Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Isabelle did not like looking for new jobs. Interviews alone were a special level of Anxiety Hell. But after everything that had happened to her over the past year, she needed a fresh start.

She’d been fortunate enough to get a temporary job with Tom Nook as his personal assistant, but it was only while the person who regularly filled that position was on sick leave for a corrective surgery. Apparently, Mr. Nook had insisted that the hardworking mouse actually take the chance to get it taken care of before it became a serious problem. But now said assistant had fully recovered, and Isabelle’s contract was up. In another act of his trademark kindness, Mr. Nook had put in a good word about her with one of his old associates.

It was only now, standing in front of a massive tower emblazoned with a dollar sign, that Isabelle realized who said associate was: Scrooge McDuck.

The pit in her stomach had widened from a pothole to a vast canyon. This was beyond anxiety now. It was full-fledged fear. Fear she hadn’t felt since-

- reaching grasping laughing teeth and claws -

-since a very painful memory. One that was now only a memory, and wouldn’t return to hurt her. She repeated this to herself several times. After the sixth or seventh, she started to believe it a little.

Slowly, Isabelle took a breath. A deep one. She straightened her back and the folder containing her CV. She tugged the skirt of her interview suit back into place. This suit had gotten her a job at City Hall. She adjusted her lucky belled headband and set her jaw. She could do this.

============
Whatever she had been expecting when she got to Scrooge McDuck’s office, it hadn’t been opening the door to find some kind of green projectile ricocheting off the walls. She had expected even less to find something flying at her face, but there it was. What was more concerning was the fact that neither of the other two people in the office seemed terribly bothered by this. One of them, an older duck, sat at his desk with an almost bored expression, top hat slightly askew, cane leaning against the chair. The other, a tall, somewhat gangly chicken, was concentrating on making notes in a rather battered-looking notepad. The projectile glinted malevolently - an accomplishment given the sedate office lighting - as it hurtled towards Isabelle. Almost entirely on reflex, she brought her folder up and swung.

With a noise like a ruler twanged against a desk, the projectile shot away, skipping sharply off the ceiling, the floor, the walls. It took out a stack of important-looking paperwork, then came back around for another try at Isabelle’s face. She raised her folder again.

“Don’t hit it!” shouted the tall one in an irritable voice. “It’ll just keep bouncing!”

It was too late to change course much, so Isabelle did the only thing she could think of. She opened the folder and slapped it shut on the green… whatever-it-was.

Everything stopped. The occupants of the office held their breath. After a moment passed, and no further chaos developed, they all let out a collective sigh.

“Well done lass,” said the duck at the desk. “Now, let’s-”

It was at that moment that the papers inside the folder realized they had just experienced a large amount of intense friction. Despite being embarrassingly late for their cue, they nonetheless burst into flame.

Isabelle yelped and dropped the folder. Before she could try stomping out the flames, someone else smothered them with a blast from a fire extinguisher.

“Right, thank ye, Gyro,” said Scrooge McDuck as the cloud of fire suppressant cleared. “I think that’s a very clear demonstration of how much more time y’ need for this ‘flying rubber’ project of yours.”

The lanky one, presumably Gyro, put the extinguisher aside and retrieved the smouldering remains. He stalked out, grumbling under his breath. Scrooge and Isabelle watched him go, the former unmoved, and the latter still somewhat in shock.

“Right then,” said Scrooge, making Isabelle jump a little. “And ye would be…?”

“Ah! I-Isabelle Shizue, Mr. McDuck, sir.” She coughed, hoping to suppress her nervous stutter. “I… had an interview at four?”

“Ah, right!” Scrooge leaned forward and adjusted his seat. “Nook’s recommendation. Good, good. Did y’ bring your CV? Work history? Qualifications?”

Sheepishly - at least as sheepishly as possible for a canine - Isabelle looked toward the door. They’d been printed so nicely, too.

“... right,” said Scrooge. “Well, given the circumstances, I’d say we can take a rain check on those.” He straightened his top hat almost absentmindedly, as if he’d forgotten the chaos from only moments before. “Nook told me ye were a good worker, detail-oriented. Plenty of nice things about what ye did at your City Hall and for him. What made y’ come looking at McDuck Enterprises?”

“Aheh, well, to be honest….” Isabelle took another breath to steady herself. Confidence. It was all about confidence. “Mostly it was because Mr. Nook offered to give me a referral. I usually work in the public sector, but he said you needed a personal assistant, and… I was looking for a change of pace.”

Scrooge nodded. “Not entirely what I expected to hear, but good enough. And honest. I appreciate honesty.”

“Oh, um… thank you.”

“Ye’ve seen what can happen around here,” he went on, nodding to the scorch marks on the carpet. “Think y’ can handle it?”

This one was easy. “At New Leaf City Hall, one of my coworkers had to use a typewriter because his computer kept exploding for some reason.” It was true. Raymond was legendary for his absolutely miserable luck in anything relating to technology. “I think I can make it work.”

Scrooge laughed. “Fair enough!” The interview continued on with many of the more standard questions. All of them were things Isabelle felt prepared for - a welcome relief after such an unusual beginning. She felt herself getting into a familiar flow. Then, Scrooge said, “Now, last question. Might be the most important. How are ye with adventure?”

Isabelle froze. There were a dozen ways to answer the question, but none of them seemed good, or even adequate. Especially given who she was talking to. She should have expected such a question, but now was not the time to criticize herself. That would be later, when she had time alone and preferably a pint of ice cream.

“I… suppose it depends on what, exactly, ‘adventure’ entails.”

Scrooge laid his hands out on his desk. “Let’s not beat around the bush. Y’ know my reputation, and my family’s. Y’ know what we get into. Ye haven’t sounded like one of those types who follow every scrap of news about someone, but it’s not like we try to keep the family business secret. This is a personal assistant job, meaning ye’d be with me an awful lot, and Nook wouldn’t have recommended ye if he thought y’ couldn’t handle it. But I want to hear it firsthand, from ye directly.”

Once again, Isabelle hesitated. She hoped it wouldn’t reflect poorly on her. Mr. Nook had known her history with danger, such as it was. He had every reason to, having been involved in resolving the trouble. “I… I don’t know how much Mr. Nook told you….”

“He said ye were more than qualified. Ye work hard, but more importantly, ye work smart, and ye don’t let anything get in your way when it comes to your job. He also said there’s a good reason ye need a new job, but it wasn’t his story to tell.” Seeing the anxious set of Isabelle’s jaw, the old duck’s expression softened. “Ye only have to share as much as feels comfortable,” he added.

Isabelle braced herself. Diving into these memories wouldn’t be fun. It never was. But she did owe him a decent and straightforward answer. He was a potential employer, after all. And a friend of Tom Nook. If he thought Scrooge McDuck was trustworthy, then he was trustworthy.

“I… got into some trouble by accident, a couple years ago,” she started. “Caught in an agreement without knowing I was agreeing to it. And, as a result, there was… trouble that wouldn’t go away.” She sighed. “I spent more than a year with it hanging over my head. This… constant threat of getting killed because of it. Or worse. Then, with some help from some, uh, unexpected friends, we got it to leave me alone. I’m pretty sure it won’t - and can’t - come back. I hated it, that entire time, to be honest.” She carefully left out how much she had hated herself as well. And, in some small way, she still did. “But I managed it.” She shrugged. “I’m still here, and everything.”

Scrooge, having listened to the brief tale, digested it in silence. Then, with a quick gesture, he grabbed his cane and hopped out of his chair. “Well, that’s good enough for me! Can ye start next week?”

Isabelle blinked. “I… what?”

“Don’t just stand there! You’re hired, lass.” Scrooge pulled a sheet of paper and quill pen from somewhere on his desk.

“... what?” Isabelle repeated in sheer disbelief.

“I said you’re hired! Now, about next week-”

“You’re giving me the job, just like that?”

“Aye, I’m not one to sit around hemming and hawing when a good clear choice is sitting right in front of me. Would never have made it past a few thousand dollars that way.” He signed the paper with a flourish and rolled it up.

“Uh.” Isabelle’s brain finally caught up. “N-next week? I… suppose I could, but I don’t have anywhere in Duckburg to stay, or anything, and it’s not exactly a good distance for a commute.”

Scrooge jammed the paper into a capsule and dropped it into an antique-looking pneumatic tube. It whooshed away to whatever destination it was meant for. “Not a problem. Ye got a job working for me personally, that’s nearly as good as cash in hand to landlords ‘round here. And if ye can’t find anything, we’ll charge a hotel and take it out of your paychecks a bit at a time.”

“Uh, can I… afford that?”

Scrooge smiled. “Take a look and tell me yourself, lass.” He pushed the employment contract across the desk to her, tapping the section regarding compensation. Isabelle looked at it, then looked again. She had to make a concentrated effort not to drop her jaw. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing that many zeroes on a pay stub. At least, not after another number.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” It didn’t feel real. Nothing did. She was convinced she was about to wake up, probably with a headache and a serious need for coffee.

“Well,” said Scrooge, starting to nudge her towards the door, “ye could start with ‘which way to sign all the paperwork?’ In which case, it’s back downstairs. The front desk. They’ll walk ye through it.”

Before she could be directed over the threshold, Isabelle had one final question: “Why?”

“Because, while he’s softer than a new chick’s feathers, Tom Nook is a good businessman and a better judge of character. And sharp. Almost as sharp as me.” Scrooge chuckled. “Now go on, I’ll meet ye downstairs and we can talk about the schedule.”

Isabelle let herself be pushed out and heard the door click closed behind her. She felt as though her life had suddenly become some kind of… windstorm, throwing her forward with no regard to logic, order, or her own safety. But it was still forward, wasn’t it? And she’d wanted a new start, hadn’t she? It was much more sudden than she’d planned, but it was inarguably new. And, worst case scenario, she could just quit. Everybody knew how wild things got when Scrooge McDuck was involved. There had been the incident with everyone’s shadows. And, later, people from the moon! Nobody would blame her for getting away from that kind of chaos. Certainly not as many as those who’d look at her like she’d sprouted a second head when she told them she’d actually pursued this job.

She could do this. Right?

Right.

Isabelle straightened her skirt again and marched to the elevator. She would do this. Nothing could stop her.

Chapter Text

After a long, long bus ride home, the first thing Isabelle did was make a call.

“Isabelle, my dear!” said the voice on the other end, after picking up. “How did the interview go?”

“It went well. Almost suspiciously well. But… thank you for the referral, Mr. Nook.”

Tom Nook laughed his trademark laugh. “Ho ho! Well, I’m just happy I can be of help. What’s the point of having connections if you can’t use them to assist someone in need?”

Isabelle paused. She already felt like she owed this man a lot, in terms of favors. But every time she had brought up some form of repayment, he would dismiss her concerns. He liked to be generous. This was admirable, of course, but Isabelle wasn’t the kind of person to accept favors without feeling the need for some form of reciprocity. None of this would make for good phone conversation though, so instead of saying it, she settled for “I suppose that’s true.”

“So, you got the job, then?” Tom Nook’s voice was as cheerful as ever.

“Yes, he wants me to start next week, but I-”

“Splendid! He did always have an eye for talent.”

“That’s… very flattering of you to say, Mr. Nook, but I can’t possibly find a new apartment and move into it in under a week.”

“Nonsense! I suspected he might make such a quick offer. He’s always been so eager to dive into things. So, I asked one of my friends in the city to hold an empty apartment until I heard back from you.”

“... you didn’t seriously-”

“It’s yours if you want it, my dear.” Coming from anyone else, “my dear” would be condescending, but Tom Nook said it like a loving grandfather.

“I… I can’t accept something like that!” Despite her best efforts to remain calm, Isabelle felt her voice pitching higher. She already owed him so much; she’d never be able to forgive herself for taking advantage of his kindness like this.

“It wouldn’t be for free, of course,” Tom Nook continued. “I know how uncomfortable that would make you. But the rent is reasonable, and Mr. von Gänsefeder hasn’t had a resident make a complaint in thirty years. He loves the building, and it shows.”

“This… this is too much. I can’t accept this, Mr. Nook.” Now she was fighting back tears. “I don’t deserve this level of kindness.”

Tom Nook lowered his voice. “If anyone can be said to deserve something,” he said soothingly, “you do. I think the least the world can do is show you a little kindness after you were thrown into that tangled mess. And by accident, no less.”

The silence hung heavy over the line as both of them considered just how tangled the mess in question had been. Even now, Isabelle still sometimes had nightmares of the monster coming after her, teeth gleaming, eager to collect a debt - a debt she hadn’t even wanted.

Finally, Tom Nook spoke up. “Apropos of that, have you heard from your new friend?”

“Juste? I- no, I haven’t. Not yet.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry to hear that. He deserves some kind of repayment for his help.” Another pause, this time more thoughtful. “And… your lady friend?”

Isabelle coughed awkwardly. “I, um. I haven’t told her about the new job yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I think so too, it’s just… you know. I’ll… I’ll do it after I’m talking to you.”

There was another awkward silence. This time, it was Isabelle who broke it.

“... thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“I told you, I’m happy to help, my dear. Shall I talk to Mr. von Gänsefeder?”

“If… if it’s not too much trouble.” It still felt a little like betraying her own principles, but he’d been right about using connections. And he wasn’t gifting her the entire thing. He’d just… greased the wheels a little.

“It’s no trouble at all. I think he’ll be glad to have someone like you in the building, truth be told. You’ll be doing him a favor.”

“If you say so,” said Isabelle, who wondered what that could possibly mean.

“Take care of yourself, Miss Shizue,” said Tom Nook. “And have a lovely evening.”

“You too, Mr. Nook.”

After hanging up, Isabelle’s thumb hovered over the button for her contacts. She had to hope the next conversation would go well. Her relationship depended on it.

Chapter Text

A week later, Isabelle found herself in the battered McDuck limousine, invited to meet the entire family, as it came to a halt outside the manor. Scrooge had told her that she’d need to know all of them. It had made sense at the time. Now, however, Isabelle regretted waking up that morning.

There was a brief silence, then one of the doors fell open. A small plume of smoke belched out from under the hood. Shakily, Isabelle climbed out. She had a faraway look in her eyes - the familiar thousand-yard stare of someone exposed to Launchpad’s driving for the first time. She fought the urge to collapse to her knees. Panic attacks in front of a new employer were crass. She also bit back the urge to scream profanities. Those were reserved for after three weeks of employment.

Scrooge, on the other hand, strolled up to the door casually and let himself in. A loud crash echoed from somewhere in the manor. Scrooge did not seem concerned about this in the least. Seeing Isabelle’s bewildered look, he shrugged. “Didn’t sound like anything valuable breaking. A chair, at most.” There was a clatter and another crash. “... now that sounded like a teacup. Waddlesworth, most likely, from the noise it made,” he groaned. “Better go see what the damage is.”

“But-” Isabelle started.

“Ah, don’t worry about the car. Launchpad will park it.”

Isabelle suddenly did not want to be near the car. Anywhere near it. Inside seemed like the safest place to be. Deep, deep inside. She scuttled after Scrooge, mentally thanking her past self for choosing to wear sensible flats today.

Once inside, she and her employer were approached by a duck who, in Isabelle’s estimation, must have been hewn from solid rock. The woman was tall and broad, extremely fit despite her grey hair (which was primly tied up in a bun), and had eyes like a thundercloud. This was a stark contrast to the frilly apron she wore. When she spoke, it was in a clipped British accent, her tone one of pure professionalism.

“Mr. McDuck,” she said, “I’m sorry to say the children have- ah, who is this?”

“Ah, Beakley! This is Isabelle. She’ll be my new personal assistant, starting today. Isabelle, meet Mrs. Bentina Beakley, my housekeeper.”

“A pleasure,” Mrs. Beakley said, shaking Isabelle’s hand in a grip like a blacksmith’s tongs - somewhat warm despite the distance and quite strong.

As she did her best to return the handshake, Isabelle gave Mrs. Beakley an appraising look. Or, at least, she hoped it was an appraising look. It was like trying to get a read on a glacier. Between her attire and bearing, Mrs. Beakley gave the impression that she was, in most if not all things, calm, alert, and sensible. Her shoes alone were sensible enough to command armies. Taking this into account, Isabelle concluded that although the wall of a woman very well could break her in half, she wouldn’t do so without a very good reason.

This really didn’t make her any less intimidating.

“L-likewise,” Isabelle stammered, hoping her visible nerves were at least endearing. Mrs. Beakley gave no indication if this was true, as she immediately turned back to Scrooge.

“Unfortunately, one of the children found Count La Bête’s Dancing Teacups. Now they’re staging a revolution.”

“Let me guess,” said Scrooge. “Louie?”

“Louie.”

“Tried sellin’ them to someone then lettin’ them dance back home?”

“So it seems.”

Scrooge sighed. “Lad seems to need another reminder about schemes. Well, let’s go take care of it.” Confused, Isabelle followed them inside. As if he sensed her question, Scrooge muttered over his shoulder, “Archaeologist I got them from tried the same scheme. Worked about as well for him as it did here. Rescued him from a guillotine made of soup spoons.”

“Soup spoons?” Isabelle asked, incredulous.

“Aye. They’d already used the knives to make his prison cell.” A very large number of questions sprang to Isabelle’s mind, but she wasn’t sure she wanted any of them answered.

They arrived in the dining room to a scene of chaos. Four ducklings - barely teenagers by the look of them - were occupied with various pressing tasks in the realm of self-defense. As for what they were defending themselves from, it appeared to be teacups. Hopping, clattering teacups. One of the ducklings, wearing a green hoodie, was tied down to the dining table in a scene reminiscent of Gulliver’s Travels. Another, wearing red, was hiding behind a stack of fallen chairs and frantically flipping through a book. The remaining two, a boy in blue and a girl with a pink bow, were using butter knives to fend off a large platoon of teacups armed with dessert forks.

“Hey, Huey! Any time with the ‘how to escape knots tied by animate objects’ tips!” shouted the one in green.

“I’m trying! I’m trying! The JWG doesn’t have it listed under ropework OR escape artistry!” Huey flipped pages faster as he said it, growing more frantic.

“Don’t worry, guys!” said the one in blue. “Soon as Webby and I fight off these things, we can totally Dewey the original rescue plan!”

“It was your stupid plan that got us here in the first place!” objected the one in green. “You kicked the one I was conning- I mean negotiating with!”

“... okay, fair,” Dewey admitted as he parried another fork thrust. “But I wouldn’t have needed to kick it if you hadn’t tried selling them as Louie, Inc. Tea Buddies.”

It was at this moment that Scrooge put his fingers in his beak and blew a short, sharp note. Everything stopped, even the enraged drinkware. A small clatter signaled that many of the teacups dropped their weapons.

“All right, ye ceramic miscreants,” Scrooge said, “who’s responsible for all this mess?”

The teacups appeared to look at each other. They emitted small squeaking noises, like running a finger over a clean dish, apparently arguing over who to blame. Dewey and Webby, meanwhile, pointed at Louie.

“Sellin’ them and lettin’ them hop back?” Scrooge asked, tiredly.

“I was cutting them in on the deal!” Louie protested. “We were negotiating their terms when Dewey swung in and kicked one of them into the wall!”

“Okay, maybe I did do that,” said Dewey, “but they had Louie surrounded! How was I supposed to know they weren’t attacking him?”

“I don’t know, maybe, just a suggestion here… DON’T assume I’m getting in trouble?” Louie huffed as he tried to wriggle an arm free.

“It’s you, though,” Dewey retorted.

“AHA!” Huey’s voice broke through the brewing argument. “I found a way to make them stop! It was under….” He trailed off as he realized how late he was.

Scrooge sighed. “Right then,” he said. “You kids get Louie free and grab the Gyro-tastic Super-fix Glue, get that broken cup put back together. Teacups, back to the cupboard.” A large amount of squeaking arose in protest. Scrooge looked taken aback. “The blazes do they want?”

“Part of the deal-” Louie grunted as he struggled with his bindings “-was that they’d get to come out and serve tea more.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Also, they’re tired of just nutmeg tea.”

“Well, I’m not changing my buying habits,” Scrooge huffed, to more squeaks of protest.

“Uh, I… buy plenty of different kinds,” Isabelle heard herself say. All attention turned to her. She found that when a small army of teacups is suddenly paying close attention to you, it was a unique kind of unnerving. “I could… bring some… in?”

There was an inquisitive squeak from somewhere in the crowd. Isabelle looked awkwardly around for a translation.

“They want to know what kinds,” Louie explained as Webby and Dewey pulled him free.

“Uh… chamomile?” This seemed to be met with squeaks of approval. “And blackberry?” More approval, and it was more enthusiastic. “I also got this green tea blend from a friend with peach blossom-” This was drowned out by a wave of squeaky cheers.

“Sounds like an agreement to me,” said Scrooge. The cups began filtering back into the kitchen, apparently appeased. “Barely even started and you’ve already been a help! Knew I had a good feeling about you, lass.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” said Huey suddenly from right behind Isabelle. She jumped and shouted.

“Son of a-” she caught herself. Swearing in front of her employer (before three weeks were up), and children no less, would not be professional. “-big angry dog!” Her heart had tried to jump out of her chest, and she fought the urge to try and thump it back into place.

“Ah, almost forgot. Introductions!” Scrooge said brightly. “Lads, Webby, this is Isabelle. She’s my new personal assistant. Isabelle, meet Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webbigails, me great-nephews and -niece.”

The triplets waved as best they could, given Louie’s predicament, and Webby bounced up with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever.

“Hi! I’m Webby! And you’ve met my granny,” she said, indicating Mrs. Beakley.

“Uh, hi,” Isabelle replied, shaking the proffered hand and finding Webby’s grip to be abnormally strong.

“No offense, Uncle Scrooge,” said Dewey, “but why is your new personal assistant here?”

“She started today, and the movers are still getting her things unpacked, so I thought she’d best get introduced to everyone. And give her a tour of the house. Get her used to things. She’s moved here from New Leaf City,” Scrooge added.

“Cool, cool,” said Louie. Assisted by Dewey and Webby, he finally popped free of the trap and was hauled upright as he dusted himself off. “So does that mean we get to boss her around too, or…?”

Scrooge narrowed his eyes. “She’s my employee, not yours.”

Louie shrugged. “Okay, just checking.”

“When you have some time,” Huey interrupted, “I have some questions about New Leaf that I’d love to have answered by someone who’s lived there.”

Before Isabelle could muster an answer, Scrooge ushered Huey back away. “Time enough for that later, lad. First thing’s first, get that magical teacup fixed. Beakley, would you…?”

“I’ll make sure they get it done,” Mrs. Beakley sighed.

“Excellent, thank you, Beakley.”

There was another loud noise as something outside hit a wall. Isabelle jumped again. “Shhhhhheep cheese and crackers! What was that?”

Scrooge waved dismissively. “Launchpad parking the limo.” Nobody else seemed concerned.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Isabelle muttered under her breath.

“Onward!” cried Scrooge, evidently excited to continue the tour. “Out through this door, I’ll introduce ye to Donald and Della.” Isabelle found herself shepherded to an outdoor pool, and stopped dead in her tracks.

“I’m sorry, is that… is that a houseboat?”

“Aye,” Scrooge groaned. “Donald insisted on having it moved here.”

Isabelle’s mind flooded with questions once again, none of which she was sure she wanted an answer to. Her struggle to decide which to ask first was interrupted by a cacophony from inside the boat - a metallic rattling, then rumbling, then a sound like the lid being blown off a pressure cooker. She clapped a hand over her mouth, as at this point it was the only way she had to keep from swearing at how loud and sudden it had been.

A shout came from behind them. “I got it, I got it!” Another duck ran past, her arms full of fire extinguishers. She scampered up the boarding ramp, then proceeded down below deck and out of sight. There was an invisible commotion, which quickly evolved into a fracas.

Listening to the concerning sounds from within, Isabelle spoke up. “Should we maybe help them? I feel li- AAAAAGH!” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as with another bang, someone crashed through the side of the boat, skipped off the water, and skidded to a halt in the grass nearby.

The dazed duck forced himself up and muttered something incomprehensible. Then he collapsed again. Isabelle looked to Scrooge with concern.

“He’ll walk it off,” said Scrooge.

The other duck from earlier came down the ramp, minus extinguishers, dusting herself off. “Ugh, sorry, I tried to get there in time, but the pressure cooker was already- oh, hi!” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Della! The triplets’ mom. You must be the new assistant Uncle Scrooge hired.”

“Ah, yes.” Isabelle took the offered hand. “Isabelle. Um. Is he…?” She looked over to the collapsed duck. Now that she got a proper look at him, something seemed vaguely familiar, under the damage he’d suffered.

“Oh, he’s fine. That’s my brother, Donald. He deals with stuff like this all the time.”

Isabelle did not find this encouraging. Donald muttered something from his place on the ground.

“Are you… sure he’s okay? He sounds like he got hit in the head, with how he’s talking….”

“That’s just how he talks normally. Always has!” Della knelt down to pat him on the slightly-singed shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

There was another crash from somewhere in the distance, causing Isabelle to jump with a barely-muffled shout. Della chuckled. “High-strung, aren’t you?”

“I’m beginning to think I may not be high-strung enough,” Isabelle muttered. “New Leaf City during rush hour was a Zen garden in comparison.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me-” said Huey from behind her.

Isabelle shrieked. “MOTHERFU-”

Chapter Text

“-and furthermore,” Della continued angrily, “you shouldn’t be teaching my kids swear words!”

The lecture had been what felt like a solid ten minutes, during which neither Scrooge nor Isabelle had been able to get a word in edgewise. Nevertheless, Isabelle raised a hand again to try and start offering both an apology and an explanation, but Della had no intention of stopping.

“I’m their MOM, for Pete’s sake! How could you think it was appropriate to drop that kind of bomb in front of Huey while I was standing right there?”

Isabelle went to try once more, but Scrooge put a hand on her arm. Della had to be almost done.

“Teaching my kids to swear is MY job!”

Scrooge rolled his eyes and took Della by the shoulder, leading her away. “The lass is deeply sorry, Della, and it’s been a high-stress day for her. Cut her a little slack, perhaps?”

The two of them wandered off, Della grumbling the whole time.

Huey sighed. “It’s okay,” he said dejectedly. “I’ve been on the Internet. I know what swear words are.”

“That does make me feel a tiny bit better,” Isabelle said.

“And it could be worse,” Huey continued. “You weren’t here for when she tried to give us ‘The Talk.’” He added his own finger quotes for emphasis and rolled his eyes.

Isabelle looked at Della’s retreating back, then to Huey. After a moment to contemplate the possibilities, she could only manage “... I’m so sorry.”

Huey shuddered. “There were hand puppets.”

Isabelle decided not to press further for the sake of her own sanity. Instead, she chose to be gracious and change the subject. “So, you, um… you had some questions for me?”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Huey said, scratching the back of his head. “I was wondering if you could tell me about how some things went for people outside of Duckburg.”

“Things?”

“Well, to start, there’s the Shadow War,” Huey continued, pulling a notebook out from under his hat.

Isabelle gave him a blank look.

“The incident where everyone’s shadows came to life?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, that… that happened.” She sighed. “I’d been trying to forget, honestly.”

Undaunted, Huey readied his pencil. “How did the New Leaf City authorities respond? Did they keep things calm?”

Isabelle thought back to that day. She’d been at City Hall, cutting her way through paperwork with her usual efficiency, when all of a sudden the sky had darkened. Everyone panicked. Traffic outside ground to a halt. And then things had gotten… weird. And very awkward, when her own shadow came to life and flew away. On its way out, it had flipped her skirt up, shoved Raymond’s face into his kale smoothie, and flashed the double bird to everyone else. They had all sat there in stunned silence until everything returned to normal a few hours later. The entire city went back to business, pretending that nothing had happened.

“... sure. Calm. You could put it that way.”

“And what about during the Moonvasion?”

Isabelle’s memory flashed back to her, locked in a supply closet with three other people, having fled there after she’d seen an alien approach with a ray gun. She’d shrieked, thrown her shoe at the alien, and bolted. Sheepishly, she explained to Huey why she’d missed out on seeing the official response.

“... did you at least get your shoe back?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Isabelle’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “Um… I need to take this, sorry.” She wasn’t that sorry.

As she stepped away to take the call, Huey caught bits of her end of the conversation. “Yes? I- what? You- okay, I understand. No, no, lock the door. I have my key. I can finish the rest, you’ve already done so much. Yes, of course. Thank you.”

She hung up and turned back to Huey. “Sorry,” she said again. “The movers. Family emergency, they had to cut things short, but they at least got all my things moved in. I should probably be going home soon, so I can finish unpacking everything.”

“Nonsense, lass,” said Scrooge, returning from wherever he’d taken Della. “We still need to give ye a tour of the Money Bin and go over the schedule for tomorrow.”

“Oh, good grief,” Isabelle muttered, exasperated with herself. “I’m so sorry, I’d almost completely forgotten.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Part of the reason I wanted to introduce ye to everyone is because they all need to get their security passes updated anyway. Come along, we’ll stop for lunch on the way.”

It took a small amount of time and several detours to get the family gathered together again. The children had finished cleaning up, and the teacups were back snugly in their cupboard. Mrs. Beakley was dropping the remains of the broken chair off in a nearby trash bin. There was a stack of mail by the door that had been left unsorted, but Scrooge seemed unconcerned. “I’ll take care of it later,” he said. “Duckworth will sort out the important ones for me.”

“Duckworth?” Isabelle asked.

“He’s our ghost butler!” said Webby casually, as she hopped into the limousine.

“Oh.” Isabelle blinked. “... wait. Ghost butler?”

==========

Lunch consisted of a brief stop at Launchpad’s favorite burrito stand, which everyone paid for out of their own pocket. Scrooge did not believe in treating people to lunch, it seemed. After a brief struggle with the menu, Isabelle managed to find something to satisfy her dietary requirements.

“What does ‘pescetarian’ mean, anyway?” Dewey had asked after wolfing down four tacos with various fillings.

“It means she doesn’t eat meat, but still eats fish and dairy,” Huey explained before Isabelle could say anything. He was finishing a chicken quesadilla.

“Huh. Seems kinda boring,” said Louie, in between bites of steak burrito.

“Been that way all my life,” said Isabelle with a shrug. “Family tradition.” She had gotten a burrito with double the refried beans instead of any meat.

“Ooh! Tell us about your family!” Webby grinned at Isabelle. “Are they super-spies? Ghost hunters? Archaeologists?”

“Um… no, nothing like that. It’s just me, my parents, and my brother, Digby. Mom and Dad are both retired now. She was a teacher and he was a museum director. Digby is an ‘Interior Design Expert-’” Isabelle made airquotes as best she could holding a burrito “- at the Happy Home Association. Basically people pay him to come in and tell them how badly their furniture is arranged.”

Louie chuckled. “Sounds like fun. Usually I tell people they’re wrong for free; maybe I should start charging.”

Isabelle laughed at that. “Maybe! But otherwise there was only my grandmother. Gramma Shizue passed away when I was 13.”

Donald quacked something Isabelle didn’t quite understand, but he gently and respectfully laid a hand on hers. The message from that gesture was clear enough, at least.

“It’s okay,” she continued. “I miss her sometimes, but she told me she’d always look out for me. One way or another.”

“I totally get it,” said Della. “I got shipwrecked once. Almost didn’t make it back.” She rapped her knuckles on her prosthetic. “But I hung in there because of my boys, and even if I hadn’t been able to, I’d have found some way to keep an eye on them.”

“That does sound like you. The keeping an eye on them part, I mean.” After a brief and awkward pause, Isabelle forged ahead. “Um. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Got stuck on the moon for ten years.”

Isabelle choked on her burrito.

==========

The process to get security clearance was involved, but Isabelle could understand why. Everyone knew the Money Bin was where Scrooge kept the treasures and trophies from his exploits. It was also the corporate office of McDuck Enterprises, and where prototypes were developed and contracts were kept. According to rumor, there was also a secret undersea laboratory for his most, erm, eccentric R&D specialists. Security would have to be tight. Combining that with the long bridge that was the only convenient way onto the island the Bin was built on, Isabelle noted that she’d have to tip extra heavily for any lunch she had delivered.

While she waited for her security pass to be printed, biometrics to be logged in the computers, password to be quadruple-checked for vulnerabilities, and voiceprint to be archived, she checked her phone once again. The text message she’d gotten today reflected on how well her conversation last week had gone.

It practically glowed on her screen. “Excited for you, babe! Call me after you get home, I’m in the city for work and in the mood to celebrate~”

Isabelle smiled. The words were some of the most reassuring she’d ever received in her life. She hadn’t needed to be nervous. Not that knowing that would have stopped her. It never had before. Pattern recognition suggested that it wouldn’t in the future.

“Good news?” someone asked. Isabelle looked up to find Launchpad taking a seat next to her.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Isabelle brushed a bit of her hair out of her face. “I was worried that a certain someone would be upset that I was getting a new job and moving. But she wasn’t, and she’s even really happy for me!”

“That’s great!” Launchpad gave her a beaming smile. “Sounds like you’re really lucky.”

“I guess I am.” Isabelle felt her cheeks flush a little just thinking about it.

“First you have someone you really care about, then you get that good news, and now you’re all set up working for Mr. McD! He’s the best employer I’ve ever had.”

Isabelle wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“He’s also the only employer I’ve ever had,” Launchpad continued.

Now that, she could believe.

“... uh, I think he is, anyway.”

Isabelle still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Launchpad, if she was being honest with herself. On the one hand, he was friendly and kind, and had apparently saved the day for the family more than once. On the other, she wouldn’t trust him to ride a bicycle without causing a major traffic accident. She might also have been traumatized by this morning’s unfiltered exposure to his driving. If she’d had a third hand, she’d have used it to consider his utter lack of malice. She’d heard about people who didn’t have a mean bone in their body, but for Launchpad, it might actually be true.

“... well, if you’re sure,” she said.

“Yeah, I am.” Launchpad stopped. “Wait. Am I?” He stared off into space for a moment, contemplating the question. Apparently.

Before he could come to a conclusion - which might have taken a while regardless - Webby and the triplets walked up, done with their own part of the process. Isabelle gave them a wave of acknowledgement as they sat down on a bench of their own.

“Uncle Scrooge is always so… thorough,” remarked Huey.

“It’s money. It’s his money.” Louie shrugged. “And, y’know, my- I mean our money, eventually.”

“Assuming he ever dies,” Dewey said. “I’m not sure he can.”

“If anyone can beat up the Grim Reaper, it’d be Uncle Scrooge!” Webby said this with an almost disturbing relish, as if she had reserved front-row tickets for such an event.

“And until then, it’s adventures and treasure hunting and running and screaming and almost dying for the rest of us,” said Louie, scrolling through something on his phone. Isabelle did not find herself thrilled with the blasè tone of his voice.

“Is that… really what it’s always like?” she heard herself asking.

“If by that, you mean ‘is it always totally awesome,’ then yeah,” said Dewey. “Fighting sky pirates, getting thrown around the time-space continuum, that one time a genie put us all in a sitcom….”

“It actually happened,” said Huey, cutting off Isabelle’s immediate question.

“Honestly,” she said, “it still sounds like all of you are pulling some kind of prank on me. If it weren’t for the teacups earlier, I don’t think I’d believe any of it.”

“Yeah, the kids at school say the same thing,” said Huey.

“Psh, school.” Webby kicked her feet to demonstrate how little she cared about the subject. “Who needs school when you have an awesome family like ours?”

“It’s nice to feel kinda normal sometimes,” said Louie. “Or at least move among people you can feel like you’re better than.” He stopped and winced at something on the screen. “Aw, come on! The Beagle Boys again?”

Isabelle had heard the name in passing once or twice, but she tried not to pay attention to crime news. Or bad news in general, which the Beagle Boys certainly seemed to be. It was the last word in particular that was bothering her. “Again?”

“Yeah, they tried something last week, total publicity stunt.” Louie waved dismissively. “Forget fifteen minutes, it would’ve gotten them five minutes of fame at best. Maybe a meme or two.”

“Rights, because social media buzz is clearly their primary goal,” Huey said acidly.

“Maybe if it was, they wouldn’t be stuck doing small-time stuff like this!” Louie pulled up the live broadcast on his phone for everyone to see.

A local newscaster that Isabelle couldn’t remember the name of was reporting something in front of live footage. “We’re seeing what appears to be a burglary in progress in Duckburg’s Northtown area -”

Isabelle’s eyes widened. “That’s my neighborhood,” she muttered.

“- at the corner of Young Street and Taylor Boulevard -”

Her mouth went dry. “That’s my street.”

“ - where we are now witnessing one of the infamous Beagle Boys making an escape from the top floor -”

Isabelle snatched the phone from Louie’s grip and paused the stream. The frozen image showed one of the Beagle Boys leaping down from a sixth-story window, aiming himself squarely at a very large trampoline held by two others below. In his hands, he held a neatly packed box. On the box, barely visible in the video, were words written in professional black ink: “Shizue, Apt. 605, Collectibles.”

Isabelle screamed. “THAT’S MY STUFF!”

Chapter Text

In retrospect, the fact that those present had rallied around Isabelle was a little surprising to her. But upon seeing her distress, they had piled back into the limo without any complaint. They all wanted to help.

Well, Louie was probably hoping for a cash reward, but the rest of them seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being. More or less.

Launchpad had taken off down the road, heedless of concepts such as “speed limits” and “oncoming traffic.” Isabelle knew, cognitively, she should have been scared by this. But emotionally, she was too angry to feel much else.

The limo made a turn, and confusion broke through the anger. “Um, isn’t Northtown the other way?”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to Northtown,” said Dewey. “Knowing the Beagle Boys, they’re already gone. There’s a junkyard they use as their hideout -”

“- so we’re going to cut them off!” Webby concluded, with entirely too much enthusiasm. “So! What kind of training do you have?”

“Training?” Isabelle asked blankly.

“Yeah, training! Uncle Scrooge hired you, so you must be like… a former spy or something, right?”

Isabelle shook her head.

“Black belt in Jeet Kune Do?” asked Huey.

“Nope.”

“Secret superpowers?” asked Dewey.

“I don’t think so.”

“Ancient amulet with a ghost locked inside that can do your bidding?” asked Louie.

“I wish.”

Webby thought for a moment. “Baseball skills? Lacrosse maybe?”

“I… played volleyball in high school?”

“Hwoo boy. You are seriously underprepared for an adventure,” said Louie, dryly.

“That’s okay,” said Webby, handing Isabelle something blocky, pink, and bedazzled. “This should help out plenty!”

Isabelle looked at it. “Is… is this a taser?”

“His name is Sir Zaps-a-lot!” Webby insisted. “But yes.”

“You always have a taser, just… on hand?”

“My granny says it’s always good to be prepared.”

Isabelle opened her mouth, then decided she didn’t really want answers to any of her questions. Fortunately, she didn’t need to ask any about the taser itself; she’d learned to use one already. Press button, jab sparky bits into bad guy. Screaming technically optional, but helpful.

“So what was in the box they stole, anyway?” Dewey asked. “Family heirlooms?”

“Nothing that fancy, just… things I’m attached to.” Isabelle sighed. Of course they’d grabbed her collectibles box. She could live without her nice dishes or some of her better outfits, but that box had some of the things she’d worked the hardest for.

“So, what, souvenir t-shirts?” Louie said it dismissively, but Isabelle could still pick up on a faint note of sympathy.

“... something like that,” Isabelle muttered. “Doesn’t really matter, I just want it all back, safe and sound.”

“Well, I think you’ll get the chance,” said Launchpad as the limousine slowed down. “We’re here.”

With a clunk, a crunch, and a shudder, the limo came to ahalt, helpfully making itself a parking space by pushing up against a large pile of cinderblocks. Isabelle tried to ignore the damage as she hopped out of the car, holding Sir Zaps-a-lot at the ready. She swiveled around, arms out with the taser like it was a gun and aiming it at anything suspicious. Fortunately, no Beagle Boys jumped out from behind the piles of refuse outside the junkyard gate. She and the others, with the area secure, crept up to it - it had been left unlocked.

“Okay,” said Huey, pulling out a notebook from under his hat. “I have a plan.”

Isabelle and the rest of the kids gathered around Huey as he sketched a rough map. “Dewey and Webby split off and go around this way,” he explained, adding an arrow that looped around to the opposite side of the yard from where they stood. “They’ll cause a distraction, and while the Beagle Boys are busy, Louie, Isabelle, and I will sneak in and get her box back. Launchpad can get the limo ready to leave while we do that.”

“Or,” said Dewey, “we could just charge in first, right now, and let you guys go in after us.”

“What? No! The gate’s the fastest way in and out, so we still have to use it ourselves! If you and Webby go in that way too, they’ll already know to look for us here!”

Dewey flipped his feathery cowlick back in a display of what he probably thought was devil-may-care attitude. Instead, it just looked kind of odd. “Yeah, which is why they won’t expect you to be going in that way.”

“Yes they will! That’s what I just said-”

“Too late, time’s up. Let’s Dewey this!” With that, Dewey hauled the gate open. He charged off into the junkyard, shouting some kind of battle cry which may have just been his own name, at the top of his lungs. Webby just looked at the group, shrugged, and followed him at speed.

“Oh for crap’s sake!” Huey snapped, running after them. “Stick to the plan, guys! Stick to the plan!”

Louie and Isabelle looked at one another, raised an eyebrow each, and followed as well. Isabelle felt like she was chasing a newbie party member into a dungeon. She hoped there wouldn’t be any dragons.

Despite the general level of mess, the pathways between the junk piles were fairly clear, at least. Huey, realizing that he wouldn't catch up to Webby and his impulsive brother, slowed his pace. He crept along, slightly ahead of Isabelle and Louie, scouting ahead and making sure that nothing was waiting around a corner.

“So who are the Beagle Boys, exactly?” Isabelle asked. “I only ever hear about them in passing.”

“Five bucks and I’ll tell you everything,” said Louie.

Isabelle fixed him with a glare that communicated precisely how much crap she was willing to take from the rest of today.

“Gah! Okay, okay, I was joking!” Louie put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Geez. Okay, so, the Beagle Boys. They’re a whole family of criminals who all report to Ma Beagle. There’s, like, a million different teams.” He began listing them off with his fingers. “The Sixth Avenue Meanies, the Deja Vus, the Tumblebums (don’t ask), the Sixth Avenue Friendlies, the Longboard Taquitos - but about 98% of the time, we deal with the Original Classics. Big Time, Burger, and Bouncer.”

“I can see that Ma got creative with the names,” Isabelle remarked.

“Easy to tell them apart, too,” Louie continued. “Big Time’s the short one, Burger’s skinny, and Bouncer-”

“-is tiny?”

“Oh, no no no no nooooo. He’s huge. Makes Launchpad look like a stickman.”

“Crap,” said Isabelle. “I mean, um-”

“Relax.” Louie shrugged genially. “When Mom, Uncle Donald, and Mrs. Beakley aren’t around, we don’t care about ‘harsh language.’ We have the internet.”

“Right. Huey did say something about that.”

“Did he tell you about the hand puppets?” Louie grimaced at the memory.

“Uh… we were talking about the Beagle Boys?”

“Right, right. So yeah, there’s probably just the three of them.”

Huey, having finished scouting to his satisfaction, came back and fell into step with them. “Burger and Bouncer aren’t really that bad,” he said. “They just… well, it’s Big Time. He’s….”

“Huey, you can just say it: he’s a prick.”

“Louie!” Huye looked aghast.

“Do you see Mom anywhere?”

“... point. Okay, yeah, he’s a prick.”

Isabelle stifled a giggle. This was just as well, since suddenly they could hear Dewey shouting up ahead.

“Okay,” said Huey, shifting his focus, “stay low and follow me. I think if we can somehow get your box without them noticing, we can make it out without being chased.”

“That sounds good to me,” said Isabelle, who considered a week without being chased by something to be a good week. Maybe if they were lucky, they’d be able to make it back before it was time to clock out, and she could at least pretend that the day had only been somewhat weird.

Gingerly, the three of them peeked around a junk pile into a clearing of sorts. The tableau that greeted them was as chaotic as expected. To start, the thinnest Beagle Boy - Burger, Isabelle remembered - had somehow already gotten a tire shoved down over his head and was rolling on the ground past his brothers at a sedate pace, effectively taken out of the fight. Dewey was engaged with one who was almost hilariously short, no taller than Dewey himself - he must have been Big Time. This left Webby to face off against Bouncer, who Isabelle estimated was the size and weight of a refrigerator. And not a cheap one. He looked like he could bench press a bus. Webby was currently wielding a trash can lid like a shield, skillfully deflecting Bouncer’s massive hands every time they came near here. But where was the stolen box? Where was Isabelle’s collection of precious-

-there it was! It sat alone, already cut open, on a roughed-up picnic table. Clearly someone had already been going through it. Isabelle felt her blood begin to boil at the thought of her treasures being manhandled by these… these thieves. These villains! Gritting her teeth, she tamped down on those thoughts. Anger wouldn’t help her stay quiet and unnoticed. She needed a way to get to it and get out….

“Any ideas?” she asked the boys.

“Well, I was hoping that Dewey and Webby would lead them off,” grumbled Huey. “But that’s not happening now.”

“Be nice if we could get closer,” said Louie.

“The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook says you should use surroundings, but all we have is, well….” Huey gestured at the surroundings.

Isabelle looked it over. Discarded car parts, old washing machines, empty boxes and crates, opened oil drums, broken bookshelves…

… wait.

Isabelle spoke up. “I might have an idea. I saw this in a game once….”

Moments later, a large cardboard box seemed to shuffle cautiously into the empty lot. With careful observation, someone might be able to see a pair of eye holes hastily poked into each of the sides. Each set was at just about the right height for, say, a young duck to look through them.

“This is a terrible idea,” whispered Huey, who was looking through the eye holes with a view of the path ahead.

“Do you have a better one?” ISabelle hissed, holding the box up from inside and taking a few tentative steps.

“It’s only dumb if it doesn’t work,” said Louie, keeping an eye on the brawl outside. “Okay, they’re not looking! Go go go!”

The box rose and three pairs of feet scuttled forward, stopping abruptly when Louie swatted at the other two. They stopped and dropped the box just in time for Big Time to look over and see nothing out of the ordinary. At least until he was distracted again by a tire thrown at his head. Then it was back to scuttling. Another pause to let Big Time tumble backwards, then charge back in again.

“Hey, just wondering,” said Huey, “do you have an idea on how to get out of here with your stuff?”

“... working on it,” said Isabelle, trying to keep her flop sweat to a minimum.

“Is your box even going to fit inside this box?”

“Y-yes! Maybe! I hope so!”

“Guys! Shh!” Louie shushed them both. The commotion outside had slowed, and Big Time was speaking.

“Awright, fine! You kids win! Again,” he grumbled. “Stupid stuff is more trouble than it’s worth!”

Burger, having managed to get himself upright, waddled over and stood by his brothers, tire still pinning his arms to his side.

“Yeah,” said Bouncer, dusting his hat off. “We broke Ma’s favorite thievin’ trampoline catching you from the sixth floor.”

“Just take it!” Big Time snapped. He stormed up to Isabelle’s box and grabbed it. “We made sure to get in all quiet-like, didn’t even break nothin’, and after all that trouble, all we got from it was this worthless junk!” He furiously waved a poster he’d pulled out, which showed a large number of colorful anime characters gathered around a very fancy-looking title card.

Isabelle exploded, throwing off their mobile camouflage. “Junk? JUNK?!? That is a limited edition collector’s poster! My friends and I stood in line for FOUR HOURS for the raffle tickets that won me that! And then we spent another three hours EACH in line to get it autographed by both the English and Japanese casts! Some collectors would KILL for that! And those figurines in there are rare color variants that were only produced and sold for six months! I have postcards in there that are exclusively commissioned from the artists who worked on the shows! That book is a first printing of Knightly Dragon Love Story’s first volume and signed with a personal message from the author!”

There was a stunned silence from everyone present. In unison, four feathered hands met foreheads as the triplets and Webby facepalmed. The three Beagle Boys looked at each other, then grinned nastily. “So what you’re sayin’ is that people’d pay good money for this stuff,” said Big Time.

Isabelle slapped a hand over her mouth. Her big, stupid, loud mouth.

“Guess we’re keepin’ this after all!” said Big Time, turning triumphantly back to his brothers.

“Plan G?” Huey asked Webby. Webby nodded.

“I hate Plan G,” said Louie dejectedly.

“Um, what’s Plan G?” Isabelle asked.

In a blur of motion, Webby jumped over Big Time and snatched the poster from his hand. Louie grabbed the box. Dewey and Huey each took one of Isabelle’s hands and took off for the exit. Dewey shouted as they ran. “Plan G: Grab the treasure and run!”

Louie pressed the box into Isabelle’s hands as he sprinted. Webby, catching up, handed her the poster before letting out a battle cry and kicking a pile of random detritus, knocking it over behind them. Cursing erupted from further behind. Adrenaline kept Isabelle moving as she followed the kids. They had to know the way back. Huey, at the very least, would. Right?

Her fears were allayed a minute later as the open gate, with Launchpad waving cheerfully outside, cave into view. Isabelle almost breathed a sigh of relief right then and there, but knew it would break her stride.

It wouldn’t have mattered, because her stride was broken in the next moment as Bouncer appeared from around some unseen corner, arms raised menacingly.

Isabelle yelped and tried to skid to a halt, but it was too late. The Beagle Boy’s huge hands, each one large enough to close around her neck easily, loomed closer. She shut her eyes.

There was a strangled noise, some kind of buzzing, and a thud.

Isabelle opened her eyes. Bouncer was lying on the ground, Webby standing over him with another taser in hand.

“I thought you gave me your taser!” Isabelle said, for lack of anything better to do.

“Oh, no, this is Lady Sparks,” said Webby. “I never leave home without her!”

Isabelle tried to find some kind of response to that, and gave up. There wasn’t time to hang around, anyway. The extremely loud crash of scrap metal and other discarded items from behind was a good reminder of that. Spurred by fight-or-flight, Isabelle did something she had only that morning thought she would never do: she dived into the waiting limo as Launchpad took the wheel. Two crunches, one metallic screech, and a sharp k-thunk later, they were back on the Duckburg streets, headed back to the Money Bin.

Heart still pounding, Isabelle checked the box. It was all still there, thank goodness. DVDs, figurines, the (now slightly crumpled) poster, signed book, all of it. Now she allowed herself that sigh of relief.

Isabelle was exhausted. She was going to clock out for the day, go home, take a shower, and be ready to greet a certain someone later that night. But there was one last piece of business to wrap up before then. “Huey, you were absolutely right,” she said.

“About what?”

“Big Time is such a prick.”

Chapter Text

Webby had been excited to meet Uncle Scrooge’s new personal assistant - a new potential friend! Webby liked having friends. Life only got better when she made new ones. And, while she loved her family, it was a little lacking in feminine energy. Lena and Violet couldn’t always help, after all, and she didn’t want them to feel like they had to come every adventure. One more lady adventurer was fantastic!

It had been rather unfortunate that her first day had been so tempestuous. Isabelle had seemed so stressed out by it, and Webby felt bad that it hadn’t been a smoother start. Sure, adventure was the usual here in Duckburg, but that didn’t mean someone should be flung into it headfirst. Not if they didn’t want to. Therefore, Webby had bought Isabelle a present. And, being Webby, she couldn’t wait to deliver it, so she’d taken the bus that evening to Isabelle’s apartment to deliver it personally. She skipped out of the elevator, happily humming tunelessly to herself.

She went to knock on the door - 605, she’d made sure to memorize the number - and she stopped dead in her tracks when she realized the door was slightly ajar.

That couldn’t be good.

Clearly, one of the Beagle Boys had come back, set on either revenge or just further robbery. They were notoriously devious, after all. And, possibly, deviously notorious. Best to be prepared and take them by surprise.

Just like Granny had taught her, she crouched low and silently pushed the open door aside. She kept her footsteps slow and light, smoothly transitioning her weight across one at a time so that the floor wouldn’t creak. It was carpeted, so it muffled her movement already, but it never hurt to be extra cautious. There wasn’t anyone in the entryway, but Webby could hear something faintly through the door to the living room. It wasn’t quite closed all the way, but it was enough to block her view completely. She recognized Isabelle’s voice, even if she couldn’t make out what exactly was being said, but there was another voice that was lower and had a kind of teasing tone to it. Was ‘teasing’ the right word for this situation? No, ‘mocking’ was probably better. Webby nodded to herself, having sufficiently edited her internal narration.

Webby cautiously approached the mostly-closed door, listening intently. Now she could hear rustling, almost like someone was struggling. There was a sound like a gasp - whoever it was, they could have Isabelle! That wouldn’t stand. Webby straightened up, took a deep breath, and kicked the door open.

“HALT, FIEND!” she shouted over Isabelle’s shriek of alarm. “Get your hands off my uncle’s new secretary and also my new friend! You won’t get away with….” Webby trailed off briefly, not sure what she was looking at. “... leaving marks on her face? And… stealing her… clothes?”

Webby stopped as the gears turned in her head. Isabelle was entangled in the arms of a taller woman, a cat in a white cotton dress, who had started to slip Isabelle’s cardigan off her shoulders. Isabelle herself was turning a deep crimson under her fur, which was a striking contrast to the dark blue lipstick prints decorating her cheeks and neck.

Isabelle, still in the grip of the smiling stranger, coughed awkwardly. “H-hi, Webby,” she said. “Um. This is Ankha. My girlfriend.”

Ankha burst out laughing.