I do not own Darkwing Duck or his evil twin. Enjoy

My Parent's Footsteps

10:53 pm, 8th October 1980. It would be a date he wouldn't ever forget. A date memorable for being the death of his parent's death; shot down in the street by the lackey of a rival gang leader. Shot down right in front of him. Three should have died that night and three did die; just not the right three. A moment's pity entered into the heart of their attacker as he gazed into Drake Mallard's innocent eyes. He dropped his gun and turned around to walk away. That was all the time it took for ten year old Drake to pick up his father's gun and send a bullet into the back of Steelbeak. Showing no emotion he calmly wiped the gun clean and placed it in his father's hand. Then he sat on the ground and waited, a single tear running down his cheek before splashing at his feet.

They sent him to the St Canard Foster Home as there were no surviving relatives left around to claim him. Small for his age he was the immediate target for bullies.

"Hey look it's Drake the Dweeb. Why aren't you playing baseball Drakey? Are you scared of getting hurt or do you think you're better than us or something?"

"Well it would be hard to be worse."

"Looks like we've got us a smartass. Do you know what we do to smartasses Dweeb? We make sure that they don't remain smartasses for long." Holding Drake by the right shoulder he swung his right fist round in a right hook catching Drake a blow on the left cheek. Then his two friends stepped in with punching and kicking any part of their victim that they could see.

Three minutes later Drake had limped to the nurse and was pouring the tale into her sympathetic ears. Already a favourite with Nurse O'Neil after shedding tears in her office over tea and biscuits Drake had no problem in convincing her of his fear of the boys and the horrific extent of his injuries. Raised to motherly wrath she was quick to haul the boys up before the Director and have them stripped of their privileges for two weeks. Of course once the two weeks were up they were bullying Drake Mallard worse than ever. Though they weren't getting it as easy as anymore.

"Hey Mallard, wait up."

Drake glanced up to see Tom Mallory running up behind him. He sighed wearily.

"Hi Mallory, look what do you want? I'm rather busy at the moment."

"They're saying that you gave Sam Dingle a busted nose. Is it true?"

Drake smirked, "yeah and a broken arm too. I was getting tired of being his punching bag, it serves the bastard right."

"But doesn't he just beat you up even more."

"He tries to. Now I've got Science homework to complete."

"You're such a swot, do you know that?" Suddenly Tom found himself up against the wall with Drake's hand around his throat.

"Don't call me that. Swots are losers. Now say 'Drake Mallard is not a swot and a loser.'" He tightened his grip slightly then let go. "Say it!"

"Drake Mallard is not a swot and a loser; I'm sorry I didn't mean to imply that you were a loser c-can I go now?"

"Sure you can Tom. Now go off and have fun like a good little boy." He watched Tom go running off and then walked into the building and up two flights of stairs to reach his room. Once inside he locked the door and drew the curtains together. The only light came from his desk lamp illuminating the various books on chemistry underneath. Drake went over, opened the book on top of the pile, settled himself down at the desk and began to read.

Drake had only been in residence for six weeks but the walls of his room were still bare of any sort of personality. On the other hand the bookcases were full. On a shelf over his bed he kept his stereo with a stack of tapes next to it. In one corner stood a shopkeeper's dummy dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Attached to these were bells and in each pocket a wallet could just be seen. This was usually kept under a dust sheet so the casual observer was unable to see exactly what it was. Underneath the bed, attached to a wooden slat was a piece of rolled up material containing a set of picks. After finishing his reading it was these that he retrieved before shrugging on a jacket, unlocking his door and strolling into the corridor. He stuffed the roll of picks into an inside pocket on his jacket and began walking to the kitchens.

Along with the nurse he had also spent some time making friends with the cook. After all he didn't want to be fed liver and cold semolina pudding; the horror story of any government institution. It was one of the many things his parents had taught him – always stay on good terms with the people who did the cooking. It had come in useful for when he had skipped the communal mealtimes because he had been busy reading and forgotten the time or couldn't be bothered to eat when he had reached an exciting point in a book. It had happened again today and so his stomach was growling loudly at the lack of food inside it.

When he had reached the kitchen door he poked his head inside and looked around for Janet. Spying her he went the rest of the way in and gave her the look of a young boy who hasn't been fed in over a month.

"Janet, I'm really, really sorry but…"

"Yes I noticed you weren't in the hall at teatime this evening. I suppose you were reading again silly boy. Well I saved you some of the spaghetti bolognaise that I made. You sit down here and I'll get it for you. Then afterwards you can have some of my treacle tart with either custard or cream. Does the menu meet with Sirs approval?"

"That will be great Janet but can I have custard and cream?" He looked at her hopefully.

"If you like, but you must have your main course first. I'll get it now."

Half an hour later both dishes had been eaten and the time was ten pm. After giving his thanks to Janet Drake walked to the science lab. Unlike other foster homes this one had a school built in so that its residents could get an education which wouldn't be a source of disruption if they were one of those children who couldn't seem to settle down with a foster family. One on one tutoring was available for all abilities in every subject. It was the A level chemistry lab that Drake was now picking his way into.

Fifteen minutes later he had left and was making his way back to his room with his jacket bulging slightly. Once there he unlocked a wooden chest in the corner and carefully put the items that he had taken from the lab into it. The he changed into his pyjamas and crawled into bed. Soon he was asleep.