I so don't use Honker enough :(

So first: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE 30 DAY WRITING MEME REBECCA

Shut up! I'm going to finish it. Things happened at the end of the year. :P

Second, I'm trying to finish up the 3rd chapter of TWC4, a bit at a time. Oddly enough the hardest scene to write this time was a Beth and LP one; normally those come more easily. This time however the fun easy one is Beth going out shopping with Gosalyn. Oh Gos, you are a trip. :D But I'm sad because Honker always stays quiet. I have a very hard time getting him to talk.

Anyway, just because I feel like posting something here since it's been a couple of weeks, here's a little bit from midway through the chapter. I'm hoping to have this one done by Friday or Saturday so that it can get no reviews just like the rest. ;)

****

***

The bus ride to the mall was uneventful, so Gosalyn spent it visualizing a few ideas for Beth's new look. Beth didn't seem to take to this particularly well, and as a result Gosalyn began to toss out increasingly odd ideas just to watch her babysitter squirm. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the nicest thing for her to do, but it was just so *funny* to watch the expressions that crossed Beth's face. Plus, maybe teasing her with far-out suggestions would make it easier for Beth to loosen up with a few less-crazy ideas.

When they got to the mall, they had to go to the eye exam place first so that Beth could get her exam done before getting the order for the new frames in. Honker and Gosalyn sat in the front section of the store, which was supposed to look like a waiting room; but since the front window faced out to a view with photo booths and a temporary Halloween store, it didn't quite have a doctors-office feel.

Gosalyn shifted in boredom. "You'd think they'd at least have better magazines."

"Well, these are only three months old... Doesn't your dad always say that most waiting rooms never have any magazines that are less than five years old?" Honker asked.

"Yeah, but if the magazine is 'Eye Daily', how recent it is doesn't really matter," Gosalyn answered in disgust. She turned and addressed the woman at the counter, who was arranging a shelf of designer frames. "Hey! 'Scuse me! Do you have those contact lenses that make your eyes look all white, like zombie eyes?"

The woman frowned and turned away without answering.

"Did you see that?" Gosalyn said loudly to Honker, who tried to get her to keep her voice down. "I guess I won't be buying any from HERE even if they do sell them!"

"Um, I'm pretty sure they only sell those in costume shops, Gosalyn," Honker said. "She probably thought you were making fun of her."

"I'm a potential paying customer!" Gosalyn sniped, crossing her arms. "I'm taking my hypothetical business elsewhere! ...Hey, you wanna try on some of the glasses while we wait?"

"Um, uh, well-"

Fortunately or not, Beth came back out just then. "Okay, done!"

"Yeah? Did you pick out glasses without me?" Gosalyn asked, hopping up from her chair. Honker remained seated, but looked attentively at both of his companions.

"Oh, no, not yet. Don't worry. No, actually, maybe it's a good thing I broke my glasses last night because I had to get a new prescription and it turns out that my prescription has changed a little bit since last time so it's about time I got new glasses anyway... I mean I wouldn't have chosen *now*, ideally, you know, because I don't have a lot of money but I guess it's as good a time as any - so..." She ran out of steam, stopped, and just looked blankly at Gosalyn for a moment as though she was surprised by the silence. Gosalyn waited a second longer before speaking, just to be sure Beth was really done; that ramble hadn't had any point at the end of it. When Beth stayed quiet, Gosalyn asked, "So what, then?"

"Oh! Well now we pick out frames and I have them fill the prescription, and then we can go wander around while they get everything ready. And we can pick them up on our way out of the mall when we leave." She turned to Honker and smiled. "So - are you both up for giving me some feedback?"

"You BET!" Gosalyn half-shouted, and pulled Beth's arm towards the wall of sample frames in the corner. "And while you're at it, can you check and see if they sell those contacts that turn your eyes all white, like zombie eyes...?"

"Um... I'll ask," Beth answered uncertainly.

They looked about for a good fifteen minutes, with Beth hemming and hawing and ultimately shooting down all of Gosalyn's suggestions. "But the old ones were blue! What's wrong with blue?"

"Well, no, blue is pretty - it's just - I already said no neon colours, Gos."

"This isn't neon!" Gosalyn said, sounding affronted. "This is *electric* blue!"

she refused the cat-eye shaped frames too, and Gosalyn began to wonder why she'd even been invited along. When Honker quietly suggested that Beth try a pair of large round frames much like his own - and like Beth's old ones - Gosalyn almost lost it. "Those are almost exactly like the ones you *had*!" she exclaimed.

"Well... I like these!" Beth said, shrinking away from the ten-year-old girl's fury.

Gosalyn pouted. "I can't believe we just spent all this time so that you could pick out the *same glasses you always had!*"

"They're not the same!" Beth said, and looked helplessly at Honker.

Honker nodded. "They have a flexible bridge that helps keep them intact under harsh conditions-"

"RRRRRRRGH!" The noise that Gosalyn made effectively quieted the two bespectacled shoppers. Almost timidly, Beth made her way to the cash desk and handed over her prescription and the frame sample. The cashier handed her a form and a pen, and Beth began filling the form out.

"What's that?" Gosalyn asked, though she didn't really care.

"I have to place an order," Beth explained, without looking up.

"Oh. Oh, you didn't ask about the contacts," Gosalyn reminded her, and at that Beth *did* look up just long enough to raise an eyebrow, before looking back down at the form. "OH! HEY! That's it, that's what you should do! Get contacts!"

"I am not," Beth said firmly, "going to interviews with white zombie eyes."

"Not *zombie* contacts," Gosalyn explained, "just regular ones. Right, Honker?"

"Oh... um..." Honker stammered, and couldn't quite get an answer out. Gosalyn spoke for him.

"He means yes." Beth, she noticed, looked dubious so Gosalyn said, "Oh come on. You said you wanted to stop blending in, right? If you're not going to buy flashy, easy-to-see glasses, just lose the glasses completely!"

After a moment, Beth sighed. "Okay. Fine. You did come all the way out here with me, and... why not. Maybe they will come in handy sometime." She checked off a box on the order form, and returned the completed version to the cashier.

It's October now?

So I only updated once in September. Then I came on here and I was like "Oh it's stil September, that's good! Oh wait." Because I remember very little sometimes. Bah!

I thought I was going to work on "Those Daring McQuacks" before I started on TWC4, and I even thought out some scenes and had them planned, and it just will not come out. I mean, I have written a few things, but they really really need rewriting and editing. And I'm just stuck on finishing them and connecting the dialogue and stuff. Bah. Also, things in real life land the past couple of weeks have just about killed my creativity drive :P

However, this afernoon I had a few good ideas for at least completing the first scene of TWC4's first chapter (I put up about 800 words as a placeholder on FF.net; the completed scene will only be the first half of chapter one, but it's a start) and surprisingly I was able to get some of it done :) So to maybe keep my inspiration going, I'm gonna post what little I just did since I won't have the chapter finished until the end of the month at the earliest; if I can keep my momentum though I might be able to get THIS scene finished over the weekend. I'm also not posting the part that's already up at FF.net so, if you have no context, the chapter begins with a moderate earthquake. This is immediately after it's over with.

*****

Beth held the glasses up directly in front of her face and squinted at them; she still could barely make them out. She felt them gingerly and when it didn't seem as if anything was going to gouge her, she put them on. One of the lenses had a spider-webbing of cracks over it, and the bridge was bent. She sighed wearily. "Occupational hazard."

Turning to Gosalyn, she took a breath and tried to make the best of it. "So! Better clean up that glass, huh? Do you have a dustpan anywhere nearby?"

"You bet!" Gosalyn cried, and took off for the kitchen. By the time she returned, Beth was kneeling by the wall, carefully picking up shards of glass and looking out of only one eye. "Uh, does that make it easier?"

"Huh? Oh, no - just, the crack in this is really getting in my way. I thought if I just looked through one eye - but it's making my head hurt." She placed a handful of glass into the dustpan and sighed, while Gosalyn loaded her arms full of larger shards and dropped them into the pile Beth had already started. Beth jumped at the sound. "Um, could you be a bit more gentle than that?"

"Why? It's not like it's gonna matter if it breaks *more*."

Beth shook her head. "You know, I think I should handle this. I don't want you getting hurt on broken glass."

"Oh come on! I know what I'm doing!" Gosalyn protested vehemently. Beth frowned and picked up another few pieces. As she turned to slowly place them carefully in the dustpan, Gosalyn continued, "Honestly, I'm insulted! You really think just because I'm a kid, I'm going to - YAAAAAH! AAAIEEEEE!"

"OH MY GOD!" Beth yelled, her eyes widening as she turned back to Gosalyn who was holding her hand to her side and grimacing in pain.

"OHHHH NOOOO! MY JUGULAR!!!" Gosalyn screamed, and Beth stared in horror, uncertain if she should try to make a tourniquet or run to call 911 first; then she realized that Gosalyn was laughing.

"Ahahaha... Just kidding," said the girl, pulling her hand out from her shirt and wiggling it. She caught sight of Beth's expression, which was still utterly horror-stricken. "Heh heh... sorry, that was probably not nearly as funny to you as it was to me."

Beth finally found her voice, which sounded flat even to her ears as she said beseechingly, "Please let me do this?"

Gosalyn relented, and went to sit on the couch and see if the earthquake had affected her video game console.

In a broken stone age dawn

Just to prove that I was slightly productive this evening:

***

By the time Launchpad had made it home and put the kids to bed, it was after nine pm. He slumped onto the couch, feeling more exhausted than he normally did after a much longer night out on patrol with DW. Why would this be so much more tiring than crimefighting?!

...Then again, crimefighting didn't involve trying to keep up with the mood swings of two high-energy kids with sugar buzzes. Although Megavolt sometimes - nah, even *he* wasn't as taxing as *two* of 'em.

He sighed and leaned his head onto the back cushions of the couch, then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. The day had been more stressful than he'd thought; he'd been really good at keeping up with the kids back in Duckburg, so what had changed? Was he just getting old? Although the fact that Gosalyn alone had more energy and stubbornness than all three of Mr. McDee's nephews might have been a factor too...

But mostly, it was just the dynamic. The whole feel of them all together was just ... weird. Gos, he could handle; once you got to know her, you could tell when to push and when to just give in and go along with her 'cause you just weren't going to win no matter what you tried. But DW, that was a different matter. It wasn't just that Launchpad didn't know what kind of kid he was, it was that he didn't know how to treat Darkwing Duck like a kid. Darkwing was his friend, his boss, and his idol; you just didn't take on a parenting role with your idol.

And then there was the part that he didn't really want to own up to having noticed, because if it was true, it meant he really was an outsider in the Mallard family no matter what he did. But it sure seemed like... well, like Gos and DW had been avoiding him. Like they'd rather hang out with each other than him.

Maybe it was just because he wasn't really comfortable shifting entirely into the "adult" role, and it was hard for him to accept that both the kids saw hiim as the grown up and were responding to him that way. But, well, why should they think of him that way? They *knew* him! They were all friends, he wasn't ANYone's dad, so...

He sighed again; the whole thing was kind of knotting up in his head, and he wasn't sure anymore if he'd imagined it, or if DW and Gos really had been trying on purpose to keep him out of their business. He was *probably* imagining it, since it had been such a long day and he was really stressed out... he still didn't even know how he was going to get them in to beat Quackerjack and get DW back to being a grown up... He didn't even know how he was going to get Gos to school the next morning. Heck, he hadn't even *realized* she was supposed to be at school that day until about 2 pm when she'd mentioned that it would've been even better if Honker was there too.

Just the thought made him even more tired. And lurking at the back of his mind, another thought popped in: And lonely, too. Gos and DW were best friends now, and neither one seemed much interested in talking to him; and all at once he realized he really wanted nothing more at that moment than another adult to talk to. Even for five minutes, that would do. He thought about Beth; she'd be perfect.

He lifted his head and looked at the easy chairs, picturing her sitting there, and smiled sleepily. Normally she probably would be here, babysitting Gos; it would be neat if he could take a night off one time and help her, and once Gos went to sleep, they could just stay up and talk. Not have to worry about how much time she spent on the phone, or whether a customer came in, or DW accusing her of being a supervillain... just take a couple of hours to hang out. That'd be nice.

Of course, he realized as he rubbed his eyes, if he *was* there then she'd have no reason to come in to babysit. She'd probably think it was pretty weird. Oh well... maybe he could come up with a reason anyway... He stretched out on the couch to give it more thought, and fell asleep within thirty seconds of going prone.

***

BED

I wish I went to bed earlier than 11pm most nights, instead of after it. It's just that I want to get things done! And I have no time except from about 9-11 pm!

I'm trying to finish up the first chapter of Act II of TWC3 (wow... anyway). I should have it finished by the end of the week - actually I'm hoping by tomorrow. That's pretty good considering it took me a month to get started on it! The chapter has ended up just sort of coming, since this weekend. Nice. I wish they all flowed like that. :P

I haven't mentioned this but this particular fic is about two things. One of them is obvious: Quackerjack. That's the plot. That's totally and definitely the plot.

But there is another plot that, to me, is the "real" one and I'm embarrassed to admit it but I think I probably should. But it's a spoiler so I won't say it here. I'll leave a comment. Then if you want to know, you can read the comments. *nodnod* Secret-like. Did you get the impression that we are whispering while reading this? Haha, that's what it seemed like to me.

Anyway... comments have spoilers. Avoid if you want to wait for the fic to be finished. My realistic (not optimistic but not very pessimistic either) estimate is that it'll be finished around August or September this year, if I can post two chapters per month between now and then. Since I also want to work on "Those Daring McQuacks in Their Flying Machines" i might not keep that pace, but I'll try!

Btw, should I post a preview of "Flying Machines" here? I mean, the stuff that I haven't posted yet on FF.net? Or should I just let that go?

The Ever-Vivacious Head of Kitty Carlisle Says:

"HI everybody! Let's start the game!"

So I'm weak-willed, and thus I'm going to break down and post the scene I've been working on for TWC3's rewrite. It may or may not be the opening to the fic - I haven't decided yet - and it's unbeta'd, but what the heck; it's going to be at least another 3-4 months before I start posting this. :)

SPOILERS ahead if you have not read the original versions! (Why do I bother doing this?) If you haven't read them and don't want to be spoiled, or if you want to wait until after reading the rewrite of TWC2, or have some other reason you want to avoid spoilers, read no further on this entry!

As an aside, I'm wondering if I ought to transport this blog over to Dreamwidth or something, so that I can use cut-tags. I miss cut-tags on this format. ANYway!

A little context for people who aren't familiar with the original version, but want to read onward anyway. In my initial version I reached a point where LP and DW "needed" (in my mind) to come to odds over Beth. Mmm, that's good drama! Well, I actually still feel that way - for one thing, DW is just nasty to her sometimes, and someone needs to defend the poor kid. For another, it's... well, it's still good drama. If done right anyway.

For quite some time though I was worried about writing it - as much as I wanted to do it, I had no idea how to do it without just making it go overboard... How not to make Drake look like an unforgivable jerk, how to keep LP in character, how not to make Beth look like OMGPOORABUSEDBETH!... well, a few weeks ago I was walking from the bus stop to work and a little scene popped into my head and I realized it would work. I could've written it in like three days but it was RIGHT the day before we left to go on vacation to Canada. I worked on it a little while we were there but the distraction level was high. So it's taken me a while to get as far as I have... which isn't all that far... but it's something! Oh, the spoilers are pretty mild; mostly they allude to the fact that Beth gets kidnapped by Bushroot in TWC2, and this together with her being followed by Megavolt convinces Darkwing that she's actually a villainess in disguise. (new twist. *G*)

One last note: I was going to wait on this but I've been getting antsy because of the new comic. I haven't read a single panel of it, and I realized it could be a "game-changer" or something. Well, I tend to get paranoid about my canon, not because I need it to come true but because I don't want to be hugely contradicting something that is now the NEW, ACTUAL canon. Plus the general zeitgeist of DWD right now just makes me want to write a LOT and put it out there. I wish I was connecting better with the public, but at least I'm writing; that's making me happy. :)

So! No further ado; here's the scene in question. I will love any feedback I get!

***

There are many ways in which a hero can protect his city.

The most obvious way, of course, is to defeat the denizens of darkness as they come forward, deducing their diabolical intentions and nullifying the nefarious nogoodniks before they can bring their plans to fruition. After a lifetime of experience, Darkwing Duck had mastered this ability and could do it in his sleep. In fact, he had, but that was another story.

A lesser-known protection, however, is the dedication to constant vigilance. Constant vigilance is what allows the very best heroes to not only thwart the very worst plans of the very worst villains as they unfold, but to act preemptively, eliminating threats before they have a chance to strike. Constant vigilance is the way in which the very best vigilantes monitor potential subjects and catch them *before* they are able to perpetrate any wrongdoing.

Constant vigilance, and a healthy dose of intuition, are among the weapons at the disposal of the peak heroes of the world - the creme de la creme, if you will.

Darkwing Duck's intuition had led him to watch a certain newcomer into his life very closely. He was, in fact, ready to place her on the "constant vigilance" list. At first glance, Beth Webfoot was harmless: shy, bespectacled, and interested only in hardware and the occasional babysitting gig. But after a series of odd events, all of which had seemed to involve her in one way or another, Darkwing's intuition had begun to tell him that this woman needed watching.

She seemed to attract supervillains like a magnet, for one thing. There was that, which of itself was suspicious, but add to it the fact that she was worming her way into his family life... coincidence? How big of a coincidence would it have to be for an honestly harmless woman to meet him, get hired to babysit his daughter, and via totally-unrelated means bump into not one but *two* of his most dangerous arch-enemies?

That would be one big coincidence, Darkwing believed. Too big.

Plus there was something about her that just *bugged* him.

A generic background search hadn't turned up any information, and as a result Gosalyn and Launchpad were telling him he was being irrational. So, all that meant was that Beth Webfoot was very, very crafty - and probably using an alias. He'd have to probe deeper.

Some might say that it was faulty logic for Darkwing Duck to allow a suspected supervillain to babysit his daughter several nights a week, but Darkwing believed in the wise old adage, "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer." He was on guard, and so he didn't believe Gosalyn was in any genuine danger. From what he could see, Beth was sounding him out as much as he was sounding her out. He was confident that he'd be able to track her movements well enough to know before she was about to strike.

Meanwhile, he had the advantage: surprise, and foreknowledge. She clearly had no idea that he knew, and while he was being cagey, he could also play her like a fiddle and find out whatever he needed to know.
It was a Wednesday night when he decided to gather information. If the preliminary background check had failed, he would just have to get as much on her as he could, and look at it from every angle. With that in mind, in his Drake Mallard guise, he sat himself down next to her on the couch and began.

"So, Ms. Webfoot," he said, his tone confident and straightforward, "would I be correct in assuming that 'Beth' is short for 'Elizabeth'?"

She straightened up slightly and smiled at him. "Um, yes! You're exactly correct," she said. "A-although I guess, when you think about it, there aren't really many other names that Beth is short for, are there? But still you never know so I understand why you asked."

At this point, Drake was starting to suspect that the stream of ongoing mindless chatter from her was an intentional front. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but gave no other sign of suspicion. "Riiiiight. So, moving on, do you happen to have a middle name?"

Beth looked at him in surprise for a second, and he was just wondering if he'd pushed too far too fast and given himself away, when she blushed a little. "W-well, it's Marilynn, actually."

"Marilyn? Like Marilyn Monroe, huh?"

"Yes, exactly! Only it's spelled with two 'n's at the end so it's not exactly the same - b-but you're not interested in how I spell a name I never even use," she finished, chuckling nervously.

"On the contrary," he said, making a mental note of this information, "I am interested. *Very* interested."

Beth leaned forward, again looking surprised and pleased. "R-really?"

"Oh yes," Drake answered. He leaned forward as well, and propped himself up on one elbow against the couch. "Do tell me more about yourself, Ms. Webfoot... Favourite colour, favourite animal... where you grew up... any prior police records..."

She laughed, presumably at the last one, and went on to tell him everything. In great, extensive detail. Over the course of fifteen minutes he learned a whole lot about very little, mainly - despite his efforts at steering the conversation - about her background in retail. She probably *was* onto him.

After answering two or three questions and then devolving into a rambling monologue that seemed to be mostly about her boss, Beth failed to make any point that Drake could identify. He was stuck nodding, uttering the occasional "Uh-huh" and "Absolutely", and ultimately feeling his eyes glazing over. Was it just possible that she didn't actually notice the effect she was having? After all, the Muddlefoots were the much the same... But this would be such an effective form of torture that it just raised Drake's suspicions even more.

"...And Henny said that it wasn't worth chasing him down over 21 cents, and I guess she's probably right, but it was just going to stay with me all day if I hadn't given him the correct change and really, you know, what if he'd come back and been upset that I'd given him the wrong amount? I know, I know, it's less than a quarter but you never do know, but then Henny said that I'd wasted company time going after him once he'd left the store, and I just thought, it's like I can't win either way, you know? Should I give him his money, should I let him leave, do you know that song 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?' It's by the Clash, and I don't normally like that kind of music but I heard it once on the radio and I thought 'Oh my gosh, that's ME' because it basically goes -"

"What?" Drake said suddenly, as if in response to something. Beth fell silent instantly. He sat up straight, looking like he was listening to something, then called "Be right there!" and turned back to Beth. "Sorry, I think I'm needed in the kitchen. Y'know, you should probably go upstairs and check on Gos and her homework, really enjoyed the chat and I hope we can do this again next year!"

"Oh - yes, me too, we could... um...thanks!" She was just trailing off as he left the room, escaping through the door into the safe haven of his kitchen.

The only person there was Launchpad, who had definitely not called him, but Drake was reasonably sure that - despite his partiality to Beth - he could count on some backup from his sidekick in this case.

"Hey DW - hot dogs are just about done," Launchpad announced, being in charge of dinner for the evening. "You want anything on it?"

"Make me one with everything, LP," said Drake, sinking wearily into the chair at the kitchen table, "I earned it."

"Really? Whatja do?" Launchpad asked as he retrieved about five different bottles and jars from the fridge, then piled them onto the counter next to the bag of hot dog rolls.

Drake let his head rest in his hand, as though he were trying to massage his brain back to life. "Just had a full interview with you-know-who out there, to try to get some more information to go on."

Launchpad rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "DW, for the last time, she's NOT a bad guy!" He checked the hot dogs, turned down the flame underneath the burner, and then addressed Drake again. "You're wastin' a lot of energy on nothin'!"

"I beg to differ," Drake said flatly. "If *she's* harmless, then Dr. Slug should be celebrated as a philanthropist. I just spent twenty minutes listening to her go on, and I'm telling you LP, there is *evil* underneath that drab exterior. There has to be, because nobody can actually be that *boring*."

Launchpad frowned, his expression indicating a bit more displeasure than before. "That's not -" The next word, Drake was sure, would have been either "nice" or "fair"; Launchpad was a staunch defender of Beth, and he seemed to share Gizmoduck's idealistic beliefs that "fair" applied outside to life outside of the playground. But the sentence was never finished, because as he was speaking the words, Launchpad's eyes skipped from Drake to something behind him, and he bit off his comment.

Drake swallowed, and reluctantly turned in his seat; Beth was standing in the doorway, her hand clutching the frame in a manner that suggested she was keeping herself upright this way, but although there was a slight blush on her cheeks, her face was almost impassive. There was absolutely no doubt that she'd heard his last comment; the only thing uncertain was just how much she *had* heard.

An awkward moment fell among the three of them, and Drake shifted guiltily in his seat. As Beth turned her attention toward the ground, Drake returned his to the kitchen table. The tension between them was almost palpable. He had to say something - he knew that - but nothing that came into his head seemed right. In books and TV shows, a person overhearing others talking about them just left - usually without anyone even knowing they'd been there. Naturally, Beth was just *standing* there, like she was waiting for something.

Waiting - or maybe completely aware of how awkward her presence was making things. Maybe this was *intentional*. He reminded himself that Beth was no ordinary babysitter (or hardware clerk or whatever she called herself) - and, depending on how much she'd overheard, it was possibly that she knew that *he* knew.
With his mind racing this way, Drake almost didn't notice when Launchpad broke the silence that had built up around them. With a forceful cheerfulness, Launchpad said loudly, "Oh, hi Beth! Uh, so, how's it goin'?"

It was an incredibly lame attempt to pretend nothing had happened, but at the same time, Drake realized that might be the best way to go. At best she might believe it, and at worst, she might not know that they knew that she knew they knew. Wait - Drake frowned to himself. Was that right...?

Beth, meanwhile, answered in a weak voice. "Oh... um... g-good. I-I guess."

"Yeah? Great! Me too. So, uh... lookin' forward to babysittin' tonight?"

"Um..." Beth's voice shook, and grew quieter. "I-I think m-maybe I should... go home..."

Drake fought down another surge of guilt by reminding himself that he was being manipulated by a diabolical genius. If he turned to face her, he might lose his resolve; much better for him to avoid eye contact.

Launchpad reacted strongly, which did not surprise Drake. "No, don't go! Look, Beth, you didn't hear what you thought you heard. Drake didn't mean - well..." He looked beseechingly to Drake, who shook his head slightly in an effort to convey his suspicions. Launchpad's eyebrows went up in surprise for a moment, then knitted together slightly.

From the doorway, Beth said, "I-I'm sorry..."

Distracted from Drake, Launchpad looked at her swiftly. "*You* don't have to apologize!" he said, an edge of something unspoken creeping into his voice. "C'mon Drake," he said imploringly.

It figured: Launchpad *would* end up buying the act of the damsel in distress and forget to pay attention to the guy with the crimefighter's instincts. Drake grit his teeth together and tried to make eye contact so that he could get it through to Launchpad that they were being played, but it was no good; his sidekick was too distracted, and just kept looking back and forth between them. Drake was well aware that he'd have to say *something*, in any case, but without advance communication, Launchpad probably wasn't going to like it. Still, it had to be done.

Stiff-shouldered, Drake turned partially towards Beth and said, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"Um, okay," Beth said in a near-whisper. Drake couldn't see her well from his angle, but she appeared to be talking to the doorframe. She started to slip out of his line of vision. "Um, I'll just... um..."

There was a loud *bang* on the table in front of him, and Drake jumped in surprise and looked up to see Launchpad staring at him. No - *glaring*. Drake was taken too much aback to do any more than blink for a moment, during which time Launchpad said, "What kinda apology was *that*?"

"It was-" began Drake, who wasn't about to take this kind of situation from his own sidekick; but Beth managed to cut through his voice despite the softness of her tone.

"No, no, it's okay - he doesn't have to apologize at all!" She looked from Drake to Launchpad, both of whose attention was firmly on her, and she took a timid step back. "I'm... I'm fine," she said tremulously. "He didn't do anything... wrong."

Ignoring Drake for a moment, Launchpad stepped toward her and took her by the hand, drawing her into the room. "Wait here a sec," he said, his voice growing quiet, and then he surprised Drake again by putting a hand to her cheek, just for a moment, as she cast her eyes downwards again. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" She nodded, still looking at the floor.

Then Launchpad turned back to Drake, and said, "I gotta talk to you." There was unmistakably no room for argument in his tone, and although Drake didn't intend to let Launchpad start ordering him around, he did feel it was utterly imperative to avoid any sign of dissension in front of Beth.

Coolly, he replied, "Fine. Ms. Webfoot," he said politely as he got to his feet, "please excuse us for a moment." Launchpad had already started for the living room, so Drake stepped out after him. Once they'd cleared the door, Drake began, "Okay, listen LP-"

"What's your *problem* with her?!" Launchpad asked, spinning to face Drake and pointing a finger decisively in his direction.

Drake was taken aback, and for a moment all he could do was stare at his sidekick, blinking and frowning as his temper flared in the face of this unfair accusation. Launchpad seemed to be waiting for an actual answer, so a few moments passed before Drake recovered enough to answer. "What is *that* supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means, DW. You haven't given her a chance even once since you've met her. An' now you've really hurt her feelings, and for what? What'd she *do*?"

"Don't fall for that sweet and innocent routine, Launchpad - that woman is-"

"No she's *NOT*!" Again, Drake stopped cold, because talks with Launchpad just were not supposed to go this way. Launchpad didn't cut him off, he didn't yell, and he didn't question Darkwing Duck's instincts. All these things together were such unexplored territory with the pilot that Drake found himself getting equally angry and unnerved. Launchpad lowered his voice and continued, but the anger remained audible. "You don't have any proof about that, you just decided it an' you're stickin' with it 'cause it's easier than admittin' that you're bein' a jerk!"

"YOU don't have any proof that she's NOT a supervillain!" Drake shot back, maintaining the same high-intensity, low-volume tone as Launchpad, as he bristled over the term 'jerk'. "All *you* have is a 'gut feeling', so don't give me this baloney about believing what I want to believe! I'M the one with the hero's instincts here, *sidekick*!"

"Yeah, but if you knew her..."

"Oh, give me a break. Just because you see someone for ten minutes at a time every couple of weeks doesn't make you bosom companions. Why do you even care?"

Frowning, Launchpad pointed again, this time at the kitchen door. "Because maybe you didn't notice, or maybe you just don't care, but she *likes* you. She's a good person, but she's shy, an' she's tryin' every day to get you to notice her just a little bit but all you ever do is complain about her an' accuse her of stuff."

"And that's another thing!" Drake said angrily, refusing to quail under this list of inaccuracies, "*she* barely knows *me*. Why should she care enough to try to get me to notice her? Unless she has ulterior motives, that's why!"

"Or maybe she's just *nice!*" Launchpad shouted, and then stepped back, shutting his mouth again. He crossed his arms. "Look DW - just look at it this way. If you don't believe she's innocent, then pretend for a sec that ya do. Pretend she's just an ordinary lady, who never dealt with supervillains or any'a that stuff before. Now think about how much she's been through the past coupla weeks. She's been robbed, stalked, kidnapped, an' she's babysat for Gosalyn five times now. And she keeps comin' back."

Drake had to pause and concede that this was, indeed, a lot for your average non-superheroic citizen. "But nobody's *making* her."

"Exactly," said Launchpad emphatically.

"Sooooo, doesn't that make you *suspicious*?" Drake let the statement hang in the air for a moment, certain that the implications would finally sink in.

Instead Launchpad shook his head. "No. It makes me think she's lonely."

And then *that* statement hung in the air, and sank in.

But... *no*. Just because she'd won over Launchpad - and really, who had doubted that she'd win over Launchpad? She'd had her hooks in him for weeks now - didn't mean that Drake would let this faulty logic win him over as well. His family, and perhaps the entire city, were at stake.... They *had* to be.

Seeing he wasn't going to win Launchpad over with any grandscale arguments (and unable to think of any more at this point anyway), he averted his eyes and grumbled, "Look, she wasn't even supposed to hear that anyway."

"Well, she did," Launchpad said. "An' you're just makin' excuses now 'cause you feel bad."

He was *not*. Frowning, Drake said, "I am *not*. She needs to learn not to come bursting into someone else's kitchen. Maybe she can use this as an object lesson."

***
(Not the end of the scene, just the end of what I have written. ^_^)

Ho Ho Ho

LOL, well, so much for "there will be updates in November"!

Though I can't remember where I actually said that, so if you can't find it in this blog, no one can prove anything. ;P

How's about just a quickie update right now? Here's a preview of a fic that won't be released for at least another year, probably longer! I'm only just starting it, for one thing, and for another it's got a story between it and HOAW and I learned my lesson about releasing stuff out of order! But it's a Christmas fic, so I just can't resist writing some of it now.

NO SPOILERS for much of anything, this time around - cool, huh? It's just fluff so far, and fluff it shall remain for quite some time. Enjoy I hope!

****

Tentatively titled: Simply Having A Wonderful Christmastime

The snow was snowing. The wind was blowing, and icicles were forming. Launchpad cared nothing about any of that, however; his mind was otherwise occupied.

After a few moments of staring at the display case, he made a jab in the centre of the glass. "That one. I think," he added uncertainly, as the sales girl started to pull the selection out of the case. She stopped, looking at him inquisitively, and he hedged for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that one."

"The emerald?" she asked.

"Yep, I think that's the right one." She removed the ring carefully and set it on a little black, fuzzy pillow. He wondered if they threw one of those in for free, or if it cost extra. It was cute. Still, though, it was the ring that was the actual gift, so he focused on that. It was a thin gold band with an emerald set in the centre; the band thinned out even more and wound itself around the stone on either side. It reminded him of a plant, so therefore it reminded him of Beth; even better, he knew she liked green. "Boy, that's really pretty," he said admiringly.

"It's one of my favourite designs," said the salesgirl cheerfully. "It's custom-made, but it's totally worth it. What size did you need? I can put in the order today and it'll be ready to pick up by Christmas Eve."

"Oh. Size?" He hadn't realized rings came in numeric sizes. "Uh, well, lemme see." He looked at the sales girl's fingers and tried to picture Beth's in comparison with hers. "What size do you wear? She's probably got fingers a little skinnier than yours."

"Okay, well, I'm a seven." She slipped the ring onto the second finger of her left hand, modeling it a little bit. "So a six? Would that be a good guess?"

"You're the expert," said Launchpad, grinning.

The girl returned the grin and took out a little pad of paper. She circled the number six, then at the top of the page she poised her pen to write. "So let me just get a few pieces of information here..."

"What're you doing?" asked a voice at his elbow. Launchpad turned to see Drake, staring in puzzlement at the ring on the girl's hand. Looking slightly flustered, the girl slipped the ring off quickly and put it back under the counter.

"Gettin' Beth a Christmas present," Launchpad answered.

Drake waited a moment, then asked, "You're getting her an engagement ring? Launchpad, for the tenth time, you're not even dating her."

"Aw, no! It's nothin' like that! It's just a present."

"Launchpad. That," Drake pointed at the ring under the glass counter, "is an engagement ring. ALL of these are engagement rings. If you're trying to send a girl the message that you're not desperate, you don't buy her an engagement ring for Christmas."

Launchpad was puzzled. "It's not an engagement ring! It's a... a friendship ring kinda... thing!" The sales girl coughed slightly and looked to the side, scratching her cheek. He felt bad for ignoring her. "What was it ya needed to know?"

"How much does that thing cost, anyway?" Drake asked the girl, pointing into the case.

She cleared her throat again. "It's three thousand," she said awkwardly.

Launchpad's eyebrows went up. "...Oh."

"Shall we go?" Drake asked. He sounded unmistakably smug, though he was trying to hide it.

After a quick apology to the sales girl, Launchpad left the jewelry store empty-handed.

Sea of Green, v2.0

I don't have a substantial update for this week. I really don't have the time or presence of mind to do a discussion post - and no one really seems to read them anyway ([/self pity]) - but I haven't finished TWC1 either.

So instead I'm going to put up what I have of the first chapter of the rewrite of TWC2, "Sea of Green". I always did like that title.

My intention is to write the first chapter, post it at the same time that I post the final chapter of TWC1 so that anyone who decides to go look for the next story and hasn't read the original series yet won't be confused by the continuity fail, and then not touch it again until I've finished "All About Elizabeth". Lord knows when that will be; that has turned out to be The Fanfic That Ate Zebbie. But anyway!

Here's a fic preview. I'd ask for feedback, but - HA. ;)

***

One seasonally mild evening in September, St. Canard's greenest resident made a sincere attempt to enter the city's social scene.

Bushroot was not a fan of dance halls - there was no room to breathe, and his roots generally got trampled on - and he didn't care for bars, or other "typical" places to meet people. Instead he opted for an evening meeting at the St. Canard Botanist Society, held in a local school library, where he found everyone pleasantly talking about flowers and accompanied by a potted plant of some kind. It was lovely, and looking around, he finally felt a sense of kinship with non-vegetable beings.

It was still hard, though, to try to interact. Everyone seemed to know one another, and he knew it would be easier to introduce himself to their plants than to the actual people. He hung back a little, just watching, until a soft, kind voice spoke at his elbow.

"Are you going to stay? Why don't you let me take your hat and coat?"

Bushroot jumped slightly and turned to see a pretty blonde duck smiling at him. He felt himself start blushing, and chuckled awkwardly. "Uh, actually, I- I'd like to keep them on. For now," he added, when she began to look at him a little uncertainly.

"Okay, if that's what you want. You should come on in, though, and settle down. Have a seat, we're always happy to have new members." She took his arm and led him towards a table that was equipped with several slightly-undersized chairs. "I'm Laelia."

"Like the orchid!" he said, delighted.

She beamed at him. "That's right! Wow, you do know your flowers."

"I know a lot of flowers." Although it was the absolute truth, it sounded kind of lame. He looked at his hands, feeling bashful. "Uh, I... I'm afraid I didn't bring a plant with me, though."

Laelia laughed. "Oh, don't worry! That's not a requirement. A lot of people just started bringing in friends from home - it can be a great conversation-starter - but you sure don't *have* to. I bet we can think of plenty of other things to talk about."

That had the ring of an invitation. Bushroot gave a great sigh of relief and let himself relax a little bit. "Well, have you ever heard of the Lyceum Nycanthropus?"

Shaking her head, Laelia said, "I can't say that I have. I'd love to know more, though. What order is it?" She rested her elbow on the table top and smiled at him as she put her chin against her hand.

"Oh, it's very rare - I'm not even sure what the order would be..." He put a leafy finger against his bill to think, and as he did so, he heard a small, quick intake of breath from across the table. His heart sank as he realized his mistake.

She was staring at his hand. "That's..."

"Oh, no no no! Don't be alarmed!" He waved both his hands frantically, but this only seemed to make things worse; Laelia paled and drew back from him. "Okay, I know what you're thinking, but I can explain this -"

"You're Bushroot!" she cried, and she stood up and backed away with her hand against her mouth. Heads turned from all parts of the room to stare at him. "You're the evil Mutant Plant-Duck criminal!"

"Evil is a really strong word," Bushroot said desperately as he stood up. The quick motion knocked his had off of his head, and the room suddenly started buzzing as his face became visible to everyone. "I'm really more of a misunderstood type..." He smiled gently, or hoped it looked that way, and said, "All I want is to meet some people who love plants as much as I do. Can't we just sit and talk?"

Laelia started crying. "Don't - don't hurt me!" she shrieked, and stumbled over a chair on her way for the door. The rest of the room followed her example, and within moments, Bushroot was alone... Except for the plants, most of which had been forgotten by their panicked owners.

He sighed, then sat at a table next to a potted orchid, and put his face in his hands.

Why not post here?

I guess it can't hurt to post some of the fic in my blog. I just had a fairly productive twenty minutes or so where I wrote approximately the same amount that I wrote in, oh, let's guess about an hour the last time I tried to write. So yay! And I'm happier with it, so double-yay! It doesn't fix what I wrote before (which I'm still not happy with) but I'm willing to gloss over that right now.

I can't figure out if you can do cut-tags here in blogspot. Doesn't look that way. Well, I'm going to paste in what I wrote since hte last bit I posted at ff.net; so if you actually read this blog you get a sneaky preview! Luckykins. ;D (Or not. I think nobody reads this. But I like having a place I can ramble to and save my rambles, so it's good enough for grampa and good enough for me.) This will be loooong... and it's still only about half the chapter... ;_;

*************

It would be so much easier if he said hello first. She slowed as she approached, hoping he would notice her and she could pretend she hadn't noticed him and act surprised when he said something, but there was no such luck. Maybe she should just keep walking...

The idea of passing someone she knew on the street, *staring* at them, and walking right by them was so stupid and embarrassing that she took a deep breath and pushed right through her shyness. "Ha- hi!" she said, catching a little on the forced peppiness of her voice.

Launchpad started, which was embarrassing and awkward, and for the first split second that he looked at her she would swear he had no idea who she was and that was even worse. She remembered immediately why she preferred never to approach anyone. But a second later, recognition lit his entire face and he gave her a broad grin. "Hey, Beth! Long time no see!"

She laughed awkwardly, all the adrenalin that had allowed her to speak up a moment ago now draining into a kind of weak nervousness. "Heh, yeah, guess so. Um, sorry if I scared you, I just was walking home and I saw you and I thought it would be nice to say something..."

"No problemo," he said casually. That was not a phrase she heard many people say, and it made her smile. "I'm glad you did say somethin', I didn't even hear ya comin' up."

"Oh. Well good."

He looked past her, up towards the roof of the building behind her, for a moment and then back down at her. "You look different outside of Bindler's," he said thoughtfully.

"I... do?" She became self-conscious suddenly; maybe it was the lighting. "In a good way or a bad way?"

Launchpad tilted his head as if considering. "I dunno. Neither really, you just look more... I dunno, more real."

She wanted to ask again if that was good or bad, but that was the kind of question that usually drove guys up the wall (or so she'd heard), so she just smiled nervously instead. As ever, the pleasure she felt in talking to Launchpad was paired with an equally strong sense of guilt; the more she spoke to him, the more she felt like she was keeping him from something else, and she should really let him go and do the things he'd rather be doing. And yet if she didn't talk to him, the guilt didn't go away, it just mutated itself so that she felt guilty for not returning his kindness; he cared enough to talk to her and keep her company, and she was trying to ditch him for some reason. Either way, apparently, Beth was a total jerk in her own mind and since there was no winning, she just stayed where she was, felt uncomfortable, and enjoyed having someone to talk to.

Just now, he straighted up and nodded a little, as though he'd reached a decision. "I think it's in a good way," he said finally. She could feel her cheeks growing hot, and she looked at her feet; as she did, she noticed that Launchpad looked distinctly satisfied with himself somehow.

"Um, thanks," she said quietly. She wondered if she was supposed to return the compliment, decided that if she did it would sound phony, and made a mental note to herself to give him a spontaneous compliment as soon as she could work one in naturally. The conversation was lagging; she fumbled for a topic. Looking back up at him, she said, "Did you guys find the bolt you were looking for?"

Launchpad had been looking at the skyline again; as he dragged his eyes back down towards her, he said, "Huh? Oh, no, it's funny... apparently you guys are the only ones in the area who carry 'em."

Beth was surprised. "Really? Wow, there must have been a recall or something. Henny gets these deals with manufacturers to unload all their leftover stock at lower prices, see," she explained. "She's, um, she's really good at negotiations."

"I bet," Launchpad said in a low voice. Whatever he was thinking, Beth guessed it wasn't flattering, and she giggled. He winked at her, before checking out the rooftops again.

"I'm sorry, is there -" Beth began to turn around and check out whatever he was looking at, continuing, "Am I keeping you from something?"

"Oh, no way!" he said quickly, and reached for her shoulder, pulling her back to look at him. She was startled enough that she whirled back, and they stared at one another for a few seconds before both smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that," he said.
"I just mean, uh, there's nothin' up there. Just... just the stars."

"Oh, you're looking at the stars?" She smiled; that was kind of romantic. Although when she looked over his head, the light pollution in St. Canard was so strong that she couldn't make out anything but streetlamps.

"Uh, kinda," he said, perhaps guessing what she was thinking. "Tryin' to, anyway." With all the speed of someone who was deliberately changing the subject, he said, "So that bolt! I think I'm gonna come in and put in a special order or somethin', if you guys think you could get any more."

"Oh, that's a good idea!" she said. An even better idea occurred to her then, an idea of the kind she rarely had: clever, subtle, and almost-but-not-quite devious. "In fact, I can put one in FOR you. But I'll do it in Mr. Mallard's name so that it'll come straight to him, since he's the one who needs the bolt."

"Hey, good thinkin'," Launchpad said, nodding.

Beth retrieved a pen and an old receipt from the pocket of her jacket, and held them at the ready. "I'll just need his phone number and full address, and I'll get this done the next time I'm at work." She looked up apologetically. "I can't get it delivered in less than five business days, though. I guess he kind of needs it sooner than that."

"Well, we'll keep lookin' around to see what comes up, but if that's the quickest we can get it, it's good enough for me." Launchpad rattled off an address and phone number, and Beth scribbled both down and shoved both paper and pen back into her pockets, feeling satisfied and even a little proud of herself. She knew that she was extremely unlikely to ever call Drake Mallard personally, but now, if she actually felt up to it, she *could*.

The fact that she'd accomplished this task lifted her spirits and made talking to Launchpad easier, somehow. "Well, I feel better now that *that's* taken care of," she said.

"That's real nice of you to keep DW in mind that way," Launchpad offered.

"Oh, you know, customers first." Emboldened by her recent success, she asked, "So, um, is Mister - Dra- Drake... Mallard... around?" That was the most awkward sentence ever spoken aloud, she thought, and wilted inside.

"Oh, Drake is, uh, he's grocery shoppin'," Launchpad answered.

"At... at ten in the evening?"

Launchpad cleared his throat. "Uh, well, we needed a few emergency things." He looked uncertain. "And I'm just out here, uh..."

"Looking at stars," she finished for him.

"Yeah. Well, no, not just that!" Looking uncertain, he said, "I'm actually... keepin' an eye on the car, too."

"Oh! Well, gosh, that's really nice of you!" She was starting to get tired, and still had a long walk ahead of her, but the chance for a possibility of seeing Drake again was so great that she had to at least consider staying. "So, is... is Mist- is he going to be coming back soon? Do you think?"

Launchpad looked just the tiniest bit lost, and it took him a moment to answer.

***

"For the last time, you single-minded simpleton, it's a *grappling hook*!" Darkwing shouted, dodging another blast of lightning. Megavolt seemed beyond listening by now, however; he wasn't even ranting about robots anymore, just taking aim with that zap-gun of his and shooting bolts in all directions.

Well, two could play at that game. Darkwing pulled out his gas gun, aimed by instinct, and fired. And only *then* remembered that it was broken, as the gun misfired and a cloud of purple gas began to leak out of the gun and surround him. He kicked it to the side, cursing everything from the gun to the bolt to that bubblehead at the hardware store who hadn't helped him at all; the gun had worked fine when he shot the grappling hook - why was there a problem now?!

Megavolt's attention was somehow ensnared by Darkwing's momentary equipment failure. "Ha! If that was supposed to be intimidating, I've gotta tell you, you need to rethink your strategy!" He giggled at that, though Darkwing didn't think it was a particularly impressive taunt.

He tried bluffing in response. "All part of a plan, Sparky, but the less you know about it, the better!"

Whether Megavolt would have bought it or not would never be known, however, since he apparently stopped paying attention at the name "Sparky". "Oooooh, YOU! *DON'T*! CALL! ME! THAT!!" The amount of power he was discharging went up considerably, and the rooftop began to look like it was housing a neon sign in the shape of an electrified rat.

Maybe the taunting hadn't been the best idea, Darkwing acknowledged as he hugged the edge of the rooftop, fleeing from Megavolt's blasts. He paused at the west side of the roof, sticking his arm over the side and waving it three times in what he hoped was as natural a way as possible. So, granted, this fight hadn't gone entirely as he'd envisioned it so far, but Darkwing was a master of improvisational fighting and this whole showdown could easily be salvaged. Darkwing would keep wearing him out, and meanwhile, Launchpad would be up here in just a few minutes to distract him and help take him down.

***

In fact, Darkwing would have been absolutely right in his expectations, if Launchpad had actually been following the plan. Instead, his sidekick's attention was increasingly focused on Beth; she kept asking stuff about Drake, and he was having more and more trouble steering the conversation away from the danger zone. Launchpad felt he was generally pretty good at not giving away anything important when it came to secret identities or that kind of thing, but Beth kept asking so *many* questions that he was having a little trouble coming up with answers.

"What department?" she asked, cocking her head. She looked so *intent*; he was so fascinated by how different she was from when she was at work, how much more *alive* she seemed, that he forgot to answer. "Launchpad? What department does Mr. Mallard work in?"

"Huh?" Shoot, another tough question.

"In his social work. Do you guys both work in the same department?"

"Oh, uh..." He coughed as a way to stall. "It's, work with, uh, whattaya call it. Troubled teens."

"Social outreach kind of thing?" Launchpad nodded; Beth's eyes were practically shining. "That's so noble!"

"Yeah," said Launchpad. "And, yeah, I work with him. For him, kinda." She didn't seem to notice; he felt the tiniest touch of disappointment at that, but decided that he needed to change the subject completely before she asked something even harder. "So... do you go out a lot?"

"Go out?" She seemed taken aback; her energy level fell noticeably. "You mean like, with... with other people?"

"Yeah," he said, surprised that he'd taken the conversation that way. Sure, he'd mentioned to DW that he'd been playing with the idea of asking her out, but he hadn't given it any thought beyond that. "Out, with people."

She gave a quick, odd laugh. "Um, no, generally speaking no I don't."

"Really? You're kiddin' me," he said, grinning. She got all fidgety and looked at her feet, rubbing her cheek a little and grinning a little, herself. "Well, maybe sometime I could -"

"You probably do a lot though, huh?" she said quickly, cutting him off.

He considered the question for a moment. "Well, kinda... Not as much as I used to, but I was thinkin' of-"

"What about Mr. Mallard?" she asked, interrupting him again. "Does he go out on a lot of dates, or... well, he's probably got a wife and everything, actually, right?"

"Who, DW? Nah, he's not married. Nothin' like that." The question had given him pause; how had they ended up on the subject of Drake *again*? It wasn't until Beth's eyes lit up as she answered that he began to understand.

"Oh... he's not married?" she said. Her voice was eager; there was no mistaking it.

So she had a thing for DW. Launchpad needed to just take a little moment to process that; he really hadn't seen that coming. It wasn't like it *mattered* - he didn't have his eye on her that way or anything, it was just...

Well, what was it? He wasn't sure. His interest in Beth was purely platonic, as cute as she was capable of being. She wasn't the type of girl he generally went after, but he liked flirting with her; he liked being the guy to make her smile, since he had a feeling there weren't many guys who took the time to do it. And he really *did* like her, anyway, but that didn't have anything to do with whether or not she was interested in DW.

He was losing his touch, that was it. It wasn't that Launchpad had ever thought of himself as a real ladies' man or anything, exactly, but he'd never had any problems lining up dates either. With most girls, they at least knew when he was flirting with them; Beth was the first one who seemed genuinely ignorant of it. And it wasn't that he wanted to string her along, but he was surprised to find that they weren't on the same page here after all. Now that he thought about it, it *had* been a while since he'd been out with a girl, even casually... There'd been lots of girls when he was younger, in Duckburg, but most of the ones he'd really liked he'd had to leave behind. Then things had started to move more quickly - he'd moved to St. Canard, taken up odd jobs, started working with DW, and dating just hadn't been a priority. It took a lot of energy, it seemed, and there weren't usually more than two or three dates, and then either he or the girl lost interest; lots of misunderstandings, or just boredom.

Beth was kind of an experiment, and also kind of an attempt to ease himself back into it; go out a few times with a friend, remember how you do it, then start working into meeting new girls and seeing what happens. And it was way better to go out with a friend you knew you liked being with than it was to just pick someone at random, right?

Except now that he thought about it, asking Beth out under those circumstances, flirting with her every time he saw her... it all felt a little dishonest. He felt like a heel. Better not to ask her out in case she took it the wrong way... He was probably lucky he hadn't already set that situation up, by mistake.

"Oh, gosh, what time is it?" Beth asked suddenly. Launchpad checked his watch - it was quarter to eleven - then showed it to her. "WOW, is it really that late? I'm sorry to keep you - I should have -"

"Hey, I'm the one who's waitin' here, remember?" he interrupted, chuckling. "Calm down. It's more like I'm the one keepin' you."

She half-smiled. "It's not like that at all," she said; it was hard to tell if she was talking to him, or to herself, but she relaxed a little. "Well, I should go. I'm starving, and I have a long walk ahead of me."

Something in that sentence made him uneasy, but Launchpad tried not to show it. "Then go get somethin' to eat, an' I'll see ya later. Thanks for sayin' hi."

"Thanks for... answering," she said feebly. Her smile was distinctly nervous now, and she started past him down the sidewalk. "I'll see you. Um, probably. Right?"

"Yeah," he said, a little distractedly. It hit him belatedly what was bothering him about what she'd said. A long walk home... "How long is long?" he asked as she was walking away.

"What?" She turned back to him, and when he repeated the question, she blinked and then understood. "Oh - home? Um, about twenty minutes. So it's really not that bad, I'm just hungry, and you know how it is when you really want to *be* somewhere, right?"

"Yeah, but..." The direction she was headed in one a bad one. Launchpad had a pretty good sense of the better and worse parts of the city, and another half mile or so that way was definitely one of the worse. "Are you - you're just gonna walk?"

Beth cocked her head. "Well, yeah." She caught on a moment later, and fished through her handbag. "Oh! Oh, it's okay. I walk home all the time. I-" She paused, rummaging, then came up with a little spray can. "I have pepper spray." It had taken her a long time to find it, tucked away in her handbag. Her incredibly conspicuous handbag.

Launchpad had a sudden, vivid mental picture of Beth getting mugged. It was a horrible picture. His stomach twisted a little. "Look, I'm gonna..." He stopped. What was he going to do? Walk her home? That wasn't an option right now. With that thought as a trigger to remind him, he looked up briefly at the rooftop, then back down to Beth. He could *not* let this woman walk home alone.

She was watching him quizzically. A moment later the proverbial lightbulb went off over his head, and he dug into his pocket. "Okay. I think I got enough for a cab."

Beth came rushing back towards him, shaking her head and her hands. "Oh no, oh gosh, no no no. Please don't."

"Yeah. I'm insistin'."

"No! I can't take-" He stopped her, and forced the money into her hands. She held onto it but frowned. "I-I can afford a cab myself," she said quietly.

"Okay. Then you can pay me back later." She started to argue again, and he cut her off. "C'mon. Do me a favour, Beth." He grinned, what he hoped was appealingly, and she softened. A huge weight lifted off his chest when she nodded her consent. "Great. No rush on payin' me back, either. I'll see ya real soon."

Beth dropped her hands, cupping the money he'd just given her, and gave that half-smile again. "I'll have the money for you then." She took a step backwards, turned to go, and then turned back. "Um... Thanks."

"No problemo!"

She turned again, took two more steps, and then turned back beseechingly. "Tell Mr. Mallard 'hi' for me?"

Launchpad smiled and nodded, and what he felt was oddly melancholy. "Will do." Beth waved, and he waved back, and then she was halfway down the block, and then she had turned a corner.

He did wish he could have walked her home. But he was technically on the job, and there was DW's plan to consider... His eyes widened. "Uh-oh." Launchpad turned his head up to the rooftop, in time to see Darkwing hanging half over the edge, waving both arms frantically.

"LAUNCHPAAAAD!" he yelled. Then he disappeared - apparently pulled backwards - and there was quite a lot of light.

"*Uh-oh,*" Launchpad repeated, and raced across the street.