.  I can’t let my family catch me smoking, and it’s not like I’ll be able to use them while I’m being the Duck Avenger."  Donald hesitated a second.  "Thanks, by the way."

"Don’t think much of it, Tall Nephew," Gyro dismissively waved his hand.  

Donald nodded, noting the small smile on Gyro's face.  The two of them went their separate ways, driving off into the night in opposite directions.  It was probably for the best that he didn’t give Gyro any details about his plans for completing F.O.W.L.'s test.  He owed it to the inventor to give him a little plausible deniability.  

As he pulled into the mansion's driveway, Donald caught a glimpse of the time.  He probably wasn’t going to get the chance to sleep if he hoped to sneak aboard the plane before Della’s pre check.  It would take him some effort to find a decent enough hiding spot to avoid her, or anyone else, so he had better get ready soon.

The lost lamp of Collie Baba wasn’t going to steal itself.

Chapter Text

The air was brisk as Donald raced across the rooftops of Duckburg that night.  Thick clouds covered up any trace of the moon, while the glow of light pollution from the city took care of the rest of the sky.  A large spotlight above the police station was left as his only guide.  Although, he didn't mind in the slightest.

Donald took a moment to admire the image casted.  The familiar outline of his sailor cap hung high above the city, an assurance that their beloved hero was always watching out for them.  The great Duck Avenger.

Donald was pulled from his musings by a call in his ear communicator.

"Talk to me, Uno," his voice sounded just as clear and understandable as always did.  "Make it quick, though.  I'm supposed to go meet Lyla soon.  She had some new information from the Time Police about the Raider—"

"You might need to give a rain check to Ms. Lay, master."

Immediately, Donald froze.  

"What is it?"  He asked, much more seriously this time.  "Is it the Evronians?  Have they reappeared?"

Saving the world from those alien monsters had been Donald's first real act as a superhero.  It was also that same act that finally cemented his reputation when it came to the general public.  

While some now disgraced reporters (like Andy Fangy, or whatever his name was) had tried to claim that the Duck Avenger was nothing more than a menace who had destroyed the entire downtown area in an attempt to fight some regular criminals in alien costumes, the citizens rallied behind what they had actually seen with their own eyes.  

There were real aliens, and it was the Duck Avenger who had stopped them.

Donald was given the key to the city for his bravery, as well as the position of Duckburg's official protector.  

Even Scrooge McDuck had publicly announced that he forgave the Duck Avenger for all of his original pranks on the old billionaire.  Scrooge claimed it was only a bit of schoolboy type humor when it came down to it, done all in good fun.  DA had clearly bettered himself since, so Scrooge chose to do the same, and he dropped all animosity towards the hero.  

(His opinion was also greatly influenced by the fact that it was the Duck Avenger who helped to locate Della after managing to receive her transmissions from the moon with the help of Uno.  She was brought back home within the month, conveniently just in time for her sons' hatching.)

All in all, Donald's life had taken a massive upswing from when he first donned his cape.  

"No," Uno informed him.  "It's actually a different interstellar traveler who's made her presence known here at the tower."

Confused, Donald was about to question what exactly the A.I. meant, when his cellphone rang.  

"Hey, Donnie!"  Della's excited voice greeted him.  "Everyone's here at your place for dinner!  So, are you gonna let us in, or do I have to go get my plane and land it on the rooftop again?"

Right, dinner.  

Donald checked his calendar.  After Donald had moved out of the mansion, Della had practically mandated that every Friday would be family dinner night.  He agreed to the plan, as it seemed like an easy way for Donald to stay close with everyone.  Well, except for when it got in the way of his Duck Avenger duties.  Still, he wouldn't change a thing.  Donald loved his family more than anything.

"Uno will let you all up," Donald quickly told her.  "I just had to step out for a minute.  Needed some air, ya know?"

"Okay, then.  Guess that's what a butler's for anyway."

Uno was certainly much more than just a butler, but it was a lot easier for Donald to explain away hired help rather than a hyper sophisticated android that assisted his secret superhero activity.  Thus, as far as his family knew, Uno was no different to him than Duckworth had been to Scrooge.  

"Say, you're not out smoking again, are you?"  Della suddenly asked in a joking tone.

Donald laughed.  "Of course, not!  You know I haven't even held a cigarette since the time Uncle Scrooge caught me hiding in the pantry."

"Yeah, I definitely remember that!  Didn't you spend like an hour trying to convince him that you were actually trapped in there, and that all of the smoke was from—"

"—Smoke signals to try and get someone's attention to let me out.  Yes, I know."

Donald smiled fondly at the memory.  

"See you all soon."

"Uno" met Donald at the door as he stepped into his penthouse.  The genie winked one of his golden eyes, and he silently took Donald's Duck Avenger costume from him before anyone else could see it.  He also gave him a shirt to change into as well.  Donald let a grateful smile cross his beak.  

"Thanks," Donald quietly told him.

"Don't mention it, master.  I aim to please the one who rubs my lamp," Uno nodded.  "I must say, though, this certainly has been an interesting wish to grant.  I mean with aliens, superheroes, time travel, and even androids!  You have quite the imagination, master!  The last time I saw all of these tropes mashed together was just before I was trapped during the 1990's."

"Yeah, well," Donald ran a hand across the back of his neck, "I was bit of a movie nerd as a kid.  Comic books, too."

(At least, until Uncle Scrooge decided that such things were a waste of money when they were busy going on even more daring adventures in real life.  Still, that didn't stop him from forcing Donald to star in all of those office safety videos.)

"You sure that it's all enough though?"  Uno asked.  "I know!  I could add in a laugh track, so that way you always know when something was funny!  It's totally the most helpful invention ever!  Or, how about a live studio audience instead?"

Donald quickly held up his hands.

"No, that's really not necessary.  You've done more than enough for me."

Uno shrugged, "Alright then.  It's your wish.  Now, go in there and enjoy it, master."

That was exactly what Donald was going to do.  

"Your place is SO cool, Uncle Donald!"  

Turbo had gushed when Donald took the open chair next to him.  Donald chuckled at his nephew's comment, and he lightly ruffled the boy's head feathers.  The rest of the family were sat around the table, and they seemed equally happy to see him.

Donald's penthouse in Ducklair Tower was certainly an impressive abode.  It sat directly in the middle of the city, convenient for crime fighting as well as surrounded by society (and far away from the ocean).

Sure, it wasn't a mansion, but Donald didn't need a lot of living space when it was only him and Uno who lived there full time.  The empty floors below were mostly devoted to storage, or his recording studio, or a few other random niches he didn't want cluttering up his main home.

(There was no need for anyone to know about the 151st floor, however.  The contents of his hero lair were only for him and Uno to know about.)

"Turbo's right.  This place rocks,"  Rebel wholeheartedly agreed.  

"There's so many vantage points!"  Webby excitedly added. 

"It is rather extravagant."  Jet's eyes narrowed as he looked up at Donald.  "I'd say that it's much bigger than, oh, a houseboat?"

"Yeah, I guess so?"  Donald weakly replied as he reached for the glass of water Uno had set down for him.  "Thanks, kids."

Donald did his best not to sweat under his oldest nephew's gaze.  Jet's eyes flicked around the room a few times, but they always landed back onto Donald.  It was obvious that he knew something was off, that comment about the houseboat was proof enough.  Donald could practically see the conflicted thoughts racing through Jet's mind.  

It would only be a matter of time before someone figured out what happened.  Donald only wished (not out loud, of course) that it had taken a little while longer before—

"Wow!  Thanks, Uno!"

Donald looked up, just in time to catch sight of Uno placing a can of soda in front of his youngest nephew.  The genie winked at Donald while Rebel excitedly cracked open the can. 

"I can't believe that you actually have Cherry Pep, Uncle Donald!  It's been sold out for months."  Rebel took another long sip.  "Not even Uncle Scrooge can find this flavor!"

"Bah," Scrooge flippantly waved his hand, "you drink too much soda as it is, lad."

"Hey, I can stop anytime I want!"

Scrooge raised an eyebrow, "Oh, really?  How about tonight then?"

Uno handed Rebel another can, which he eagerly took.

"I said anytime that I want."

Scrooge rolled his eyes and nudged Della.  

"Huh?  Oh, right.  Now Reb, Uncle Scrooge might have a good point.  Maybe you should have a glass of water with dinner?"

"That's right, lad.  Listen to your—wait, I might have a good point?"  Scrooge quickly turned his attention onto Della.  "What do you mean by that?  Of course I have a good point.  I always have good points!"

Donald sat back in his chair and let out a small sigh.  Nothing like a little familial chaos to distract from the elephant in the room.  Unfortunately, it seemed that Uno's plan wasn't quite as successful as he had hoped.  

"How exactly did you get that soda, Uncle Donald?"

Jet stared at him from across the table.  If Donald thought he was suspicious before, that was nothing compared to the hard look he was giving him now.  

"Actually, how did you afford to buy any of this stuff?  Or, an entire building?  Wait—since when did you even own a building?  You live in the swimming pool, back at the mansion...Right?"

Donald swallowed hard as he watched Jet begin to spiral.  He needed to handle this fast, before anyone else noticed and started questioning their reality as well.  However, it seemed that he was too late for that.

"Don't you remember, Jet?"  Webby suddenly asked.  "Uncle Donald made that album with his band The Three Caballeros.  It went triple platinum...Didn't it?"

Jet took a few deep breaths as he clearly tried to reconcile all of the information with his altered memories.  Guilt continued to gnaw at Donald the longer he watched his nephew's struggle.  This wasn't supposed to be happening.  His family wasn't supposed to be suffering from his wish.  They were supposed to be better off!  Like him!

"Jet?"  

Webby sounded far more concerned, and she went to put a hand on his shoulder.  It never reached him.  Webby instinctively jumped back as Jet slammed his fists onto the table.  Everyone was looking at him now.  Donald slowly began to slip out of his seat.  

"Jet, sweetie?  What's wrong—" 

Della tried to ask, however, he cut her off with an intense shout.

"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!"  

He vigorously shook his head.  

"I...I know this sounds weird, but I know that my name isn't Jet!"

"Okay, lad," Scrooge slowly put his hands up, "let's just take this slow.  Now, what exactly are you going on about?  You've been Jet as far back as I can remember—"

"But, how far back is that, really?"  Not-Jet glanced up at him.  "What's the last thing that you even remember?  What did we have for breakfast today?"

"That's easy, lad!  We ate...I had..."  

Scrooge's confident smile faded away and was replaced by a confused expression.  Not-Jet wasn't finished yet.

"Mom, how did you celebrate our first birthday?"

Della blinked, "Well, let's see.  I, umm...baked a cake?  Did I bake a cake?  I definitely remember cake being involved."

Donald was almost out of the room, to the safety of literally anywhere else, when it happened.  When Huey remembered.

"We were on an adventure."  His face scrunched up tightly as he forced himself to latch onto his true memories.  "We were looking for the lamp, when he showed up..."

"Hold still, you masked balooka!"  

Donald backflipped over Della, nearly dropping the lamp in the process.  He immediately readjusted his grip upon landing.  The rest of the family were still stuck dealing with the scorpions, so that kept the kids out of his way.  

He decided to spare a glance their way.  Louie was cowering in the pile of the false lamps, Huey was quickly thumbing through his guidebook and shouting something about homemade bug repellent, while Webby and Dewey were busy with the actual fighting, and Scrooge was...Scrooge was just standing there.

Rage burned hot within Donald as he locked eyes with the motionless old duck.  Why wasn't Scrooge doing anything?!  The kids were in danger!  Della was all the way over here with him, much too far for either of them to be of any use.  Scrooge was right there!  He should be swinging his cane, or throwing some of the fake lamps, or literally anything!  But, no.  All Scrooge did was stare at Donald with a sort of deer in the headlights expression.  

(As if he were actually surprised to see that another one of his enemies had tailed him this far.)

The lamp gave a slight tremor in his hands.  Donald scoffed before breaking eye contact.  He didn't get the chance for any peace, as Della suddenly charged at him.  Unfortunately, he had been too distracted by Scrooge to properly counter her attack.  Della wound up her fist, and she landed a rather hard right hook on Donald.

"Yeah!  Gotcha ya!"  

She excitedly cheered as Donald carefully touched the side of his face.  He did his best not to flinch at the pain.

Count to ten, he told himself, just count to ten.  He couldn't risk getting angry.  Not now, and definitely not at Della.  That could ruin everything.  Though, if Donald was being honest, the situation seemed pretty much like it had already deteriorated.  

Well, if Scrooge wasn't going to do anything, and if Della wasn't going to stop, then it was up to Donald to save everyone.  Whether they wanted him to or not.  Just like he had been trying to do this entire time.  Again, Donald felt the lamp move.

Donald began to absentmindedly rub the side of the lamp as he attempted to come up with a proper plan.  Unfortunately, nothing he came up with seemed even remotely plausible.  Donald felt his rage returning full force, however, this time it was directed purely at himself.  Here he was, failing over and over once again.  The same as always.  Frustrated, Donald suddenly found himself shouting out,

"I wish that I could be the hero I want to be to protect my family!"

"Your wish is my command, new master!"  

A voice suddenly echoed from inside the lamp as a thick cloud of smoke erupted out of the hole.  Donald struggled to keep his hold on the lamp when he noticed something appear with the smoke.  Or rather, someone.  A genie, with eyes as golden as his lamp, winked at Donald.  Then, he snapped his fingers...

"You did this!"  

Huey pointed accusatorially at Uno, who was casually leaned up against a wall, drinking a can of Cherry Pep.  He finished his soda, before disappearing the empty can with a snap of his fingers.  

"You got me."  He held up his hands and smiled.  "I'm the genie from the Lamp of Collie Baba.  You can all call me Gene, although I can continue to answer to Uno if you prefer.  We are still in the wish, after all."

"We don't want to be trapped in your wish!"  Scrooge angrily waved his cane in Gene's face.  "Release us all this instant!"

"Sorry, but no can do," Gene nonchalantly shrugged.  "I don't make the wishes, I just grant them.  You'll have to take your complaints up with my master."

"But, who even is that?"  Huey asked.  "Quick, do any of you remember making any wishes?"

"Aside from wishing that I was back home on the couch watching Ottoman Empire, I don't think so," Louie recalled.  

"We didn't even have the lamp!"  Webby and Dewey both shook their heads.  

"I don't rely on useless wishes," Scrooge helpfully informed them all, "I make everything happen for myself."

Huey frowned as he turned to Della, "Mom?"

"Sorry sweetie, but I couldn't have done it either," Della dejectedly told him.  "I was too busy trying to get the lamp back from...Wait a second, I know who it is!"

Della immediately levied a glare at Gene, and she stomped over to him.  

"Alright you, spill!  Where is that masked guy?  He has to be around here somewhere!  I'll show him for trapping my family in some messed up wish world!"

"Is it really that messed up, though?"

Donald took a deep breath as everyone looked at him.  He hadn't exactly meant to say that loud enough for them to hear.  Or, perhaps he had meant it?  He certainly wasn't too pleased with their ungrateful attitudes.  

"I mean, we're all here and we're all safe," Donald clenched his fists.  "We can have anything we want, and without ever having to worry about any enemies.  I can finally protect us!  I can—"

Donald instantly shut his beak when he realized what exactly he had said.  

"Why would you need to protect us, Uncle Donald?"  Huey asked.  

"Yeah,"  Dewey chimed in.  "We aren't in any danger."

"Well, at least, not anymore than usual," Louie added.

"No offense, Donnie, but I think that I can take care of myself," Della told him.

"See?  We're okay!"  Webby smiled.  "You don't have to worry about us."

Surprisingly, that didn't calm Donald's anxiety in the slightest.  In fact, the only thing that kept him from devolving into a full blown panic attack was the knowledge that they were all still within the confines of his wish.  Away from the reaches of F.O.W.L., or evil moon generals, or revenge bent sorceresses, or literally anyone else that wanted to harm his family!  He was the Duck Avenger, a true hero here.  Donald finally controlled the narrative.  His family would finally be safe, forever, and ever, and—

"Donald?"

Donald nearly jumped out of his feathers when he felt Scrooge's hand on his shoulder.  He sheepishly kept his head down.

"Lad, I need you to look at me."

Scrooge's voice was firm, but there was no discernible anger in his tone.  Reluctantly, Donald acquiesced.  The two ducks locked eyes, and that was all it took for realization to shine through Scrooge's gaze.

"Bless my bagpipes, it was you."

Scrooge's voice was soft, as he slowly reached out a hand and cupped the side of Donald's face.  

"Even back then...It was always you, wasn't it?"

Donald took a sharp breath as he forced himself to pull away from his uncle.  Scrooge dropped his hand, but seemed to accept Donald's actions as confirmation.  So many emotions seemed to cross his face, while Donald could only feel the burn of guilt.  

"This wish," Scrooge looked around the room before settling his gaze back onto Donald, "it's because you know something that we don't."

It wasn't a question.  Donald sighed.

"Someone's after you, all of you.  I've been trying to stop them, but I don't honestly know if I can.  At least while we're here, I know that you all are safe."

Donald braced himself for an argument.  He was prepared to be yelled at, to be disowned, to be unloved.  Donald decided that he could live with that.  He could be utterly despised by his family, but that wouldn't change his mind.  He would still keep them here.  He would still protect them.

However, that's not what happened.

Instead, Donald found himself pulled into a tight embrace.  He froze, unsure of how to properly react.  After all, he could count on one hand how many times Scrooge had hugged him, and still have fingers left over.

"Uncle Scrooge?  What—"  

He tried to ask, only to be gently hushed by his uncle.  One by one, the rest of his family slowly joined in.  Della wrapped her arms around him, as did the boys, and Webby even found a place.  Donald's breath hitched as he finally let himself melt into their embrace.  

"Thank you, Donald," Scrooge suddenly told him.  "Thank you for trying to protect us."

"Thanks, Donnie," Della squeezed him a little tighter.

"You're the best, Uncle Donald," the kids each smiled up at him.

Donald didn't know what to say.  Thankfully, he was spared with having to come up with a response by the sound of nearby sniffles.  

"It's just so heartwarming!  This is the kind of stuff that you can't script!"

Gene cried as he loudly blew his nose into a tissue.  A snap of his fingers sent the disgusting thing away.  With the moment now effectively ended, Donald slowly pulled away from his family.  However, Scrooge still kept a hand on him.

"You see, lad?  With our family together, we can take on any threat!  You don't need to do this all on your own anymore."

Donald looked at Scrooge, at everyone, noting the determination on each of their faces.  For a moment, he almost believed Scrooge.  

He wanted to believe him.

"Uno—I mean, Gene," Donald called to the genie.

Gene suddenly appeared at Donald's side.  He slung an arm around Donald's shoulders.

"You rang, master?  Ready to use your two remaining wishes?"

Donald nodded.  "I wish to undo my first wish."

"Your wish is my command," Gene winked.

Donald watched as the penthouse (and the rest of his fake world) blinked out of existence, and was suddenly replaced by reality.  His clothes, too, had been changed back to the Duck Avenger costume that he had designed with Gyro.  

(For a moment, he wondered how exactly Gyro would take the news.  He imagined that the scientist probably wouldn't take it too lightly.  Though, Donald guessed that he would cross that bridge when he got to it.)

"So, are we back?"  Louie tentatively asked.

"I think so?"  Webby responded.  "Of course, I didn't even realize when we had left, so you should probably ask someone else."

Donald chuckled at the kids.  "Yes, we're back."

"No we aren't!"  Huey shouted.  "Listen to your voice!"

Donald shook his head, before pointing at his throat.

"It's just one of Gyro's voice modulators.  Trust me, we're back."

"Gyro?"  Della growled.  "I should've known that him and his stupid black licorice loving beak was involved!  Why, when I get my hands on him—"

"Now Della, we can punish Gyro later," Scrooge told her.  "Right now, I believe we have bigger problems."

Scrooge turned to Donald, only flinching slightly when he caught sight of his outfit.  "Now Donald, who exactly is it after us this time?"

"It's F.O.W.L." 

The way Scrooge's face fell at Donald's reveal was almost like slow motion. 

"No," Scrooge immediately protested.  "It can't be.  F.O.W.L. was destroyed ages ago!"

Donald shook his head, "I've confirmed that it's them.  Up until now, my plan has been to—"

"Obviously, I must go and confront them, and as soon as possible!"  Scrooge suddenly interrupted.  "Of course, Agent 22 will need to know about this as well.  We're going to need all the muscle we can get!"

"Actually, I—"  Donald tried in vain to say.

"I've fought them before, and I'll do it again!"

"Uncle Scrooge, you really need to listen—"

"I'll send F.O.W.L. packing for another ten years, or my name isn't Scrooge McDuck!"

Donald knew, in that instant, that it was all over.  Everything he worked for, everything he had planned for, and everything that Gyro did to help him, it was all for nothing.  His worst fears were coming true.  Scrooge wasn't listening to him, and now he was locked into a foolhardy plot of attack that was all but guaranteed to fail.  And, he seemed determined to drag their family down with it.  

Donald gripped his chest as the rest of the family began rallying behind Scrooge.  There was no undoing this.  The kids, Della, Scrooge, they were in more danger than ever before, and it was all Donald's fault!  

He shouldn't have let them out of his wish, that much was a given.  However, the real crux of the issue was that he openly revealed F.O.W.L.'s existence to Scrooge.  Despite the fact that he had known that this was exactly how it would play out, Donald had still gone and done it anyway.  

If he could undo one mistake, then he would have never told Scrooge the truth.  If only there were some way to take it back.  A way for Scrooge to just forget about F.O.W.L.  For all of them to just forget.  Even so, Donald's identity as the Duck Avenger was still another sticking point.  His original plan relied so heavily on the anonymity that being the Duck Avenger provided him.  They would need to forget about that as well.  

"Gene," Donald quietly called.

The genie immediately looked up from his place lounging beside Donald.  Nobody seemed to notice, as they were all too engrossed with their ridiculous crapshoot plans to take on F.O.W.L.  (Donald was pretty sure that he heard Dewey mention something about a slow moving death trap.)

"I'm ready to make my last wish."

Donald cast one final look at his family.  This was for the best, Donald was sure of it.  It was a hard and winding path that he had chosen for himself, and Donald was certain now that he must walk it on his own.  He was more resolved than ever to see it through to the end.

"I wish that everyone, except me, would forget about what happened today."

Gene frowned, "Really?  Even me, master?"

Donald gave a terse nod.  "I can't risk them finding out anything.  I'm sorry."

"Okay then," Gene shrugged.  "Just wanted to make sure.  And, for what it's worth, I had a lot of fun.  You were certainly one of my better masters."

"Thank you, Gene.  For everything," Donald told him.  "Now, please grant my wish."

Gene winked, "Of course, your wish is my command.  It was nice knowing you, Donald."

"...You too, Uno."

Chapter Text

The ride to the bin was silent.  Donald was slumped against the passenger seat, while Gyro did his best to focus on driving.  The last thing they needed was to fall victim to a traffic stop.  Of course, Donald doubted that there were many cops out on the road this late at night.  However, Gyro was insistent that they couldn't be too careful.

Donald occasionally shot a glance his way, as he knew Gyro was doing the same when he thought Donald wasn't looking, but neither of them felt the desire to speak up.  

There would be plenty to discuss once they reached the lab.

"I'm in."

The weight of Donald's words hung heavy in the air between them.  Well, that and all the smoke.  Donald absently watched as Lil' Bulb dashed across the table between the two of them, carrying a small ashtray.  He waved the little robot over to him, and he pressed the butt of his finished cigarette into the dish.

"There was a vote," Donald continued as he reached for a nearby voice modulator.  "I counted six members sat around the table, but only five of them actually got an actual say.  The director told me that the final decision would come down to him, though."

Gyro nodded, and he grabbed his notebook and pen.  He wrote down a few things, before looking back up at Donald.  

"I need names, Tall Nephew.  Names, physical descriptions, literally anything and everything that you can give me.  Those S.H.U.S.H. files were rather sparse when it came to such details.  I shouldn't have to tell you that."

Donald rolled his eyes as he swallowed the modulator.  This was all too important for him to try to speak without it.  Gyro needed to be able to understand him without issue.  Besides, Donald wasn't sure that he'd have the strength to explain everything twice.

"Well, after I showed him the lamp, the director gave me the floor to 'present my case' for membership..."

Donald's heart raced when the leader held out his arm to give him the go ahead.  He hadn't exactly been expecting such a large audience, much less that he needed to have something prepared.  Donald had naively thought that the lamp would have been enough.  He glanced around the room, noting the barren professionalism of it all.  The large screen looming behind him made Donald briefly wonder if he should have found the time and made a PowerPoint.

"Can we get on with this, already?"  

Someone dully asked, but Donald wasn't sure who it was.  Forcing back his nerves, Donald put on his most mischievous grin.

"Far be it from me to waste anyone's time.  I'm sure you've all been really busy with your mission at F.O.W.L., so maybe I should just leave this here and get out of your feathers?"

Donald casually placed the lamp down onto the table.  He didn't miss the way everyone suddenly leaned forward, nor the hushed whispers that were being thrown around.  

"How exactly did you get one of the missing mysteries of Isabella Finch?"  An unknown young woman asked.  "I've been working intel on the McDuck family for weeks, and they haven't even come close to finding anything."

"Oh, I have my ways," Donald smugly crossed his arms, "and I can assure you that F.O.W.L. will never be able to match them.  Not with all the little spy bugs in the world."

Again, Donald tossed something else onto the table.  He was a lot less gentle with the broken pieces of metal and wires that used to be the robot mosquito.  The display earned him a genuine glare from the woman.  

"You should count yourself lucky that it wasn't Scrooge who found this.  I'd doubt that your superior takes kindly to such oversights."

"What would you know about how our organization operates?"  

Donald instantly recognized Black Heron.  She hadn't seemed to change much over the years, although her official S.H.U.S.H. picture could do with an update to account for a few new wrinkles.  Her eyes narrowed at him, and Donald forced himself to return her gaze.

"I don't claim to know much," he shrugged, "but it doesn't take a genius to think that you would value success over failure.  I believe that I've delivered on my original claim to your leader.  Unless, you don't consider keeping the Lamp of Collie Baba out of Scrooge McDuck's grasp beneficial to F.O.W.L.'s cause."

"Hmm..."  She hummed in response.

Heron leaned back in her chair, and Donald swore she appeared much more interested than before.  Unfortunately, despite impressing one member, Donald found that he had caught the ire of another.

"The disgusting magic of the lamp should be destroyed!  You are a fool to have brought it here!"

An imposing figure, dressed fully in a dark cloak and mask (because, that certainly didn't scream villain or anything) let out a sharp growl.  Donald raised an eyebrow.  However, before he could respond, someone else spoke up.  Donald turned his attention to a decrepit duck, that somehow looked even older than his uncle, in a modified baby carrier strapped to the chest of a massive dog thing.

"You say that about everything," the old duck complained.  "I may have only been properly unfrozen for a month, but even I can get behind all these new-fangled techno-whatsis's!  Why, just last week I had an 'iced coffee' in the break room, and I seem to recall that you declared the machine it came from a form of sorcery!"

"Being able to use the same coffeemaker for iced coffee and hot coffee back to back, and then neither coming out even a little bit lukewarm, is a type of magic!  Not even Starbucks can achieve that!"

The young woman rolled her eyes from across the table.  

"I keep telling you that it's not magic, it's just nanotechnology."

Donald easily noted the annoyance in her tone.  The leader, as well, seemed displeased with the direction the meeting was going.

"If we could all get back to the matter at hand."

The leader firmly told his agents.  Donald was surprised by how everyone instantly settled down.  A few glares accompanied their compliance, but Donald could see that their obedience ran deep.  Well, Heron didn't seem quite as kowtowed as the rest of them, however, she clearly wasn't looking to stir up trouble just for the sake of it.  With the room returned to a semblance of order, the leader gestured to Donald.

"I believe that the Duck Avenger currently still has the floor."

One of the agents, a large rooster in a white suit, had been ignoring Donald for the better part of his presentation.  Propped up on his elbow, he kept his eyes shut nearly the entire time.  Even when the others were throwing out questions, and arguing over the coffeemaker, he kept out of it.  His boredom was as obvious as the shine on his metallic beak.  

So, it was a real shock to Donald when said agent suddenly cracked open his eyes at the mention of Donald's name.  

"Wait—that was you?!"  He immediately straightened up in his seat.  "DA...Duck Avenger...How didn't I get it before?"

"Because, you're an ignoramus who couldn't even pass a kindergarten spelling test..." 

Donald caught Heron mutter under her breath.  Luckily, it seemed the rooster had missed her slight against him.  He was far too caught up in his new revelation about Donald.

"I thought you looked familiar on the video!  Awesome work by the way, you really showed McDuck!  Just like you used to back before!"

"What in tarnation are you going on about?  Jeeves, turn my head!"

The dog thing groaned as he angled the old duck's head in the direction of the rooster.  Donald suppressed his wince at the harsh sound of the old duck's bones popping.

"How could you not know who the Duck Avenger is?  He's only one of the greatest Duckburg villains, ever!  And, I thought I was the stupid one around here!"

The old duck glared at him.  

"What part of the fact that I've literally been frozen in a block of ice for decades do you not understand?  Why, if it weren't for Jeeves and a hair dryer, then I wouldn't have even been able to make it to any of our meetings!"

The dog, Jeeves, suddenly held up a pink hair dryer.  He shoved it against the old duck's head a few times.

"I don't need that anymore!"  The old duck snapped.  "Honestly, if it wasn't so hard to find good help, then I would have cut you loose ages ago.  You're almost as stupid as this one!"

"Hey!"  The rooster slammed his fists against the table.  "That is not a very nice thing to call someone!"

"You literally just referred to yourself as stupid," the young woman chimed in without looking up from her phone.

The rooster stood up this time, "Everyone quit calling me that!  NOW!"

"Or, what?"  

Heron had joined in now.  Donald noted the smirk on her face, and he had no doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing.  However, all the provoking proved to be hollow, as the leader had gone from displeased to downright livid.  Even if his face didn't show it, Donald still couldn't fight the shiver that ran down his spine at the leader's admonishments of his agents.  

"Agent Steelbeak, control your temper this instant!  Agent Rockerduck, do better not to disparage your colleagues, it's bad for business!  Agent Heron, please quit exasperating the situation!  Agent Dee, cellular phones are not permitted during board meetings!  We are all professionals here, now act like it!"

"Yes, Director Buzzard."

Everyone grumbled out as they all avoided making eye contact with each other, and most importantly, their director.  Although, one last member didn't seem to get the hint.

"Obviously, the evil magic of that accursed lamp has put us under some sort of anger curse—"

"Give it a rest, Agent Blot.  Right. Now."

To his credit, Blot did leave it alone after that.  

After a tense, not to mention incredibly awkward, moment of silence, Donald cleared his throat.  It was probably time to wrap this up.

"I think you all are well aware of my skills by now.  Between my successful break in at the bin, my unmatched ability to acquire intimate information on targets, and my retrieval of the lost lamp, I've done plenty to prove that I can still run circles around even the great Scrooge McDuck.  Just like I always have, and like I hope to continue doing, under the direction of F.O.W.L."

With how quiet everyone was, Donald briefly worried that he was in for another awkward silence.  However, the director quickly dispelled such notions, as he asked Donald to wait outside as the vote was conducted.  With a flourish of his cape, and a smug wink, Donald left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Donald found himself leaning against the closest wall for support.  His legs felt like they could give way at any second, but Donald forced himself to keep standing.  He couldn't dare let himself appear weak for even a moment, not while he was literally trapped in the middle of F.O.W.L.'s base!  However, it seemed that his body had other plans.  

Donald's chest tightened as he found himself desperate for more air.  His heart slammed against his ribs, while a thin layer of sweat sheened his feathers.  Donald was also pretty sure that the hallway hadn't originally been this blurry before.  His hands as he tried to readjust his hold on the wall.

Gods, he could really go for a cigarette right now.  

"Hi there!"

Donald nearly lost his footing as his cape wrapped around his legs when he spun around.  He raised his fists, ready for a fight, only to be confronted by one of F.O.W.L.'s faceless minions.  (Eggheads, he recalled the director calling them after a couple of them had originally escorted Donald to the board room.)

"Woah!"  The Egghead quickly held up her hands.  "I'm not looking for any trouble!"

Donald scoffed in order to cover up his sigh of relief.

"Well, then what do you want?"  He asked impatiently.

"Oh, I guess a pony would be nice.  I always wanted one, ever since I was a little girl!  Then, maybe to get some coffee from the machine in the break room.  Did you know that it can make iced and hot coffee?  Like magic, I'm telling you!  Ooh, how about—"

"I meant from me," Donald rolled his eyes.

"Oh!  Right!  Sorry about that," she laughed awkwardly.  "I guess...I just wanted to know how you're doing?"

Donald blinked, "What?"

"Well, and no offense by the way, but you looked sort of like someone who's about to have a heart attack."

Despite himself, a low chuckle escaped Donald.  

"Try panic attack."

"Well that's a relief!"  The Egghead wiped her forehead.  "I thought I was going to have to perform CPR in a second!  Not that this is any better, but at least I know how to help."

"That's fine, I don't need any—"

"First, I need you to breathe with me.  In, and out.  In, and out."

Reluctantly, Donald followed along with the Egghead.  After a few more deep breaths, she smiled.

"Alright.  Now, I'm going to need you to tell me three objects that you see, three sounds you can hear, and then move three body parts.  This is to help ground you."

Again, Donald felt like this was all unnecessary.  Sure, his heart still was beating out of his chest, and he still couldn't exactly stand up on his own, but he had managed to catch his breath.  That should be enough to keep up appearances.  

"I don't...the floor?"  

She hummed, "Good.  Just two more things.  Maybe, try something a little more specific?"

"Fine.  That air vent cover...and that poster."

Donald pointed to a poster above the Egghead that read: "Keep your EGGHEAD in the game!"

"Great job!  Okay, what are three things that you can hear?"

"Your voice, my voice, and a faint beeping somewhere," Donald rapidly fired off.  "Where is that beeping coming from anyway?"

"Beats me," she shrugged.  "There's always something around here beeping.  Good work, by the way.  Lastly, I need you to move there body parts."

Donald nodded, waved his right arm, and then, with a smirk, he held up his left leg in the air and dramatically bent his foot forward.  The Egghead laughed as Donald put his foot back on the ground.  

"There you go!  Do you feel any better now?"

Surprisingly, he did, and he told her as much.  

"That's terrific!"  She beamed.  "I don't know if you get panic attacks often, but the three-three-three method should help if you get another one in the future."

"Thanks," Donald looked off to the side.

Truth be told, he doubted that he would actually use her advice.  (He'd probably just see if Gyro could come up with some sort of reworked voice modifier that worked even while he was smoking.)  Still, he was appreciative of the fact that she had cared enough to try and help him like this.  It seemed that even deep within an organization as evil as F.O.W.L., there were some good people to be found.

"No problem mister, umm..."

"Call me, vengeance."  Donald crossed his arms and leaned back as he forced a smirk onto his beak.

"Okay...Nice to meet you mister Vengeance!  My name is Pepper."

Donald seriously considered hitting his head against the wall in that moment.  He instead opted for the less painful, yet just as embarrassing, approach of verbal clarification.

"Yeah, no."  Donald ran a hand across the back of his neck.  "That's just something I always say.  Typically, to nosy reporters who always demand for me to reveal my identity.  I'm actually known as the Duck Avenger."

"Oh, that makes a bit more sense, I guess."  Pepper stood there silently for a moment, before she suddenly smiled wide.  "Wait, I do know you!  You're that DA guy!  The one from the video!"

"Do you mean my break in at the McDuck money bin?"  Donald asked. 

Pepper nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah!  Everyone around here has seen it at least twenty times, or more.  I know that I have.  It's also played on repeat in the break room."

That was a little surprising for Donald to hear.  In all honesty, he had assumed that his escapades would have been kept exclusively between the elites.  He was unsure whether or not that was a good sign as to his potential membership that his video being shared around the base like this.  Regardless, it appeared that Pepper was at least impressed by his performance.  

If only that could be enough.

"Hey, so I know that caffeine probably isn't the best thing for you to have right now in your condition, but how about I go get us some coffee?"  Pepper suddenly suggested.  "The coffee bar here really is something special, definitely a major work perk!"

"Umm, sure, I guess that would be fine?"  Donald shrugged.

"Great!  Now, what would you like?  There's iced, hot, decaf, chai lattes—"

"Tell you what, why don't you just bring me whatever you're drinking?"

Donald didn't really want any coffee, but he figured that it would at least make Pepper happy.  And, judging by the excited smile on her beak, he was right.

"Sure thing, Mister DA!  I'll be right back!"

Donald watched as she raced off down the maze like hallways of the base.  He just hoped what she brought back had limited caffeine.  She definitely didn't seem like someone who needed even more energy.  However, Donald was never actually able to get that drink.  

The large door to the board room slid open, beckoning Donald back into the darkness.

"Duck Avenger," he heard the director's voice call, "We have made our decision..."

"And?"

Donald looked away from Gyro, far more interested in rolling around the unlit cigarette in his hand.

"Agent Steelbeak, a rooster with a metal beak that may or not be made of steel, voted yes.  Turns out he's a fan of the original Duck Avenger days.  If you catch my drift.  Anyway, he's glad to see that I didn't actually 'die like an idiot' and is excited to see what more I can do."

He waited for Gyro to stop writing before he continued.  

"Agent Heron also voted yes.  She liked the idea of having another scientific mind on the board.  It seems that she believes that I designed all of my gear."

Donald couldn't help but chuckle at Gyro's sharp gasp of indignation.  He then caught him grumbling under his breath as he wrote down Donald's response.

"As if Tall Nephew would ever...he didn't even want any gear!"

"Agent Rockerduck was probably the most surprising yes.  The duck is so old and weak that he can't even turn his head.  He was being carried by his...butler...assistant...monster?  I don't really know what Jeeves was."

Gyro tapped his pen against the paper, "Rockerduck...As in the Wild West gold tycoon John D. Rockerduck?  That Rockerduck?"

"Could be?"  Donald shrugged.  "I mean, the only reason he voted yes was because I spent my time aggravating Uncle Scrooge so much."

"Well, that's just perfect," Gyro whined.  "I thought I'd seen the last of him back in Gumption, but it seems he's my problem once again!"

"Then, it's a good thing that nobody knows that we're working together," Donald quickly told him.  "Can we please get back to this now?"

"Fine," Gyro huffed.  "It's not like any more of my enemies are going to be involved.  Who's next?"

"Agent Dee, she's some kind of nanotech specialist—"

"Oh, come on!"

Donald pointedly ignored Gyro's outburst.

"Are you done?  Anyway, she's the one who made the robot mosquito and has been keeping tabs on my family.  I guess she didn't appreciate my access to insider information, or maybe it was when I destroyed her bugs?  Either way, she voted no."

"Hmph," Gyro hummed as he wrote, "my intern is not going to like this."

Donald raised an eyebrow.  He might just have to press Gyro for more details on that.  However, that would have to be later.

"Agent Blot was my biggest opposition.  According to him, the only good magic is no magic.  I wish that I could tell you more about him, but he was completely covered up.  His outfit makes my mask look see through."

Gyro shook his head.  "It's alright.  I take it that he was a no?"

"Wow, you really are the brains of this operation," Donald rolled his eyes.

"Hey!" Gyro glared at him.  "Don't forget, Tall Nephew, I don't have to do any of this for you.  I've already gotten you into F.O.W.L., so as far as I'm concerned, that's plenty enough help to counterbalance Lil Bulb's little indiscretion."

Donald sighed.  "You're right, sorry.  It's just...it's been a long night."

Gyro at least had the decency not to hold Donald's attitude against him.  It was likely obvious how much he was buckling under all of the stress.  Still, there was no rest for the wicked.

"Did you get a good look at the leader?"  Gyro finally asked.

Donald looked up.  "Oh, I got much more than just a look at him.  He formally introduced himself to me."

"Well?"  Gyro got his pen ready.  "What's his name?"

"Director Bradford Buzzard."

Donald watched as the pen fell from Gyro's hand, and it rolled onto the floor.  Lil' Bulb blinked nervously, and the robot quickly fled to the other side of the lab.  Donald wondered if he should have done the same.  

"ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME!"  

Startled, Donald fell backwards off of his stool.  As Donald righted himself, Gyro didn't stop his tirade.

"Seriously—Seriously?!  It was that characterless, singleminded, cheapskate this whole time!  I always knew there was something evil about him!  Why else would he never give me any funding?  It's because of his ridiculous cutbacks that I've been reduced to a team of interns, purely because I don't legally have to pay them!  I knew that he was sabotaging my genius on purpose!  And Mr. McDuck said that I was just being paranoid.  Well, ha!  See what a few bad feelings, and botched presentations, gets you, Tall Nephew!  Vindication!"

Donald shook his head.  

"With as many of the F.O.W.L. members you seem to have made enemies of, maybe they're actually after you."

Gyro actually seemed to consider Donald's words for a moment, before waving his hand dismissively at the notion.  

"Either way, we should probably discuss what this means going forward.  Especially, in regard to Mr. McDuck."

"What about my uncle?"  Donald's eyes narrowed.  "This changes nothing."

"So, it means absolutely nothing that the CEO and head of the board of McDuck Enterprises, Mr. McDuck's most trusted financial advisor and business manager, is simultaneously the leader of the evil organization bent on world larceny, and is also the one trying to kill your uncle!  Enlighten me as to how that revelation could that possibly change nothing!"

"It's just as I said," Donald firmly told him.  "I'm still not going to tell Scrooge anything.  How suspicious do you think that it would be if, literally the day after the Duck Avenger learned the director's identity, Scrooge fired his CEO and accused him of being the mastermind of a criminal organization?  Because, you know that's exactly what he would do, and I don't have the lamp anymore!"

Gyro looked like he wanted to argue his point more, but he instead chose to back off.  Even he couldn't say anything against Donald's experience.

As soon as he had gotten back from the adventure, Donald had sought out Gyro to once again make contact with F.O.W.L. for him.  Of course, that had led to him revealing exactly what happened with the genie and how Donald used his three wishes.  

"Fine.  We won't tell him," Gyro reluctantly agreed.  "I, meanwhile, will be doing my best to limit contact with Director Buzzard.  I don't want to risk him becoming aware of my involvement with your plans.  He hardly approves of my inventions as it is, the last thing we need is for him to notice anything that I haven't brought to the board."

"Good," was all that Donald could say as he laid his head down on the desk.

He was just so tired of everything, and being reminded of his last adventure was just too much at this point.  It was still so fresh after only two days.  Listening to his family complain to him about how nothing came of their search, and that he probably had the right idea staying home, was almost agonizing for Donald.  He almost wanted to just scream across the dinner table about how he was the thief responsible for stealing away both the lamp and their memories.

Of course, he did no such thing.  He simply told them all that was rough, but that they shouldn't be discouraged.  Perhaps, the lamp wasn't as lost as Isabella Finch had originally believed, and someone else found it first.  That worked surprisingly well enough to light a fire under his uncle, and he's now determined to locate the next mystery.

"You know, Tall Nephew," Gyro sighed.  "From what I was told, it didn't seem like your family reacted too poorly when they found out the truth."

Donald looked up at Gyro without lifting his head.  "And?"

"All I'm trying to say is that maybe you should consider some sort of contingency," Gyro huffed.  "I'm not telling you what to do.  But, seeing as none of them remember that you're doing this, you might want to have some sort of way to let them know why."

When Donald didn't respond, Gyro continued.

"This is no longer a hypothetical situation.  You have been accepted into F.O.W.L., and everything you do is only going to get more incriminating from here.  Now is probably the best time for you to set the record straight."

Before it's too late...

Gyro's unspoken words dangled in the air over Donald.  He had gone into all of this with the expectation of getting his hands dirty.  That whatever he did was for the good of his family, so it could eventually be justified.  Lying to them, stealing from the bin, vandalizing Scrooge's office, it was all a necessary means to the end.  Even when he trapped them all in a false world, his family forgave that as well.

Altering their memories was a whole other matter.  

While Donald knows that it had to be done, and he shuddered to think what would have happened by now if he hadn't, he recognized that his family would likely have mixed feelings about this decision in particular.  Gyro was right when he said that this was only the beginning of many morally questionable actions he would have to take.  Perhaps it was best for Donald to explain himself, before he let his hands became any more stained.

"Is there anywhere here that I can get some privacy?"  Donald held up his phone.  "I have a few things that I need to say."

"There's a closet over there that your spawn locked me in for several hours," Gyro casually told him.  "It's not soundproofed, but I'll be busy working on the new bin security system.  Take your time."

Donald was curious, though not at all surprised, to hear that his kids did such a thing.  

Donald took a deep breath as he stopped the recording.  He had meant for it to be a straightforward explanation for everything that he had done up until this point.  A way for his family to understand, though not necessarily agree, with his choices.  

Yet, he couldn't stop his feelings from bleeding through at the end.  He contemplated asking Gyro to cut out that part, but ultimately Donald left it in.  He was far too exhausted to record anything else to replace it.  Hopefully, that little display won't devalue the rest of his position.

As he exited the closet, Donald immediately saw Gyro and Lil' Bulb hard at work.  Gyro didn't even look up when Donald approached his work bench.  Donald wordlessly placed his phone next to him.

"I'll transfer it onto a thumb drive, and then wipe the data from your phone," Gyro explained as he finished tying together a couple of wires.  

"Okay," Donald nodded.  "Thanks for doing this, by the way.  All of it."

"As I've told you before, think nothing of it, Tall Nephew."

"Right."  

A few moments passed with only the sound of popping as a few sparks came from the panel Gyro was working on.  Finally, he put down his tools and reached for the phone.  It was a very simple process to download the video, and Donald soon had his phone back while Gyro held the thumb drive labeled "In Case" with a piece of masking tape and a sharpie.

"I'll put this with the rest of your Duck Avenger paraphernalia, and then I can drive you home."

As Gyro began walking away, Donald forced himself to speak.

"Gyro, when something happens, will you give it to my family for me?"

Gyro blinked, and for a second Donald worried that he might have been asking too much.  However, it seemed that the request wasn't what gave Gyro pause.

"Don't you mean if something happens?"

Donald's face twitched, before he smiled up at Gyro.

"Yeah, sure."

Neither of them mentioned how Donald's eyes didn't meet Gyro's gaze.

Chapter Text

Donald did his best to look engaged as Black Heron described in excruciating detail the scientific basis behind her latest invention.  However, only running on three hours of sleep (and about twice as much coffee) left Donald struggling to wrap his mind around the various technological components of the device.  

Not that he would ever let it slip, of course.  Heron seemed convinced that he was close to her level of intelligence, and there was no way Donald was going to be the one to shatter that illusion.  His perceived intellect was what had earned him a position working under her for the time being.  He'd much rather have her show him the ropes of F.O.W.L., as Heron's role as one of the founders put Donald much closer into the line of sight of Director Buzzard.  Something that Donald knew was imperative for him to climb up the ranks of the organization, and eventually, take it down.  

Still, it was getting harder and hard to pretend like he actually understood what "...expands the cerebral pathways in order to increase the intake of neurotransmitters by the accompanying receptors..." meant.  Luckily, he wasn't the only one who was lost.

"It does the what to the who now?"

Steelbeak's bored expression while he leaned back in his chair was enough to send Heron in a rage.  Without warning, she went over to him kicked out the back legs of his chair, sending both it and him tumbling to the ground.

"Hey!"  Steelbeak shouted as he rubbed a now sore spot on his side.  "What was that for?"

"For being stupid," she coldly replied.

"I'm not stupid..."  Donald heard Steelbeak mutter as he stood up.  "It's not my fault that you keep using such big words!"

Heron rolled her eyes, "Very well.  Forgive me, Agent Avenger, but it appears that I must dumb down my explanation for this fool's benefit."

Donald easily waved her off.  "Do what you have to."

Heron nodded as she held the device in front of Steelbeak.  She then spoke rather slowly and in a very exaggerated manner.

"This is my Intelli-Ray.  When I use it, it makes anyone caught in the beam smarter.  Observe."

She reached into a nearby glass cage and swiftly grabbed the lone occupant.  A tiny chipmunk squirmed in her robotic hand's grasp.  As the beam engulfed the defenseless creature, Donald couldn't help but feel sorry for it.  However, as the light cleared and Heron placed the chipmunk back into the cage, the sudden change in its overall awareness was obvious.  

Donald watched as it rubbed its eyes, stared at the three of them, then looked down at itself.  Immediately, a thick blush broke out across its face.  It dove behind an empty food dish, before lifting the dish up to cover itself from their view.

"This is typically how the subjects first respond," Heron told them while reaching into a nearby drawer.  "They always want the same thing."

She pulled out a little floral shirt from atop a stack of tiny clothes that she just happened to have for some reason, (which only raised more questions if Donald was being honest) and carelessly tossed it into the cage.  The chipmunk quickly grabbed the shirt, only fully emerging from its hiding spot once it had been clothed.  It seemed much calmer now.

"So far, the experiments have yielded similar results, with only minor differences in trivial details such as attitude and motivation.  All subjects still possess vastly improved cognitive abilities."

As the chipmunk laid back against the food dish, arms behind its head, Donald wondered if it was observing them just as much as they were observing it.

"So, the plan is to make a bunch of smart rats?"  Steelbeak asked as he leaned over the cage.  "What if McDuck just hires an exterminator or something?"

The chipmunk instantly took cover when Steelbeak's shadow fell on it.  It didn't help matters that Steelbeak loudly snapped his metal mouth closed when the chipmunk cautiously peered out.  He let out an amused laugh as the chipmunk dove back behind the food dish.  Heron was not nearly as entertained.

"Would you stop acting like a complete imbecile?"  She scowled.

"So, what?  Should I act like a half-wit, then?"

Donald could clearly see Heron's eye twitch.  She then pinched the area of her beak, just above her nostrils, and leaned her head back.

"Leave.  Now."

Steelbeak gave a dismissive grumble as he waved his hand flippantly in her direction.  He then made his way towards the exit of the lab.  Donald was about to slip out of the room as well, (if he left now, then he would hopefully be able to make it back to the mansion by breakfast time.  The kids would be expecting his semi-famous pancakes when they woke up.) when he felt a strong grip latch around his arm.

"C'mon, DA," he heard Steelbeak excitedly say, "let's go get a drink!"

Donald internally groaned, suddenly feeling just as trapped as Heron's chipmunk.

"I used to see you in the paper all the time when I was a kid."

Steelbeak told Donald as he filled up their cups.  Donald wasn't exactly sure what the amber colored liquid was, but judging from the smell alone, he doubted that he was going to be able to drive afterwards.  They were the only two in the deserted Funso's party area, (because F.O.W.L. just had to build their super secret laboratory underneath his kids' favorite restaurant) since the place was still currently closed for the night.  

Donald didn't think that they actually served alcohol here, a suspicion only strengthened by how Steelbeak seemingly disappeared into the employee lounge and then emerged with the bottle.  Oh well.  The workers didn't need to be getting drunk on their shift anyway.  Although, with how many children's birthday parties Donald has endured in this hellscape, he didn't blame them for wanting to.

"We didn't have TV," Steelbeak continued, "couldn't exactly afford it.  So, I had to come up with other forms of entertainment.  My Pops used to bring home dinner from the pier every night, wrapped up newspaper.  Most of the time it was nothing too interesting, occasionally we lucked out and got the funny pages.  Then one day, there you were.  And, again, and again, and you just kept on showing up."

Steelbeak quickly threw back his drink, and looked at Donald expectantly.  Donald held his breath and drank his as well.  He deliberately didn't swallow, hoping to just spit it back into his cup when Steelbeak wasn't looking.  However, that idea was ruined when Steelbeak clasped him hard on the back, causing Donald to nearly choke as the drink burned its way down his throat.  

Steelbeak thankfully didn't notice him gagging, as he was too distracted getting the both of them a refill, but Donald still had to quickly wipe the tears away before he turned back and saw.  Those Funso's employees really don't mess around when it came to their choice in liquor!  

"I couldn't read what all you were doing, the fish slime always smudged the ink, but I knew what I saw.  I saw a cool looking guy, running around in a mask and cape.  Someone who was so important that he got to be on the front page everyday.  Someone who could probably afford the good things in life, like...steak!  And, cable TV!  Am I right?"

Donald almost laughed at Steelbeak's childhood assumptions.  Sure, whenever he was living at the mansion Donald didn't exactly want for anything.  That was definitely a time in his life when things like steak for dinner and cable television were taken for granted.  However, it was such a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of his life.  Particularly in the last decade, when he was too exhausted from constantly working to afford anything for dinner that he didn't even have the time to sit and watch TV.

"I just couldn't take it anymore.  I managed to steal—ahem, 'win', a few bucks off another kid on the playground in a...friendly little fistfight, and I bought a copy of yesterday's paper.  Did you know newsprint doesn't actually smell like fish?  Anyway, I finally got to read all about you, and just how awesome you were!"

Steelbeak held up his hands, as if he were framing the air in front of Donald.

"'Duck Avenger Seen Outside Jewelry Store Robbery!  What is Duckburg's Evilest Villain up to Now?'"  

Donald sighed as he looked down at the cup in his hand.  It probably wouldn't do much good to try and convince Steelbeak that the majority of those headlines were grossly exaggerated.  Not to mention, taken out of context.  Yes, he was present at more than a few robberies, but it was always to stop the actual thieves.  Of course, it wasn't like anyone ever believed that was his real reason.  With a small sigh, Donald lifted the cup to his beak.  

"It was then that I knew exactly what I wanted to be.  I was going to grow up and become a villain, like you!"

Donald immediately choked on his drink again.  Steelbeak chuckled as he held out the sides of his white jacket.

"I know I don't have the cape, or the mask, or anything, but I like to think I've got my own distinctive evil style going on.  Definitely not the cheap threads of some loser from the underground cockfights in St. Canard, right?"

"Yeah," Donald agreed, "you definitely look like the kind of guy who eats steak every night."

"That's what I'm always saying!"  

Steelbeak's words were already starting to slur, but he still took another drink.  Donald did as well.

"Nobody ever listens to me 'round here," Steelbeak complained, "Like, when I told them that we should have kept the old lighthouse base instead of moving to this Disneyland knock-off.  You would have loved the Sate-lighthouse, DA!  It was a real villain's lair!"

Donald did little to stifle his laugh.  The idea of an evil villain lair at a lighthouse just sounded so cliche to him.  (He half expected to be told of another base located inside a volcano on a secret island or something.  Donald could only imagine!)  Luckily, Steelbeak mistook Donald's barely concealed amusement for enthusiasm.

"I know!  It's so embarrassing that you had to go and join us now."

As he was downing yet another drink, (his fourth, maybe?  He was starting to lose track...) Donald vaguely noticed how much easier it was getting.  

(Old memories of Panchito teasing him for being such a lightweight while in college were also beginning to surface.  Although, it wasn't Donald's fault that painkillers and alcohol didn't exactly mix well.  Being the Duck Avenger certainly had its drawbacks sometimes.  At least José never said too much on the subject.  He had plenty of other material to work with regarding Donald's lack of a love life.  Again, the drawbacks of being a vigilante.)

"Why did F.O.W.L. even decide to build a base here anyway?"  Donald found himself asking.  "It seems kinda risky with how popular this place is."

Steelbeak slammed his fist onto the table, nearly knocking over everything.  Donald just barely managed to catch the bottle before it hit the ground.  He decided to refill his cup, before putting the bottle back on the table.  Steelbeak didn't notice, however, as he was too caught up in his rant.

"That's what I said!  Anyway, it's because apparently this is the 'statistically least likely place' for Scrooge McDuck to show his ugly face.  I still can't believe that Buzzard bought Dee's crap!  Just because she was spying on them or whatever, and then heard him say how he'd never step foot in here.  Well, she better watch out now that you're around, DA!  Word among the Eggheads is that she still can't figure out how you knew where that lamp was.  All the good her stupid bugs are, right?"

Donald hummed in agreement.  If Agent Dee thought that she was going to get away with anymore spying on his family, then she was going to have to work a lot harder to hide her devices from Donald.  Just in the past few days, he'd destroyed another twenty strewn around the mansion (thankfully no one bothered to question his excuse of "changing out the smoke alarm batteries").  

"That dumb idea was how she got made an agent in the first place."

Donald immediately perked up.  He did his best to ignore the haze that coated most of his thoughts, and he forced himself to focus on Steelbeak's rambling.

"I had to agree to all of Heron's stupid experiments to get made."  He snapped his metal beak open and closed seemingly to make a point.  "But she has one half decent idea, and boom!  Director Buzzard promotes her right then and there!  How fair is that to guys like us?"

That was it?  A good idea is all that it takes to be noticed by the director?  No, even as inebriated as Donald was, he knew there had to be more to it.  Gyro had told him enough about how Director Buzzard thinks, (as well as plenty of what Gyro thought of him) particularly when it came to business.  Bradford Buzzard had a keen eye, and he was always looking for the best way to maximize profits for the least amount of expenditures.  

Donald could certainly see why his uncle would hire someone like that to run his company.  

"What do you think it would take for one of us to get a promotion?"  

Donald mused, unsure if he had actually spoken aloud or not.  (Honestly, if it weren't for the voice modulator, Donald was certain that he would have lost the ability to speak even semi-coherently by now.)

"Wow," Steelbeak drew out the word (so, it was definitely aloud then), "only here a week, and you're already gunning for the top spot?  That's metal!"

Donald just couldn't stop himself from immediately telling him, "No it's not.  Your face is metal."

Steelbeak blinked, and for a moment Donald wondered if it was a mistake to keep saying every stray thought that popped up in his clouded mind.  Thankfully, it didn't matter, as the equally intoxicated Steelbeak found Donald's remark to be hilarious.  He slapped the table as he let out a barking laugh that could rival a sea lion.  Donald, as well, was overcome by the artificial giddiness of it all.  The two laughed for far too long, accidentally spilling the last of their drinks onto the floor in the midst of their fit.

The two of them took it as a sign to finally stop for the night, and it had almost nothing to do with the fact that the bottle was empty, and they struggled to get to their feet.  Donald stumbled forward while Steelbeak leaned against his chair.  The two of them shared another laugh when it collapsed underneath him, sending Steelbeak straight to the ground.  Donald held out a hand to him, but Steelbeak brushed it aside with a smug look.

"If you want to stand out around here, then you got to be ruthless."  He told Donald.  "You need to show Buzzard and the all others just how much of a villain you really are, DA."

Donald must be drunk, because that almost sounded like a smart idea.

"I bet I could eat it."

Donald made a disgusted face as Steelbeak stared hungrily into the cage.  The chipmunk was doing its best to hide behind the food dish in the corner , but Donald could still see its leg sticking out.

"Why would you even want to eat it?"  Donald asked.  "Trust me, raw rodents do not taste like steak."

(That was one truly awful adventure, and Donald learned the value of not letting Della be in charge of packing the food provisions.  He also learned that Scrooge could sell him on almost anything, including the idea that squirrels were edible.)

Steelbeak waved his hand flippantly at him and scoffed.

"I know that!  I’m just saying that I could do it."  He leaned in and aggressively tapped on the glass.  "Look at him in there, thinking he’s so smart now that he’s got clothes.  Well, I got clothes too, buddy!  You ain’t smarter than me!  No matter what she says!"

Before Donald could even protest, Steelbeak snatched up the chipmunk.  The poor creature dangled helplessly in the air from where Steelbeak held it by the collar of its shirt.  He let out a rather evil sounding laugh as he repeatedly taunted it with the snapping of his beak.  

Donald frowned.  He really didn’t want to have to go up against Steelbeak, (aside from the fact that Donald was reluctant to do anything that might risk exposing his true self to F.O.W.L., Steelbeak was at least twice his size!) but the Duck Avenger was still a hero.  Donald couldn’t just ignore the terrified look on the chipmunk's face.  With a sigh, he knew what he had to do.

"Whoops!"

Donald dove at unsuspecting Steelbeak, knocking the two of them straight to the floor.  In the commotion, Steelbeak lost his grip on the chipmunk, sending it skidding toward an air vent.  He immediately let out a sharp curse, before trying to grab the chipmunk.  Donald "slipped" again, pinning Steelbeak face down.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t for long, as Steelbeak quickly knocked him off his back.

Donald sat up first, and he was about to tackle Steelbeak again, however, it seemed that his assistance was no longer needed.  Much to his surprise, the cover of the vent popped off, revealing several other clothed rodents (as well as a fly).  The chipmunk immediately ran to join them, while the biggest one went about replacing the cover.  Before it was closed, Donald and the chipmunk locked eyes, and it gave him a nod.  He assumed that meant thanks.

Which was plenty more than he was going to get from Steelbeak at the moment.

"What the heck, DA?!  I almost had it!"

Donald winced at Steelbeak's shouting.  He was already beginning to feel a headache form behind his eyes.

"Sorry," he weakly apologized as they slowly got to their feet.  "Guess I’ve had too much to drink."

Steelbeak’s anger thankfully deflated.  

"I probably have too.  I say we go sleep it off in the barracks before Heron catches us.  Last time this happened, she threatened to replace my beak with styrofoam.  'Styro-beak' just doesn’t sound as menacing."

As much as Donald really didn’t want to fall asleep inside of a F.O.W.L. base, his options were certainly limited.  He could hardly stand up straight, much less safely drive a car.  He supposed that he could call Gyro for a ride, but that came with its own set of problems.

(Donald also wasn’t exactly eager to hear what the scientist would have to say about him getting drunk while in the middle of his undercover operation.)

"Fine.  Lead the way."

Chapter Text

Donald was slowly dragged back to the land of the living after several hours of quiet unconsciousness.  As awareness returned to him, the taste of regret was prevalent in the back of his throat.  Well, regret mixed with whatever he and Steelbeak had been drinking.  He would have thought his days of blindly indulging in random bottles of booze without question were behind him by now.

And his kids say he never does anything cool.

A wave of nausea suddenly flooded Donald's senses.  (Yeah, that right there was the reason why he had stopped doing such things, he bitterly realized.)  Donald shut his eyes as tightly as he could, and then slung an arm over them for good measure.  

"The room is definitely not spinning," he told himself in vain.

Unfortunately, his mind wasn't so easily convinced.  The nonexistent sway of his surroundings left Donald feeling as though he was standing on his houseboat in rough waters.  While he never did suffer from seasickness, he found himself instantly sympathizing with anyone who did.  

(It took Louie almost six years to stop having to wake Donald up in the middle of the night to rush him above deck to puke.  Sometimes they made it, but not always.  Donald soon learned the importance of keeping extra pairs of pajamas on hand...for the both of them.)

As if the vertigo wasn't enough, Donald also couldn't ignore the sharp ache behind his eyes.  Steadily pounding away at his will, there were few pains more irksome than a headache.  He didn't have the energy to even think at this point.  However, despite it all, one nagging thought was determined to force its way into his addled mind.

Aspirin.  He needed aspirin.

There was little he could do to argue against such an idea.  While not a cure all, some pain medicine would surely alleviate the worst of his symptoms.  Unfortunately, locating any was its own problem.  If he were back at the mansion, then he could easily stumble upon one of his uncle's stashes.  Adventuring took its toll, so it made sense to have several pockets of various medications stored around the house for anyone's discretion.

Donald suppressed a wince as he forced himself to his feet.  A slight unsteadiness took hold of him, but luckily Donald managed to catch the side of the bed before he fell.  

"Focus," he muttered as he reached for his nearby cape and boots.  

There had to be an infirmary or something similar nearby.  With all the dangerous experiments Heron ran, Donald was sure of it.  (Besides, Director Buzzard likely wouldn't want to deal with the lawsuits that not having one would bring.)

The door slid open with harsh scrape, only aggravating Donald's condition further.  The buzzing fluorescent lights that lined the white hallway weren't helping either.  One hand on the wall, and one on his forehead, Donald stumbled along forward.  He thought that he could hear voices up ahead.

In hindsight, he probably should have just stayed in bed.  

Before he could even realize what was going on, Donald was on the ground.  He let out a groan as he attempted to shake off his double vision in order to get a clear view of whoever it was that had tripped him.  Donald blinked.  He almost wondered if he was still drinking (although his hangover symptoms certainly begged to differ).  

"Oh yeah!  Let's DEWEY this!"  

Dewey.

Dewey had tripped him...

...WHAT THE HELL WAS DEWEY DOING HERE?!

The sight of his nephew running around within F.O.W.L.'s base was enough to sober Donald up real fast.  Instantly, he was on his feet.

"Alright," Dewey grinned as he adjusted his glasses, "it's a secret boss fight!  This really is the best game ever!"

Game?  Donald tilted his head.  Also, since when did Dewey wear glasses?  

(Had Donald slept through an optometrist appointment?  He could have sworn that was scheduled for after Christmas.)

Dewey excitedly lunched at him, and Donald easily sidestepped the attack.  The kid shook off his miss, and then wondered aloud if it counted as "losing a life."  

Gradually, Donald was beginning to understand what was happening.  Dewey must have been in the middle of playing a video game in Funso's, (Donald vaguely remembered him mentioning a new obsession with some spy themed game a while back) and then he somehow found his way into the base.  

It was an absolutely ridiculous conclusion for Donald to draw, but he's certainly dealt with far more convoluted situations.  At any rate, he needed to get Dewey out of here.  When Dewey went for him again, Donald grabbed him.  It wasn't a tight hold, but he kept his arms wrapped around Dewey's body enough to incapacitate him.  

Dewey kicked his legs in an attempt to fight off Donald, but it was useless.  With how rowdy his nephew was acting, Donald realized that he couldn't properly escape the base like this.  He needed to do something to calm him down, to keep him quiet, and preferably, prevent him from noticing too many details.

The idea of sedating him suddenly crossed Donald's mind.  Gyro did include sleeping drugs with his gear, after all.  

(While Donald didn't see the need for it at the time, Gyro was insistent that he wouldn't be able to punch his way out of every problem.  Donald didn't want to kill anyone, so he at least should have access to "alternative methods" of taking someone down.  He could practically see the look on Gyro's face as he's once again proven right about something.  That smug know-it-all.)

It would also probably be easy enough to convince Dewey that this had all been a crazy dream rather than risk the facade of the video game being lost.  The last thing he needed was Dewey to learn the truth and ruin everything.  Donald supposed that drugging Dewey with a relatively safe sedative was probably no more morally reprehensible than trapping him in a fake world and wishing away his memories had been.  

...Well, it couldn't be any worse than that.

With his mind made up, Donald tried not to let Dewey see the needle as it pierced his arm.  Dewey never did like getting shots.  Donald felt his nephew's struggles decrease as his body went limp.

"...What's hap—"

Donald shushed him and readjusted his hold to a far more comfortable one.  Dewey tried to protest, but he was no match for the power of the sedative.  With Dewey now asleep, Donald was just about to make a break for the elevator, when someone came barreling around the corner.

"Get back here you little—Oh!"  

Steelbeak skidded to a halt when he noticed them.  Donald instinctively tightened his grip on his nephew, and he did his best to position himself in front of the unconscious Dewey.  Steelbeak didn't seem to notice.

"Good.  You're awake, DA,"  Steelbeak stood tall as he walked up to Donald, "and it looks like you went and caught McDuck's little brat all by yourself.  Nice job!"

Donald's eyes narrowed behind his mask, "Yeah, mind telling me what exactly he's doing here?"  

The explanation Steelbeak gave did nothing to alleviate Donald's stress about the situation.  Still, he managed to keep his cool, at least until—

"What do you mean that you're in charge now?!"

Steelbeak laughed, "It's just like what we talked about.  I saw my chance, and I took it.  You're not the only one who's looking to get ahead!"

Well, that was yet another thing Donald had to regret about last night.  

"Anyway, let's get going," Steelbeak suddenly clasped Donald's shoulder.  "I can't wait to show you the lighthouse!  Plus, we have to get it ready for my new plan."

Donald nodded.  He may have awoken to en entire total disaster, but Steelbeak still seemed to regard him as an ally.  He could use that.  At least, for however long it took to get Dewey to safety.  

"So, what exactly is your plan?"  Donald asked.

Steelbeak held up Heron's Intelli-Ray.  Donald had a bad feeling about this.

"Let's just say that nobody will ever call me stupid again."

Donald had to bite his tongue when Steelbeak insisted on tying Dewey to the boat.  

"He isn't going to wake up for hours," Donald told him.  "Why waste the rope?"

Steelbeak shook his head, "I'm not taking any chances with a McDuck.  You get it, right DA?"

Donald forced himself to nod.  He was able to at least talk Steelbeak into placing Dewey inside of the boat with them.  Small victories.  Donald kept a tight grip on Dewey as they sped towards the lighthouse.  However, it wasn't exactly smooth sailing.  

"Someone's following us," Donald pointed out.  

Steelbeak looked back, noticing the other speedboat as well.  He let out a swear harsh enough that Donald nearly covered up Dewey's ears.  

"I thought I took care of that guy—Hold on, DA!"

Donald almost fell overboard several times, and kept Dewey from doing the same several more, as Steelbeak broke literally every nautical safety rule to try and get away from their pursuer.  Who, by the way, was Launchpad.

Donald already knew that the universe hated him, but sometimes it just seemed to like to remind him of that fact.

Launchpad had attempted to make a grab for Dewey, even trying to inform him that this wasn't a video game, before realizing that he was unconscious.  It was about that time he noticed Donald pulling Dewey back into the boat.  He seemed...different.  Donald guessed that it might have been the change of clothes, (something he doubted Steelbeak would be too happy about) but there was still something off about him.  

It didn't matter anyway.  By the time they reached the lighthouse, Launchpad had been successfully knocked into the ocean.  Donald was pretty sure that he could swim, so he tried not to worry too much about him.  Dewey was his focus right now.  Well, Dewey and whatever Steelbeak's grand plan was.  He still didn't know.  Donald watched as Steelbeak began to rig the Intelli-Ray up to a large device, and it was about this time he began to grow concerned.  After all, when was something that was created by a mad scientist employed by an evil secret organization ever a benefit to society? 

Never.  It turned out that the answer was never.

Despite being forced to maintain his cover as a villain, there was no way Donald could abide by Steelbeak's desire to make the entire town too stupid to even know how to breathe.  

Still, he hesitated to make a move against his fellow F.O.W.L. agent.  Not with the high chance of Dewey being caught up in the crossfire.  If Steelbeak suspected a break in Donald's loyalty, then there was no telling what he might do.  Not to mention what would happen to his family when word reached the higher ups.  Then again, if Donald did nothing to stop him, his family would still fall victim to the Intelli-Ray.

Launchpad, despite whatever change he had gone through, wasn't strong enough to defeat Steelbeak on his own.  Donald knew that it would be up to him.  It always was. 

With the flash of a smoke bomb, Donald leapt in between the Launchpad and Steelbeak.  At first, Steelbeak must have assumed that Donald was there to help, however, he was quickly disavowed of that notion when Donald took a swing at him.  

"DA!  What are you doing?"  Steelbeak growled as he blocked Donald's fist.  "Did you get hit with the dumb ray or something?"

Donald glanced back.  It seemed with his opponent distracted, that Launchpad managed to take the hint and went to rescue Dewey and save the rest of the town.  Donald could handle Steelbeak.  At least, for however long it took.  

Steelbeak didn't take Donald's betrayal lightly.  Shifting into what Donald assumed to be his street fighter stance, Steelbeak was quick on his feet and hard with his punches.  If this was the type of fighting that Steelbeak was used to, then Donald could see how he would have gotten his beak smashed.  Still, Donald didn't have to win.  He just had to be faster.

And Donald was...For the most part.

Steelbeak loomed over Donald, a large foot firmly placed on his cape.  Pinned down, Donald immediately went to unhook it to release himself.

"Not so fast!"

Steelbeak grinned as he suddenly yanked him up by the cape.  Donald gasped as he was forcibly suspended in the air.  He grasped at the fabric digging into his neck, but he was unable to get enough slack to properly pull.  Steelbeak laughed evilly at Donald's struggle.

"I wasn't lying when I said that you inspired me to become a great villain, DA.  I really did think that you were the coolest guy.  Never meet your heroes, I guess."

Donald thought he might choke on the irony, or maybe he was just actually choking.  It was probably the latter.  

Still, Donald attempted to think of a way out of Steelbeak's hold.  He knew that his time to escape was rapidly decreasing with each shallow breath that became harder to replace.  Things were not looking good for him.  Donald scratched at his belt, desperate for one of Gyro's additions to turn the tide.  Unfortunately, Steelbeak must have noticed Donald's change in movement and realized his plan.  He quickly restrained Donald's hands.

"Not gonna work, DA.  Good effort though.  At least, maybe for somebody actually stupid—"

Steelbeak might not regard himself as stupid, but he certainly was easily distracted.  Even with everything that was going on, Donald still heard the approaching aircraft.  It was tiny, so it wasn't like it actually harmed Steelbeak when it slammed into the back of his head, but it was enough to cause him to drop Donald.  Donald watched as swatted at the craft, like some kind of lumbering Kaiju, before getting intentionally tangled up within some nearby electrical cords.  

Steelbeak really should have done a maintenance check on this place before pinning his master plans on it.  Donald watched as the electricity coursed through Steelbeak, before he fell heavily to the ground.  Hesitantly, Donald approached his body.  After a second, Donald let out a sigh.  Steelbeak wasn't dead, but he was definitely down for the count.  

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall, I suppose."  Donald absentmindedly rubbed his neck.  "Served him right for have a face full of metal so close to a power line.  Not a smart move there, genius."

A high pitched squeak from above caught Donald's attention.  He looked up to see the chipmunk in a Hawaiian shirt, and it almost seemed like he was laughing.  The edge of Donald's beak twitched upward.  

"Thanks for the assist," Donald told it and the others.

They exchanged a nod and a thumbs-up, before the rodents flew off in their flying machine for parts unknown.  He quietly wished them luck with their adventures.  At least they seemed to agree to make things even between them and him, Donald really didn't want to owe a favor to a chipmunk.  

A loud bang and a bright flash immediately snapped Donald back to the crisis.  He watched in horror as Launchpad fell from the top of the lighthouse.  Donald didn't even have a chance to blink before his hands were on his grappling hook.  Launchpad was heavy, and he nearly pulled Donald over the edge with him.  Thankfully, Donald was able to dig in the heels of his boots to keep from slipping and then managed to securely wrap the cord around a nearby post.  He wondered how exactly he was going to find the energy, not to mention the strength, needed to pull Launchpad up to safety.

"How did I get here?  Is this part of the game?"

Donald nearly jumped as he heard Launchpad's voice.  Quickly, he raced over to the edge.

"Don't make any sudden movements!"  Donald immediately shouted.  After a beat, he thoughtfully added, "Oh, and don't look down!"

"Can do, mysterious NPC!"

It took a lot effort on both of their parts, but Launchpad was eventually able to climb back up to solid ground.  Donald took a few deep breaths while Launchpad took a good look around.

"Wow, what an awesome ending level!  Dewey's gonna be so proud that I beat the game."

"He sure is," Donald hummed as he readied the needle.  "We couldn't have won without your help today."

The drugs worked just as well as they had before.  Again, Donald found himself really loathing the idea of having to tell Gyro that he had been right.  Just as Launchpad's eyes began to close, Donald stood over him.

"Thanks for being such a hero, especially for Dewey.  I really appreciate it."

With the last loose end of Launchpad now taken care of, Donald surveyed the lighthouse.  He felt almost jealous that everyone else was unconscious, as he would give just about anything for a nap right now.  

(Of course, with his hangover still yet to have completely ebbed, he would also accept some hair of the dog.)

Still, there was no rest for the wicked.  Donald wondered if that included him as he pickpocketed a phone from Steelbeak.  Thankfully, Steelbeak wasn't bright enough to use a passcode more complicated than 1234, nor to even bother encrypting his contacts.  The phone rang only twice before the other line picked up.

"Director Buzzard?  This is the Duck Avenger.  Agent Steelbeak is a bit indisposed at the moment.  I was hoping to request some assistance from F.O.W.L....Do you guys do pickups, by any chance?"

Donald watched as Director Buzzard fired the Intelli-Ray at Heron, restoring her intelligence.  She didn't look too happy when she noticed Steelbeak sitting next to her.  However, before she could even start to complain, Director Buzzard took the floor.  

"Do you two idiots even understand the amount you nearly cost us today?  How much damage control that I needed to implement?  It's coming out of your paychecks!"

Donald blinked.  He didn't realize that they were getting paid for this.  Was he getting paid?  Maybe it was in that massive contract Buzzard had him sign?  With his thoughts thoroughly taken over by this new revelation of potentially having a steady source of income again, Donald mostly tuned out the rest of the director's admonishment of Steelbeak and Heron's actions. 

(It was important to him, as he had been living purely on the settlement he had gotten when Scrooge encouraged him to sue Glomgold after the whole Atlantis debacle.  After all, there were plenty of worker's rights violations committed that day, as well as multiple witnesses willing to testify.  Glomgold really should have thought twice before abandoning the mercenaries to drown.  It eventually got upgraded to a full on class action suit.  Scrooge's lawyers were able to secure a rather hefty sum...which they promptly took most of as their pay.  Scrooge took some as well, seeing as it had been his idea to sue in the first place, and Donald was left with just enough to keep his houseboat floating for a few more months without worry.)

Donald only began paying attention again when he heard his name mentioned.  

"Yes, sir?"  He automatically answered.

Director Buzzard raised an eyebrow, before clearing his throat.

"As I was saying, the only one of you to show any amount of decent judgment was Duck Avenger.  As such, I am officially ending his probationary period and granting him full agency privileges.  Congratulations, Agent DA.  I expect similarly adept work from you in the future."

With that, the three agents were dismissed.  The second the door closed behind them, Donald was suddenly pressed up against the wall.  The tips of his boots just barely reached the floor.  Still, he kept a straight face.  Even as Steelbeak's looked downright murderous.

"What. The. HELL. DA!  How could you throw me under the bus with the director like that?"

Donald didn't flinch as a bit of spit landed on his face.  He let the edge of his beak flick up in a proud smirk.

"I saw my chance, and I took it.  Looks like I'm the one who's actually getting ahead."

A beat of silence passed between them, before Steelbeak dropped his hold on Donald.  He let out a loud laugh and shook his head.

"You really are ruthless, DA."  With a sharp grin, Steelbeak grabbed Donald's shoulder.  He leaned in close and whispered,  "If you ever cross me again, I'll kill you."

Steelbeak harshly pushed Donald away and left.  Donald waited until Steelbeak was gone, before he finally raised his hand up to the sore spot on his shoulder.  It was definitely going to bruise.

"Three things I can see, three things I can hear, and three body parts I can move..."

Donald mumbled to himself as he tried to catch his breath.  He really ought to get going soon as well.  He just...needed a minute.  And, maybe a cigarette, too.

Chapter Text

Donald had never been to St. Canard before.  At least, not on his own like this.  He had old memories of Scrooge dragging him and Della to a few random business related affairs in the city.  Generally, they were just stopovers on their way to whatever their actual destination was.  Still, he remembered being young and told to stay close by Scrooge's side, lest some villain try to kidnap him.  The city had a serious villain problem back then.

It definitely seemed a lot safer nowadays under the rule of the new mayor.  (Cleaner, too, if the small alleyway that Donald was camped out in was anything to go by.)

Donald almost felt out of place here in his Duck Avenger costume.  However, he was at least grateful for an outfit that didn't reek of the ocean.  He was probably going to have to burn that particular shirt when he got the chance, as Donald doubted that he'd be able to fully get the scent of today's adventure out of his clothes.  It would be better for him to get rid of them entirely.  The stench of saltwater and fish was still too triggering.

Had it not been for the fact that his goal to destroy F.O.W.L. depended on his ability to locate the lost mysteries, then Donald would have never set foot in that submarine.  He forced himself to go, and then swallowed his true feelings about being underwater.  Luckily, everyone was distracted enough by teasing Della over her fear of fish to notice any odd behaviors from Donald.  Like say, if he were sometimes glancing around the sub at random objects, mumbling a little to himself, and occasionally fidgeting.  

Their time spent in Mervana wasn't so bad.  Contrary to Scrooge, Donald found the majority of the activities rather relaxing.  Arts and crafts were a welcome change of pace from regularly fighting for his and his family's lives.  

Of course, they were all soon fighting for their lives against a giant fish monster.  

That was less relaxing.  

As was all the physical labor Donald was forced to do afterwards.  Who knew it took so much effort to rebuild a civilization?  Still, it wasn't like he and his family were going to leave them all in the lurch.  They were responsible for uprooting the Mervana peoples' whole society, so it was only right that they help set them up on the correct path.  It was then, when Donald was taking a well deserved break and watching the kids playing from afar, that one of the mermaids with legs told him that the harp was asking for him.  Donald had been confused at first, seeing as he didn't even realize that she knew who he was.  

(He also didn't want to look suspicious by hanging around the harp.  Whenever F.O.W.L. did decide to retrieve her, Donald didn't want anyone to potentially connect him to the crime.)

The harp didn't seem too pleased with him when Donald stepped into her view...

"You've been quite busy hiding from the truth, haven't you?"

Her singsong accusation was still rattling around in Donald's memory even all these hours later.  The last thing he deserved after everything he's been through, every hard choice he's been forced to make, was to be called out by some self righteous overgrown triangle!  Rage had burned through his veins, and it took a great amount of anger management training for him not to immediately snap her strings in that moment.  

Donald blew out a frustrated breath.  He needed to get his head back into the mission.  His fingers brushed the scrap of paper that was stored in a special pouch in his belt.  Director Buzzard had been very insistent that Donald treat it with utmost care.  Donald wasn't sure what exactly was so important about some drawing of a weird circle, nor what purpose it could possibly serve for furthering F.O.W.L.'s goal, but he knew better than to ask questions.  He was expected to deliver the paper, and that was it.

Donald knew this was really a test by the leader.  He had indeed managed to catch the vulture's eye, and now Director Buzzard wanted to see how well Donald could follow through with given orders.  Donald could understand the need for an accurate assessment of his loyalty after everything that happened involving Steelbeak's failed coup and Heron's refusal to stop with her evil inventions.  The need for agents that actually did his bidding was strong for Director Buzzard, and Donald was certainly going to take full advantage of the opportunity.

A sudden movement in the shadows instantly caught Donald's attention.  He raised his fists defensively, but Donald's stance wavered a bit when an old duck came out with his hands up.  The newcomer was slightly plump with long gray feathers and a nervous expression set on his face.  Still, Donald kept his guard up.  Just because this guy didn't appear to be a threat, didn't mean he wasn't.

"Are you, umm, by chance," he stuttered out, "the...contact?"

Donald's eyes narrowed behind his mask, "Who's asking?"

"Oh.  I'm...I'm not exactly sure if we should be using our real names," the duck looked off to the side and ran a hand behind his neck.  "Maybe—"

"What's the holdup?"

A bull, whose size could only be comparable to someone like Steelbeak, stepped out into the dim light of a nearby street lamp.  He grinned over at Donald, who definitely didn't return the expression.  

"Excuse us for a moment," the bull put his arm around the duck, "my associate and I just need to have a quick chat."

The duck didn't look too comfortable as he was led off to the side.  Donald subtly cocked his head.  Although, he didn't have to make any effort to eavesdrop.  These two weren't exactly quiet.

"What's the problem, Thad?"  The bull asked.  "You know how much we need this.  The Ramrod won't function without it.  Only you can do this."

Thad shook his head.  "I just don't know about this anymore, Terry.  If something goes wrong, then Gosalyn will be left all alone—"

"You're doing this for Goss, Thad,"  Terry insisted.  "Think about the great life you'll be able to give her with this success!  She'll never have to want for anything, all thanks to you and me."

Donald watched as the resolve finally broke on Thad's face.  He didn't know who "Gosalyn" might be, but he did recognize the new look in Thad's eyes when he and Terry turned their attention back to him: The determination to provide.  Donald could only hope that F.O.W.L. didn't completely screw up their lives as he handed over the paper to Thad.

"See?  That wasn't so bad," Terry told Thad.  He then nodded to Donald, "Tell your boss that we'll have results soon."

Donald didn't know what kind of results Director Buzzard would be expecting, but he agreed to pass along the message.  That should have been it.  The two parties should have been able to go their separate ways, and Donald should have been calling F.O.W.L. to arrange a pickup on the fancy new communicator he had been given after being promoted to a full agent.  However, that's not how Donald's mission would end.  

Because, the universe hates Donald Duck.

A bomb was suddenly thrown into the space bet them, filling the air with a salty smelling smoke.  Donald immediately covered his beak up with his cape as he jumped back.  It wasn't a gas mask by any means, but Donald was pleased by how much smoke it was able to successfully block out.  

(He'd have to remember to tell Gyro later, as Gyro always liked to stay informed about how well his inventions are holding up when in use.)

While he couldn't see what was happening, Donald could hear Thad coughing and Terry yelling about a "caped weirdo" while presumably dragging him away.  As the smoke cleared, Donald sent a glare in the direction of their retreating forms.

How rude, Donald thought.

Then again, Terry might not have been referring to him.  It seemed that there was more than one duck who wore a cape loose in St. Canard tonight.  Darkwing Duck stood perched on the streetlight.  

(Donald remembered him from the celebration following Lunaris's defeat, although they weren't properly introduced at the time.  He highly doubted that Darkwing would recognize him, even without his mask and voice modulator.)  

His arms were stretched out as he held out the edges of his cape, as if he were trying to make himself look bigger.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night—!"

Darkwing likely had more to say in the moment, but he suddenly lost his footing and slipped off the lamp.  Donald gave a sympathetic wince as Darkwing slammed into the ground.  Still, the wannabe hero was quick to recover.  

"I am the dead fly on the windshield of villainy's freshly washed car."

"Aw, phooey," Donald mumbled, while resisting the urge to facepalm.  

"I am...DARKWING DUCK!"

Donald rolled his eyes.  

"Was there a reason you had to do..."  Donald made a circular motion with his hands.  "...all that?"

Darkwing scoffed at him.  "For your information, showmanship is half the job of being a superhero!  How else are villains like you supposed to know to fear me if I don't tell them too?"  

"Gee, I don't know," Donald crossed his arms.  "Maybe, you can try actually being intimidating?"

"Alright, buster!  Those are officially fighting words!"  

Darkwing immediately raised up his fists, and Donald reluctantly did the same.  He really didn't want to waste his time fighting against Gizmoduck's less popular colleague.  It would probably be best if he tried to talk it out.  Still, Donald felt the need to keep up appearances just in case, so he forced himself into the familiar cavalier attitude of the Duck Avenger.

"I'm just curious," Donald asked with a smirk, "has the whole 'scary intro thing' worked on the other villains you've faced, or am I just an exception?"

He watched as Darkwing's confidence noticeably waned.  

"Umm, well I mean it's SUPPOSED to...in theory.  I haven't encountered any other villains.  At least, not since the mayor's new anti-villain policy came into effect."  

Darkwing gave him a glare.  

"But, now I have the chance to face down a villain, like a real superhero!  So tell me, villain, what business do you have in my city?  What did you hand over to those guys?  Was it drugs?  Counterfeit money?  Nuclear codes?"

Darkwing took a swing at him, but Donald easily dodged it by jumping back.  

"Nah, it's nothing like that."  Donald casually shook his head.  "Truthfully, I've never associated myself with any of that hard stuff.  There's plenty of other kinds of trouble that I can cause."

Again, Darkwing came at him.  This time, Donald found himself backed against a wall, so he was forced to block.  Donald had to admit that Darkwing definitely packs some real power.  He also appeared able to take a hit himself, seeing how he kept getting back up whenever Donald attempted to turn the offense onto him.  It was almost impressive.  Regardless, Donald had a mission to complete.  While he hadn't been given an exact timetable, he doubted that Director Buzzard would appreciate if he took too long to at least make contact.  

With a feint right hook, causing Darkwing to instinctively go left to dodge, Donald suddenly dropped to the ground and swept out the other duck's legs.  Darkwing was knocked down, and Donald used the moment to leap towards a nearby fire escape ladder.  He climbed up two rungs at a time until he reached the top.  He quickly activated his communicator.

"Agent DA reporting," he tried not to sound as out of breath as he felt, "Drop off was successful.  I repeat, the drop off was successful.  However, I've encountered a complication, and I'm gonna have to revise my exit strategy—"

"Gotcha, villain!"  

Donald had not expected Darkwing to catch up to his so fast.  Or, for Darkwing to kick the communicator out of his hand.  The two of them watched as it went plummeting down to the ground below.  The sound it made when it landed...well, it wasn't good.  Rage burned through Donald as he turned back to Darkwing.  Without a word, even though he certainly had several in mind, Donald decked Darkwing right in the face.  As the "superhero" was left reeling from the sudden blow, Donald hurried back down the fire escape.  He grimaced at all the little pieces that used to be his communicator.

"I just hope that Gyro can fix it," he sighed while collecting up the wreckage.

Darkwing was soon on the ground as well.  

(Whether or not he had intentionally jumped down or had accidentally fallen down the several floors worth of fire escape was up for debate).  

He immediately launched himself at Donald.  It was a proper tussle between the two of them now, and Donald was no longer in the mood to hold back.  However, before they could get too far, something bounced into the space between them.  Instinctively, both Donald and Darkwing jumped back, capes raised up to their beaks, as smoke flooded the air yet again.  

Confused, seeing as neither he nor Darkwing had thrown out a smoke bomb, Donald wasn't even given a chance to think before he felt someone grab him from behind.  His vision was still too obscured for him to get a look at who it was, but Donald was quickly dragged out of the alleyway and forced out onto the street.  An open manhole cover was all he could see as he was unceremoniously pushed down into the sewers below.  

The sound of the cover being pulled back into place, along with the small splash from whoever it was as they landed beside him, were all Donald could make out in the pitch black.  Suddenly, the glow of a cheap flashlight lit up the narrow area in between Donald and...

"Darkwing?"  

Donald tilted his head to the side.  It kinda looked like Darkwing, but something was off.  Well, several things, mainly the fact that the Duck Donald had been fighting against had been clad in purple, not yellow.  This guy was also quite a bit older Donald realized, when his eyes adjusted more to the lowlight. 

"Why, thank you!  I'm quite flattered that you recognized the true Darkwing Duck."  

Not-Darkwing gave Donald an eerie grin, which sent chills down his back.   

"I'm actually going by 'Negaduck' now, though.  Coincidentally, it's also the title of my dark and gritty reboot series.  'The Grim Adventures of Negaduck!'  I even already have a few screenplays ready to go for any interested networks.  Say, I bet a newly dedicated fan such as yourself would enjoy a sneak peek of the pilot episode!"

Donald had been held hostage by enough crazies to know better than to intentionally provoke them.  As such, he swallowed back his true feelings and put on a fake smile.  Taking Donald's silence as a confirmation, Negaduck casually tossed the flashlight at Donald, and told him to "Keep the spotlight on me!"  He then dramatically raised his cape up to his face.

"We open in a city, much like this one...and is also named St. Canard.  A coincidence, I assure you.  Anyway, it's in pouring down rain, and super dark.  When, suddenly, boom!"

Negaduck lunged at Donald without warning.  Donald was startled enough to nearly drop the flashlight, but he luckily managed to keep a hold of their only light source.  By the time Donald had recovered, Negaduck was already in a fighting pose. 

"Lightning then flashes overhead, illuminating a battle to the death atop a skyscraper."

He punched the air in front of Donald a few times, before ending his demonstration with a roundhouse kick, only inches from Donald's face.

"Finally, a lone figure looms victoriously over his downed doppelgänger.  The camera then pans in closer to reveal that the real hero Negaduck has risen up from the shadows and defeated the fake Darkwing Duck!  The faker's blood then mixes with the pooling rain to spell out the series title.  So, what are you thinking so far?"

Negaduck turned to Donald, an eager look in his batty eyes.  Donald own eyes awkwardly flicked to the side.

"Umm...it definitely sounds dark and gritty?"

"Yes!"  Negaduck shouted.  

"That's exactly the type of innovation to the genre that will bring in all the new fans!  All eager to prove their loyalty to me, to the original Darkwing—I mean, to Negaduck!  Who'd want to worship a fake like him anyway?  He tried to kill me, you know?  He even put my biggest fan in danger with a whole lightning cannon explosion thing!  You kinda had to be there for it.  Luckily for everyone who was, the real hero was there to save the day!  I even got back up with just a few minor electrical burns!  Like a hero should!  Could that faker walk away from three-hundred million volts?  I think not!"

As Negaduck continued with his unhinged rant, Donald subtly reached for a certain pouch on his belt.  Unfortunately, that was when he remembered that he hadn't actually gotten the chance to have Gyro restock his supply of tranquilizers after the whole lighthouse debacle.  And, just to make things worse, Negaduck noticed Donald's movements.  

"What are you...Wait, don't tell me."  

Negaduck leaned in quite close, and Donald felt a bead of sweat drip down his face.  

"Normally, I charge for autographs, but I suppose that I can make an exception for a clearly financially struggling fan.  I'll even sign something of my own for you."

Donald blinked.  What possibly gave Negaduck the impression that Donald was "financially struggling" was a mystery.  After all, he's not the one presumably living in the sewers, kidnapping random people off the streets in the middle of the night, and forcing them to sit through pitch meetings of unsuccessful reboot screenplays that do absolutely nothing meaningful with beloved IPs!

(Honestly, Launchpad's fan script was a hundred times better.  Donald rather enjoyed watching the recording of Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad's performance.)

"Lucky for you, I always keep my own Sharpie on me at all times," Negaduck told Donald.  "These modern meet and greet organizers never remember to give me any.  As if I'm going to write my name with some inferior marker!  That's my name, and it deserves to be associated with a dependable brand!  Now, who do I make this out to?"

"Umm," Donald really didn't want to give out his real name to someone like Negaduck, "I guess, the Duck Avenger?"

Negaduck suddenly froze, his marker still capped.  He silently stared at Donald, who nervously tried to backtrack.

"DA would also be fine!  Or, better yet, why don't we just forget the whole thing?  I don't need an autograph anyway—"

"No wonder the faker attacked you!"

A confused look crossed Donald's face.  However, before he could even question what Negaduck meant, the older duck began acting strangely.  Well, stranger than he already was.  Negaduck mumbled under his breath, not really acknowledging Donald, as he began curiously circling around him.  He closely inspected Donald's cape, without asking, as well as the rest of his costume (without asking yet again, as consent didn't seem to be in the forefront of Negaduck's mind).  Negaduck then snatched back the flashlight and shined it directly into Donald's face.

"Wow," he finally said, "I never thought I'd get to meet the actual Duck Avenger!  Then again, I don't frequent cemeteries.  Not after that one signing event.  I didn't even realize celebrities could be hired for funerals.  Let me tell you, my agent almost ended up in the ground that day too!  Still, you look much less dead than that fan did."

"Gee, thanks," Donald sarcastically replied.  

However, hidden behind his facade, Donald felt a twinge of fear at Negaduck's recognition.  Steelbeak had practically idolized him, and look where that led them both.  Donald wasn't sure if he could deal with another insane villain who had an obsession with him.

"Yeah, I always did want to thank you for getting that news guy Fangus fired.  It was a real favor to me that day."

...Or, maybe Negaduck was just a little too narcissistic to care about anything that didn't involve himself in some way?  Donald wanted to breathe a sigh of relief at that, but he was caught off guard by what exactly Negaduck had said.

"What do you mean I got Angus Fangus fired?"  Donald tilted his head to the side.  "He retired, didn't he?"

At least, that was what Donald remembered happening.  Shortly after the Duck Avenger's death, Angus Fangus announced his retirement from cable news media as a whole.  While he had said that it was to "broaden his career horizons" Donald assumed that without the Duck Avenger around anymore to fear monger about, Fangus lost the majority of his content and decided to step down on his own accord.  Donald kept his eye out for his name attached to anything substantial, but all it ever showed up on nowadays were clickbait opinion pieces posted to websites that would probably give any visitors a virus.  However, Negaduck shook his head.

"Let me set the scene for you, DA."

"That's alright!  Honestly, I'm already sorry that I even asked—"

Again, Negaduck ignored Donald's protests.  Instead, he tossed the flashlight back to Donald.  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Donald angled the light onto Negaduck.

"We open in a news studio.  I am just the humble lead actor of a recently cancelled, but still very much culturally relevant, tv show, and I've been invited by the host to take part in in his segment titled 'The Negative Effects of Caped Characters on Society: The Duck Avenger Case.'  So, clearly I wasn’t there to talk about my next convention appearance.  However, just before the final battle for my career began, Fangus was called away by some suits.  I decided to use the time to visit the craft table.  Can't fight haters on an empty stomach.  Anyway, I overheard Fangus throwing a hissy fit and being told how he was being let go due to his refusal to stop reporting on the Duck Avenger."

That...didn't sound right to Donald.

"But, he had been reporting on me for years by that point.  What changed?"  

"You died," Negaduck shrugged.  

"I guess there was some higher up who didn't appreciate Fangus speaking ill of the dead.  It's kind of seen as a cheap shot in the entertainment industry to kick somebody who's already down and can't defend themselves, so it could have been because of that.  Either way, he was canned, you were blacklisted, and I didn't have to explain why me doing my own stunts was influencing children to break their bullies' arms."

Donald hadn't actually thought about it before.  It wasn't like he could advocate for his legacy as the Duck Avenger, that would have defeated the original purpose he had for letting his hero persona go.  While it hurt a bit to let Scrooge have the final win between the two of them, Donald felt that it was necessary.  Nobody would question Scrooge McDuck's version of events, and the Duck Avenger could slowly fade from the public consciousness.  However, the idea that someone had directly influenced the ability to even mention anything about the Duck Avenger certainly left Donald unnerved.  

Why would someone want to erase the Duck Avenger from history?

It was only a decade ago, and yet Donald could easily point out a clear divide between those who remembered him and those who didn't.  It made sense why the kids wouldn't know about him, but it seemed that this "higher up" was the reason most adults didn't recall anything other than the fact that he had died.  Although, it wouldn't matter too much longer if anyone knew the Duck Avenger as a hero before, as Donald had now chosen to throw his alter ego firmly into the world of villainy.  Something that he really ought to get back to.

"So," Donald turned to Negaduck, "not that I haven't been having a blast hanging out in the sewers with you tonight, but I really need to be on my way."

"Where to?"  Negaduck asked.  "With the faker no doubt looking for you, I doubt there's really anywhere else you could go.  The last thing I need is for him to co-opt another one of my fans!  I found you fair and square!  By the way, here’s your autograph."

Donald felt as the…admittedly soggy, paper was shoved into his hands.  It appeared to be a page from one of Negaduck's supposed screenplays.  Written in thick black ink across the front, Donald read,

Duck Avenger,

Stay dangerous!

—Jim Starling, the TRUE Darkwing NEGA-Duck!

"Wow," was all Donald could quietly say.

(Someone here was in serious denial about the truth.  Why doesn’t that stupid harp come bother Negaduck instead?)

All of…that aside, it didn't matter if Darkwing was currently looking for Donald.  All he needed to do was find a secluded place and call F.O.W.L.  And, that's when Donald's thoughts suddenly flashed to his broken communicator.

"Is there maybe a bus station near here?"

Surprisingly, the red-eye bus to Duckburg was still running.  Donald subtly glanced between the driver and the two other passengers as he passed them by on his way to the back of the bus.  He carefully tossed his duffel bag into the overhead netting (he didn't need to accidentally set off a smoke bomb or something) before taking the window seat.  

He absentmindedly tightened the strings to his hoodie, determined not to let anyone see his face behind the hood.  He didn't actually expect anyone to recognize him or anything, Donald just felt embarrassed.  A hot pink hoodie that read "Let's got dangerously!" was not exactly his typical choice in fashion.

As it turned out, Negaduck had also recently gone down the path of faking his own death.  However, he mistakenly killed off his actual identity, which left him unable to access any of his bank accounts, or any important documents, or any of his property.  While he didn't seem too concerned about it, that did leave him in the lurch when it came to acquiring replacements.  As if living in the sewers wasn't pitiful enough, Negaduck then revealed to Donald how he had become a master dumpster diver, (although he called it "heroic recycling").  Hence, the brief detour between the bus station and the bargain clothing store.  Apparently, misprint bootleg merchandise often ended up in the garbage after not selling for a month.  At least it didn't smell too awful.

As the bus began to rumble to life, Donald pulled out his phone.  His thumb hovered over his messages.  There were none.  Donald didn't know if he should feel relieved that nobody noticed his absence, or a bit slighted.  Instead, he just scrolled down to Gyro's name.

Can you come pick me up from the bus station in a couple of hours?

It only took a few moments before Donald received a response.  Leave it to Gyro to be the only other person awake so late.

Why are you taking a bus?  Why didn't you use that fancy communicator and just have F.O.W.L. come get you?

Donald sighed.

I might have broken it.

Donald felt his phone buzz several times in succession.

SERIOUSLY, TALL NEPHEW?!

How could you have possibly broken it already?

I assume that you want me to repair that in addition to picking you up?

"Yeah," was Donald's one word reply.

Donald's eyes flicked off to the side.  He debated texting Gyro the whole spiel about how it wasn't actually his fault that Darkwing Duck had fallen for his ruse as a villain, along with all the other stuff that happened with Negaduck.  Donald almost considered sharing what he had learned regarding the truth about Angus Fangus being fired, and why nobody seemed to know about his time as the Duck Avenger.  However, Donald didn't.  Instead, he simply clicked off his phone to save the battery.

The streaked glass of the window was cool against Donald's face.  He wasn't exactly comfortable while the bus vibrated and rattled, but he was exhausted.  Any chance for rest was good enough.  

"You've been quite busy hiding from the truth, haven't you?"

The harp sounded rather disappointed, like if she was ready to start lecturing him on the rights and wrongs of lying.  Donald, however, wasn't going to have it.  Petty platitudes and monster kings meant nothing to him.  

"What good would the truth do me now?"

Chapter Text

There had been a single time, back during his original days as the Duck Avenger, when Donald truly considered revealing his secret to his friends...

Winter break was around the corner, finals were over but still lingering on everyone's mind, and there was even a chance of snow if the borderline freezing weather was anything to go by.  So, naturally, the Three Caballeros decided to hold an outdoor concert in the campus square.  It went about as well as to be expected.  However, seeing as there was only a fraction of the crowd as had been to their Acapulco show, they managed to escape without any issues or broken instruments.

When they had finally outran the disgruntled audience and taken shelter out in front of the closed library, all three of them were able to breathe a sigh of relief.  Of course, they immediately followed it up with a round of smoking.  

(Well, it was really only one cigarette shared between the three of them.  They were still broke college students on a budget.)  

After lighting the cigarette for José, Donald then crowded over the tiny flame of his lighter.  He was trying desperately to shake off some of the chill brought on by a mixture of his sweat and the cold air.  For some reason, he just couldn't stop shivering.

"I think that was one of our best shows yet," José said before passing the cigarette.  

"Sí," Panchito agreed as he accepted it.  "No blood this time, at least."

Donald wanted to laugh at that.  Instead, he gave a shallow cough.  It took most of his strength to suppress the wince that followed.  He absently brushed against the gauze concealed underneath his coat.  

There might not have been any blood spilled at their show today, but Donald had been knifed only a couple of nights ago while stopping a mugging, and he was still very much dealing with the aftermath.  It was a quite bit deeper than the typical graze he was used to nursing.  As such, his dollar store first aid kit wasn't equipped to handle the extent.  Donald could tell from experience that this type of wound probably also needed stitches.  

(Donald had seen Duckworth fuss enough over similar injuries that he and Della had incurred from their various adventures, to at least know that much.) 

He really ought to have gone to an Emergency Room or something right after it happened.  Unfortunately, that wasn't an option for Donald.  Not if he wanted to maintain his secret identity.  So, instead he just snuck a couple of extra Tylenol with breakfast each morning, and then forced himself to grin and bear through the pain.  

It...wasn't going well, if Donald was being honest with himself.  The wound remained both red and warm to the touch whenever he changed the bandage, as well as refusing to fully close.  He was also pretty sure that all that acetaminophen in his system had been suppressing a growing fever.  Donald often found himself waking up from strange nightmares, only to find himself wrapped in drenched sheets and shaking all over.  

With all the hustle and bustle that had been going on in preparation of the semester's end, and everyone going their separate ways until next year, Donald thought that he could just hide all of these symptoms from his roommates.  He didn't exactly have a plan past that, (Maybe hold out until the next inevitable adventure Scrooge would drag him on after he returned to the mansion, and then blame the wound on that?) but it didn't matter.  Because, as the lighter slipped from his hand and the unrelenting pain finally sapped away the last of his energy, Donald lost any chance of concealing his injury.  

Someone carried him into the campus health center, he thinks it was Panchito, while José was busy yelling for help.  Donald only knew that it was him because, in his panic, José kept slipping between English and Portuguese.  That made things rather difficult for the nurse to understand the situation.  It wasn't helped when Panchito then repeated the same story, but instead in Spanish.  Thankfully, it didn't take a professional, or a translation dictionary, to realize that Donald's situation was dire.  She took one look at him and then called for an ambulance.  

Admittedly, that was around the time Donald's memory began to fail him.  At least, on the specifics of what happened.  It was just a blur of doctors and nurses, all with various comments on his abysmal wound care skills.  A few tried to get straight answers out of him regarding the incident and additional symptoms, but there was little he could or would say.  Donald's only saving grace was that he had successfully managed to keep José and Panchito in the dark about his wound's origin, so they couldn't spill his secrets to the medical staff either.  

(Although, it might have been the now unchecked fever skewing his priorities.)

Donald's next clear memory didn't come until days later.  

He recalled how dry his mouth felt when he woke up, especially so when he noticed his friends were both sat on either side of his hospital bed.  They stared at him, and Donald felt his stomach turn at the concern etched onto their faces.  He hadn’t meant to make them worry so much over him.  That’s why he why he went to the lengths that he did to hide everything.  What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them…right?

"The doctor," José dropped his gaze down to the floor, "he said that you were...infected?  That you were very sick, and..."

José trailed off when he looked back up.  He must have realized that Donald already knew all of this.

"Don't forget about the broken ribs," Panchito stiffly added.  "He said that you broke two of them.  In addition to being stabbed."

Donald closed his eyes.  He actually wasn't aware of his ribs being broken.  He had been a bit too preoccupied with the stab wound to notice any other injuries.  A stab wound that everyone was aware of now.  Donald reopened his eyes, and he saw the silent begging for answers by his friends.  Yet, it was much different than he had expected.  They weren't jumping down his throat, demanding that he explain himself or suffer the consequences.  Instead, they quietly sat at his bedside.  There to support him without any hesitation or judgment.  They seemed willing to hear whatever he was ready to finally tell them.

Donald almost told them that he was the Duck Avenger.

However, he was spared from having to reveal anything of the sort when Della and Scrooge suddenly burst into his room.  Della immediately began apologizing, saying that they would have been there sooner, but they had been on their way to scale Mt. Neverrest when they had gotten the message about him.  There wasn't great reception with the satellite phone due to a blizzard, so it took a while for Duckworth to be able reach them.  But, they still came as soon as they could.  Donald waved her excuse away, he was just happy that they were here now.  Scrooge was equally remorseful that Donald had to endure so much trouble without his family by his side.  He also didn't seem to listen when Donald told him that José and Panchito had been there for him.

Speaking of his friends, with the moment effectively ruined, they soon left to give Donald and his family some privacy.  They never again tried to ask him about his injuries, and everything seemingly went back to normal between the three of them once Donald was out of the hospital.  

(Donald did find a brand new first aid kit on his bed when he returned for the spring semester.  One packed to the brim with everything from band-aids to anti venom.  Neither of them mentioned it, so he didn't either.)

Eventually, his ribs healed and the stab wound became just another faded scar on Donald's body.  He would end up with a lot of those…

"I'm telling you, it should be Dusty Lavender and Soft Amethyst!"  Huey shouted as he pointed to the paint swatches onto the table.  

"No way, Hubert!" Dewey threw down the swatches in his hand.  "It should be Light Mulberry and Grape Glimmer!"

"You just picked those because they have food related names!"

"No, I picked them because they spoke to my unique color picking skills!"

"Why are we arguing about purples?!"  Louie suddenly screamed.  "We don't even like purple!"

Both Dewey and Huey turned to face their youngest brother.  

"Duh."

"We know that already."

Louie blinked, "Then why exactly are you two fighting over shades of purple?"

"Because," Huey told him, "we're trying to decide which colors are the worst so we can eliminate them from the pool of choices, and thus narrow down our options to find the perfect color for our room."

Dewey nodded, "It's the only way."

"Oh."  Louie took a closer look at the various swatches of purple splayed out in front of him.  "Then in that case, it should be Purple Dragon."

"Come on, bro!"  

"That is wrong in so many ways."

Donald leaned back against in his seat.  While it had been a hard sell to convince the boys to spend their day picking out paint colors for a bedroom they didn't sleep in anymore, all it took was the threat of consulting Webby instead to get them on board.  

(Apparently, they didn't believe that she would pick any color other than pink.  Neither did Donald.)

Donald normally wasn't a fan of their petty squabbles, and he would have usually broken it up by now.  However, Donald was willing to let it go on a little longer this time.  Anything to keep the kids distracted from their original plan of going to Funso's.  Ever since Dewey's accidental discovery of the secret base underneath the restaurant, Donald has been much more cautious about letting any of the kids go there.  Him suddenly deciding to paint the houseboat was only the latest in a string of what basically amounted to busy work that he used as excuses to keep them home.  

(At least this task seemed to be going better than "vacuuming wars" had.  He doubted Mrs. B would forgive him anytime soon for unleashing the triplets onto the mansion with a legion of Gyro's robotic vacuums to test.  Luckily, only about half of them turned evil, so it wasn't that big of a deal.)

Still, it was getting harder and harder for Donald to come up with such ideas.  He almost wished that Scrooge would hurry up and drag everyone off on another adventure to find the next lost mystery, even if it meant more work for Donald with F.O.W.L.—

"Pardon me," Duckworth unexpectedly appeared next to Donald, breaking him out of his thoughts, "but it seems that you have a pair of visitors at the door."

"Oh yeah?"  Donald asked.  "Who are they?"

Donald didn't miss the minor look of disgust that crossed Duckworth's ghostly face.

"I believe they are those two music obsessed vagabonds that Mr. McDuck barred from the using the good silverware after the last time they ate dinner at the mansion, and then proceeded to walk away from the table with several spoons lining their pockets."

Donald was about to open his mouth to say something, when a familiar voice came in with a rebuttal.

"I believe that you misunderstood what happened my fantasma friend."

José casually sauntered into the living room.  He then plopped down onto the couch right next to Donald.  

"There were just so many spoons set out that I thought they were extras meant to be taken home.  Surely, anyone would make such a mistake?"

"Exactamente!"  

Panchito suddenly popped up from behind the couch, not giving Donald a heart attack or anything.  He then jumped over the top and landed it the seat on Donald's other side.  

"I've worked enough children's birthdays to know that every good party ends with a gift from the host."

"'The gift' was being treated to a free meal that didn't consist of some lukewarm ramen noodles that shared a single packet worth of flavoring like Mr. McDuck had originally intended for me to serve," Duckworth haughtily told them, before disappearing to wherever it was that ghost butlers went. 

(Which ironically was not the living room, Donald supposed.)

Panchito stuck out his tongue at the now open air, while José mockingly opened and closed his hand and repeated Duckworth's words in an exaggerated tone.  The kids all laughed at their antics, and even Donald found it easy to crack a smile.  

"I'm surprised he brought up the spoons," Donald's eyes slyly flicked to his friends, "and not the VCR Panchito had shoved under his shirt that night."

José immediately burst into laughter as Panchito gave everyone a mischievous grin.

"You really tried to steal a VCR from Uncle Scrooge by hiding under your clothes?"  Huey asked incredulously.  

"Wait, I'm lost," Dewey tilted his head, "What's a VCR again?  Is that some kind of streaming service thing?"

"Honestly, I didn't know Uncle Scrooge even watched movies," Louie added.  "He seems more like a 'reads the stock reports for fun' type of guy."

"Exactamente!"  Panchito shouted.  "That's why I thought the three would all get much more use out of it back at our place.  I would have gotten away with it, too.  If it hadn't been for..."

"For who?"  The triplets all asked.

"For me!"

Everyone looked up as Della stood at the entrance to the living room.  Donald watched as both Panchito and José exchanged a shocked look with each other, before turning to him in disbelief.  Donald awkwardly shrugged.  He might have forgotten to tell them that his sister was back.  

(Although, in his defense, he's been rather busy taking down an evil shadow organization.  Those things are time consuming!)

José immediately jumped up, offering his seat to Della with a gentlemanly tip of his hat.  Terms of endearment, in both English and Portuguese, spilled out of him at a rate that would put even Romeo to shame.  Della politely declined, and she instead chose to sit on the floor with her sons.  Away from him.

(It had always been like this between them.  As in, Della would insist that there was absolutely nothing between them, and then José would always add in a hopeful "not yet".)

Panchito, meanwhile, let out a loud huff next to Donald.  Donald watched as he crossed his arms and pointedly looked away from her.

"Hola, Della," he unenthusiastically greeted her.

"Don't tell me you're still mad about the VCR.  It was mine to begin with!"   Della rolled her eyes.  "How else was I supposed to record my shows while out on adventures?" She then looked up at Donald.  "Say, whatever happened to that thing anyway?"

"I think Uncle Scrooge gave it to Launchpad instead of a raise," Donald told her.

"Oh, so he gave Launchpad my plane and my VCR?"  Della frowned.  "What's next, my TV?"

"Well—"

"Seriously?  Geez, you go missing for one decade, and then all of your most prized possessions are suddenly free to a good home!"  Della pouted.  "Why didn't you try harder to keep any of it for the boys?  I'm sure they would have really liked that VCR.  I know I did."

Donald really didn't want to have to explain how Scrooge had practically barred him from leaving with much of anything the day he moved out with the eggs.  Looking back, his uncle probably thought that Donald would return to the mansion soon enough once he realized how hard life would be on his own.  He could have all of his stuff back when he did.  However, that wasn't how things would turn out.  

So, when he was busy trying to find a way to condense the majority of his life into a single suitcase, Donald found that the VCR just didn't fit.  

(A lot of important things didn't fit into his new life.)

Unlike Della's possessions, which were either stored away in the family archives or given away to close acquaintances, Donald's were sent straight to Ma Beagle's junkyard when it became clear that he wasn't going to come crawling back to Scrooge anytime soon.  Scrooge at least had the decency to have Mrs. B. send him a formal letter about it several years ago.  Donald wasn't even bitter about it anymore.  They were just things at the end of the day, easily replaceable once he could afford to do so.  Family was much more dear to Donald, which was why he chose to silently forgive his uncle and never bring it up since reconnecting.  Donald was a firm believer that some things were better left unsaid.

"Well," José grinned, "now that you're back, perhaps I can assist you in recovering your things?  I'm confident that—"

"How was space, Della?"

Donald, like everyone else it seemed, was surprised to hear Panchito speak up.  He glanced over at Panchito, who was propped up by his elbow on the armrest of the couch.  He appeared just as disinterested as he had since Della first entered the room, although his eyes had now flicked curiously over in her direction.  

"You know, cold beyond comparison, no oxygen or food beyond black licorice gum, and crushing isolation away from any other sentient beings for a decade,"  Della told him while holding that thousand yard stare she always got when recalling her time on the moon. 

Donald gave Panchito a stern look and then shoved him, causing him to slip off the armrest.  Panchito, in turn, silently threw his hands up as if to ask, What was that for?  Donald simply shook his head.  He watched as Panchito rolled his eyes, but settled back into his seat without fuss.  José, however, was a different matter to deal with.

"Tell me, Della.  In all of your adventures, have you ever been to Bahia?" 

Donald put quite a bit more strength into the punch he delivered to José's shoulder than had been in Panchito's warning shove.  

"Knock it off already, you lovesick palooka!"

José feigned being hurt by such an accusation, (though it was likely to cover up the actual pain in his arm) as he claimed to treat all of his friends' sisters in such a manner.  

"Really?  Then I'm sure mi hermanita would be so excited to hear from you again!"  Panchito lightly nudged Donald.  "You two remember Maria, right?"

Donald let out a laugh at the same time José gave a groan.  (Oh yeah, they remembered Maria.)

José seemed content to leave it at that, despite being relentlessly bombarded by curious questions from the kids.  However, he found himself unable to refuse when Della was the one to ask.  Well, in his own way, at least.

"It was one night, we were all visiting Panchito's family farm after our Acapulco show, we had a few drinks, and she maybe caught me off guard!  I might have told her a few...things, underneath the moonlight.  It's her own fault for taking them too seriously.  They were just words!  It doesn't matter though, because it was years ago, and she means absolutely nothing to me!"  

José quickly buried his bright red face into his hands.

"That's too bad," Panchito shook his head, "considering you went and left her at the alter like you did.  She keeps asking when you're going to come back so that you two can finish exchanging your vows."

"She can keep waiting until the end of time..."  Donald heard José mumble under his breath.

"Wait a second," Della raised an eyebrow at José.  "What about that time you tried to propose to me?"

"Which time was that, meu amor?"  

José suddenly disappeared from the couch and reappeared right beside Della.  (He called it magic, Donald called it a load of phooey.)  

He smoothly slipped his arm around Della's shoulders.  "Because, if you really wanted to—"

"No way, buster!"  

Della immediately pushed him off of her.  She then placed Dewey in between the two of them for good measure.

"All I meant was that you gave me this whole speech about how a 'real man' or whatever sticks around for his family, and now I find out you went and abandoned some girl at the alter!  What am I supposed to think?"

José sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.  "Well, umm, you see...about that, I—"

"No, José was right about that."  

Panchito suddenly stood up from the couch.  He gave a cold stare in Della's direction, before silently leaving the room.  It wasn't much longer before they all heard the front door of the mansion open and close.  José immediately glanced up at Donald, who nodded back at him.  Donald watched as José left.  After he was gone, Donald forced himself to take a breath.  He knew where he was needed at the moment, but he didn't have the freedom to just up and leave like his friends could.  He had to take care of his family first.

"Hey, sis,"  Donald didn't miss the way Della jumped when he called her.  "Do you mind helping the kids eliminate paint colors?"

"Huh?  Oh, yeah, no problem!"  

Della winked, as she easily caught on to his real request.  She quickly started thumbing through the swatches lid out on the table, and soon enough everyone's attention was back to their original task.  Donald waited a few seconds, making sure the awkward tension had eased enough, and then he followed after his friends.

He quickly found both Panchito and José camped out on the front doorstep, sharing a cigarette like they all used to do back in college.  Upon noticing Donald, José tried to wave away the smoke while Panchito tried to apologize.  However, they were both clearly surprised when Donald snatched the cigarette out of Panchito's hand and then quickly finished it off.  

"I thought you quit smoking?"  Panchito asked while Donald stamped out the cigarette butt.  "You just got so angry with me the last time."

"I was angry about a lot of things back then," Donald shrugged as he pocketed the now unlit butt.  The last thing he needed was for someone to come outside and find it.

Truth be told, Donald entirely credits his (at the time) recent anger management courses as to why he didn't throw Panchito into the marina that day all those years ago.  

The triplets had only just hatched, so Donald was busy single handedly caring for three newborns.  In addition, he had lost his immediate family for the second time, he had left his comfortable home for a leaky boat, he was burning through his savings with no way to replenish them, he was forced to sacrifice being the Duck Avenger, and on top of all of that he was in the throes of withdrawal from giving up smoking.  

(It was one thing if he wanted to ruin his lungs, but he wasn't going to subject his nephews' health to his bad decision.  They had to suffer through enough of those already.)

So, when Panchito nonchalantly lit up a cigarette in the middle of the houseboat's kitchen early one morning, Donald had kind of lost it on him.  Luckily, José had managed to wake up fast enough to talk Donald down from drowning Panchito.  José's words aligned enough with what Jones had been trying to teach him at their sessions, that it caused him to stop and actually try some of those calming exercises.  Surprisingly, it worked.  

Although, recent events have sent Donald back to his favored short term solution to such anxiety.

"I've just been..."  Donald stopped himself before saying anything incriminating.  "...stressed, a lot lately.  Please, don't tell my family I've started smoking again."

Panchito put a hand on Donald's shoulder.  "We won't say anything, hermano."  

"Of course we won't," José nodded.  "You can always trust us."

Donald liked to believe that.  Still, he knew better.

"Even when we all lie about being hugely successful billionaires?"

José blinked, "If memory serves, you were the only one who lied about being a billionaire, my friend!  I merely said that I was well traveled, and Panchito claimed to be a successful musician."

Donald playfully rolled his eyes, "If we'd have gone on that tour you two tried to get me to pay for, then we would have become all those things."

Panchito grinned, "Hey, Donald has a point!  What better way to redeem ourselves from our lies than to take the band on tour for real?"  

He wrapped an arm around Donald's shoulders and one around José's.  Panchito then pulled them both in close.  

"We just so happen to be at the mansion of an actual billionaire..."

"One whose beloved nephew just so happens to be a frontman in our band," José added in.

Panchito and José were smiling widely at Donald.  Expectantly.  Donald fought the urge to sigh.  He didn't have the heart to tell them he wouldn't be able to go on any worldwide tour with them.  His mission to take down F.O.W.L. to protect his family was far too important.  Thankfully, Donald had an easy out.  There was no way Scrooge would actually pay for them to go on tour.  Donald forced himself to smile.  

"I do know that it's almost time for his bath."

"Perfecto!"

Chapter Text

Donald held his breath as the elevator jolted to a stop.  It was too soon, he thought with a flutter of panic in his chest.  Much too soon for him to escape with the stage pass.  What was Louie thinking?!  Then again, what had Donald been thinking when he agreed to his nephew's harebrained scheme in the first place?  

(He decided to blame José and Panchito, as they were the ones to beg him to at least consider Louie's offer after Scrooge had turned them down.  Donald reluctantly agreed, if only to humor them.  Peer pressure and the like.  However, by the time José promised double their future earnings to Louie, and Panchito had already signed the contract for him, Donald realized what they really dragged him into.)

She was glaring at him now.  It seemed that she had given up on yelling and slamming her fist against the doors and the buttons.  Daisy, he immediately reminded himself.  Her name is Daisy.  

(Donald always had a soft spot for that particular flower.  Its delicate white petals cradling a bright golden center, much like how Daisy's pristine white feathers framed her beak just right under the glow of the emergency lights...)

Donald tried not to look as awkward as he felt, all tangled up in the purse strap with her.  Not his finest moment in the least.  He barely managed to keep the warmth steadily creeping up his neck from coloring his cheeks.  His eyes quickly darted around, as he attempted to focus on anything else in order not to stare at her.  Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see.  They were still trapped in an elevator, after all.  He really needed to fix that problem.  

"Quick question," Donald again looked off to the side, "how attached are you to this purse?  Like, on a scale of 'bargain bin find on Black Friday' to 'irreplaceable family heirloom worth millions?'"

He could hear Daisy let out a huff of anger, and Donald immediately regretted his wording.  Luckily, she didn't seem too offended when she finally did answer.

"Well, it's not worth millions or anything, but I do rather like it.  I bought it especially to go with my dress tonight."

Donald sighed.  She probably wouldn't be interested to hear out his plan then.  No matter, Donald was no stranger to thinking on his feet.  He's slipped out of worse situations, and tighter bonds, than this before.  Even if it would be much faster to just cut the—

"Of course," Daisy suddenly continued, "if you had some way to cut through the strap, I wouldn't be opposed to that.  It's just a stupid purse, I can buy another one...If I still have a job after all of this, that is."

Despite his nerves, Donald grinned as he reached underneath his overcoat.  His fingers brushed against several pouches of his concealed Duck Avenger belt, until he reached the one he was looking for.  

"I think I might have something."

Donald wasn't surprised to see that Gyro had been roped into this mess as well.  With Louie's insistence on eleven members included in his plan, (and Donald now sorely regretted allowing him to watch Ocean's Eleven) it made sense that he would reach out to the scientist.  If they weren't forced to keep their cover, Donald would have definitely teased Gyro for how often he seemed to involve himself with ridiculous Duck family schemes.

Instead, they barely acknowledged each other beyond a knowing glance that none of the others caught.  He brought out the devices that Louie had commissioned.  A set of tiny communicators was placed on the table, and they all immediately slipped them into their ears to test.  It might have been Donald's imagination, but Gyro seemed to smirk in his direction specifically when he described the earpieces as "experimental" and told them all that they "probably wouldn't explode."  Of course, that vague promise immediately prompted them all to put them back down.

With Gyro's part complete, Louie gave everyone a few minutes reprieve while he made a couple of calls to secure the next few members of their group.  Panchito decided to go give him a hand, while José agreed to accompany Dewey to the vending machine and get drinks for everyone.  This left Donald alone to linger in Gyro's lab.  With no one around to watch them, Donald and Gyro instantly dropped the forced air of unfamiliarity between them.  Donald leaned against the work table, and he casually poked at one of the earpieces.

"They aren't really going to explode, are they?"  He asked, looking much closer at the device.  "It's one thing when I agree to test out your dangerous inventions, but I don't want my kids or friends getting hurt."

Gyro rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, Tall Nephew.  I'd think you'd have a little more faith in my abilities at this point.  You don't seem to complain about the quality when you're out there using my gear."

"Yeah sure, whatever you say."  

Donald easily brushed off Gyro's glare as he picked up his earpiece.  It wasn't much different than the one Gyro had given him during his staged break in of the bin.  An unexpected weight suddenly settled into Donald's chest.  It felt like a million years had passed since he first came to Gyro with the robotic mosquito, despite being closer to only a month, if even that.  They barely knew each other then, and Gyro had no reason to indulge Donald's proposal to team up.  Yet, he decided to take a chance on Donald's, admittedly crazy, plan.  He did that a lot for this family, actually.

"Thanks for doing this, by the way," Donald told Gyro.  "I appreciate your help in keeping my kids away from Funso's."

"Is that what you think I've been doing?"  Gyro scoffed.  "You give me too much credit, Tall Nephew."

Donald shook his head in amusement at Gyro's terrible attempt to act humble.  He hadn't forgotten how worried Gyro looked when he told him about how Dewey had ended up within the F.O.W.L. base.  He even eschewed his usual choice of gum in favor of one of Donald's cigarettes as he listened.  Gyro had played it off as concern for the security of Donald's mission, but Donald could tell there was more to it than just that.

"Well, if you ever work out the accidental evilness out of your next set of vacuums, then I'm sure I can persuade the kids to test them again.  Maybe leave the lasers off this time, though?"

"Leave the lasers off!  How else are the robots supposed to locate all the individual specs of dust without a proper laser guidance system?"  

"Take it up with Mrs. B!  She's the one who was complaining about cleaning up all the scorch marks."

"Fine.  I'll put one of my interns on it."  

Gyro quickly began to type something onto a nearby tablet, mumbling something that Donald barely caught about lowering laser intensity.  

"Also..." Donald's eyes flicked toward the entrance to the lab, which remained shut.  Still, he dropped the volume his voice, "...about my F.O.W.L. communicator—"

"It's not ready yet," Gyro flatly interrupted.

"What do you mean it's not ready?!"  Donald angrily replied, completely forgetting that he had been trying to be quiet a second ago.  "You told me that it would be easy!  That even an intern could fix it, blindfolded!"

"I did say that, and I meant it."

Gyro crossed his arms.  

"However, that statement would also imply that I would actually be able to assign an intern to the task.  You and I both know that's not possible.  As such, I'm solely responsible for everything related to our collaboration, along with my other responsibilities within my role as head of research and development for McDuck Enterprises."

Donald raised an eyebrow, "What exactly does my uncle have you working on?"

"At the moment, nothing other than the updated security system I was already developing.  In fact, I'm nearly finished with the latest prototype."

"Then why can't you fix my communicator?"  Donald asked through gritted teeth.

"Because," Gyro threw his hands up in exasperation, "I was too busy inventing experimental earpieces at the request of Green Nephew for your little heist job!  Speaking of, do you intend on wearing your full costume underneath your clothes?"

"Umm, no,"  Donald told him.  "Wait, what?"

"So, just your belt then?  That would be easier to hide—"

"Why would I even do that?  I'm going to be surrounded by people!"  

Gyro rolled his eyes, "I'm aware of that, Tall Nephew.  It doesn't take a genius intellect to surmise that a party celebrating the most important social conformities list of the year will be a popular event.  What I meant was, are you taking the necessary precautions should something go wrong?"

Donald scrunched up his face a little.  "What could possibly go wrong?"

At this, Gyro let out what sounded like a cross between a gasp and a laugh. 

"Besides the fact that it's you, and you are literally a statistical anomaly that somehow attracts negative outcomes?"

Donald huffed out a deep breath.  He didn't exactly appreciate Gyro's condescending tone.  

"Yeah, I'm bad luck.  I know that already."

"You're also a target," Gyro added.  "An event like this is bound to be infiltrated by someone.  You, of all people, should see the obvious allure."

"I'm not a villain," Donald glared up at Gyro.

"No, but you are currently pretending to be one, and you do regularly associate with them,"  Gyro pointed out.  

Donald couldn't argue with that.  While he might not cast himself in such a light, there was no denying that he had a much more intimate understanding of how villains behaved than the average hero might.  If he really thought about, Gyro was right that the gala would be a prime mark for any criminal looking to make a big score.  

(And, if he thought about it a little longer, Donald might even be forced to consider the fact that he was also currently involved in a scheme to infiltrate the party.)

"I doubt that somebody is going to come after me specifically," Donald told him.

Gyro didn't miss a beat.

"You didn't think anyone in F.O.W.L. would come directly for your nephew either."

Donald struggled to get the proper angle with the pocket blade.  While he was able to successfully retrieve the multi tool, as well as flip out the knife attachment, Donald soon found that his arms were pinned too closely to his body to be much of any more use.  

"How's it going?"  Daisy asked him.  

"It might take a few more minutes than I thought," Donald truthfully told her.

After a few more near miss swipes, he heard Daisy sigh.

"Here, give it to me.  At least I have a free hand."

Donald passed the tool between his hands and then over to her.  In only a couple of seconds, they were free from the purse strap.

"Wow, this is a really good knife," Daisy said, sounding genuinely impressed.  "How did you possibly get this through security?  I was sure that it said 'no weapons' on the invites."

"Oh, umm..."  

Donald nervously looked off to the side.  He didn't think it would be very smart to admit that he had gotten into the party on a forged invitation and that the security guard had also forgotten to frisk him at the entrance due to her intervention.

"Never mind," Daisy told him as she gave him back the tool.  "It definitely came in handy, so I'm not going to complain."

"Really?  That's great."

Donald grinned as he slipped it back into his belt while she wasn't looking.  However, he quickly dropped his smile when he noticed Daisy was curled up on the floor, clutching what was left of her purse up to her chest.  A twinge of guilt crossed through Donald at the sight.

"Hey, are you okay?"  He tentatively asked, sitting down beside her.

"What me?  I'm fine!"  Daisy sharply replied.  

"Why wouldn't I be?  I'm only missing the biggest party of the year, the one I've spent months planning down to the most minute detail!  I bet you didn't even notice that every single shrimp's tail was perfectly symmetrical.  Nobody notices something like that.  Unless it's not done properly, then suddenly everyone notices!  Does Ms. Glamour notice?  No!  Because, she doesn't notice anything that I do right!  And, now I'm trapped in an elevator, venting to a total stranger who's responsible for ruining my new purse.  So, yeah, I'm perfectly fine!"

Donald winced after she finished.  That original feeling of guilt now burned throughout him, like the worst case of acid reflux ever.  

(He vaguely thought back to what he last ate.  He only felt worse when he realized that it had been a piece of shrimp Panchito hurriedly shoved into his hand before Louie sent him to the elevator.  Donald hadn't noticed what the tail looked like before he discarded it into a nearby potted plant.)

"Donald."

Daisy looked at him, "What did you say?"

"My name.  It's Donald," he repeated.  "Now you're not venting to a total stranger, at least."

"Oh, well it's nice to meet you then, I suppose.  I'm Daisy."

"I know."

The second the words slipped out of his mouth, Donald realized his mistake.  He tried in vain to slam a hand over his beak, but the damage had been done.  Daisy stared at him, a new glimmer of suspicion coating her gaze.

"How?  Have you been watching me or something?"  She demanded to know.  "I can't deal with another stalker right now.  I've got too much on my plate already."

Donald immediately shook his head.  "I'm not stalking you, I promise!"

"That's just what my last stalker said, right before I clocked him over the head with just my purse."  Her eyes suddenly darkened.  "Kind of hard to follow someone around when you lose the ability to walk...or talk...or breathe without a machine."

Donald nervously gulped.  While he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt that she was only trying to scare him, another part wondered if there was any validity to her claims.  Best not to get on her bad side anymore tonight, he quickly decided.

"Okay, the truth is, I sort of was watching you—"

"I knew it!  So this is all your fault!"

"—BUT," Donald threw up his hands defensively, "I had a good reason!"

Daisy raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.  Donald sighed.

"Well, it seemed good at the time.  Probably, not anymore..." Donald trailed off.  

He took a deep breath and looked around.  He saw the elevator buttons, the cut up purse strap on the floor, and Daisy glaring at him expectantly.

"My friends and I are in a band, and we thought that if we found a way to perform at the party, then we would make it onto the 'It List' and that would get us a record deal or something.  So, we had this whole scheme planned out, and my part was to get you alone in order to steal your stage pass.  And, now that I say it all out loud, it sounds a lot worse than it did in my head...Please don't hurt me."

Daisy really looked like she wanted to.  In fact, Donald flinched as she slowly lifted up her purse.  Thankfully, she put it back down.

"Can today get any worse?"  She looked up at the ceiling.  "I went through all of this, and I didn't even get to show Ms. Glamour my dress—Oh shoot!  My dress!"

Daisy immediately slipped out of her wet overcoat, exposing one of the most beautiful dresses that Donald had ever seen. 

(Not that he'd seen many before.  Della wasn't exactly a dress up sort of girl, and Dewey's 'dress phase' only lasted as long as his part in the school play did.  Donald still didn't understand how he was cast as the princess, but he supported his nephew's performance anyway.  He did have to put his foot down on all the method acting though, after Dewey refused to "engage in this oppressive peasant lifestyle" when told to make his bed.)

"Wow," he couldn't stop himself from saying, "you look amazing!"

Daisy blinked at him, and Donald caught a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

"Really?  You think so?  I made the dress myself."

Donald was definitely surprised by that.  He was no stranger to using a sewing machine, between designing his first Duck Avenger outfit and the various Halloween costumes he's made for the boys, but there was always a homemade quality to everything he made.  Daisy's dress looked like something straight off the runway.  

"I was hoping that Ms. Glamour would see it and, I don't know..."

"Put you on the It List?"  Donald finished her thought.

"...Maybe," Daisy sighed.  "I've tried everything to get her to notice me for years."

"Like monitoring shrimp tail lengths?"  Donald quipped.

Daisy actually laughed at that.  Donald found the sound contagious, and he let out a light chuckle as well.  

"I'm actually allergic to shrimp," Daisy told him as their laughter began to die down.  "So, I can't even appreciate my own hard work."

"That's too bad,"  Donald shook his head.

Donald watched as she waved away his sympathy.  

"It's not like my true dream job revolves around shellfish care."

"Oh yeah?"  Donald found himself leaning in a little closer.  "What is your dream job?"

"I want to be a fashion designer, of course!"  Daisy beamed.  "I thought working for Ms. Glamour would help me to get my foot in the door of the industry, especially if I was able to make it onto the It List."  

She let out a long sigh, "But, instead I've spent the past four years yelling at interns to cut shrimp tails and about improper flower arrangements."

Donald, strangely, could relate.  Maybe not on the exact details, but on that general sense of disappointment of applying one's self fully toward achieving a dream, only to have it amount to a hill of beans.  He had wanted for things before.  To be a musician, to be a proper hero, even just to have a normal family!  Of course, he had been granted a glimpse of what his life would be like if such dreams were reality.  For all the guilt Donald felt regarding what he put everyone through by using Gene's magic, he didn't regret what he did.  Any of it.

"What about you?"  Daisy asked.  "You said that you're in a band, right?"

Donald shrugged, "I don't think I will be for much longer."

For all the dreams Donald was forced to kick the can down the road with, there was one thing that he would be sure to achieve.  He will protect his family, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that.  He couldn't afford to be sidetracked by any distractions, which included the band.

However, it seemed that Daisy took a different meaning from his words.

"It's not the end of the world if you don't make it onto the It List.  Take it from someone who gets left off as much as I do," Daisy attempted to console him.  "And, if your friends kick you out of the band because you weren't able to steal my stage pass...Well, good people don't pin their friendships solely on the success of committing crimes together!"

"I guess that why prisons aren't exactly brimming with potential best friends."

Daisy didn't laugh nearly as hard at that one.  Instead, she stood up and held out her hand.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Donald couldn't agree fast enough.

Chapter Text

Donald hadn't expected to be longing for the cramped elevator car so soon.  At least he could stand up in there.  The emergency exit Daisy had opened led the two of them into the ventilation system of the building.  With no other options, Donald bit his tongue and started crawling.  By the end of the tonight, he fully expected to add claustrophobia to his list of fears, alongside the moon and the ocean.  He was turning into a real basket case at this point.

"Can you go a little bit faster?"  

Daisy's voice echoed behind him and then bounced around him the tight space.  Donald fought the urge to groan.  If anything, he was starting to appreciate the air ducts of the Money Bin all that much more.  

(It was a shame that Gyro's wide vent design never got patented for mainstream use outside of the bin.  However, in light of new information regarding Director Buzzard, Gyro seemed convinced that it had been entirely intentional.)

At least the vents here were strong enough to hold their weight, and they hadn't gone crashing down through the ceiling yet.  Although, based on a few random rattling noises, Donald worried that wouldn't be for long.  

"Wait.  Did you hear that?"  

Donald froze as he listened carefully.  It had been a good few minutes since he had last felt the vents creak.

"I don't—" 

Donald was immediately cut off by a different sound.  The low hum of voices buzzed from up ahead.  He couldn't make out any actual words, but the sound was unmistakable.  Silently, he and Daisy crept forward to a grate.  Far below them, Donald saw the party room.  However, it didn't seem quite as lively as before.  Donald supposed that's what happened in a hostage situation.  Those tend to be a real mood killer in his experience.

Donald counted four assailants altogether, three of which he surprisingly recognized as Gabby McStabberson along with the Smashnikov brothers.  There must not be a very diverse market for mercenaries in Duckburg.  

"Is that the head of security?!"  

Daisy immediately pointed to the guard who had originally been monitoring the entrance.  Something...Graves, Donald vaguely remembered Dewey calling him.  His nephew had been worried about being recognized by Graves, alluding to some history between the two of them that resulted in Graves being screwed out of a lot of money and then being thrown off a building.  

(When they were all safe at home after this, Donald should really press him for more details about that.)

While Daisy was busy watching Graves, while simultaneously uttering some rather unladylike words under her breath, Donald took the opportunity to scan the room.  He felt his breath hitch when he caught sight of José and Panchito tied up with the rest of the guests.  His anxiety only grew with the faces he didn't see.

The kids were crafty, Louie especially, but even they had their weaknesses.  Dewey was impulsive, Webby...would probably be alright actually, and Louie was a lot like Scrooge when it came to planning.  As in, he planned for everything except for what he didn't.  Something told Donald he hadn't planned for a separate heist to take place.  Luckily for him, Donald did.

"Hey," Daisy suddenly grabbed Donald's arm, "I think that's Mark Beaks over there.  Ms. Glamour told me to take extra care to keep him from attending the party, which was why I hired such tight security.  I'd bet he's involved with all of this!"

Donald tilted his head, which was kind of hard due to the limited space.  Mark and Graves were arguing about something while standing near Glamour.

"If he is, then I don't think that it's going his way."

Daisy nodded in agreement.  The argument seemed to have ended with Graves knocking Mark to the floor, before turning his attention to Glamour.  He held out his hand expectantly, causing Daisy to gasp.

"He must be after Ms. Glamour's phone!"  She told Donald.  "It contains the master copy of the It List.  If anyone gets a hold of that, then they could add just about anything to the list!"

"...And that would be a problem, because?"  Donald dumbly asked.

Daisy stared at him.  

"I don't think you realize just how influential the It List is.  It has the power to make or break any trend for the entire next year.  Do you know how many companies are built and destroyed based on Ms. Glamour's opinion alone?  Honestly, I thought you would have a better idea based on how eager you and your band are to make it on."

"Well, it was really my nephew's idea," Donald admitted.  "He's actually...what did he call himself?  'The Brains' of the operation?"

"He sounds smart," Daisy noted.

"He is."

A flash of light drew their attention back to the party room.  Donald felt his stomach drop when Dewey stepped out onto the stage.  He was still wearing that ridiculous DJ mask and holding up his yo-yo.  

"Oh no," Donald's eyes went wide.  "No, no, no, no!"

Dewey, with the full attention of everyone there (Graves and the other mercenaries included), began attempting his tricks.  Thankfully, they didn't immediately start trying to kill him, but the thought alone was enough to spur Donald into action.  He struggled to slip his belt out over his clothes.  

"Were you wearing that this entire time?"

Donald stopped what he was doing.  Right.  Daisy was still with him.  He took a deep breath.

"Look, I can't talk about this right now.  We don't have nearly enough time.  My kids, my friends, and all the other people down there are in danger.  So, can you please just pretend like everything I'm about to do is totally normal, and just...I don't know, save all questions until the end?"

Daisy opened her beak like she was going to say something, but she instead quietly nodded.

"Fine.  But, you are definitely going to answer all of them after this."

"Fine," Donald told her as he got back to what he was doing.

Not that he was actually going to.  If he couldn't even tell his friends that he was the Duck Avenger, then he certainly wasn't going to tell some random woman all of his secrets.  

(Even if she felt much less like a stranger than she did at the beginning of the night.)

While he had decided against his full costume, Donald had still brought with him his mask and a voice modulator.  He was glad that he did.  Not only to hide his identity from his family, but also from the mercenaries.  The last thing he needed was for one of them to get hired out by F.O.W.L. and the wrong information about him somehow reach Director Buzzard.  Better to let them think that this was simply the Duck Avenger cutting in on their score, rather than Donald Duck coming to save the day.

After tying his mask securely around his eyes, Donald swallowed the modulator.  He was more or less ready to go.  Although, without his cape, Donald couldn't help but still feel too exposed.

"Why don't you borrow my coat?  If you don't mind wearing pink, that is."

Donald cringed, he hadn't meant to say his thoughts aloud.  Still, he graciously accepted Daisy's offer.  He wrapped the coat over his shoulders the best he could in the limited amount of space, before tying the long sleeves around his neck.  With the coat now settled onto him, Donald actually regretted telling her to leave it behind in the elevator.  Daisy, thankfully, was stubborn enough to refuse.

"You already ruined my purse tonight, I'm not losing my favorite coat too!"

"Thanks," he told her.

"Just try not to get any blood on it."

Donald was going to argue that he didn't fight dirty like that, but then he sheepishly recalled that he had already brandished a knife around her.

"Right." 

As the intrigue of Dewey's performance began to lose its grip on his audience, Donald forced a confident smile on his face.  

It's showtime, Donald told himself as he dropped down from the vents.  

Graves didn't know what hit him when Donald landed on top of him.  While Graves was stunned, Donald immediately slammed a fist into the side of his face.  Unfortunately, Graves recovered quickly, and he tossed Donald off of his back.  Donald landed several feet away, clutching his wrist close to his chest.  An unexpected wave of pain jolted through his hand, and Donald lightly shook the feeling away.  He had forgotten just how painful it could be to land a punch.  

Donald quickly slipped back into his stance.  He would just have to be more careful with his punches without Gyro's gloves.  Besides, he still had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve.  

"Sorry pal," Donald grinned, "but you're just not It material, outside of playing tag!"

"Oh, is that what we're doing?"  Graves coldly replied.  "Well, I've had enough with games for tonight."

He lunged at Donald, who deftly moved to the side with a swish of his borrowed pink cape.  Graves raised up a hand before straightening up.  

"Before we go any further with this, might I be permitted to ask a single question?"

"Umm...okay?"  Donald replied, confused.  "What do you want to know?"

"Are you currently under the employment of one Marcus Beaks?"

"Nope."

Donald watched as Graves let out a genuine sigh of relief at his answer.  From his hiding spot, Mark poked out his head with a cry of protest, but he immediately cowered back when Graves sent a death stare his way.  Graves turned his attention back to Donald.

"Alright then.  We may continue."

As he continued with his fight against Graves, Donald could feel a rush of adrenaline building up inside him.  Similar to his rage, the sensation flowed through his body, strengthening its hold with every dodge and every successful counter that Donald managed.  However, Donald knew the key difference between the two.  Rage scorched his veins like magma rushing through when he would get angry, unlike what he felt at this moment.  The all too familiar chill of adrenaline instead covered up any pain that might interfere with Donald's fight or flight.  

Gyro's upgrades to his original suit had left Donald to grow unknowingly complacent.  While he still did the heavy lifting on his own in fights, he had exchanged his basic survival skills with the security they provided him.  He no longer needed to worry about petty distractions, like how many punches he could land without breaking his fingers, or if he needed a quick shield, or if he suddenly got stabbed at.  He hadn’t realized just how much he had stopped watching for.

It happened a lot quicker than Donald had realized.  

He had pulled out his multitool during the course of the fight when a tablecloth had been thrown at him from the sidelines.  Luckily, that was the only form of outside interference, as Panchito had quickly body slammed Slash Smashnikov into submission.  Donald immediately cut through the fabric with the blade of his multitool, before throwing the scraps away.  He managed to catch another glimpse of Panchito wrestling Slash, as well as José fending off Hack, and even Webby was making herself useful by disarming Gabby.  Donald was both grateful for the assistance, and also that his friends had been freed at some point.  Unfortunately, it was right then when Graves made his move.  

He seized Donald's hand that held the multitool.  Graves tightened his grip, exasperating Donald's earlier injuries, and causing him to drop the knife into Graves awaiting other hand.  Graves wasted no time taking a long swipe at the side of Donald's chest.  Graves barely missed full on impaling him, as Donald desperately twisted his body out of the way of the blade, however, Graves still managed a sizable cut.  It was enough for Donald to hesitate further, and Graves took the opportunity to throw him across the room.  Donald skidded across the floor, until stopped in front of steps to Glamour's throne.  

(Well, where it used to be anyway.  Webby and Gabby's fight seemed to have ended with Gabby being knocked out by the chair.)

Donald tried to sit up, but quickly realized that was a terrible idea.  Blood soaked through the tear in his evening wear, coating Donald's hand as he pulled it away to inspect the wound.  To make matters worse, Donald blinked and Graves was suddenly looming over him.  He didn't look much better, with their fight seeming to have taken its toll on him as well.  However, despite a black eye and swollen cheek, Graves was still standing.  He also appeared quite keen to finally finish Donald off, as if leaving him to bleed out on the floor wasn't enough.

To his credit, Donald didn't shy away from Graves.  He knew that he wasn't going to die here.  Donald still had to protect his family from F.O.W.L.!  His injured hand shook as he reached for one of the pouches on his belt, not caring what even was inside.  Anything would help at this point.  However, Graves immediately noticed the movement.  Without missing a beat, he kicked Donald's hand away from his belt. 

"I am quite finished with all of this nonsense."

Graves then stepped on Donald's hand.  Hard.  Donald refused to cry out in pain.  Even if he really wanted to.  Instead, he gave the harshest glare that he could manage, and Donald mumbled a few genuine Navy level swears under his breath.  

"What was that?"  Graves smugly asked, leaning down to Donald's face.  "Were you admitting your defeat?"

Donald smirked, "Nope, just wanted you to get a little closer is all, so that I could do this!"

With the last of his strength, Donald spat a glob of saliva directly at Graves' face.  

"Bullseye!"

Graves wasn't nearly as impressed with Donald's accuracy.  Instead, he slowly wiped away the spit and readied the knife of Donald's multitool.

"I'm usually against killing on the job, but for you I think I'll make the exception."

"Nice to know I'm so special," Donald groaned as he fought to keep his fake smile.

(He just hoped that his kids were somewhere safe...and not watching.)

However, before Graves could finish Donald off, someone else dropped down in between them.  High heels clacked onto the floor as a duck, with feathers down to her shoulders, took a defensive stance.  Donald strained to get a better look, but he already knew who it was.  After all, nobody else had ever designed such a beautiful dress.  

Daisy glanced at him over her shoulder, giving Donald the chance to notice the black "mask" made from her headband tied around her eyes.  Donald watched as her eyes flashed between sympathetic to enraged.  

"First it's this degenerate interfering with my plans, and now his girlfriend shows up?"  Graves scoffed.  "I really need to start vetting my clients better.  I can't believe I got tricked into another botched job by Mark Beaks!"

Again, Mark stuck his head out to protest, and again, he was scared away by a glare from Graves.  

"No matter," Graves popped his knuckles, "Glamour's phone should fetch me enough money so that I'll be able to get as far away from Duckburg as possible."

"Not much of a hometown fan, are you?"  Daisy asked.

"You try remaining professional when dealing with narcissistic billionaires, meddling children, and now caped villain couples as well!  Perhaps I'll find proper respect somewhere else, like St. Canard."

"Don't hold your breath..."  Donald muttered, now genuinely wanting to see Graves' reactions to Darkwing and Negaduck.

Despite her eagerness to play the hero, it was clear that Daisy wasn't nearly as skilled a fighter as Donald.  While she was still faster than Graves, her dodges were only as coordinated as took for her not to break her ankles when landing in high heels.  Donald watched with bated breath as Daisy's arm was suddenly grabbed and she was flung behind Graves.  He couldn't see the aftermath, but Donald still winced at the sound of her hitting the floor.  

"I must say, that was far less climactic than I believe was intended," Graves told Donald as he turned his attention back to him.  "Now, you and I have some unfinished business."

Donald did his best to cover up his cut with Daisy's coat.  The action actually caused Graves to laugh.

"I know that I asked for only a single question earlier, but really?  What is with the pink cape?  It's hardly much of a villainous color!"

"...'I'm not a villain..." 

Donald managed to mumble out.  Although, he didn't think that Graves heard him over the other voice from behind him.

"Didn't you know?"  Daisy suddenly shouted.  "Pink is the new BLACK AND BLUE!"

Donald watched as she appeared from seemingly nowhere, slamming a large metal tray directly down onto Graves' head.  The shrimp platter, Donald recognized.  Graves stumbled as he attempted to put a hand up to his injury, but Daisy wasn't done yet.  A porcelain vase was then smashed over him for good measure, and Graves finally collapsed onto the floor.  Daisy stood over him, breathing heavily as she took in her victory.  Unfortunately, she wasn't given much time to soak it in.

The flashing red and blue lights weren't a surprising sight for Donald.  He'd played his fair share of cat and mouse with the police, so he was always prepared to make a quick escape.  When Daisy leaned in to help him up, Donald instead pulled her close.

"Just hang onto me," Donald whispered as he threw several smoke bombs into the room. 

With the added cover, Donald immediately fired his grappling gun towards the main hall.  The line immediately went taut as it wrapped around a vent.  Adrenaline was what got Donald to his feet, and the two of them clung to each other as they disappeared out of the party room.

They didn't stop moving once they reached the hallway.  It was difficult for Donald to make the various turns as Daisy led him further into the venue.  However, by about the fifth corner, Donald was relieved to find a small office like space open to them.

"I doubt anyone will think to come here.  Not with everyone else seemingly in the main areas," Daisy explained as she settled Donald as comfortably as she could onto the floor.  "How do you feel?"

"...Not good," Donald told her.  "Also, I'm sorry, but I think I got some blood on your coat—"

"Forget about the coat!  Let me see your injury."

Daisy slowly lifted his hand from over his cut.  Donald didn't like the face she made when she saw it.

"Alright, just...just stay here, okay?  I'm going to call an ambulance—"

"No hospitals!"  Donald immediately argued.  "In fact, no doctors altogether."

When it looked like Daisy was going to protest, Donald held up a hand.

"I can do it myself.  I just need some bandages and antiseptic.  Think you can find me a first aid kit somewhere around here?"

Reluctantly, Daisy agreed to do so.  She promised to return as quickly as she could, before shutting the door behind her.  Donald let out a long breath, wincing slightly as he did his best to keep his mind occupied with something other than his pain.  Unfortunately, the small room was barren, and that left Donald with little else to keep his focus on.  Just a few scattered boxes of unused party supplies stacked haphazardly, as if only there to take up what little space was available in the cramped room.

He was going to be fine.  Probably.

At least, there was a better chance if Daisy actually returned soon with the kit.  

Donald's eyes immediately flicked up when he heard the door opening.  However, it wasn't Daisy who was on the other side.

"¡Dios mío!  I found him!"

Panchito immediately dropped to his knees in front of him.  Donald instinctively tried to crawl away from Panchito, but there was no way to get past the wall against his back.  Meanwhile, Panchito's eyes rapidly bounced between Donald's various injuries.  They lingered extra long on the cut to the side of his chest.  Donald winced as he felt a warm hand suddenly pressed against his face.

"It's alright.  We've got you, hermano.  "¡Rápido José!  He's still bleeding!"

Donald blinked.  José was suddenly in the doorway now, clutching a first aid kit close to his chest.  The room wasn't exactly big enough for all three of them, but he did his best to squeeze in behind Panchito.  He briefly peered at Donald over Panchito's shoulder, before popping open the kit.  Panchito wordlessly held out his hand, while José passed him the appropriate supplies without even needing to question anything.  

"Hold this here until it stops bleeding," Panchito told Donald as he pressed a bandage down onto the cut.  "Maintaining pressure is the key."

Donald dumbly did as he was told.  Panchito nodded in approval, and then began examining Donald's injured hand.  He gently held it up so that José could see as well.

"It doesn't feel broken," Panchito noted with obvious relief.  "I think it should be iced.  For now, at least."

José immediately began wrapping an ice pack around Donald's fist while Panchito kept it in place, securing it with an ace bandage.  

"There.  The swelling should go down soon," José explained.  "Just don't go holding hands with any garotas bonitas, until then.  It's hard to resist, but I'm sure you will manage."

Panchito rolled his eyes at the wink José gave Donald.  

"As if you're one to talk," Panchito huffed.  "Every girl you meet, you propose to within a day."

José scoffed at the notion.  "That is simply not true!  It took me almost an entire week before I asked Della the first time."

"So Donald's sister is the exception, but not mine?"

"For the last time, Maria took my words out of context!"

"Sure, she did.  Because, 'Let's get married' has so many meanings."

Donald blinked as he let his friends' bickering fade into the background.  The wound on his side had thankfully stopped bleeding at this point, while his hand was feeling noticeably better after being packed in ice.  

(He vaguely wondered when Panchito and José became so skilled in first aid.  Although, he did recall the two of them helping him to bandage up the kids once aboard the Sunchaser following the whole "fake flower festival" incident.)

However, their apparent medical capabilities aside, that still didn't explain why they had treated him.  Sure, they had all shared a brief moment of teamwork during the fight against Graves and the other mercenaries, but it was hardly more than them stepping in to handle the stragglers while Donald was busy with the leader.  Webby contributed just as much, and she wasn't in the room with them now.  Even if she had followed them, Donald doubted that she would be acting the same way with him as they were.  Acting like Donald was...well, Donald, and decidedly, not like he was the Duck Avenger.

Donald raised his good hand up to his face.  His mask hadn't slipped.

"Is there something wrong with your eye?"

Of course, Panchito had noticed the movement.  He was kneeling right next to him.  Donald shook his head no, but that didn't stop Panchito and José from fretting over him anyway.  Donald tried hard to swallow his nerves.  It was getting suffocating at this point.

"Listen," he tried not to sound as jittery as he felt, "I appreciate your help.  Really.  But, I don't need—"

"Oh, so we're supposed to just let you get infected again?"

Donald immediately froze.  His eyes flicked between both his friends' faces.  Panchito had his arms crossed and a hard look set on Donald, while José was clearly wincing from his place behind him.

"I thought we weren't going to bring that up?"  José loudly whispered to Panchito.  "What happened to letting him tell us when he was ready?"

"Well, that was before he let himself get sliced up, and then tried to hide it from us, again!"  

There was that word.  Again.  Twice now, Panchito had said it.  And then, there was what José had said as well.

"When I was ready, for what?  What are talking about?  I don't know who—"

"We're not on a stage, so cut the act already, hermano!"  Panchito suddenly snapped.  His expression then lessened considerably.  "We know it's you, Donald.  You don't need to perform for us anymore."

Donald's eyes went wide at the revelation.  He immediately turned to José, who confirmed that he knew as well with an awkward shrug and nod.  For a second, Donald considered denying it.  He had gotten this far on his lies, why bother changing the status quo now?  If he thought on it longer, Donald was sure that he could come up with a myriad of reasons why telling them the truth would place them in danger.  However, there was the glaringly obvious fact that Donald would be the one in danger of losing their friendships.  

The selfless thing to do would be to push them away.  Sure, they'd be angry with him, and likely would never get over it, but they would be safe.  That's what a real hero would do.  It would be just another tally added to the list of difficult choices Donald has forced himself to make in the name of protecting his family.  Panchito and José, albeit not by blood, were like brothers to him.  They deserved the same level of protection as the rest of his family.  

Although, and Donald was certainly risking quite an incredible amount by making this assumption, F.O.W.L. might not consider them to be the same.  Director Buzzard seemed to have focused in on Scrooge and his inner circle, and Donald's friends didn't exactly fall into that category.  They might not be entirely on F.O.W.L.'s radar.  He might actually be able to keep them.  For now, at least.

(Donald knew he wasn't really a villain, but the lines were certainly beginning to blur as of late.)

Donald looked back up at both of them.  This was...hard.  It was also well overdue.  Donald took a deep breath, and he took off his mask.  

For a moment, everyone was quiet.  Donald figured that their reactions would be subdued, seeing as they apparently already knew it was him, but he didn't trust the silence.  Not with these two.  Thankfully, José finally broke the tension.

"We had gone back to the apartment after visiting hours had ended," he began to explain.

"They kicked us out because we weren't family members," Panchito immediately added on.  "We didn't want to leave you alone."

"Anyway, you were likely going to be in the hospital for a while, so we figured it would probably be a good idea to pack you a bag.  I got started, while Panchito...stepped out for a smoke."

"Yeah," Panchito rolled his eyes, "right before I had left to go talk to that cop.  You're welcome for that, by the way, Donald.  I told him that you complained to me about getting mugged days before, but since it was so dark you didn't get a good look at whoever it had been."

Donald blinked.  He vaguely remembered the police showing up while he was still in the worst of his fever.  However, when they failed to return, he had figured that Scrooge must have dealt with them.  He hadn't realized that Panchito was the one covering for him at the time. 

José cringed.  "Right.  Well, while Panchito was busy doing that, I was getting your clothes together.  That's when I found it."

That confession instantly piqued Donald's interest.  Because, despite how sick he had been, Donald distinctly recalled where he had hidden his Duck Avenger costume.  

(It obviously needed some repair work, and Donald had planned on stitching it up once he was feeling better.)

"You were snooping under my bed."

For as much as José wanted to make it look like his discovery had been purely by chance, born from good intentions, Donald saw right through his friend's lie.  He had gotten a lot better at that since they had reconnected.  At least José had the decency not to double down.

"Well, what did you expect from me?"  José crossed his arms.  "My best friend was lying in a hospital bed from a stab wound he managed to hide from me for days!  I knew that I couldn't be that blind, and that you weren't that good of a liar.  At least, that's what I thought back then."

José and Donald looked away from each other and frowned.  So, that was it.  José had found his damaged costume and then put two and two together.  He told Panchito, and the both of them were left reeling with the fact that their best friend had been leading a double life right under their beaks.  

"We figured that you had your reasons for keeping it secret," José continued, "so we weren't going to force you to say anything—"

"I tried to," Panchito easily admitted.

"—I wasn't going to force you to say anything.  So we just...waited."

"Waited for over a decade..."  

Donald caught Panchito mutter under his breath.  Donald couldn't tell if his friends were angry with him, or disappointed with him, or maybe even something else entirely.  He tried to put himself in their position, imagining how he might have felt to learn that one of them had been lying to him for their entire friendship, but that didn't make it any more clear.  Donald had anger issues.  He would have dropped them as friends...after probably drop kicking them off a dock first.

Panchito sighed, "It doesn't matter.  Not until now."

Panchito frowned as he absently began playing with the edges of Daisy's coat.  Donald didn't have the heart to tell him to stop.  A hard look suddenly set into Panchito's eyes as he stared deeply into Donald's.

"Tell me something, and don't you dare lie to me, hermano!  Is this a one time thing?"  Panchito gestured to Donald's mask.  "I know that the Duck Avenger died, and I won't ask what happened, but I just...I need to know.  Was this only for tonight?"

Donald really considered taking the out, to explain away the makeshift costume with the excuse of spontaneity.  He then felt the shame of even considering such an act slither across his body like a snake.  Panchito was still staring at him, expecting an answer, and José appeared to as well.  He couldn't disappoint them, not again.  Donald wasn't sure if he could take it.

"It's different this time."  

Despite the clarity provided by the voice modulator, Donald's voice sounded so fragile that it threatened to crack like cheap glass.  

"I can't tell you everything.  I'm sorry, but I really can't.  But...I'm back in action.  It's not just for tonight."

Donald barely kept from flinching as he felt Panchito's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey."  

Panchito gave Donald's shoulder a light squeeze until he looked up at him.  A soft smile had settled onto his beak.  Not exactly happy, but comforting.  Donald didn't realize how much he needed that right now.  

"Gracias, hermano.  For finally telling us the truth.  We appreciate it."

"Sim," José reached over to Donald as well, "we really do."

The unspoken feeling of trust covered the three of them like a patchwork blanket.  It wasn't perfect, and there were still some holes, but for now, it was enough.  

"One question," José suddenly asked, "why does your voice sound like that?"

Donald chuckled.  "It's a vocal modulator.  My...someone built it for me.  They made all of my gear, actually."

José exchanged a glance with Panchito.

"Well, you should have gotten them to build it for you sooner.  Then, our band would have definitely gotten on the It List!"

They both shared a laugh at Donald's expense.  However, if poking fun at his voice was all it took to clear the air, then he'd allow it with no more than an annoyed flick of his eyes upward.  With a grin, Panchito grabbed the coat again.

"Is this the same someone who suggested that you wear a pink cape?"

Donald tried not to blush as he instantly shook his head.  

"No.  I'm actually just borrowing this for right now—"

The entire room tensed as somebody else approached the doorway.  However, Donald quickly relaxed when he heard the familiar click of heels.

"I'm sorry that it took me this long to come back!"  Daisy apologized without looking up.  "It's a madhouse out there!  I was dragged into at least four different...Wait, are these your criminal friends?"

Both Panchito and José looked rather incensed at being called criminals.  They stared back at Donald.

"I don't know if I'm more offended that you told some random chica your secret identity instead of us, your best friends, or that you also told her that we were criminals!"

Donald awkwardly shrugged, only for José to immediately make the situation worse somehow.  

"Senhorita, I don't know what our mutual acquaintance has been saying about me, but I can assure you that I'm not some common thief.  If you would graciously allow me the opportunity to explain myself, perhaps over dinner—"

"Let go of her hand now, or I will tell my sister about this."

José instantly dropped Daisy's hand.  He sent a totally not suspicious smile Donald's way.  

"What are you talking about?  There's nothing going on!  I don't know what you think you saw from all the way over there, meu amigo, but it certainly wasn't anything that would interest your sister!  No need to bother her, I'm sure she's already busy enough now that she's back."

Panchito gave a light scoff and rolled his eyes, but Donald didn't pay his reaction much mind.  

"Okay.  Well," Daisy took a step back into the hallway, and away from José, "I'm guessing that you don't really need this anymore."

Donald shifted to see a small first aid kit in her hand.  He glanced down as his bandaged hand and side.

"I'm good.  Thanks, though."

Donald enjoyed feeling the breeze in his face as he sat back in Daisy's car.  

It had been a hard sell to get José and Panchito to wrangle up the kids and take his car back to the mansion without him, but Donald was adamant that he didn't want the kids to see him in the state he was in.  The last thing he needed was to have to come up with an excuse as to why he was so injured when he was supposedly trapped in an elevator this whole time.

Daisy offered to say that she beat him up when he tried to steal her stage pass, however, Donald didn't want to be the reason she accidentally racked up an assault charge.  He did take up her second offer, for a ride home, instead.  He didn't want her to know where exactly he lived, (seeing as that would only open up yet another can of worms that he didn't have the energy to deal with) so he had her drive out to the marina.  As for how he would actually get back to the mansion, that was already covered as well.

"You live on a houseboat?"  Daisy asked as they approached parking lot.

Donald nodded.  That was one of her few questions that he could be truthful about.  

"You can just drop me off here."

Daisy pulled into a spot, and turned off her car.  Donald cast a brief glance toward the trunk, where both her bloodied coat and ruined purse were locked up out of sight.  

"I'll pay for your coat to be cleaned," he hastily told her.  "Your purse, too.  I'll buy you a new one."

"Thanks for the offer, but it's fine," Daisy shook her head.  "I think you have other things to be worried about.  I know that I do."

During the course of their ride, it had come up that Glamour's cell phone had been lost during the fight.  It was assumed that Graves must have dropped it at some point, and someone must have taken advantage of the chaos to abscond with it.  Definitely plausible.

"Still, I'm really sorry for everything."

"Don't be," Daisy waved her hand dismissively, "I'm the one who hired the security team without properly vetting them."

They decided to leave it there, with both of them each taking some of the blame.  However, that wasn't the end of their night together entirely.  As Donald stepped out of the car, Daisy handed him a business card.

"You should call me sometime.  It's been a long while since I've actually had an interesting time at one of Miss Glamour's parties."

Donald accepted the card with a stilted nod.  He wasn't exactly sure how he should react.  Still, Daisy seemed satisfied enough, and she soon drove off into the night.  Donald stared down at the card.  It was pink, unsurprisingly, and had her phone number and email.  This was a first for him.  He could practically feel José clapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him, while Panchito would be busy planning his and Daisy's wedding (with a special performance by the Three Caballeros, of course).

Donald smiled at the thought, before tossing the card into a nearby trash can.  

"No distractions," he quietly told himself.

He flexed his injured hand.  José was right when he said all Donald needed was some ice.  It still ached, as did the cut, but it was nothing a little Tylenol couldn't fix.  Donald was a fast healer anyway.

A pair of headlights suddenly pulled into the parking lot, practically blinding Donald as they stopped just in front of him.  He held up a hand to shield his eyes, and he made his way to the passengers side door.  The driver was not exactly pleased to see him.

"I don't know when you started mistaking me for your uncle's chauffeur, Tall Nephew, but you really ought to consider calling him next time instead."

Donald brushed aside Gyro's empty threat as he reached for the nearby pack of cigarettes.  Unfortunately, Gyro was quick to notice.

"No smoking in my car."

Donald rolled his eyes as he placed one in his mouth, "I'll roll down the window."

"What's with you tonight?"  Gyro asked as he started the engine. 

"Let's just say that you were right.  About several things."

Oddly, Gyro didn't immediately preen at Donald's admission.  He shrugged off Gyro's lack of a reaction and focused back on lighting the cigarette.  He took a few puffs, being sure to aim everything outside the open window like he promised.  They pulled up to a red light before Gyro spoke again.

"I watched the news earlier."

Donald took a longer drag.  "Is that so?"

The party was being televised long before it was attacked, so obviously it would have ended up breaking news.  With all those witnesses, it would be impossible not to get a good story from what happened.

"What are they saying about me?"

The light turned green, but Gyro kept his foot on the break.

"Absolutely nothing."

Chapter Text

In the end, it seemed that the news outlets were all content with assigning all credit for Graves's takedown to Officer Cabrera.  She wasn't exactly forthcoming with a comment, but that was fine seeing as the reporters had plenty of eye witnesses to draw from.  All of which easily praised the heroic actions of the Duckburg Police Force. 

(While none of which mentioned a certain duck in a pink cape, nor his accomplice wearing the amazing dress.)

"This is outrageous!"  Panchito squawked as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.  "Mmh-Donald was the mmh-one who—"

"Panchito, por favor," José sighed, "If you insist on complaining, then at least swallow first.  You're getting Coco Puffs all over the table."

Donald looked up from his phone in time to watch Panchito drain his entire bowl, milk and all, in one large gulp.  He then slammed the empty bowl back down, which was followed by a loud belch.  José rolled his eyes so far that Donald thought that they might possibly reach Brazil on their own.

"Truly, it's a wonder why Scrooge's ghost butler won't allow us to eat breakfast in the mansion with the others."

Panchito brought a hand up to his beak in contemplative gesture.  

"I know, right?  Hmm...Do you think he's still mad at you about the spoons?"

Before José could clock Panchito over the head with an umbrella, (that suddenly appeared in his empty hand) Donald decided to step in.

"I think it's for the best that they didn't mention me in the news."

While José shrank back down into his chair, Panchito gawked at him wide eyed.

"What do you mean?!  That cop didn't even get stabbed!  You deserve to be acknowledged as the real hero!"

Donald winced at his friend's words (and volume).  He was surely no "real hero" after the latest line he had crossed.

(Not that Panchito, or anyone else, would know what exactly he now had stashed under the floorboards in his room.  Nestled between the hoodie and autograph he got from Negaduck, and zipped up in the duffle bag for good measure was Glamour's missing phone.  That was a problem for another day.  Preferably, one after he was able to make contact with Director Buzzard again.)

Surprisingly, José ended up agreeing with Donald about being overlooked.

"I don't know, Panchito.  The newspapers...they were never that kind to the Duck Avenger in the past."

Again, Donald found himself cringing slightly.  While he had been able to come to terms quickly enough with the fact that his friends had known his secret, he didn't think about the fact that they would have been around for all of the original negative press he received.  

(He wondered if they had ever looked down on him due to any of Fangus's stories.  Or, if their opinions had ever soured because Donald had blatantly lied to them for years.)

"All the more reason to show everyone how good the Duck Avenger really is,"  Panchito pouted.  "Call it a 'rebranding,' hermano.  All the best musicians do it."

Donald shook his head.  While he still hadn't figured out the true reason behind his being blacklisted, Donald certainly wasn't going to deny that he was reaping the benefits.  Nothing could tank his reputation within F.O.W.L. faster than being outed to the public as a hero rather than the villain he had built himself up to be within the organization.  After it became clear that Donald wasn't going to change his mind, Panchito just rolled his eyes.

"Fine.  It's your choice, hermano.  I just think you don't give yourself enough credit for everything that you do."

Donald silently disagreed.  He knows exactly what all he's done.

Donald found himself counting to ten so many times that he had practically matched Scrooge's net worth as he attempted to navigate the never ending stop and go traffic.  His phone had died early into the drive, leaving him without a GPS guide.  From his place riding shotgun, Panchito had his legs propped up on the dash while he held up a large paper map.  However, he wasn't even trying to give Donald accurate directions.  He only occasionally chimed in after Donald missed yet another turn.  

(A car horn blared from behind them, and a large truck drifted across three lanes without any signal.  Up ahead, a vent covering blew off an old trailer, nearly clipping the front of his station wagon.  Thankfully, it took out the car next to him instead.  Donald longed for a cigarette more than ever in that moment.)

Things didn't seem to be going much better in the backseat, where both José and Huey were currently crammed in together.  

"Please, Mr. Carioca," Donald could hear the desperation leaking from his nephew's voice at this point, "can we discuss anything else other than my mom?  I really don't know the answers to your questions."

It hadn't been too long after their conversation at the breakfast table, that José stepped out "for a smoke."  It was obvious by the shared look between them that Panchito knew exactly what Donald had been thinking when neither of them were invited to join.  José had obviously gone off in search of Della, likely hopeful to spend the last bit of his time with her before they needed to leave for the airport.  José's noticeably disappointed return back to the houseboat thirty minutes later proved that he was unsuccessful in his endeavor.  Even if he was quick to deny what he had been up to.

When it was announced that Donald had also agreed to drop off Huey at the Junior Woodchucks camp out event, José must have decided that this could be his second chance.  He practically shoved Panchito into the front seat before he jumped in back.  Donald didn't want to be the one to ruin his friend's fantasy, but Huey was definitely the wrong triplet to ask about Della's ideal hypothetical first date.  

(Gyro had already told Donald about Huey and Webby's woeful attempt at organizing Fenton's first date with Agent Dee.  He also showed him the security tapes.  Donald seriously needed to consider talking to Scrooge's lawyers about a restraining order against Mark Beaks for his kids at this point.)

Although, it was clear that Donald wasn't the only one exasperated by José's desperation.

"Yeah, Señor Carioca," Panchito purposely dragged out the title, "give the kid, and the rest of us, a break already!"

"W-Whatever do you mean?"  José sputtered out.  "I am simply trying to see if he has gotten the chance to get to know his mother yet.  The boy deserves the chance to finally get to know his mother.  Right...Louie?"

"My name is Huey, Mr. Carioca."

"Of course it is!"  José laughed.  "I was merely testing your Tio Panchito.  I know who you are.  He gets you three confused sometimes."

Donald caught a quick sight of Panchito rolling his eyes.  

"Sure.  I'm the one who needs to be reminded.  Not like your Tío José who switched you and Louie's clothes right after hatching while Donald was sleeping, and then forgot who was who by the time he woke up."

Despite the heavy traffic, Donald nearly slammed on brakes as he whipped his head to face José.

"You did WHAT now?" 

José immediately threw up his hands, "It was just a joke!"

"How is switching my kids ' just a joke?'  They have enough problems as it is, and now—"

"EYES ON THE ROAD, UNCLE DONALD!"  Huey screamed.

Panchito made a desperate grab for the wheel, but Donald beat him to it.  He deftly swerved back into the correct lane, barely avoiding a collision with a semi truck going the other direction.  Donald hardly noticed everyone's terrified reactions.  Honestly, he thought they were all being a bit dramatic.  He knows for a fact that they have ridden with Launchpad multiple times.  There was no way he was any worse of a driver than the guy who considered not crashing as a disappointment.  It was, however, made implicitly clear that they should really change the topic of conversation.  

"So," Panchito finally said, "what would you like to discuss, Huey?"

"Oh, umm...So, did you guys see Fenton's mom take down Falcon Graves at Glamour's party?"

Donald's grip on the wheel tightened.  He should have just turned on the radio.  

"¿La señora policía?  What does she matter?"  Panchito shrugged.  "She came in at the end, but that's about it."

Huey gaped at Panchito, "But the news says that Fenton's mom—"

"Wait," José interrupted, "who is this Fenton you keep bringing up?"  

"One of my uncle's employees," Donald told him, hopeful that his clipped tone would be enough of a hint for them to all just drop it.

"What?"  Huey shook his head.  "Fenton is way more than that!  He's practically a member of the extended family at this point.  At least, Mark Beaks thinks he is."

(Again, Donald took a mental note to speak with Scrooge's lawyers about that restraining order asap.)

"He's also a superhero," Huey continued.  "Have you two have heard of Gizmoduck?"

Panchito gave Huey an unimpressed look, while José simply shrugged.  Donald, meanwhile, tried to focus on driving.  A task that was proving more difficult the longer this conversation went on.

"He has all sorts of different gizmos and gadgets, including a pie thrower that none of us can really figure out the point of, but it's still awesome!"  

Huey described Gizmoduck with a reverence that sparked a flash of envy within Donald's chest.  He wasn't jealous of Fenton, as Donald was well aware of the admiration his nephews held for him.  

(He still held that dinner party conversation before the Shadow War close to his heart, even if they were just angry with Scrooge when they said all those nice things about him.  He'll take what he can get.)

No, Donald found himself desiring the naivety of someone outside of their world.  Gizmoduck had only barely dipped his toes into what all it meant to be a true hero, while Donald was practically drowning.  Huey could still look up at a presumed superhero and see just that, a hero larger than life and firmly planted on the side of "good" through strict moral lines that they wouldn't dare consider crossing.  Donald, however, knew that wasn't how life worked.  The "right" thing, wasn't always the "good" thing.  

"Wow, a hero in Duckburg?  Imagine that!"

Panchito's poorly disguised attempt at sarcasm brought Donald back into the conversation.  Despite the fact that Panchito had supposedly been speaking to Huey, Donald could feel his friend's eyes burning holes into him.  Like he was goading Donald to acknowledge his obvious allusion.  Donald's own eyes flicked to the side, and he gave a subtle shake of his head.  He wanted to put the matter to rest before Huey was told anything too incriminating.  Unfortunately, it seemed that Panchito was determined to thrust the Duck Avenger back into the spotlight.

"I can't help but wonder how your Gizmo-guy would do against the—"

Donald casually swerved in and out of the opposite lane, ignoring the blaring horns and swears thrown his way by the other drivers.  When Donald looked over again, Panchito was clutching both the above door handlebar and his chest.  Panchito stared back at him, wide eyed but clearly understanding.  Threat received, it seemed.  Well, for the most part.

"Against who?"

Donald immediately glared at Panchito.  He had half a mind to drift lanes once more.  At least Panchito had the good sense to keep his beak shut this time.  

"Nobody," Donald told Huey, "Panchito was just kidding.  Right?"

"Sí, it was only a joke," Panchito agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"There you have it."

"Okay."

Something about Huey's tone made Donald feel as though his nephew wasn't through with the subject.  Donald only managed to count to five before he was proven right.

"Was this the same guy that Mom was talking about?"

Donald sighed, another denial on the tip of his tongue, but before he could say anything José suddenly interrupted.

"Your mother was talking about other guys?  Does she talk about them often?"  

José genuinely sounded worried.  Donald wanted to roll his eyes.  Panchito actually did.

"Well, it wasn't like that," Huey explained, "at least, she didn't seem to have fond memories of the guy.  I think he was maybe a criminal or something?  She didn't remember his name, only that he wasn't good."

Beside him, Panchito gripped the handle tighter.  Donald's eyes then flicked to the rear view mirror.  He watched as confusion crossed José's face, before quickly morphing into a look of understanding.

"Oh," José finally replied.  "That's fine, I guess."

"Why is it fine all of a sudden?"  Huey asked him.  When José didn't answer, Huey sighed and sat back in his seat.  "For being adults, none of you ever make any sense."

"Grown ups rarely do," Donald told Huey.  He then tilted his head towards Panchito, "But, we all have our reasons."

It was an awkward goodbye between the three of them, and Donald supposed that he was the reason why.  He took a quick drag from their shared cigarette, before passing it over to Panchito.  He looked like he needed it the most.

"I just don't understand how you can be a flight attendant," Panchito told José when he handed him what was left of the cigarette.  "I hate flying."

José didn't even bother trying to smoke it.  He just dropped it to the ground and crushed the butt under his foot.  He then wrapped an arm around Panchito's shoulders.

"Oh irmão, you have nothing to fear!  Air travel is, in fact, the safest form of transportation."

"Yeah, unless Launchpad is the one flying the plane," Donald added.  "But, seeing as he's busy watching Huey and the other Junior Woodchucks this weekend, you don't need to worry about that."

"Sí, I guess so.  That gives me plenty of time to worry about you instead, hermano."  Panchito poked Donald in the chest, right beside where his cut was.  "What happens the next time you get stabbed?"

Donald rolled his eyes, "Surprisingly, it doesn't come up often."

"I'd say twice is pretty often," Panchito crossed his arms.

"It's definitely more than average," José agreed.  "Not to mention your other injuries."

"I told you both this morning that my hand is fine."  Donald made a couple of tight fists and threw a mock punch.  "See?  I'm already better."

(He made it a point not to mention the painkillers he had downed alongside his breakfast.  It wasn't that important of a detail.)

Panchito and José exchanged a look between each other, one that Donald didn't like.  

"Look, just because you two know now—"

"We've always known, hermano."

Donald's eyes narrowed at Panchito as he counted to ten under his breath.

"The point is, I've been just fine before, and I'm still going to be just fine.  You don't need to worry about me."

Panchito let out a long sigh, and Donald could smell the smoke on his breath.  

"You keep saying that you are fine and that's a good thing, sure.  But, is that all you want to be, 'just fine?'"

Donald shrugged, "What else is there to be?"

He looked over at José, who had been mostly quiet throughout.  José wasn't looking at him.  Instead, he was staring down at the crushed cigarette butt on ground while absently rubbing his upper arm.  Finally, he seemed to notice Donald's eyes on him.  

"I..." 

José's eyes began to glisten, and Donald suddenly realized that his friend was trying not to cry.  He watched José blink rapidly, forcing away any tears.  José then cleared his throat.

"I don't know if I can leave knowing that you might end up being hurt."

Donald didn't know how to respond.  He got hurt all the time.  If not as the Duck Avenger, then on Scrooge's adventures, or even just in his daily life as an unlucky klutz.  Injures were nothing new to Donald, so he couldn't understand why only now it seemed to matter to his friends.  

"Why do you even care so much?"  

Donald snapped at José, unable to cope with the rising frustration from his conflicting feelings.  He immediately felt bad when he saw the hurt look on José's face, but that was just another sharp emotion thrown into the confusing mix swirling around in his mind.  Panchito, however, clearly knew how he felt about the situation.

"You do not get to talk to us like that, Donald!  We care about you because you're our best friend—"

"I've been lying to you two for years!"  Donald felt his face turning red with rage.  "What kind of best friend does that?  You both should hate me!  But instead, you're suddenly so worried about my wellbeing that you're not even sure that you can go home!  Why?  Why now?  What difference does it make whether I'm stabbed in a fight or just while cooking dinner?"

Donald took several deep breaths, silently noting the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the smell of coffee from a nearby stand, and the faint stench of exhaust fumes from an airport shuttle bus headed for the parking lot.  Donald didn't know which form of escape he craved the most.  

"Donald..."  José hesitated for a second before grabbing Donald's hands.  "Did you know that I studied nursing when we were in college?"

Admittedly, Donald failed to see what that had to do with their conversation.  Still, he had enough wherewithal left to recognize a lead in question.  Donald slowly shook his head no.

"I was originally going to get a degree in business," José explained, "I saw it as a sort of fast track to making money, which I was certain would solve all of my problems in the future.  However, when you were sick, I learned that there were some problems that you just couldn't throw money at.  A gold coin won't stop someone from bleeding out before they can reach the hospital."

Uncle Scrooge would likely beg to differ, but Donald just kept quiet.  He instead found himself combing over old memories, racking his brain for anything that he might remember regarding his friends' education.  All he could really recall was that they weren't in his accounting classes.  Perhaps, a better friend would have actually paid their lives some attention.

"You're not a nurse," Donald flatly replied.

José gave a sheepish shrug.  "It wasn't for me, but I did learn a lot.  Panchito did too."

Donald turned to Panchito, who nodded in confirmation.  He supposed that explained how they were able to treat his injuries, however, Donald still struggled to understand why that mattered.

"Why are you telling me this?"  Donald asked.  "What does any of it have to do with me?"

Panchito let out a loud, humorless, laugh.  Donald almost flinched as he felt Panchito's heavy hand suddenly settle on his shoulder.

"It has everything to do with you, hermano!  Do you really not realize how long we've been patching you up?  Because, last night certainly wasn't the first time."

Donald shook his head.  That couldn't be right, his friends didn't even know he was...well, he didn't tell them that he was the Duck Avenger, so why would they have ever known when he was in need of medical care?  

"I told you all those head injuries would add up one day," José leaned over and whispered to Panchito.  He then turned to Donald.  "It wasn't nearly as often as Panchito wants you to believe.  You were pretty good about treating yourself.  You just didn't always hide it very well."

Donald blinked as he thought back to when he first started as the Duck Avenger.  It was so easy for him to keep his cover around Scrooge and Della.  They were too caught up in their own lives, and their next adventures, that the details of Donald's day to day often slipped under the radar.  Donald came and went from the mansion at his leisure, and most of his injuries were either minor enough to be ignored, or explained away with a weak lie.  

He knew when he started living with José and Panchito that he would have to be more careful hiding his hero activities, especially after the infected stab wound incident.  They weren't as easily swayed by Donald's usual go to attempts at hemming and hawing an explanation until the subject was dropped.  He thought he had done well to keep his friends at bay, but it seemed that Donald was mistaken about yet another thing.  

"We only intervened if it was necessary," José told him.  "Like, if you passed out before you could clean and bandage up any large wounds."

"We also treated the small ones too, while we were at it," Panchito added.  "I also handled delivering any excuses."

"Excuses?" Donald tilted his head to the side.

"Sí," Panchito crossed his arms, "And based on how little anyone ever questioned your absences, you should really be thanking me.  We could only have 'band practice' so many times a week before your uncle got suspicious.  Luckily for you, I'm pretty creative."

Donald looked away, trying to ignore the slight warmth that filled his cheeks.  He had often used the band as his go to excuse to Scrooge whenever he tried to call while Donald was busy being the Duck Avenger.  He never really thought about how ridiculous it might seem to try and pass off his college band as so incredibly dedicated to practicing.  Scrooge had met his friends by that point, there was no way he would believe they all spent every waking moment at band rehearsals.

"What exactly did you tell him?"  Donald asked.

"Oh, nothing too outlandish.  Just that you were with your study group at the library, or out on a date, or at a frat party.  I gave you a real social life, hermano.  You're welcome."

A look of guilt crossed Donald's face.  Panchito said it like a joke, but Donald could still hear the pain in his voice.  Those were all things that normal college students would do.  What Donald might have been doing back then had he not chosen to wear his cape instead.  

"Well, at least you didn't have to lie for very long," Donald told him.  "After all, I died."

His reply came out a bit sharper than he had intended, but Donald couldn't help it.  He never asked for Panchito to lie for him, just like he never asked José to treat his injuries.  He never trusted them enough to.  And, maybe, that was the real crux of it all.  His friends did so much for him, and he couldn't even bring himself to be honest with them until recently.  And even then, it was only half of the truth.  He didn't deserve their support.  Not then, and certainly not now.

"Just, go home."  Donald shook his head.  "Don't worry about me.  I'm fine."

Panchito said something, but Donald couldn't exactly hear anything other than the pounding sound of his heart.  He hadn't even noticed that it had picked up so much speed, and now it was all he could focus on.  He needed to calm down fast, before his friends could notice what was happening.  Unfortunately, Donald's heart continued to race no matter what he did.  He tried to subtly take a few deep breaths, but he immediately realized that it was closer to straight up hyperventilating.  His hands were trembling now, so he quickly tucked them out of view by shoving them roughly into his pockets.  

"Donald?"  

José's voice sounded like he was underwater.  Or, maybe Donald was the one underwater?  He did feel slightly like he was drowning.  As if he had been pulled underneath the waves, the salt water drying out his throat while rushing to fill his lungs.  It was growing dark, although Donald didn't know if it was only him who could tell.  He could practically see the moon peeking out from behind the clouds if he stared at the right spot.  If he could see the moon, then that meant they could see him.  Lunaris could see his family!  They weren't safe!  He couldn't keep them safe!—

"Donald!" 

Donald nearly fell backwards as he flinched away from José's outstretched hand.  A few heavy breaths racked his body, and Donald watched half aware as José slowly dropped his arm back down.  He and Panchito were both staring at Donald now.  Donald felt like an animal on display at the zoo.  

"Stop looking at me like that!"  Donald suddenly shouted.  "I'm—"

"If you say that you're fine one more time, then I'm shoving you into my carry on and taking you all the way back to México with me!"  Panchito sternly told him.

"And, if he doesn't, then I will," José added.  "I've got plenty of miles left to trade for a one way ticket to Brazil for you, my friend."

Even if they weren't obviously empty threats, the thought of Donald possibly being kidnapped and thus forcibly dragged away from his mission to protect his family from F.O.W.L. sent a whole new wave of wordless panic through Donald.  Thankfully, it seemed that his friends noticed his distress, and their expressions immediately softened.  

"Donald, por favor, it's alright.  We're not angry with you."  José slowly reached out for Donald again, and he forced himself to accept his friend's touch this time.  "We care about you."

"But, why though?"  Donald's voice cracked as he struggled to rein in his emotions.  "Why do you guys care so much about me?"

Donald felt as José's arms slid around him in a loose embrace, but he didn't move to reciprocate.  Instead, his arms just dangled at his sides, while he locked eyes with Panchito.

"Let me ask you something, hermano."  Panchito crossed his arms.  "Why are you so convinced that you're unworthy of being loved?"

Donald sat alone in his car, watching the various planes at the airport take off and land from his spot in the parking lot.  He casually flicked the ash from his cigarette out the window.  Panchito had left him with what was left of the box.  It wasn't much, but Donald appreciated the gesture.  He had probably just felt guilty.

Another plane flew into the air, and Donald vaguely wondered where it was going.  Probably nowhere special.  He had spent much of his life traveling the world and beyond that it almost never occurred to him that it wasn't actually the norm.  Most people didn't go on fantastical adventures with their billionaire uncle and other quirky family members.  Then again, most people also don't moonlight as vigilantes.  

Donald had tried for so long to become a normal person.  When Della disappeared, and he left Uncle Scrooge, Donald thought that was what he needed to do.  The triplets deserved the chance at a normal life, to be safe, and it was all Donald felt capable to provide for them.  He tapped his cigarette again.  It was obvious how well that worked out.  

Donald couldn't fail them again.  He wouldn't fail them again.  Not his kids, not his sister, not his uncle...and not his friends.

"Why are you so convinced that you're unworthy of being loved?"

Donald loved.  He loved with every ounce of his soul.  However, he didn't tell Panchito that.  Because, while Donald loved, it wasn't the same as being loved.  He didn't doubt that his family and his friends cared about him, they might even think that they love him back.  But, they don't.  They can't.  Donald has done absolutely nothing to deserve something as precious as their love.

He took one last drag from his cigarette before starting his car.  There was one thing Panchito couldn't understand.  Just because Donald didn't deserve their love yet, he still held onto the hope of being worthy.  He kept this hope close to his heart, and it was what kept him going.