Chapter Text
June 9 - Donald Duck Day
For about an hour there was blissful silence. Face sat at the dining table of the small house they were renting in the suburbs, morning sunlight streaming through the windows and three dozen sets of forms spread out neatly across the tabletop.
Hannibal was sitting on the couch a little way away, reading the morning paper, only the occasional faint rustle any indication he was there.
Face had got up early specifically to do their accounts. He always tried keep on top of them, since he could never be sure when he might get the chance and he didn’t want to risk leaving it all till the last minute. They already had enough people after them without the IRS, too. Though usually he put the radio or TV on in the background, he sometimes found the silence distracting in itself, he wanted to be absolutely focussed on keeping everything straight. With dozens of names, accounts and investments to keep track of he wanted to make extra sure it was all done right.
That’s when Murdock woke up.
At first Face didn’t even notice, the low murmur of Murdock’s voice coming down the stairs until he appeared in the kitchen, stretching expansively with a content sigh.
“Oh boy oh boy!” Murdock spoke in a pitch-perfect Donald Duck impersonation that tore Face out of his accountancy zone, “what a beautiful day.”
The effect was uncanny, though Murdock was well known to have a knack for voices.
“What’cha doing there, Facey?” Murdock asked in Donald’s signature voice, hands on his hips and elbows out as he lent over the paperwork.
“I’m kinda busy here, buddy,” Face said carefully.
“Hey I can help,” Murdock quacked, signalling his intent to keep this up for as long as it held his interest, “I’m good at whatever it is you’re doing!”
“Uh, no thanks,” Face smiled, trying to shoe him away, “please don’t touch anything.”
Murdock straightened up and shrugged, “have it your way.”
Face sighed with relief, “thanks.”
BA wandered in, pausing when Murdock fixed him with a wild grin.
“Good morning BA,” Murdock quacked, “it’s a bright beautiful day.”
“Oh hell no,” BA grumbled, shaking his head and walking towards the fridge. He cast a glance over the paperwork as he passed but said nothing.
“Aw come on BA, everyone loves Donald Duck!” Murdock said, hopping around in a waggling chicken dance, “wak wak wak wak wak!”
BA pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge and turned to him, “Donald Duck’s fine, it’s you I got a problem with.” He put the milk beside the blender and took a tin of powder off the side.
“Hey I can help,” Murdock said, strutting up beside BA, “I got some anchovies-”
“You ain’t putting anchovies in my breakfast shake!” BA turned on him and Murdock hopped backwards with a playful quack.
“Guys, please, I just want to get this done,” Face said, “it’ll only be another hour or so.”
“What is that?” BA asked.
“It’s our accounts,” Face said, “I like to go through them whenever I have… had a quiet moment.” He said pointedly.
“I dunno why you bother with all that stuff, man,” BA said, “why we gotta pay taxes anyway?”
Face put his pencil down, “Because, firstly, the more legitimate we appear the less likely we are to get investigated, and second, because we have investments in real, actually legitimate business. We default on our taxes and we’ll get audited, that means our investments get audited, and that means a lot of nice little mom and pop business suddenly have the IRS breathing down their necks.”
“That’d be bad!” Murdock said, “in fact, it’d be quackers!”
BA frowned slowly, then put the milk back in the fridge and grabbed Murdock by the collar, “c’mon, Murduck, we’re going for a walk.”
Murdock quacked in surprise as he was dragged towards the front door, then started flailing his arms, quacking furiously, until finally the door closed behind them.
Hannibal turned from where he’d watched them leave to meet Face’s gaze. “He’s really good at that.”
Face shrugged, shaking his head before returning to his work, “let’s hope he doesn’t keep it up all day.”