Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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‘Are you sure you’re going to be alright?’ Launchpad asked. ‘I can still cancel – Fenton’s a good guy – he’ll understand.’

            Drake sighed, but he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

            ‘I’ll be fine, Launchpad,’ he said, for what felt like the twenty‑fifth time. ‘Honestly, it’s only for two days, so I can’t get into too much trouble, can I?’

            Launchpad stared at him, his eyes wide and his beak slightly open. He clearly wasn’t convinced.

            ‘Look …’ Drake gently straightened the collar of  Launchpad’s jacket and smoothed a crease out of the shoulders. ‘I know it’s been hard and I know we’re not quite there yet, but you can’t stay home and take care of me forever,’ he said. ‘I’m not a child, Launchpad – I’ve got to stand on my own two feet at some point and you’ve got to let me try.’

            Launchpad lowered his gaze, but he nodded.

            ‘I know, but …’ He shrugged, giving Drake a faint smile. ‘I just worry about you.’

            ‘And I appreciate that,’ Drake answered. ‘I really do, but you’ve got to trust me once in a while.’

            ‘I do trust you.’

            ‘Then go.’ Drake opened the front door and gestured through it. ‘Enjoy it and tell Fenton I said hi.’

            Launchpad picked up his rucksack and a freshly‑laundered suit, then stepped through the door.

            And stopped.

            ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ he asked. ‘Everyone’s really nice and, you  know, you won’t have to stay long – we’ll think of some excuse and we’ll –’

            ‘No, Launchpad.’ Drake shook his head, genuinely queasy at the thought of being stuck in a noisy room with too many people. ‘You go and you have a good time. Don’t even think about me. Anyway – Gosalyn’s still out playing somewhere – we can’t leave her.’

            ‘No …’ Launchpad took a deep breath and smiled far too brightly. ‘Well, tell her I’ll see her on Monday. Oh – and I left Mr. McD’s number by the phone – if you do need me, you can just call and I’ve got my radio –’

            ‘Launchpad.’ Drake threw his hands up in frustration. ‘I’ll be fine. Seriously – I don’t want to see you or hear from you until Monday afternoon. Got it?’

            Launchpad’s shoulders sagged and his face fell. His beak twitched slightly, but he nodded rather stiffly and silently put all of his things onto the car’s back seat.

            ‘Launchpad …’ Drake suddenly leapt from the doorstep and throwing both arms around Launchpad’s neck, he kissed his cheek. ‘Have a good time, alright?’ He pulled back. ‘I’ll see you Monday.’

            ‘See you Monday,’ Launchpad grinned and playfully tapped Drake’s beak. ‘Miss you.’

            ‘I’ll miss you too,’ Drake answered truthfully and opened the driver’s door. ‘Now go on, go.’

            Launchpad obediently got into the car and started the engine. Drake followed the car along the driveway and offered one last wave before Launchpad drove off down the street.

            When the last rumble of the engine faded into the distance, Drake finally returned to the empty house.

            Gosalyn was out with her friends, so the whole place was suddenly quiet and unusually still.

            Drake had never realised how big the living‑room was before …

            He shook himself.

            For the first time in months, he had the whole house to himself. It was quiet, it was tidy and there was nobody to bother him.

            Ever since Launchpad had received Fenton’s wedding invitation, Drake had been looking forward to spending some time alone. He loved Launchpad – he really did – and he was already starting to miss him, but they both needed some time apart. Drake was becoming far too reliant on him and Launchpad was becoming more and more protective.

            The small break would do them both good.

            Drake rubbed his hands together, trying to think. He could choose whatever he wanted to watch on the television, he could read his newest mystery‑novel, he could even try a bit of gardening or –

            ‘Hi Dad!’

            Gosalyn suddenly burst through the front door, followed by three of her friends. She was holding a football under one arm and all four of them were covered in mud.

            ‘We just came home for a snack,’ Gosalyn said, leading the way into the kitchen.

            Drake eyed the dirty footprints on the carpet before he noticed Honker standing on the doormat.

            ‘Hello, Mr. Mallard,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry about the mud.’

            ‘Oh … it’s fine, Honker,’ Drake answered. ‘Come in.’

            He beckoned to Honker and headed into the kitchen, where Gosalyn was already standing on a stool, practically crawling into one of the cupboards. One of her friends was raiding the fridge, another was trying to balance several plates and glasses, while the third was trying to open a new loaf of bread.

            ‘Stop!’

            The kitchen immediately fell silent and every head turned to look at Drake.

            ‘But, Dad, we – whoa!’

            Drake caught Gosalyn in his arms and managed to stick his foot out in time to stop the jar of peanut butter hitting the floor. He set Gosalyn on her feet and glared down at her, hands firmly planted on his hips.

            ‘We were hungry,’ she said, batting her eyelashes.

            Drake raised an eyebrow at her, but she smiled sweetly and he immediately softened.

            ‘Take your friends up to the bathroom and wash your hands.’ He rolled his eyes, resigning himself. ‘I’ll make the sandwiches.’

            ‘Alright, Dad, you’re the coolest!’ Gosalyn punched the air and darted out of the kitchen. ‘Come on, everyone.’

            The whole house shook as Gosalyn and her comrades raced upstairs. Trying to ignore the slamming of a door and an ominous crash from somewhere that wasn’t the bathroom, Drake quickly tidied up the worktop and began to make the sandwiches.

            By the time a tower of various sandwiches and a plate of cookies stood in the middle of the table, all five children had returned to the kitchen. There was still mud on Gosalyn’s cheek and, for some reason, one of her friends had wet hair, but they were presentable enough.

            ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Gosalyn grabbed a sandwich and sat down.

            Drake handed everyone a cup of juice, helped himself to a sandwich and, deciding it might be safer, perched on the worktop, where he had a better view to supervise everyone.

            ‘Thank you, Mr. Mallard,’ Honker said.

            ‘Yeah, thanks, Mr. Mallard …’

            Drake only nodded as the chorus of thanks continued, but couldn’t help smiling, despite the chaos.

            The doorbell rang, but, too interested in the food, nobody else seemed to notice.

            Hoping the kitchen wouldn’t blow up while he was gone, Drake hurried to the front door and opened it.

            ‘Howdy, neighbour!’

            ‘Oh … hi, Herb. Binkie …’ Drake was compelled to step back as the two senior Muddlefoots swept into the house. ‘If you’re looking for Honker, he’s through there.’

            Drake closed the door and followed them back into the kitchen.

            ‘Chocolate spread!’ Herb shoved an entire sandwich into his beak. ‘My favourite.’

            ‘Oh, good.’ Drake answered. ‘Why don’t I make you some to take home with you?’

            ‘Gosh – looks like you’ve got some kind of party going on,’ Herb said.

            ‘No, it’s just –’

            ‘Why, you should have said, Drake,’ Binkie added. ‘I would have made some of my cherry sponge cake for you.’

            ‘Yeah – and we could’ve set up the barbecue.’

            ‘It’s not a party,’ Drake snapped. ‘It’s just lunch.’

            ‘Anyway …’ Herb wiped some chocolate from his beak and clapped Drake on the back. ‘It’s nice weather, so me and Binkie thought we’d take the kids for a picnic in the woods later – wondered if Gosalyn wanted to come. We might be back late, so she can sleep over.’

            ‘Oh!’ Gosalyn stood up on her chair. ‘Can I, Dad? Please?’

            Drake massaged his eyes, trying to push away the familiar pangs of an approaching headache.

            ‘Yep, fine, sure – whatever,’ he muttered. ‘Just … try and be good.’

            About two hours later, there was a stack of clean plates and cups on the draining board, the kitchen was back in order, all of the carpets were free of mud, and Drake was waving goodbye to Gosalyn as she gazed out of the Muddlefoot’s humongous camper‑truck.

            It rounded the corner and everyone was gone.

            Drake finally had the house to himself.

            He dropped down onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

            It had worked out better than he had imagined.

            There was no Launchpad to make a fuss of him, there was no Gosalyn to run around, wrecking the house and getting under his feet, there wasn’t even a Muddlefoot to annoy him. He had a whole afternoon to himself and …

            God, it was boring.

            He sat up and reached for the new book that was sitting on the coffee‑table. It was the latest Inspector Lark Mystery: The Haunting of Spring Manor. Drake flicked through the first few pages, catching a whiff of the crisp paper and fresh ink.

            From the title, he guessed there would be a ghost‑sighting, which resulted in a gruesome murder. One by one, the upper‑class guests of the manor would be picked off by an alleged curse, a restless spirit, and only Inspector Lark and his trusty assistant would seek out the truth.

            It was all very predictable. Every time he picked up one of the books, Drake had managed to solve the murder before reaching the second chapter and he had been able to predict the entire story, almost word for word.

            There was something strangely addictive about it all, though.

            Rather like crime‑fighting.

            Tossing the book to one side, Drake slumped back into his seat, arms folded, and he  glanced thoughtfully at the two nearby armchairs.

            He had promised Launchpad – crossed his heart and everything – that, unless there was some dire catastrophe that simply couldn’t be ignored, he wouldn’t go out crime‑fighting by himself that weekend. Although all of the crime‑detectors were turned on in case of any such catastrophes, Drake had assured Launchpad that he wouldn’t even go looking for criminal activity and he had no intention of breaking that promise.

            However, nothing had been said about visiting the Tower …

            Visiting the Tower and searching for crime were two entirely different things.

            The Tower wasn’t just a hideout for a mysterious hero to keep a careful watch over his beloved city, it was also an archive of information, it was a library, a place of contemplation and careful reflection.

            Sometimes, it was also a mess.

            In fact, Darkwing Tower was due a spring clean that very day. There were files that needed reorganising, paperwork that needed sorting out, furniture that needed to be dusted, floors that needed mopping.

            Drake fastened the top button of his jacket and put on his mask just in case there were any unexpected visitors while he was there and glared around the control‑room.

            Not a single thing was out of place.

            The windows were gleaming, the floor was sparkling and there was a strong smell of furniture polish clinging to the air.

            Of course, Launchpad always kept the vehicles clean and ready to use, and he tidied the maintenance bay on a regular basis. There were no empty bottles or cans to recycle, nothing to throw away.

            Drake – or Darkwing when he wore the uniform – wandered back to the control‑room and searched for a file that needed to be put away, a scrap of paper that needed shredding, a fleck of dust …

            There was nothing.

            The archive and library were both tidy, too. Darkwing tried to straighten a few books and flicked through a few cabinets to make sure everything was in the right order. He even read a few of his old case‑files, marvelling at his own daring and ingenuity, but it just wasn’t as entertaining when there was nobody there to listen to him brag about it.

            At last, he slammed the last file shut and returned it to its place on the shelf. He glanced around until his eyes rested on the artifact‑safe.

            He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a proper look at everything in there. It was good to check things over once in a while, to make sure everything was still where it should be and hadn’t been tampered with.

            After unlocking the safe, Darkwing took a step back to take in the few items that were strewn about the shelves. A cloth bag contained an ancient lightbulb that Megavolt had once tried to steal.

            The lightbulb was still inside it, unharmed and undisturbed for at least two years.

            There was a set of keys and a control‑pad belonging to Quackerjack’s time‑top, a sack of suspicious‑looking seeds that Bushroot had tried to plant, a sealed bottle of Buddy Flud’s contaminated Sparkling Crystal Pure Water, and a rare comic‑book that Darkwing had recently bought for Launchpad’s upcoming birthday.

            Pushed back into a corner of the safe, there was a small, silver orb adorned with several buttons.

            Darkwing stared at it, a little taken aback.

            He hadn’t exactly forgotten about it, but he hadn’t thought about it much, either.

            The orb sat in its corner, dull and perfectly innocent‑looking.

            Very carefully, Darkwing picked it up and set it down in the palm of his hands.

            To most people, it would be fairly unremarkable.

            To anyone else – Darkwing, for example – it was an incredible, intricate piece of scientific machinery that opened doors to the other universe.

            The universe where nightmares were created.

            The place where Darkwing’s nightmares had literally been created.

            Darkwing let the orb roll over in his hand, noting a few scuff marks and a small fleck of dirt on its surface, but it was in otherwise perfect condition.

            Exactly as it was when he had first acquired it.

            Before he could let his thoughts wander off down the wrong path, Darkwing put the orb back in its corner and closed the safe.

            Then, he opened it again.

            Checking his watch, he found it had just gone a quarter‑past three.

            According to Launchpad and certain S.H.U.S.H. agents, the Negaverse ran a full twelve hours ahead of the Prime Universe. Given that everything in the Negaverse was the opposite way round, it made perfect sense that day would turn to night and vice versa.

            In the past, Darkwing had always encountered Negaduck either late at night or during the pre‑dawn hours of the morning in the Prime Universe. Logically, that meant that, from his own point of view, Negaduck would work during the Negaverse daytime and sleep through the night.

            At a quarter past three in the morning, Negaduck would be sound asleep.

            Not that Darkwing had any desire at all to visit the Negaverse …

            It was complicated and, in some ways, a rather delicate subject. Even he couldn’t explain how he was feeling sometimes, nor figure out why certain thoughts wouldn’t be silenced until he followed them.

            The incident with the table in the basement was a good example. Neither he nor Launchpad had mentioned that particular episode to each other and Drake felt sick every time he thought about it. The … experience hadn’t answered any questions or instantly made Darkwing feel better about anything, but it had stopped the basement in the Negaverse playing on his mind so much.

            Or, rather, it was just easier to remember it …

            Darkwing had actually been finding it much harder to get his head around his own insistence on reliving that particular ordeal.

            Claire had called it Traumatic Re‑enactment when he had spoken about it with her – avoiding too many details, of course. She said it was something to do with allowing the memories to process properly and taking control instead of letting the memories control him.

            It’s perfectly normal, Drake.

            Darkwing shut the safe again, shaking his head. It certainly didn’t seem normal to him.

            He turned his back on the safe, hesitated, then opened it once again.

            A quick look wouldn’t hurt anyone …

            But Launchpad would be furious if he knew.

            If he ever found out.

            Which, he wouldn’t because there would be nobody to tell him …

            Darkwing picked up the orb and simply glared at it.

            All he wanted to do was step into the Negaverse and step out again. He hated the place – he would never want to spend more than a few seconds there.

            Even one second

            It was a stupid idea – what was he thinking?

            Of course he didn’t want to see the Negaverse. He never wanted to set foot there ever again.

            And yet …

            Holding his breath, he pressed a button on the orb and immediately closed his eyes.

            Maybe the orb ran on batteries that were no longer charged.

            Maybe …

            When he finally dared open his eyes, he found himself staring at a circle of green light  surrounding a patch of darkness.

            Darkwing carefully approached the opening and peered into it.

            He couldn’t see much. Everything was dark.

            Making sure the orb was safely in his pocket, he braced himself and stepped through the portal, closing it behind him.

            The first thing he noticed was the smell.

            It made him gag.

            Years of rot and dirt and things Darkwing didn’t want to put a name to simply churned the air.

            Eyes watering, he coughed, then looked tentatively around, letting his eye adjust to the gloom.

            He was standing in a room shaped exactly like his own archives.

            There were no bookshelves or filing cabinets, but there was a table and a few chairs. Ropes and various objects adorned the walls and there were two doors, one of which was slightly open. Darkwing inched closer to the table, his eyes resting on a pair of cuffs fastened to its surface. He swallowed a lump in his throat and turned quickly to the door that was ajar.

            The smell coming from the room behind it was rancid, but he slowly pushed it further open.

            It was a small, very bare sort of room with a barred window. It contained a wooden bench that had a thin blanket thrown across it and, on the floor, there was a metal pot that was in desperate need of emptying.

            Darkwing shuddered and hurried away. He took a moment to compose himself, contemplating the other door.

            It was shut, most probably locked and Darkwing thought he knew why, but he knew better than to interfere. Hero or not, he had learnt the hard way that, sometimes, it was just better to walk away.

            Ignoring his own instincts, he shuffled across the hallway in search of something more familiar. Turning a corner, he found the closed doors of an elevator and two flights of stairs, one leading up, the other down.

            After some contemplation, he crept down the steps, keeping one hand on the wall to guide himself. There were three flights of metal steps before Darkwing reached an archway that led to a dimly lit corridor.

            Something unpleasant dropped into his stomach. He took a single step through the archway, staring along the blank walls of the corridor until his eyes fell on the door situated at the very end.

            Far beneath the tower’s control‑room, removed from the other cells he had just discovered, the single little room provided nothing but complete isolation.

            Glancing behind him, Darkwing noted another flight of steps going down.

            One flight of steps and you’re out … free.

            Darkwing’s own Tower was riddled with secret doorways and exits, some under water, some above ground, some so stupidly obvious that nobody would think of taking a closer look. There probably was an escape route just at the bottom of those steps and Darkwing had occasionally wondered what would have happened to him if he had managed to reach it. Would he have found his way back to his own universe or would he still be in the Negaverse, stuck, unable to find a way back while trying to keep out of Negaduck’s clutches?

            Turning his attention back to the door at the end of the corridor, Darkwing marched towards it, his teeth clenched together and his hands curled into tight fists.

            He was a hero. He could face anything.

            The door was probably locked anyway, so there would be nothing for him to see, but he knew he had to try. All he had to do was try to open it and walk away.

            If it was locked, that wasn’t his fault. He had tried, he had made the effort to confront his fears, but what could he do if the door was locked?

            He hit the door‑handle and almost fell over his own feet as the door opened.

            Darkwing stopped, a little taken aback.

            He glanced from side to side before finally pushing the door further open and stepping into the tiny room.

            His room … his cell …

            The stench of urine and vomit permeated Darkwing’s nostrils. When he tried to breathe through his mouth, he could taste it.

            Dim light from the corridor brushed across one wall, highlighting the numerous hoops and chains that hung there. Dark stains blemished the floor and, directly opposite the door, a pair of medieval handcuffs were hanging from an iron ring.

            Darkwing felt cold. He realised he wasn’t breathing properly and his chest hurt.

            He clutched at his wrists, remembering all too well the blistering and cutting of sharp metal on his bare skin as he tried desperately to free himself, the way the cuffs tugged and bit into him while Launchpad …

            God, what was he doing?

            Why was he there?

            Fumbling in his pocket, his hand slippery with sweat, he found the orb. Turning to the door, he pressed a button and darted through the portal before it was fully open, only to crash into a grid of iron bars.

            ‘Oh no. No, no, no …’ Darkwing shook the bars before spinning around to face the room.

            There was a window. Sunlight was streaming through it and pigeons were nesting in it, meaning it was open.

            Thrown by his rising panic, he lurched at the wall, digging his fingers into the stonework. He didn’t pause or stop to think what he was doing, he simply began to climb, pulling himself up to the ledge.

            Pigeons scattered as he reached it and he threw himself towards the square opening, destroying nests on his way.

            A clear breeze whipped against his face and he stared down at the shining waters of Audubon Bay. It didn’t look too far down and the waves were calm, sparkling in the sunlight. He had jumped from higher places before, he could easily …

            He breathed, noting the blue sky and the sunlight, the smell of salt and the cool, clean air.

            It was his Bay …

            It was his bridge, his Tower, his universe.

            His home …

            He was home, he was safe …

            He actually laughed.

            ‘Shit …’ he covered his face, cackling almost manically. ‘Darkwing, you idiot.’

            He shuffled back from the window and a pigeon hopped onto the ledge, glaring at him indignantly. Darkwing climbed down into the empty, stone enclosure and, ignoring the portal that was still open, he peered through the bars that blocked his path to the Tower.

            Nobody used this part of the bridge – he’d never needed to or even thought about. To his knowledge, the only time anyone did go there was when something needed repairing.

            It was nothing to do with him, though …

            It wasn’t his territory.

            Still a little shaken, he looked up at the window again, then the portal. If he jumped out of the window, he could potentially break something, which would lead to an uncomfortable conversation with Launchpad.

            He would have to go back through the portal …

            All he had to do was step through it, run up the stairs and jump through another portal.

            Why he had decided to stick his beak into the Negaverse in the first place was beyond him.

            Sometimes, he marvelled at his own stupidity.

            Annoyed with the whole situation, he stepped through the portal and closed it.

            He glanced around the dark, murky little room and, trying not to run, hurried along the corridor and straight up the steps. Without stopping at the first floor where his own archive would be, he ran up two more flights until he reached the control‑room.

            At least, Negaduck’s version of the control‑room.

            Although there was a distinct lack of organisation or any surveillance equipment, Darkwing instantly felt a little calmer there. There were piles of electrical goods, scrap metal, weapons and chains everywhere, but nothing so unsettling as the cell downstairs.

            He allowed himself a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts.

            It was fine – he just needed to get back home, think things through, maybe write them down and figure out how to process everything.

            His next appointment with Claire was a few days away, but by then he’d feel better – he wouldn’t need to explain anything. It would all just be another memory – something he could look back on and laugh about.

            Eventually, anyway …

            Maybe.

            He was such an idiot …

            With a short burst of hollow laughter, he took the orb out of his pocket again and he placed his thumb over the correct button.

            ‘Hello, Drakey.’

Chapter Text

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‘Hello, Drakey.’

            Choking on his next breath, Darkwing felt his entire body freeze. A blade of ice cut down his spine and bled through his skin. It dropped into his stomach and grew, twisting and churning his insides, forcing every single one of his feathers to stand on end.

            Darkwing tried to swallow, to just breathe, but he felt sick. His pulse was racing, sending ripples of nausea through his muscles.

            Keep calm. Don’t panic.

            The familiar words swept out of nowhere, lifted into his head, turning over and over again. They were his words. He had used them so many times before. Disguised as a simple instruction, the words could magically reassure a nervous companion, ease the most frantically beating heart, or silence the loudest scream before it had any chance of being heard.

            Four little words that told people to listen to him and trust him.

            Words that were enough to convince everyone, including himself, that he – Darkwing Duck – was still in control, that he would keep fighting, that he would always get back up and win, no matter the odds. Even when he was hanging over a pit of venomous snakes, clinging to a burning rope with one hand and trying to battle a swarm of angry hornets with the other.

            Keep calm …

            The impulse to run was already taking over. Darkwing’s more basic, almost primal instincts were screaming at him to get away, but he had forgotten how to move. His feet were cemented to the ground and his muscles were turning to lead.

            Keep calm.

            Don’t panic.

            The words were fighting to make themselves heard.

            They were his own words. The words of a hero.

            He was a hero.

            He was Darkwing Duck.

            Letting his fists uncurl, releasing the tension in his limbs, Darkwing managed to draw a very deep breath.

            He was Darkwing Duck, and he was damned well going to pull himself together and face his enemy! Look them right in the eye and … and …

            Darkwing straightened up. Shoulders squared, eyes narrowed and his arms raised, poised for attack, he counted to three. Throwing all of his fears to the wind, he spun around and …

            The room was empty.

            Deafened by the drumming of his own pulse in his ears, Darkwing slowly took in the windows that reached up through The Tower, he noted the chairs positioned randomly here and there, the long table bending under the weight of scrap metal. Lowering his hands slightly, he let his eyes rove from one side of the room to the other. Old stains covered the floor, there were chains and hooks set up on pulley‑systems, weapons were cast idly aside, Negaduck was lurking in the open doorway, coils of rope were strewn –

            Darkwing gasped, stumbling backwards as he realised what he had seen.

            Negaduck was leaning idly against the doorframe, partially hidden by the shadows. His eyes glinted, reflecting the dim light of the control‑room, but when he stepped out of the gloom, he was watching Darkwing with nothing more than mild curiosity.

            Pushing back a fresh wave of nausea, Darkwing coughed, trying to find his voice.

            ‘Negaduck …’

            ‘I was wondering when you’d turn up,’ Negaduck said and he yawned. Giving Darkwing a smirk, he moved further into the room and dropped a pack of soda cans onto the already cluttered table. ‘I knew you would eventually,’ he went on. ‘It was only a matter of time before curiosity got the better of you.’ Falling into a chair, he tilted it back until he was leaning against the wall and he propped his feet on the table. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

            ‘Er …’ Darkwing coughed again, horribly aware of how high his voice sounded and how clammy his hands were. ‘I did – I was expecting you to … I thought you’d be asleep,’ he muttered, which was somewhat true.

            ‘Oh, I was asleep,’ Negaduck answered. He took a knife out of his jacket and began to pick at his fingernails. ‘I don’t usually work nights, but don’t you worry, Drakey – I always sleep with one eye open, just in case.’ He glanced upwards, suddenly meeting Darkwing’s gaze. ‘You’ve got to stay alert in this place. Let your guard down for a minute or two and you never know what might happen or who might turn up in the middle of the night.’

            He grinned, revealing all of his pointed teeth, then with a sniff of amusement, he returned his attention to his nails.

            Not for the first time, it occurred to Darkwing how incredibly similar he and Negaduck were. While being the total opposite of each other, they were also exactly the same.

            He too had spent days without sleep, trying to untangle a mystery, to put clues together and track down an unknown criminal. Whatever was happening, he was always alert, always ready to act at any given moment, ready to protect his beloved city from harm.

            Just like Negaduck …

            Only, in the Negaverse, Darkwing Duck became the intruder. He was the criminal and, if truth be told, a rather notorious one.

            There, Negaduck was the guardian …

            Just like Darkwing Duck.

            It made Darkwing dizzy to think about it too much, so he stopped.

            ‘Well, I was just …’ He furtively searched the room, trying to find a reasonable explanation for his presence. ‘I was just … looking …’

            ‘Oh yeah?’ Negaduck chuckled and propelled himself forwards, placing one elbow on the table. He slowly twirled the knife through his fingers. ‘Find anything interesting?’ he asked. ‘A few stolen goods maybe?’ He leaned further across the table and lowered his voice to a confidential hiss. ‘A dead body or two?’

            ‘No! I was just …’ Darkwing realised he had taken a few steps back, even though there was a table standing in between him and Negaduck. Annoyed, he replanted his feet firmly into the ground and glared at Negaduck. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

            ‘Really?’ Negaduck sat up in surprise. ‘There is one in there,’ he said, gesturing to something behind Darkwing. ‘A dead body, I mean. It’s in The Pit …’ He glanced sideways at Darkwing. ‘Unless the worms have eaten it by now.’

            Darkwing grimaced, struggling to stop his thoughts wandering off to the tiny cell that his nightmares often visited.

            ‘I didn’t look in … I mean …’ He shook himself and defiantly folded his arms. ‘I didn’t find anything amiss.’

            Both of Negaduck’s eyebrows lifted.

            ‘Well done, Drakey.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘You’re learning.’

            Darkwing opened his beak, ready to throw some witty remark back at Negaduck, but there was nothing but silence. His mind was completely blank.

            In response, Negaduck just sat there, patiently waiting.

            Darkwing wished Negaduck would move, attack him, give him something to react to.

            But nothing happened.

            The silence only lengthened

            ‘Well …’ Darkwing finally shrugged and held up the portal‑decide that he was still holding in one hand. ‘I’d better …’

            He stopped, suddenly realising what he had done.

            Already bracing himself for the inevitable fight, he turned to face Negaduck properly.

            But Negaduck was still sitting at the table, his head resting on one hand. His eyes flicked towards the device, then back to Darkwing.

            His expression remained one of complete disinterest.

            Even so, Darkwing felt nervous.

            ‘I’d better go,’ he said a little quickly. ‘Things to do, you know, crimes to solve, villains to catch – that sort of thing.’

            ‘Why don’t you stay a while?’ Negaduck asked. He cut the pack of cans open and slid one across the table towards Darkwing. ‘Sit down and relax. Have a drink.’

            In spite of his ever‑growing desperation to leave, Darkwing peered at the can. The words Cherry Soda was printed across it in curly red letters.

            He had expected Negaduck to offer his guests something a little more vibrant.

            ‘Don’t worry, Drakey, I haven’t poisoned it,’ Negaduck said, taking a can for himself. ‘They’re still sealed, look – fresh out the store two days ago.’

            Negaduck was practically being amiable, but the whole situation struck Darkwing as ominous. The subtle glint in Negaduck’s eye, the slight curl at the corner of his beak and his steady, relentless gaze were telling him to activate the device and get away.

It would be easy for him to leave. All he had to do was press a simple button on the object that he was literally holding in his hand.

            ‘No, thanks.’ Darkwing shook his head, genuinely averse to anything that Negaduck wanted to offer him, whether it was in a sealed can or not. ‘I’d better get back.’

            ‘What’s the hurry?’ Negaduck opened his own can, spraying pink froth in various direction. ‘It’s still daylight in your universe. I thought the best villains only came out at night?’

            ‘You’d be surprised,’ Darkwing answered, forcing a small laugh. ‘You never know.’

            Negaduck shrugged.

            And he waited.

            Darkwing didn’t move, his thumb still poised over the button that would open a portal into the other universe. His universe.

            His home.

            ‘You’re still here, Drakey.’

            ‘Yeah, I just …’ Darkwing couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he wasn’t leaving. ‘I’m …’

            ‘You know, Launchpad’s gone off for the whole weekend, and Tank’s home, so Gosalyn’s spending the night at the Muddlefoots,’ Negaduck went on, his tone dull and indifferent. ‘Which means, it’s just you and me.

            It took Darkwing a moment to realise that Negaduck was talking about his own Launchpad and Gosalyn.

            ‘Right …’

            Not that he cared, nor was he remotely interested.

            He had learnt the hard way that the Negaverse was absolutely nothing to do with him and it was better left alone. It didn’t need him and he didn’t need to know anything about it.

            He didn’t want to know.

            He didn’t even know why he was there!

            All he wanted to do was go home, back to his own universe, and forget that the Negaverse, and all the people who lived there, ever existed.

            No exceptions.

            It wasn’t his business.

            He simply wasn’t interested.

            In any of it.

            Remotely.

            ‘How is Gosalyn?’ he asked, already cursing the words as they trailed freely from his beak.

            The corner of Negaduck’s beak twitched and his shoulders jerked slightly, but he didn’t laugh out loud.

            ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ he said, still smirking. ‘A lot happier than she was at that school.’

            ‘Good …’ Darkwing nodded, trying not to notice the little pleasant ache behind his ribs. ‘That’s good.’

            ‘Yeah, it is.’ Negaduck’s amusement faded, but his entire face softened with a genuine smile, which was strangely unsettling. ‘It’s good to have her home.’

            For a moment, Negaduck stared blankly at the soda can in his hand, then he sighed.

            ‘Anyway …’ He emptied the can in two gulps before his eyes met Darkwing’s. ‘How are you?’

            Darkwing flinched, thrown by such a simple question.

            ‘What?’

            ‘How are you?’ Negaduck repeated impatiently. ‘How are you?’

            ‘I’m …’ Darkwing stopped, suddenly alert again, convinced he was being drawn into some sort trap, tricked into revealing his deepest secrets. ‘I’m fine.’

            To his utter bewilderment, Negaduck burst out laughing.

            ‘No, you’re not.’ Negaduck shook his head. ‘You’re not fine, Drakey, and you’re not going to be fine for a while, yet.’

            Taken aback, Darkwing closed his beak with a snap. He suddenly felt incredibly small and exposed, cornered like a trapped rat.

            ‘I know you, Drakey,’ Negaduck continued. His eyes glinted, burning straight through Darkwing and reaching into all the darkest, hidden crevices of his mind, reading him. ‘You can lie to yourself and your stupid sidekick as much as you like, but not me.’

            ‘I’m not lying,’ Darkwing answered, finally remembering how to speak. ‘I’m fine.’

            Negaduck snorted.

            ‘Why are you standing over there, then?’ he asked. ‘Admit it, Drakey, the very sight of me makes you squirm, doesn’t it?’

            ‘Like that’s anything new.’ Darkwing glowered at Negaduck, then out of sheer pettiness, he shoved the portal‑device into his pocket, took three stomps up to the table and leaned down to Negaduck’s level. ‘Villains always make me squirm, Negaduck, but I’m not afraid of you.’

            ‘Good for you, Drakey –’

            ‘It’s Darkwing.’ Darkwing straightened up, placing both hands on his hips as he leered down at Negaduck with disgust. ‘I am Darkwing Duck.’

            Apparently unmoved, Negaduck raised an eyebrow.

            ‘I’ve heard it all before, Drakey,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

            Darkwing instantly began to correct him again, but immediately stopped, refusing to give Negaduck the satisfaction of rising to his bait.

            ‘You’re getting there, I’ll give you that,’ Negaduck went on placidly. ‘You’re actually doing better than I thought you would, but you’ve still got a bit of work to do.’ He took another can of soda and opened it. ‘You’ve just got to accept that these things take time, Drakey.’

            When Negaduck finally stopped talking, Darkwing could only stare at him, stung by the words he had heard far too often. Everyone had tried to tell him the same thing, over and over, again and again – the same infuriating, mind‑numbing, patronising words.

             These things take time.

            Hearing Negaduck say it, though, was similar to being hit on the head with a hammer. Darkwing couldn’t easily dismiss it or argue the matter because, not so very deep down, he knew that Negaduck was right.

            Everyone was right.

            They all kept giving him the same answer because there was just no other answer to give.

            These things take time.

            And that was all there was to it.

            ‘Yeah, well, I can still get back up,’ Darkwing said. ‘You haven’t beaten me yet.’

            ‘Oh, for …’ Negaduck groaned, massaging his eyes. ‘I’ve already beaten you, Drakey. I’ve already won this!’

            ‘In what way?’ Darkwing asked and slammed both hands on the table, seething. ‘I haven’t given up yet, Negaduck! It might take some time, but I’m going to –’

            ‘It’s supposed to take time!’

            Darkwing recoiled, raisin both hands in defence as Negaduck sprang onto the table, his eyes burning red.

            ‘That was the whole point, Drakey!’ Negaduck’s shoulders fell and he straightened his jacket out, but he continued to snarl at Darkwing. ‘You turned this place inside‑out and you put my little girl at risk. You think I could’ve just let you hobble away with a broken leg? Just give you a couple of weeks to recover before you were out on the streets again?’ He spat and hopped back down into his chair. ‘No, Drakey. I wanted you to struggle. I wanted you to suffer for as long as possible. I wanted you to remember what you did for a long, long time. I did exactly what I set out to do, which means I’ve won.’

            In an effort to stop himself shaking, Darkwing sat on a nearby chair before his legs gave way. His chest was tight and his vision was blurry.

            He threw his hat onto the table, irritated. Too agitated.

            ‘I was back on patrol months ago,’ he mumbled, furiously blinking his eyes into focus. ‘Remember when you needed my help?’

            ‘And I’m grateful, but that’s a completely different story, isn’t it?’ Negaduck shrugged and wagged a finger at Darkwing. ‘It doesn’t change what you did. Besides, if you’d kept your beak out in the first place, she would never have been taken away from me.’

            The ringing in Darkwing’s ears gradually began to subside and he could breathe a little better. He still wasn’t convinced his legs would hold him if he tried to stand.

            ‘Here.’ Negaduck picked up the can he had offered earlier and walked around the table to hand it directly to Darkwing. ‘Drink it.’

            He perched on the table, a little too close to Darkwing. Hands still trembling, Darkwing opened the can and, reluctantly took a cautious sip. The fizzy liquid caught in his throat and made his nostrils tingle, but he managed to push the impending sneeze back.

            ‘And you were still a mess back then,’ Negaduck muttered quietly, his words laced with triumph. ‘Don’t deny it.’

            Darkwing drank some more soda, grimacing, though he begrudgingly admitted that the sugar was probably helping him calm down.

            ‘I know what did was wrong,’ he said at last. ‘I know I made a mistake and I know how angry you were, but I don’t understand why you …’

            He trailed off, too sickened by the question to finish it.

            ‘You know why I did it,’ Negaduck snapped. ‘I’ve just told you why – I told you why from the very beginning – because of Gosalyn –’

            ‘Yes, I know …’ Darkwing rolled his eyes. ‘I know that.’

            ‘Then what?’ Negaduck frowned. ‘You’re asking why I practically crippled you instead of just poking you in the ribs? Or why I poisoned you?’ He leaned closer to Darkwing. ‘You’re asking why I fucked you?’

            ‘You …’ Darkwing was on his feet again before Negaduck could touch him and he made himself breathe. ‘You raped me.’

            ‘Yeah, and I’d do it all again if I had to, Drakey,’ Negaduck replied tonelessly.

            ‘Why, though?’

            Negaduck chuckled.

            ‘Because I had to crack that ego of yours.’ He stood up and inched closer to Darkwing, who immediately backed away. ‘I had to get right into your head and stay there,’ he hissed, his eyes flashing . ‘You’re far too resilient, that’s your problem.’ He placed both hands on the wall, trapping Darkwing between them. ‘You heal and you move on, but I couldn’t let you do that this time. Pulling your teeth out and making you sick is all good fun, but it’s what happens up here that really counts,’ he said, tapping two fingertips on the top of Darkwing’s head. ‘It’s the memories and the nightmares, it’s seeing my face instead of your own in the mirror, it’s seeing my Launchpad instead of –’

            Pushing Negaduck back, Darkwing dived to one side and snatched a chair, placing it in front of him. Without taking his eyes off Negaduck, he put his soda‑can on the table and grasped the back of the chair with both hands.

            ‘It’s accepting help when you need it,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘It’s trying to see past it all and keep going. It’s learning to stand on my own two feet and getting back up!’

            Letting go of the chair, Darkwing grabbed his hat and put it on. He straightened up, eyes narrowed.

            ‘It’s facing my fears and staying in control, no matter what.’

            Beak twisting into a cold sneer, Negaduck sniffed contemptuously and walked right up to Darkwing.

            Darkwing didn’t move, determinedly looking his old enemy in the eye. Negaduck leaned closer, so their beaks were almost touching.

            ‘It’s pretending you’re fine, when you’re not,’ Negaduck said and, after a full second, he stepped back.

            Darkwing slowly relaxed. He hadn’t noticed how tense he had been, how much he was aching.

            ‘Go on ‑ get going,’ Negaduck said. ‘Get back to your own universe and stay there.’

            ‘I’m going,’ Darkwing answered.

            He took the portal‑device from his pocket and pressed the button. The space in front of him was split open by the familiar green light.

            To his relief, Negaduck made no attempt to approach it.

            ‘Well …’ He lifted his hand in a small wave. ‘See you.’

            He stepped through the portal and immediately closed it behind him.

            He was standing in his own Tower, his own control‑room. Everything was neat and orderly, it smelt of polish and fresh coffee. The gentle glow of the approaching evening pressed against the windows.

            Weak with relief, marvelling at his own stupidity, he laughed out loud, but he didn’t care.

            He was home and he was safe.

*

Negaduck chuckled as the portal closed.

            ‘See you, Drakey,’ he said. ‘It’s been a pleasure, as always.’

            Shaking his head in despair, he dug in his pocket. He pulled out a small, round object adorned with various buttons. The device was identical to the one Darkwing had been clinging to, except it was shinier – newer.

            ‘Take your time, Drakey.’ He threw the device into the air and caught it. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’

Leaving the device on the table, he plodded back to the door and left.

*

Drake spun around as he heard a car pull into the driveway. Abandoning the breakfast dishes, he darted from the kitchen, through the living‑room and threw the front door open.

            Launchpad had just pulled his holdall out of the car, but he turned, his friendly, sweet‑natured face lighting up with a warm smile.

            ‘Hi, DW –’

            Drake flew at him, wrapping both arms around his neck and clung to him. He could smell the citrus shampoo Launchpad used on his hair, the spiced aftershave.

            ‘Hey …’ Launchpad gently pried Drake away from him. ‘What’s that about?’

            Drake shrugged, not sure why his eyes were starting to burn, or why he couldn’t stop his beak trembling.

            ‘I’m just glad to see you, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I mean really glad to see … to see you.’

            ‘Aw.’ Launchpad pulled Drake close again. ‘It’s good to be back.’

            Quickly drying his eyes, Drake pulled free.

            ‘Did you have a good time?’ he asked, picking up the holdall.

            ‘Yeah, it was fun,’ Launchpad answered, dragging his crumpled suit from the backseat. He closed the car and locked it. ‘How was your weekend? Did you get up to much?’

            ‘Oh, this and that,’ Drake shrugged, guiding Launchpad through the front door. ‘Gosalyn went out with the Muddlefoot’s, so it’s been fairly quiet really. I’ve enjoyed it.’

            ‘Yeah?’ Launchpad hung his suit up with the coats and jackets. ‘Maybe I should go away more often, then.’

            Drake laughed, but he didn’t bother to answer that.

            ‘I’ll make some coffee and you can tell me all about the wedding and everything,’ he said, heading into the kitchen.

            He turned the coffee‑machine on and turned to look at Launchpad.

            His Launchpad.

            His home.

            His universe.

            ‘Are you alright?’ Launchpad asked. ‘You seem a little …’ He trailed off, tilting his head on one side, contemplating.

            ‘I’m fine,’ Drake answered and smiled. ‘I am absolutely fine.’