A/N: This sort of picks up, timeframe wise, just after Bubbles, and it
might be handy to read that because of what I'm planning for later
chapters. Anyway...I'm kind of stuck at the moment, but this WILL be
continued. I wanted to go ahead and post the first chapter up just to get
some feedback. Enjoy!
Darkwing sighed as the blue armchair stopped spinning in his living room,
choosing to remain slumped in it instead of getting up right away.
Launchpad got out of the other chair, heading, as usual, straight for the
"Gee, DW, that's the third toy store robbery this week. D'you think
Quackerjack is behind it?" the large duck questioned a few minutes later,
returning with a bag of potato chips and offering some to the masked
mallard. Darkwing shrugged, finally getting up out of the chair.
"I don't think so, LP....the robberies don't show any signs of Quackerjack's
handiwork," he replied, waving a hand at the chips to decline them. "In
fact, if I didn't know any better..." He trailed off and shook his head,
unable to voice his doubts aloud.
"Huh?" Launchpad asked, flopping down on the couch and turning on the
"Er, nothing. I think I'll turn in. S'been a long night," came the reply,
and Darkwing yawned and stretched as if to prove his point.
"G'night, DW," Launchpad called cheerfully, his eyes glued to the TV screen
while he changed the channel to a cartoon that, for some reason, was on at
that obscene hour of the morning. Unable to keep from smiling a little at
his sidekick's simplicity, Darkwing shook his head and started up the
'Something's too familiar about these robberies,' he thought, changing out
of his costume and into his pajamas. He hated to admit it, even to
himself, but the black cats and bats he'd seen leaving the looted toy
stores were all too reminiscent of his girlfriend's old techniques for
crime. 'But that's impossible! She gave up her villainous ways; and for
ME, thank you very much,' he thought to his reflection in the mirror, and
his chest puffed up a little with pride.
'But who else leaves behind cobwebs at the crime scene?' a nagging voice
echoed in his brain, and he sighed, reaching for a framed picture of him
and Morgana at a barbeque the Muddlefoots had invited them to. Binkie had
taken the picture, and neither one of the ducks in it was looking at the
camera; Drake was making a valiant attempt at appearing grateful while
Morgana coaxed him into another helping of her ghoul goulash. Even though
the smile on his face was hiding a grimace at the food, both of them had
eyes full of love, and it was obvious that the two of them couldn't be
He sat the picture back down in its place beside another photograph of he
and Gosalyn with a tender smile; sometimes, just the thought of how lucky
he was to have the love of his two girls threatened to overwhelm him. He
didn't know what he had done to deserve either of them, but if some
nameless good deed had brought them into his life, he was certainly glad he
had done it.
"I don't care what the evidence looks like," he said aloud to the empty
room. "Morgana's not a crook anymore." Satisfied, he flipped off the
light and found his way to bed in the darkness.
"Dark? Darling? Honeywumpus?" Morgana called gently, trying to get the
attention of her boyfriend, who was currently staring down at his plate
while he pushed his food around with his fork. She got no response; he had
been in a gloomy, half-attentive mood all night. Sighing, she nearly
shouted, "Darkwing Duck!"
"Gah! What? Where?" he cried in response, jumping out of his seat and
drawing his gas gun, whipping around. Morgana sighed again.
"Just trying to bring you back to this world..." She trailed off, and
decided to switch tactics a bit. "What's on your mind, my little
honeywumpus?" she crooned, reaching over to cup his chin in her hand after
he sat back down. "You've barely even touched your cobra cutlets!"
"I'm sorry, Morg," he apologized, pulling his head away just enough to
leave her hand empty, then promptly reaching up to clasp it in his own. "I
just can't seem to get my mind off these robberies we've been dealing with
lately...three weeks, eleven different break-ins, and we STILL don't have a
real lead on the criminal!" he exclaimed. That was only partly true; they
DID have a few leads....but all of them seemed to point directly to Morgana,
so he was continuing to dismiss them.
"It's not one of your usual suspects, then?" she asked, green eyes wide and
"No....er, it's...certainly an unusual criminal, at least..." he began, somewhat
nervously. He knew he had to at least ask her if she knew anything about
the crimes...but no, if she did, she would have told him! Right? But then,
if he didn't ask...
"Dark?" her voice interrupted his thoughts again. "Dark, why do I have a
feeling that there's something you're not telling me?"
He sighed; may as well get things out in the open. "Well...sweetiekins..." He
stopped, trying to think of the best way to say this. He had learned from
past mistakes that saying the wrong thing with Morgana could end up giving
him fried tailfeathers. Then, suddenly, he had an idea of what just might
work. "Actually, I think I may need your help figuring out who the
She brightened, and he inwardly berated himself for even thinking she could
be involved in the robberies; she was obviously eager to help him. "Oh,
Dark! Really?" she fairly squealed, and he marveled for the umpteenth time
over how quickly her voice could go from seductive to girlish.
Smiling at her enthusiasm, he squeezed her hand gently. "Next time there's
a robbery, I'd like it if you could come with me, so you can see the clues
for yourself. Think you could handle that?"
"Of course, my little honeywumpus," she murmured, right back to the
seductive voice again as she leaned in to kiss him. He immediately melted
into a (figurative) puddle of goo, and all thoughts of the robberies were
forgotten for the remainder of their date.
A/N: Well, let me know what you think so far! And I know it may seem like
Darkwing asks for help too readily, considering the size of his ego and
all...but, look at it this way. It's either let his girlfriend help him in
order to appease her, or risk getting turned into something unpleasant.