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seldomscilence16 · 2 months ago

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Whumpober day 1:

Race Against the Clock

Search Party | Panic Attack

Fandom: Ducktales/Duck Universe

…

Trembling limbs against his chest, a grip on his shirt from a tight little fist, teary quiet gasps. He does his best to rock back and forth at a steady pace, a buzzing numbness having filled his limbs long ago making it difficult to tell which way he leans. His mind screams at him to do something, anything, but he knows he’s tried everything in the book and then some, and he curses his luck now more than ever, for putting someone he loves in such danger.

His hold tightens at the thought, pulling the duckling just that much closer, his unsteady heartbeat likely doing nothing to help the boy. He runs his fingers through matted head feathers, gently adjusted each one, brushing away dirt and muck. The little head leans into his touch, stuttered breathing more apparent, he takes a long slow breath, holds it, and releases. For several breaths he waits, soothing the child in his arms as best as he can in such a hopeless situation.

“Unca’ Donald… are we gonna die here?” The weak rasp breaks his heart all over again, the breathless quality, the wet undertone that speaks of tears and panic.

“They won’t let that happen.”

Donald doesn’t know if it's a lie, but it's bitter on his tongue. At the very least, they would come for the boy in his arms.

Please.

…

“Mr. McDuck, if they are in there…”

“Spit it out.”

“Their air supply would have been limited to begin with, depending on how long they’ve been in there… if they’re still alive, they have very limited time.”

“Then I suggest everyone goes faster.” The old duck grinds the words out, trying to keep a lid on his temper as he grips his cane hard enough to cause the wood to creak, hard enough to make his joints ache.

“This is miles worth of underground tunnels, with traps and aging structure alike, anything could go wrong-”

“Then keep Gladstone around! I don’t care what you have to do! Just find my boys!”

“..Yes sir..”

“Uncle Scrooge, are you okay?”

He turns to the young voice, his temper washing away like an avalanche of snow on a candle. Three pairs of eyes stare up at him, tired rings underneath and so scared, but asking him if he was alright….

“Everything’s fine kids. Just, a lot of ground to cover.” He forces a reassuring smile onto his beak, ignores the shake to his hands and the waver in his step, anything to give these kids hope, but this is usually someone else's role, someone far better at it then Scrooge.

“You… really think they’re in there?” Webby is staring at- what once was- the entrance, now crumbled and blocked by the landslide the storm caused earlier.

The entrance to an underground maze, with rumored treasure in its center, old and hidden and discovered by their youngest when reading a book gifted to him. A book from somewhere Scrooge could still not identify. The youngest had gone off on his own, and Donald had found out first, a scribbled note left in their wake that had taken Scrooge too long to figure out. Now, now they’d been in there who knows how long, in who knows what condition, and apparently now on a time limit.

“Yes, and we’re going to find them.”

“Hello, we’ve come to assist!” The voice comes from above, the sound of jets reaching their ears belatedly.

Boyd and GizmoDuck descend from the sky, landing not far from the family, just above them, floating down with an open umbrella is José Carioca, and above him Panchito Pistoles with a parachute. Unexpected and unplanned for, Scrooge stares with a raised brow, feeling a headache begin to pound in his temples, this situation did not need anymore stress.

“How in the blazes did you even know about all of this?”

“We keep track of Donaldo’s wellbeing.” José drawls.

“And Dewey texted us.” Panchito’s grin is sharp.

“Webby texted us.” Lena and Violet pop into existence, several gasps and ‘holy feathers’ released from the group.

“Huey.” GizmoDuck says sheepishly.

“I’ve found several tunnels!” Boyd cuts in, eyes glowing as he scans the ground.

“Let's get started then.”

…

Fingertips bloody, hands sore and injured, Donald continues to dig at the rubble. Louie sleeps fitfully behind him, curled into a tight ball with the cape from donalds shirt as a pillow. His lungs take trembling breaths, he can’t tell if the unfulfilling feeling is coming from the lack of air in the room, or his own panic at the fact. If he doesn’t do something, his little boy will die, he will never see his family or friends again, he will never create the life he wanted, he will die here. Young, on an adventure he never asked for, terrified and injured and cold and running out of air, Donald couldn’t let that happen.

His breath hitches, inhaling more dust and dirt than air, as a larger bit of rubble dislodges. He moves it out of the way with a grunt, the barest bit of vigor returning at the thought of progress. As he turns back to continue digging, a rumble shakes the space, he lurches backwards, shielding Louie from falling dust and rocks as he waits it out. When the dust settles, he glances sideways to find a new layer of rubble atop the small dent he had made, the pile reaching farther in. The tight feeling in his chest increases, and he’s sure tears would come if he wasn’t so dried out. Huddled over the still sleeping Louie, Donald cries silent dry sobs, until there's not enough breath to do so, until his arms have simply locked, and his vision blurs, and the shaking begins again, and he can do nothing but shield a dying child.

He whispers a silent apology. To Louie. To Huey and Dewey. To Webby. To Della, wherever she is. To Scrooge. To everyone who loved the bright boy beneath him, and to all those he failed.

Darkness edges at the corners of his vision, a trembling spot of green all he can see through the dust, a light shines off to the side, but he can’t bear to look away. He can’t leave him.

Noise echoes around him as a warped unidentifiable mess, perhaps people in the after life after his head. Movement, the place is probably about to come down, he forces his limbs to hold, with every last bit of strength he has. Something touches his shoulder, something warm that breaks through the numbness ever so slightly, the walls had been cold… he doesn’t understand-

“Donaldo, breathe, please.”

“Zé?” He croaks, terror filling him at the thought his friend was on the other side.

“You’re safe. It's okay, we got you both.”

Oh…

And Donald allows the darkness to take him.

#whumptober2024 #no.1 #race against the clock #search party #panic attack #ducktales 2017 #duck universe #fic #child in danger #child injury #donald duck angst #louie duck angst #cave in #donald and louie duck

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kazoosandfannypacks · 3 months ago

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Summary: When Gandra needs help creating a virtual laboratory, she enlists the help of fellow misunderstood scientist Fenton Crackshell Cabrera, who agrees to help with only one stipulation: that their partnership remain strictly professional this time. How hard can that be? (Set somewhere between The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee! and Beaks in the Shell! missing moment; canon compliant.) Word Count: 4234 a/n: I decided to post this as a oneshot here on tumblr, but it's posted as multiple chapters on ao3, so if you'd like to read it that way, that's an option as well! Taglist: I don't currently have a taglist for DuckTales or Fendra fics! if you'd like to be added to one, let me know!

Strictly Professional

"It's now or never," Gandra muttered to herself, opening up her phone for the millionth time and typing in the contact name SUIT.

Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it again, she hit the call button, almost hoping he wouldn't pick up.

"Hello?" the voice on the other line came back, confused but not entirely appalled, which was a good sign.

"It's me, Gandra."

"Uh, yeah," he said, "I've got this great new invention that they call 'Caller ID.' Let's you know pretty quickly when a crook is on the line."

"Really?" Gandra asked, trying to hide her surprise and offense with a calculated sarcasm, "and here I assumed that you'd deleted my number by now."

"I never got around to it," he replied, "I've been pretty busy these past few weeks."

"Too busy to help with a project?" Gandra asked, and after a moment of silence, she let her feigned confidence fall. "Listen, Suit, you've got every reason to say no to me, but I'm working on something bigger than me, and I need someone like you to help me out. No one else understands what I'm doing."

After another moment of silence, a strained reply came back.

"You're right that I have every reason to say no," he grumbled.

"This was a mistake," Gandra thought, but before she could stumble through an apology and hang up, he continued:

"But, in the name of scientific curiosity, what is it?"

"A major coding project that's going to revolutionize indie tech," she said, "one that I can't work on alone."

"That's not very specific."

"It's not something I can tell you," she said, "it's something I have to show you. Does the Gizmoduck helmet have VR capacity?"

"Oh, you'd love to know that," he huffed.

Right. He also had every reason to be protective of the Gizmosuit around her.

"Well, if you have a VR headset," she backtracked, "and you want to be part of the next scientific revolution, just follow the link I'm about to text you."

"That sounds awful fishy."

"It's legitimate," she said, "you can run a triple spyware check on it— you won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"And once you've judged it correctly and your natural 'scientific curiosity' gets the better of you," she said, "I'll be waiting."

With that, she hung up, sent him the link, and then put on her own virtual reality headset.

***

It always took a few seconds to adjust from the dark corridors of FOWL to the well-lit virtual laboratory she'd programmed. She blinked a couple times as her surroundings flickered into view— in the distance, a crashtest chamber and a large worktable, as well as an enormous whiteboard scribbled with calculations and a lab table covered in beakers and test tubes that had multiple tubes and coils connecting them. In front of her was a disorganized desk, and she got up and took a seat on the edge of it.

The lab was the only thing that made joining FOWL worth it, her one sanctuary from all the small-minded voices calling her a freak. This had been her safe space the past few months, a place all her own, and she had taken a big risk in inviting someone else to invade it.

She'd started out this project starry-eyed and ambitious, but the longer she worked, the longer she knew it would take her, and the more she realized she'd bitten off more than she could chew. If FOWL found out what she was doing before she got it finished, everything would be lost. As much as she hated admitting it, she needed help.

It wasn't long before her virtual solitude was interrupted by a rift in the system, followed by the entry of a familiar face sitting across from her at her desk chair.

"Blathering blather…." he began, but his trademark phrase trailed off when he saw her.

"Didn't think you'd actually show up," Gandra said, not entirely untruthfully.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around with astonishment.

"This?" Gandra asked, gesturing around the room with her hand. "My lab."

"Remarkable," he said, touching the handles of his chair with astonishment at their solidity, "a virtual laboratory."

"And check this," Gandra said. She waved a hand and a beaker appeared in each of her hands, "chromic acid and acetic acid."

She watched the fear on his face as she poured the two chemicals together. Predictably, they exploded in her hand, sending virtual shards of glass around the room. She then held her hand up, unscathed, showing there'd been no cause for concern.

"Perfectly safe," she said.

"No real elements, no real danger!" he smiled.

"Exactly," Gandra said, "once we get this server up and running, the scientific community will be able to perform any experiments we want, without all the big shots calling us crackpots."

"We?" he asked, the wonder on his face replaced with apprehension.

"I can't do this alone," Gandra said, her calm airs wavering. "I need your help, Fenton. For the name of science?"

She held a hand out for him to shake, and for a second, the look in his eyes said he was considering it— but he then closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't you work for FOWL now?" he asked.

"I work for myself," Gandra clarified, "and as soon as I've finished pirating FOWL tech for this, I'm leaving them for good."

"But that doesn't change now, Gandra," he said. "You're running an entire server right under FOWL's nose and putting everything shared here at risk."

Gandra took a deep breath. This conversation was still going a lot better than she'd realistically expected, but nowhere near as great as she'd hoped it would. Without his help, she'd never get the cloud up and running before FOWL found out.

"As a proud McDuck Enterprises employee," he said, "well, technically, two McDuck Enterprises employees, if you count Gizmoduck, either way, as a McDuck Enterprises employee, I can't support this project."

"I figured," Gandra said. She started to put her hand back down, but he quickly took it and shook it firmly.

"But from one scientist to another," he said, "you've got yourself a partner."

She smiled. "Partner?"

"Professional work partner," he said, quickly letting go of her hand. His tone shifted from lighthearted to serious, "strictly professional."

Gandra nodded. After what she'd done, that was only fair for him to request as well.

"You've got a deal," she smiled, "partner."

Fenton's touch on the lab was revolutionary. With a fresh set of eyes, he pointed out things that she had grown a little too accustomed to to notice.

"Why do scientists always have to work in these cramped lab spaces, anyway?" he had asked, early on.

"It's a controlled environment," she'd replied.

"This whole world is a controlled environment," Fenton said, "can't you just imagine being able to work on even the most delicate of experiments outside, with no spacial limits or threat to public safety? Why work inside a box for ideas that think outside of it?"

It wasn't a bad suggestion at all, and they'd spent the next two weeks creating plants, trees, and multiple different environmental backdrops.

"We need quick-access lab tables," Fenton said, sometime later after the third daily digital trek to the labspace from their current outdoor work area, "all the essentials from privately built laboratories right at your fingertips."

It was a great idea, and Gandra set to work on it immediately.

"This place needs some kind of time function," he said, a few weeks later.

"What do you mean?" Gandra asked.

"Optional day and night cycles, or built in alarms after extended sessions," he said, "it's easy enough to get lost in your work in the real world, and it's proven easier now that we're up in the clouds. The amount of times I've gotten out of the cloud late and M'ma had dinner waiting a little too long…."

Gandra couldn't remember much more of what Fenton said in the rest of that sentence, only that it continued for at least a minute or two before Gandra could get a word in edgewise, and that, while it wasn't the first time she'd been party to one of his rambles, and it wouldn't be the last either. Though she could see how others might be annoyed by his constant rambling, she was almost endeared by it. Too long she'd worked in silence, and she didn't mind him filling it.

What surprised Gandra the most about their whole operation, though, was how well she and Fenton worked together. She'd expected some awkward tension, arguments over the best way to do something, a struggle for power over who gets the final say.

Instead, they made a great team. Fenton's big ideas paired perfectly with her recklessness, especially with no real threat of danger to hold them back. His tendency to stay on task helped her stay focused, and once she realized how easily time crept away from him, she started reminding him to take more frequent breaks. Somehow they both made up for the areas the other lacked in knowledge. Despite her fears about this joint project, she almost wished she'd enlisted his help sooner.

"Blatherskites, Gandra!" Fenton said one morning as he signed onto the server, "Are you still at it?"

Gandra didn't look up from her microscope.

"Good morning to you too, Suit," she grumbled.

"Did you manage to figure out the bug in the system?" Fenton asked.

"I think so," she said, pulling a glitching object spawn out from underneath the scope, "turns out, the bug was an actual bug." She pulled up the task manager with a pinch of her thumb and her index finger. "If I restart the program, that should fix the whole thing."

She watched as the bug in her hand curled into a ball, then popped back to life and crawled away across the table, not a single pixel popping out of place.

"That's incredible," Fenton said.

Gandra looked up at him for half a second, half a second too long.

"It's no big deal," Gandra smiled, and the mere fact that she was smiling at Suit told her more than she was willing to listen to.

"Sure," he said, though he shook his head as he did, and it took conscious effort not to watch as he walked away to begin the day's work.

Moments like these kept happening, despite her best efforts. A little too much appreciation here, a touch too much eye contact there, a growing acknowledgement of admiration for each other— all of this was adding up into something she couldn't let happen, not again.

Later that day came the first of the worst of them all. Fenton had this awful habit, one that only grew over his time spent in the cloud, where whenever he was lost in his own little bubble, as though he were the only one who could hear himself, he would start singing.

This would've been an annoying habit if he was moderately alright at it. It would've been irritating if he was horrible. But, unfortunately for Gandra, he was the worst thing of all: really, really really good at it. The first time she'd heard him, she'd almost thought he was just testing out the cloud's mp3 capability, and it took her a second to realize that no, that was Fenton's singing voice, and even more startling was that she enjoyed hearing it.

Today was no exception, as he absentmindedly started singing some showtune that carried from his workstation across the way to her. For reasons she wouldn't bring herself to admit out loud, she stopped her work and just listened, and watched the look on his face as he sat at his desk, fully engrossed in his work and lost in the melody he was singing.

What washed over her next was a wonderful feeling, and the horrible realization that came with it.

She was falling for him.

"Hey, Suit," Gandra said, leaning over the edge of his desk.

"Hey, Gandra," he said.

"I think I finally got the day/night cycles worked out," she said.

"That's great," Fenton smiled.

"I might need a second pair of eyes to monitor them with me," she said, "just to make sure I didn't miss anything. Know anyone who can help?"

"I'm your man," he said.

"I wish," Gandra thought.

"Besides," Fenton said, minimizing his desk, "I needed a break from the physics coding."

"I think the optimal spot is right over here," Gandra said, generating a blanket on the ground in front of them, and reclining on it, "that way we can best get a visual on the sunset, and then get a check on the constellations and make sure those aren't funky either."

"Sounds great," Fenton said, and he took a seat on the blanket as well, just about as far from her as he could be while still sitting on it.

"Note to self," Gandra thought, "next time, program a smaller blanket."

No, this wasn't her best idea, not by a long shot, but in the past week and a half, her falling for Fenton had only exponentially increased in acceleration. She'd agreed to maintain a strictly professional relationship with him, and she wouldn't risk the project to ask him out on a date or anything like that— no, not at all. Surely, though, there was nothing more professional than getting a second opinion on your contribution to a shared project, right? And if it happened that they were watching a beautifully programmed sunset together and spending a few hours stargazing afterwards, that wasn't really her fault, was it?

***

"Suit," Gandra said, hurriedly, trying to play it cool as Fenton logged into the server, "I finally finished that project of mine."

"Does that mean I finally get to find out what it is?" Fenton asked.

"Yeah," Gandra smiled, "remember last week when I fixed the bug where you get thrown out of moving vehicles?"

"The fix we tested with that long drive together down the backroads of the cloud?" Fenton asked.

"Yeah," Gandra sheepishly replied, then regained her confidence, "I thought today we'd really put that to the test. Behold!"

With a wave of her hands, a wrought iron fence with a wide-open gate sprawled before them.

"What's that?" Gandra asked.

"Carnival," she said, and she walked through the gate, with him following close behind, "I figure it has everything we need to really put those vehicle mechanics through their paces: drop tower, ferris wheel, carousel, rollercoaster, scrambler, tunnel o' love, bumper cars…"

"Is that really necessary?" Fenton stopped in his tracks.

"Bumper cars?" Gandra asked, "oh sure. The crash testing alone is…."

"The 'tunnel o' love, Gandra?'"

"Don't be ridiculous, Suit," Gandra said, "of course it is. We haven't done any real testing so far on boats, running water, lighting, or realistic sound quality in tunnels, and that way we can kill four birds with one stone."

"Alright then," Fenton smiled, "let's start there."

***

"I just had another thought," Gandra said one afternoon, as if it wasn't something she'd been thinking since at least their carnival experiment last week, "we've put a lot of testing into users interacting with the physical world."

"Indeed," Fenton said.

"But we haven't put much test into users interacting with each other."

"How do you figure?" Fenton asked.

"Well, I know that when I touch something," Gandra said, reaching across her desk to tap a fist on Fenton's desk, "I can feel it. I don't pass through it."

"That's right," Fenton said, "there's a mass effect applied to each individual object, otherwise we'd spend all our time here in the cloud falling through the terrain."

"Right," Gandra said, "but can we interact with other users in the same way? Can we pull them out of the way of a stupid mistake, or high-five them when they get something right?"

"We can find out," Fenton said. He held a hand up in the air, and Gandra high-fived him, letting her hand linger a moment longer than she'd intended.

"Perfectly fine to me," Fenton said, and he turned back to his work.

"But does the system have any issue with sustained contact?" Gandra asked, "and on another note, is there an auditory lag between server accesses?"

"I hadn't considered that," Fenton shrugged, "I suppose we could brainstorm some tests."

"Oh, I have an idea for one," Gandra said, tucking her hair behind her ear, coyly, as though the idea had come on suddenly and not been premeditated before the conversation even began.

"What is it?"

"This is gonna sound silly," Gandra said, "but what about dancing?"

"Dancing?" Fenton looked up at her, a bit nervous.

"Yeah, it was a silly idea."

"No," he quickly interjected, "no, I think it'll work. The musical accompaniment provides auditory testing, and attempts to keep in time with the music and each other should take care of the rest."

"Perfect," Gandra snapped her fingers and cleared away their desks, replacing them instead with a standard jukebox, one that, coincidentally, only played ballroom dance music in three fourths time.

Fenton generated a coin into his hand and dropped it into the slot of the jukebox, then pushed a couple buttons.

"The Blue Danube" Gandra said, recognizing the song as it began playing.

"You hear it too?" Fenton asked, "good."

"So that part of the test is working properly," Gandra nodded, "now…."

"Miss Dee," he asked, holding out a hand to her as the music swelled in the background, "shall we dance?"

Prince Charming in all his glory couldn't've looked better in that moment than Fenton, still with a virtual labcoat over his standard garb, the digitized ballroom music from the jukebox playing in the background.

"For the sake of science," Gandra said, "I suppose I ought to say yes."

She took his hand and tried not to show her delight as his other hand rested on her side, or at the smile on his face as she placed her own hand on his shoulder.

"Have you ever danced the waltz before, Gandra?" he asked.

"Once or twice," Gandra said, hoping she wouldn't have to reveal that all of those times were in the last week, in preparation for this very moment, "have you?"

Fenton sighed, and began moving with the pace of the music, Gandra following suit.

"M'ma enrolled me in dance lessons when I was younger," he said, "I suppose I should thank her for it. A lot of the principles I learned there really come into play for Gizmoduck."

"Really?" Gandra asked.

"Oh, sure," Fenton said, and as the music twirled, so did they, "don't tell your buddies at FOWL, but if they sent a ballroom dance virtuoso against Gizmoduck, they'd win every time."

"My lips are sealed, Suit," she said.

At exactly the right moment, he spun her out, then back towards himself with magnificent flair, and she found herself closer to him than she'd been before. She also noticed that the daylight they'd been in when they started had shifted to another perfect sunset. Had she been a bit more focused, she would've pondered the sudden change in the skies, a change hours ahead of schedule. She might've even begun to wonder who, between the two of them, had the thoughts and ideas that began this change, settling in a new ambiance, replacing what had been with a gentler, almost romantic mood as they danced across their virtual outdoor laboratory. Had she been paying attention, she probably still couldn't've been sure which of them set the early sunset in motion, anyways, so maybe it was for the better that she chose not to think of it and instead focused that attention on her partner.

"And where'd you learn to dance?" he asked.

"I've been taking lessons," she said, "I've gotta keep my skills up and make it at least look like I'm trying next time Gizmoduck gets the jump on me. Word around the street is that he's getting pretty good at what he does."

Febton smiled like an absolute dork, which was fortunately the way Gandra liked him.

"I'll have to tell 'Gizmoduck' later that you said that," he teased, "he has such little self esteem these days."

"I don't see why," Gandra said, with a smile, "I happen to think he's a pretty great guy."

"I am? I mean, he is?" Fenton asked, and though he stumbled over his words, his feet didn't falter.

"Yeah," Gandra smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, "you know, you're not so bad yourself, for a FOWL agent."

"Is that all I am to you?" Gandra asked, and though her words maintained the lighthearted tone set by their light footwork, she meant it, having been wondering for weeks why he stuck around so long on this project in the little minimal amounts of free time he had between jobs.

"No, not quite," he said.

Against her better judgment she asked, "then what am I?" and for a terrifying second it seemed he might answer.

But instead, as they followed through the steps of the music, he led her into a dip and held her there, as though frozen in time.

She looked up at him as a star or two began to twinkle into existence in the lavender skies behind him. His arms, wrapped around her, supporting her back, were strong but gentle, and so were his eyes, overpowering, intense, and yet resting on her with the most gentle softness she'd ever known— and all that intensity and passion seemed to be directed at her.

If she could've stayed there forever, her hands around his neck, their beaks inches apart, his eyes washing her in their rich beauty and hers doing the same to him, she would've done it in a heartbeat. As it was, he already held her there a measure longer than the flow of the song necessitated, and then another and another, as though building to some beautiful unspoken climax.

But that climax never came. The song behind them ended, not naturally, but suddenly, so suddenly she expected to hear a record scratch.

In that same moment, Fenton sighed, and averted his gaze from her as he stood her back to her feet and let her go.

They both stood in front of each other for a moment, Fenton still not looking her in the eyes.

"You need to continue the project without me," he said, quickly and quietly.

"What?" Gandra asked, hoping she'd misheard him, "I can't do this without you, Suit."

"You can," he said, coldly, "you're one of the most brilliant minds I know."

"I need you here, Fenton," she restated, and she knew she wasn't just referring to the project they'd started.

"I can't," he said, "not now. Not anymore."

"Why not?" Gandra asked, hoping she could soften the blow and slow the shattering of her suddenly very heavy heart.

"We made an agreement when we started, Gandra," he shook his head and tucked his hands into the pockets of his labcoat, "but I feel I can no longer continue a professional working relationship with you."

"Why not?" Gandra asked, "if it's something I…"

"It's not you," Fenton said.

"Then why can't you stay?"

He closed his eyes and answered quietly, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Because I'm still in love with you."

Her heart stopped and started all over again.

"What?" Gandra asked.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" He asked, with frustration in his tone that didn't seem to be directed at her. "I never stopped loving you. I fell for you when I first met you, and that never changed. After you betrayed me, and then came back to help me, then left again without a word, you'd think I'd start to like you at least a little bit less! Somehow," he shook his head and took a deep breath, "somehow I like you even more. Why do you think I agreed to work with you again? Why do you think I'm even still here, Gandra?"

"But you said when we started," she said, "'strictly professional.'"

"I needed to remind myself of that," he said. "The first time I trusted you, it almost hurt a lot of people, people I care about. I can't have that happening again. I thought maybe this time I wouldn't get attached," and he stopped just a moment, and he looked her in the eyes for half a second, before shaking his head and turning away, "but even the great Fenton Crackshell Cabrera can't do the impossible. I have to go."

"No," Gandra said, "no, you don't. This time's different."

"Really?" Fenton asked, "what makes this time any different from last time?"

Some feelings had always been natural for Gandra: disappointment, insecurity, regret. But this feeling? It was a totally unfamiliar territory.

But unfamiliar territory was what science was all about. She took a step closer to him, and took his hand in hers, and he looked down at it in surprise, and then back up at her.

"Because this time I like you too, Fenton."

He smiled that same dorky smile again.

"Really?" he asked, but then let his guard back up, "and how do I know I can trust you?"

He'd turned his face away from her again, but she placed her hand on his cheek and tilted his head back towards her.

"Look into my eyes," she said, "I trusted you with the virtual lab, and now look at what it's become— look at what we made together."

"We do make a pretty good team," he said, with a halfhearted chuckle.

"Suit," she said, "I trust you, and I like you. Can you trust me too?"

He smiled, and wrapped his hand around hers as it rested on his cheek.

"I trust you," he said.

She smiled, and though she'd be reluctant to admit it, she may have giggled a little as he kissed her forehead.

"So," she asked, "partners?"

"Strictly professional workplace partners?" Fenton asked, with a raised eyebrow, "or strictly 'only professional when we're in the workplace, otherwise, perchance, daresay, romantic and wholesome and loving partners?'"

Gandra laughed. "That second one sounds about right."

"Then you've got yourself a deal," he said, "partner."

And this deal they sealed not with a handshake, but with a hug and a kiss, the beginning of the most lovely partnership any two scientists had ever begun.

#fendra #gandra dee #fenton crackshell cabrera #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #fanfiction #fanfic #fendra fanfiction #dt17 ff #kazzy writes #every day they're out there writing ducktales

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cityoftheangelllls · 5 months ago

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My versions of Gyro Gearloose and Little Bulb/Helper!! I borrowed mainly from the original comics/DT87 designs. This has been on my "to draw" list for a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time!

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#my art #angie's scribbles #disney #disney birds #disney fanart #disney duckverse #duckverse #ducktales #ducktales fanart #ducktales 1987 #ducktales 2017 #gyro gearloose #lil bulb #little helper

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aftermathfanfic · 9 months ago

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Part 4, Chapter 1

Uncle Scrooge stood in front of him, one hand on his cane. His hat was resting on a nearby countertop, and he wore a strange, guilty expression.

“I’m sorry, Louie.” He told him quietly. “I should’ve been there.”

“Mm-hm.” Louie grunted noncommittedly.

~~~

Three Years Ago

Louie sat silently in the armchair, his gaze levelled at a cup of water he was clutching in his hands. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall-mounted clock and the scribbling of pen against paper, a few feet in front of him.

“…Can you tell me what triggered your panic attack?” Asked Dr. Lake, his voice calm and measured.

“…Yeah.” Louie murmured. He took his hands out of his pockets, laying them on his legs as he talked. “Um… so, I was at my uncle’s Money Bin. Apparently, some thieves had broken in, tried to steal stuff… the Beagle Boys, apparently. No idea how they got in. Me and my brothers went over when we heard about it… not that we needed to, it was all wrapped up by the time we got there. We saw the police were taking some of them away, and they were searching them… fishing gold out of their pockets and everything.

“I came over, saw this, like… gold ingot that had fallen on the floor. And I…” Louie swallowed, forcing himself to continue. “…I saw my reflection in it. Like I’d seen in the… in the dagger.” Louie took a moment, then finished, “And I just… same thing that happened with my golden khopesh. I just… froze up, couldn’t breathe right… it felt like I was back in that room, like…”

“Like you couldn’t escape?” Lake suggested.

“…Yeah.”

Louie fell silent. He heard the doctor scribble something else down.

“…And what did your family do, when you had your attack?” Dr. Lake asked.

Louie shrugged. “Took me home. Huey calmed me down, he’s, uh… really good at doing that. And I just watched TV for the rest of the day.”

Louie looked into the cup, his tired reflection staring back at him.

“…I used to really like gold.” He murmured.

“Did you like it because it was valuable, or for what it represented?”

“Both. Kinda. Having gold meant that you were rich.”

“And what does it mean to you now?”

Louie shrugged again. “I don’t know.” He mumbled.

The therapist was quiet for a moment. Louie looked up at the older drake, swaddled in an old grey turtleneck. He put his notepad down, then asked, “These panic attacks, they occur whenever something happens that reminds you of that… ‘adventure’, yes?”

“Yeah.” Louie nodded. “That’s why we don’t go on adventures anymore.”

“And the nightmares… do they occur in response to similar stimulus?”

Louie shook his head. “No, the nightmares just happen whenever. There’s no… rhyme or reason to them.”

“I see… and do you tell your family about the nightmares?”

“No… but they know.”

“And they take care of you when you have your panic attacks? You mentioned that your brother Huey is good at calming you down.”

“Yeah, yeah. They take care of me.”

Dr. Lake wrote down another note. “…Let’s go back to your last ‘adventure’, where this all started. Are you comfortable if we do that?”

“…Yeah.”

“In one of our previous sessions, you mentioned how the incident started off as a ‘routine adventure’.” The doctor recalled, flipping through his notes. “Could you remind me… what constitutes as a ‘routine’ adventure?”

“Uh… ancient ruins, deathtraps, treasure that’s either cursed or protected by another, scarier deathtrap…” Louie explained. “You know, like those Ford Windfall movies.”

“And you’ve always felt safe on those trips?”

“…Yeah? Like, it- it’s dangerous, but Uncle Scrooge always has our back.”

“You feel as if your uncle protects you?”

“…Why wouldn’t I?” Louie asked, confused.

“He doesn’t force you to go on these trips? You have the choice of staying behind?”

“Of course I- What do you mean? What is this?” Louie demanded.

“Calm down.” Lake said steadily. “I’m not trying to be accusatory. I’m just trying to get a better understanding of your… situation.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re saying that- that it’s my family’s fault that- that I’m like this!” Louie accused him.

Dr. Lake didn’t say anything, his face pensive. He leant forward in his chair, his hands clasped. “Louie… if I could speak frankly…” He said slowly. “Your family has a very unique lifestyle.”

“Yeah, we’re adventurers.” Louie retorted.

“I know that. But please, try to understand… there are very few children who live a lifestyle like yours. And those children are typically… quite troubled.”

Louie didn’t say anything.

“There are many people who would say that your circumstances aren’t healthy for a growing mind.” Lake continued. “And if your uncle didn’t have the reputation that he has… well, it’d be seen as a case of neglect, or abuse, even. I-”

“Abuse?” Louie spluttered. “You think my family’s- what the hell do you know about my family?”

“I’m saying this is how your circumstances can be perceived. These aren’t my views, and I don’t personally believe this to be a case of abuse. But I do think that your family might have had a role to play, however unwittingly, in your trauma. All I want is to get to…”

Louie stopped listening. He couldn’t hear him. He felt his breathing quickening, his heart racing, the doctor’s words flying back and forth in his head. The cup shook in his hands, there was a ringing in his ears, and-

~~~

He was in a doctor’s clinic.

He was sitting on a bare white bed, a bloodied bandage wrapped around his midsection. His hands were in his lap, and he felt exhausted.

Uncle Scrooge stood in front of him, one hand on his cane. His hat was resting on a nearby countertop, and he wore a strange, guilty expression.

“I’m sorry, Louie.” He told him quietly. “I should’ve been there.”

“Mm-hm.” Louie grunted noncommittedly.

Both Louie and June had been whisked away to the village doctor’s clinic the moment the family had escaped from Castelo de Cristo. Both of their injuries were flesh wounds, though June had lost a lot more blood than Louie had. It took a while for her to wake up, and neither Donald, May nor Webby left her side until she did. When Louie saw her, she was sporting bandages around her head that held a thick gauze to her wound.

Louie’s complication was the poison – the bulezau’s barbed tail had delivered a potent venom into his system. It was a small dose, thankfully, but it was still enough to warrant an overnight stay at the clinic.

Scrooge was talking again. Louie wasn’t listening. He just nodded dumbly and said, ‘Okay’ whenever the talking stopped. Eventually, Scrooge left the room, leaving Dewey as the only other person in the room, sitting in a nearby chair. Louie didn’t look at him. He just looked at the ground, his hands in his lap, and the tortured expression of the murdered girl burned into his retinas. He remained in that state for the rest of the day. It still hurt to move, and he needed to lean on Dewey to walk, so all he could do was sit on the bed and wait.

They were back on the plane in what felt like no time at all, and the flight felt like it only took an hour. Louie kept his distance from the others, sitting up on the upper level buried in his hoodie. He didn’t speak for the whole trip, not even when they landed back at the mansion. Huey and Della immediately rushed to his side, helping him walk back into the house and worrying ceaselessly over him, and Louie saw the other adults rushing out of the house as well.

Louie didn’t think he’d ever seen Daisy so terrified. She ran up to June immediately, hugging her tightly and apologizing profusely over and over again. June didn’t look like she knew how to react at all. She just lent dumbly into her foster mother’s embrace, allowing herself to be led back into the house with Donald and May in tow.

Webby followed them with Mrs. Beakley beside her. Neither she nor Louie spared a glance at each other.

Louie was taken to his bedroom by his mom, with both his brothers in tow. He had to move slow, every step causing a dull pain in his stomach. He was sat down gently on his bed, Della kneeling before him. “Hey,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Louie grunted weakly, holding his wound.

“Do you want a can of Pep?”

“…Yeah.”

“Coming right up.” She stood back up, looking at all three of them. “You don’t have to worry about going to school tomorrow. We’ve told them what’s… well, we’ve given them a sanitised version of the story. You’ve all been through enough without having to angst about tests and stuff.”

Dewey frowned. “What happened to Huey?”

“…Something happened while you were away.” Della replied evasively. “But we don’t have to get into it now. What’s important is that you all recover from this, so you’ll stay at home. We’ll set up some sessions with Dr. Lake, maybe a-”

“No.” Louie interrupted.

“…Louie, you can’t-”

“You guys can do whatever you want, but I’m not seeing him.” Louie declared stubbornly.

“…Alright.” Della sighed. “You need to physically recover first, anyway. Just rest up, don’t exert yourself… if you need anything, just call me or your brothers. Okay?”

“Yep.”

Della gave him a weak smile, then left the three of them in the room.

Once she was out of earshot, Louie looked up at Huey. “Tell us what happened while we were gone.” He told him bluntly.

Huey hesitated. “…Louie, I don’t think you need to be-”

“I need to distract myself, Huey. Anything to stop me from thinking about last adventure or the pain, okay?”

“Or the stuff you said to Webby.” Dewey added, giving him a look.

“…I was kinda hoping I’d dreamt that.” Louie muttered.

“Well, you didn’t, and I feel like she deserves an apology.”

“Later. Now’s too soon.”

“What did you say to Webby?” Huey asked slowly.

“Just- tell us what happened.” Louie all but begged him. “Whatever it was, I can guarantee that it wasn’t as fucked up as what happened to us.”

“Language.” Huey chastised him.

With both of his brothers looking at him now, he sighed, reluctantly explaining, “If you must know, I got accosted at school the other day by someone from the FBI.”

“The what?” Dewey exclaimed in disbelief.

“…The Federal Bureau of Invest-”

“I meant like ‘what the hell’, dude. I know what the FBI is.” Dewey replied, annoyed.

Louie leaned forward, wincing as he did. “…What did the FBI want with you? Did they confuse you for me or something?”

“No, they- wait, why would they want to talk to you?”

“I dunno, I’m just the more suspicious one.”

“…Right. Well, what he wanted…” Huey continued, sitting on Louie’s desk chair. “And this is where it gets weird – he wanted me to talk about the Other Bin. Where we keep the dangerous stuff.”

“The…” Dewey frowned. “Isn’t that, like, top secret? I mean, we didn’t even know about it for like, two years.”

“It is. But he knew about it somehow. Or at least, he knew about some of the items we keep down there.”

“How?”

“No idea. But I did some research, and the guy who spoke to me…” Huey pulled out his phone. “His name is Agent Nickel, and – this is where it gets even weirder – he’s behind this.”

He brought up a picture of a large, dark figure being shoved into a police car, showing it to both of them. Louie narrowed his eyes at what he saw, asking cautiously, “That’s… that’s that ‘Phantom Blot’ guy, isn’t it?”

“Yep. And this…” Huey swiped through his gallery. “…is Steelbeak, being brought in by the Arizona police. And this is Rockerduck,” He added, swiping to the next picture. “Also getting arrested. And this one- well, we didn’t fight him, but he was one of FOWL’s administrators. All of these senior-level FOWL agents, everyone who fled from the fight at Alexandria, almost all of them are in prison now – and this Agent Nickel guy was behind all of those arrests.”

“Holy crap…” Dewey murmured.

“Lang-”

“This guy brought down FOWL! I mean, we defeated them first, but he- wait, shouldn’t this mean that he’s on our side?” Dewey questioned confusedly. “He obviously knows FOWL were the bad guys, why’s he after us?”

“I don’t know.” Huey admitted, putting his phone away. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe he’s covering his tracks?” Louie suggested. “Like…” He winced as he shifted his position, “…there’s no way that this guy just happened to know exactly where all of these FOWL guys were hiding out. That’s something you can only learn from the inside.”

“You mean Nickel’s ex-FOWL?” Huey frowned. “That explains the arrests, but what does he have to gain by going after Uncle Scrooge?”

Louie shrugged. “Dunno.”

He felt his phone ping in his hoodie pocket. He frowned, pulling it out and looking at it.

It was from Doofus Drake.

“So, what happens now?” Dewey asked. “Like, we can’t go on another adventure if we’re being watched by the government, right?”

“I don’t think we’d be going on another adventure regardless.” Huey replied flatly. “Not after what happened on this one.”

Louie put his phone away, trying not to betray the surge of panic he’d gotten. “Yeah, nah, dude. This adventure was a disaster.”

The door opened again, and Della stepped in with a cool glass of Pep in her hand. “Hey, dudes.” She handed the glass over to Louie. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, mom.” Louie murmured, taking the glass and taking a long sip of it. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Could I be, like, left alone for a bit?”

“You sure? You don’t want to talk about-”

“No.” Louie replied brusquely. Hesitating, he added less harshly, “Not… yet. I just… need to be alone.”

Della shared a concerned look with her other two sons, then replied, “…Alright. If you need anything, just shoot a text to me or your brothers, ‘kay?”

“Yeah.”

Della hesitated, then added, “…You don’t have to see the doctor if you don’t want to. But you should still talk to someone about stuff like this. Trust me, if you just let it stew…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Reluctantly, they left his room, leaving Louie alone. He waited a few moments after they left, listening to their footsteps disappear down the corridor, then he pulled his phone out again, checking Doofus’s message.

I see you’ve returned, it read. Bring my present to where we last met. Sooner rather than later.

“God… fuck.” Louie swore under his breath. He stood up, wincing at the pain, and trudged to his door. He opened it, looking down both directions of the corridor, just in case either of his brothers were secretly listening. Seeing nobody, he shut his door and hobbled back to his bed, dialling the number that the text had come from.

Only a few seconds later, there was an answer from the other end. “Llewellyn.” Doofus greeted him boredly.

“Hey, Doofus, buddy!” Louie replied, trying to sound confident. “Hey, look, I’m gonna just say it and save us both a car trip – I don’t have a treasure for you.”

“…Is that so?” Doofus replied disinterestedly.

“Yeah, I know. I know how it looks, but the thing is-” Louie bit back a hiss of pain as he sat down on the bed. “…my uncle had been duped. There wasn’t any treasure for me to grab, so- so you can’t exactly blame me for not-”

“I thought I was clear, Llewellyn.” Doofus interrupted him. “Bring me my trinkets, or your school finds something… unpleasant in your locker.”

“I know, but there- there were no trinkets to nab.” Louie chuckled nervously. “You gotta understand that!”

“I believe I mentioned, last we spoke, about perusing your uncle’s collection?”

“That’s not an alternative. He’ll know, man.”

“We both know that’s not my problem.”

“Look, just- be reasonable.” Louie groaned. Thinking quickly, he told him, “My family goes adventuring every weekend, right? Why can’t I just get you something on our next adventure?”

“And give you and Chanda time to ruin me?”

Louie froze. He heard Doofus chuckle and remark, “Yes… I know you two are plotting against me. Really, Llewellyn? Trying to wriggle out the moment you’re out of earshot?”

Louie took a few moments to compose his answer, replying carefully, “…Guys like us don’t like being blackmailed, Doof. I feel like you’d do something similar in my position.”

“Hm.” Doofus sounded amused.

Louie sighed, continuing, “Look, your blackmail isn’t going to work anyway. I don’t know if you caught on from how awful my voice sounds right now, but I’m not going into school this week. And if a bag of weed just magically shows up in my locker when I’m not even there, I can refute that easily, can’t I?”

When Doofus didn’t respond, Louie insisted, ��You have to give me a week.”

“…Hm.” Doofus didn’t sound so amused this time.

After a moment, he said coldly, “Next Sunday. I want something by then.”

“I can get you something by Sunday.” Louie lied.

“And I expect it to be gift-wrapped.” Doofus added before hanging up.

“Of course, yeah.” Louie chuckled to himself in the brief moments before his smile vanished. “Fuck you. Fuck you all the way to Hell.”

He slowly laid down on his bed, throwing his phone to the side and staring hopelessly up at the ceiling. He already knew he was going to have a bad week.

~~~

Bentina handed Webby a glass of water. “Here. This will help.”

“…Thanks.” Webby mumbled, taking the glass and taking a sip.

They were in Webby’s room, on the library floor. Webby was sitting on the stairs leading up to her proper bedroom, with Bentina kneeling before her. She had a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder, looking sympathetically into her eyes.

“…Do you need anything else?” Bentina asked.

Webby shook her head, taking another sip of water. “No.”

Bentina was quiet for a moment, before saying softly, “Those men… they were trying to kill you.”

“I know.”

“If it hadn’t been for whoever saved you, you would be in a much worse place. You know that?”

Webby frowned, looking up at her. “Are… you trying to make me feel better about it?”

“I’m trying to make you understand that it couldn’t have gone any other way.” Bentina told her. When Webby didn’t respond, Bentina insisted, “It had to be done.”

“…I don’t like that idea.” Webby murmured.

That’s because you’re young, Bentina thought to herself. But she said nothing, only looked at her granddaughter sadly.

“…I’ll get you something sweeter.” She decided, standing up. “Apple juice?”

“…Yes, please.”

Bentina left the room, leaving the door open behind her. She made her way to the kitchen, where she found Donald, Daisy, and Scrooge having a hushed conversation. They stopped as she entered, though it didn’t escape Bentina’s notice that their words had a somewhat heated edge.

“…How’s Webby?” Daisy asked anxiously.

“It’ll take a while. But she’ll be fine.” Bentina replied. “May and June?”

“…May’s alright.” Daisy answered her, worry painted across her face. “But June… she’s barely said a word since she got back. It’s like she’s catatonic.”

“She’s had a head wound. She’ll recover in time.”

She walked over to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bottle of juice.

“You can stop blaming yourselves, by the way.” Bentina added over her shoulder.

“It was our adventure.” Donald lamented, shaking his head.

“We sent them there, Bentina.” Daisy insisted. “June and Louie got hurt – seriously hurt – because we didn’t see this coming.”

“How would you have seen this coming?” Bentina questioned simply, walking over and putting the bottle on the table. “Our research gave no indication that anyone had lived in those ruins for centuries. And the only hint we would have had of them was a single missing person report. There was no way you could have known.”

“Goldie did.” Scrooge spoke up miserably. “She up and told me to my face. I didn’t listen.”

Bentina frowned. She opened up one of the cupboards, replying, “Well, you’ve made worse lapses in judgement.”

Scrooge gave her an angry glare. “A lass died, Bentina. Barely older than the kids.”

“And sitting here, feeling sorry for ourselves, will not bring her back or make the children feel any better.” Bentina said dryly. She put down the glass for Webby, inquiring, “You contacted the Portuguese authorities, yes? You told them what happened?”

“…I gave them a truncated version of it, aye.”

“And her family has her body?”

“Aye.”

“Then that is all that we can do.” Bentina told them simply, pouring the glass.

The kitchen door opened again. Della walked in, looking just as tired as the rest of them. “Hey.” She murmured. The others greeted her back.

“How are the boys?” Donald quacked concernedly.

“…Dewey’s handling it pretty well.” Della sighed, heading over to the fridge and reaching towards the top. “That boy’s unshakeable. But Louie…”

She took down a bottle of Irish whisky, admitting, “…He’s not gonna be okay for a while. He’s been doing so well, opening up to us and everything, but after this… I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts pushing us away again.” She laid out a number of glasses on the table, asking, “Anyone want some?”

They all nodded, save Bentina. Della poured the four drinkers a shot each, then promptly drank hers in one gulp. Everyone else took a sip of their glass.

“God, those poor fuckin’ parents.” Della muttered, pouring herself another shot. “Can’t imagine what they’re going through right now.”

“If it hadn’t been for that gunman, we’d be going through it too.” Donald mumbled.

“God… the idea of losing one of them makes me wanna puke.” Della winced. Holding up her glass, she asked frustratedly. “And we have no idea who that guy was? Not even a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Great.” Della muttered, downing her drink. “One more mystery to deal with.”

Donald nodded. Then, he frowned, looking up at her. “…One more?”

“Huey got accosted by someone at school.” Daisy muttered, her drink untouched. “From the FBI, apparently, talking about-”

Scrooge suddenly bent over in a coughing fit, slamming his half-finished drink on the table. He waved them away as they came to try and support him, thumping his chest as he cleared out his throat. When it was over, he looked back up at his family in shock and anger.

“…What?” He hissed.

#ducktales aftermath #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #fanfiction #scrooge mcduck #louie duck #dewey duck #huey duck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #daisy duck #della duck #bentina beakley

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