#than any of this guy's seventeen year vigilante fantasy did

[notasapleasure]

I have that new Lord Lucan documentary on because 1) I thought it would be connected to the sensitive and thoughtful podcast I've been catching bits of on BBC radio and 2) mindless distraction from Everything

But it turns out to be very different from the podcast, and so I'm just drifting in for the occasional weird quotes or vibes.

It does get a lot more engaging in eps 2 and 3 but is also kind of.... let's harass the elderly with the help of AI. 🙃

A summary:

"crying into his prawns in Mozambique"

...

Chirpy Australian accent: "fake monk!!"

...

"Bezza Dougal... it's a little bit hippy, little bit out there..."

"Is it?"

"....*fleeting expression of doubt* y...yeah?"

...

"If you went by the book and did it how you were trained to, then...you wouldn't be creating a fake id and infiltrating a Buddhist commune."

*opens mouth, pauses, lets out a deep sigh* "...no..."

...

"This path has been littered with skeletons of my journalistic colleagues for decades before me."

...

"Waste of time, loadsa posh words..."

"But these people do facial recognition for the police."

"Well that's a worry, int it?"

...

"No going rogue, Neil."

*crickets*

...

"If you're not Lord Lucan then...then who are you? And he said...I was birthed into Stonehenge and brought up by the druids."

...

"Potentially a murderer or... potentially an old man who's just into peace and karma?"

...

"That was rather dystopian but he is ruthless sometimes in his compassion and he's got to a place where he's...maybe not...as outwardly loving. kindness. as you'd ordinarily expect from. someone. like him. um."

...

"I'm not a fucking Buddhist, I'm not anything!"

...

"We were all female impersonators. Very good at what we did!"

...

"There was a lot of grass being...uh...smoked."

...

"If he was onstage in Canada in 1969...how could he be Lord Lucan."

"Tricky."

"Yeah."

...

"If you're gonna go on the run for fifty years you ain't gonna go as Lord Lucan, are ya?"

...

And then we wrap up with the female director having to be Neil's mum #3 and talk him out of his lifelong obsession.

The end.

[cotton-tails]

They talk that night, after the celebratory ‘we-survived’ party, after the kids go to bed. They find their old spot up on the roof; where they would sneak up to as children when they needed to get away from it all, and they talk all night, until the sun peeks over the horizon and they can barely keep their eyes open anymore.

It takes some adjusting, but life somewhat settles down after that.

It’s still weird though.

He loves having Della back, but there’s one teeny-tiny thing that bothers him.

The kids.

She’s their mother. Of course she is, and she deserves to be their mother, and do all the things a mother should be able to do for her children.

And he hates himself for the way he’s feeling.

That first night, she’d told him he can step back now. She’s ready to take over, to raise the kids the way she’d been wanting to all these years.

And he knows she should. God knows she’s fought hard enough.

The only thing is, he’d spent the past ten years raising them himself. He’d given up everything for the boys. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep them safe, fed, clothed and happy. Even at the expense of his own wellbeing. There were some particularly rough months were he’d barely eat one meal a day, and some days where he’d lived off caffeine and caffeine alone. But they never went without. Not once.

Even when they’d moved back to the mansion, and he’d entrusted their safety to Scrooge (after some mishaps and a lot of careful negotiating with his uncle), Donald was still the one they looked to, the one they couldn’t wait to tell all their stories of their adventures to.

And he always, always, had the final say in everything they did.

Now that final say falls to Della.

So, the question now is; just who is Donald Duck without all that?

He briefly considers going back to college, getting his masters and actually going into a career he enjoyed rather than one that was convenient. Then considers the cost and what would happen if he asked Scrooge for help. That thought gets a half-fond snort and then gets shut down almost as quickly as it formed. The idea of re-joining the navy goes the same direction. He’s got enough trauma from his first stint.

The answer comes when the kids are off adventuring with Scrooge; Della opting to stay behind for some quality time with her twin. They end up in their old rooms, pulling dust sheets off old furniture and digging through old boxes of belongings that have sat, untouched, for over ten years. They’d opted for their own rooms once they’d gotten a little older, but had never moved further than across the hall.

The morning is spent darting between rooms as they rediscovered photographs, knick-knacks and some shameful fashion choices on both sides. When it goes quiet for a little too long, Della investigates to find Donald kneeling on the floor, staring down into a box. She sits down next to him and peers inside, eyebrows raising almost impossibly high when she sees what had silenced her brother.

“Is that what I think it is?” she whispers, snapping Donald out of his stupor.      

He swallows thickly and nods, reaching down and scooping up the neatly folded material. It’s a little musty, and well worn, but even folded, both twins knew exactly what it was.  

“The original Duck Avenger suit,” Della says, her voice full of awe as she pulls it from his slack hands and unfolds it. “Wow, I remember seeing this for the first time when you ended up on the news.” She snorts. “I spat my tea all over Uncle Scrooge.”

“Bet he loved that,” Donald smiles. “Still impressed no one figured out that it was me.”

“I did.”

Donald playfully shoves her. “You don’t count.”

“Rude,” Della tries to glare, but her grin wins out and gives her away. “Thank god you’re not running around in this flimsy thing anymore.”

“Hmmm,” Donald hums, not quite agreeing.

Somehow, Della knows exactly what his hum means.

“No,” she says, her smile dimming as she turns to him and sees the speculative expression on his face. “I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Donald obviously hesitates a second too long.

“Are you kidding?!” Della squeaks, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him round to face her. “Don, please tell me you’re not considering this?”

“I-” Donald starts, then falters at her hard gaze.

Because he is one hundred percent considering.

“Could be fun,” he murmurs, breaking eye contact.

“You could get hurt,” Della reasons.

Donald just levels her with a dry look. He really wasn’t actually expecting Della; self-proclaimed queen of running headfirst into the most dangerous situations she could find, to be actually arguing against the idea. Maybe her stint in space really had made her a little more sensible.

She opens her mouth to retort, then thinks better of it. “Fair point.” She sighs, sagging. “I just… I just don’t like you running around with no one watching your back again.”

He stays silent, mind running a hundred miles an hour.

It’s a crazy idea. She’s right on that point. It’s absolutely insane to even consider.

But Donald can’t help but think back to the eight years he’d spent leaping around as Duckburg’s only vigilante. And yeah, he got himself a bit hurt. He was sixteen when he started. Sixteen and awkward and with some of the worst luck in the world. But he persisted and eventually became a hero.  

“You could?”

Della blinks. “I could what?”

“You could watch my back,” he clarifies.

“I’m not gonna be the sidekick in this little fantasy,” Della retorts with a pout that reminds Donald so much of them as kids that he has to hold back a snort.

“Since when were you against grand adventures and insane ideas?” he asks; cause yeah, Della might have yelled at him when she had first found out, but ultimately, she’d never stopped him.

(Actually, she’d tried once, when he’d ended up sneaking back in through her window, barely seventeen and bleeding out on the floor. She had attempted to ground him. It lasted about three days and she’d threatened to out him to Scrooge when he’d gone back out. She’s all for a bit of risk, but not at the expense of her twin brother’s life.)

(She never told Scrooge. She’s about 98% sure he still doesn’t know.)

“Since that insane idea that got me stuck on the moon?” She shoots back. The awkward silence that blankets them is palpable; they’d talked about it, sure, but it’s still something of a tetchy subject at the best of times. “Look,” she sighs eventually, “you know what’s out there, this family has a whole list of sworn enemies, and that’s just the one’s we know of. You’ll be fighting alone, and… I… That stupid suit isn’t gonna give you any protection.”

Donald takes her hand, shuffling a little closer and holds her gaze with determined eyes. “Look, ever since you came back, I’ve been lost.”

Della looks somewhat defensive, but Donald cuts her off before she can speak her mind.

“You want to be a parent, and I’m not going to deny you that,” he sighs, “but I dropped everything for those kids. My life, my career… my sanity,” he adds with a wry grin, “all I’ve known for the past ten years is making sure they’re safe and happy. It was hard enough letting Scrooge look after them occasionally. I’ve completely lost who I am without them, and… I don’t know, maybe it’s crazy, and maybe it won’t come to anything, but I think I’ll regret it if I don’t try!”

Della is quiet. Too quiet, and for a moment Donald thinks he’s said something completely wrong and she’s just going to yell at him. Then her face changes, a small smile pulling at the corner of her beak and he feels the knots in his stomach loosen just that little bit.

“We gonna need to upgrade that ridiculous costume of yours.”

Donald grins. It’s not a glowing endorsement, but it’s a start.

“I know a guy.”