Eggs Benedict

A MD:TAS short (haha) by Liashi, with some help from Alori, both of whom do not own the Mighty Ducks.

For Confusion Add One Former Boss, a Dash of Peppermint, and Stir Well
Otherwise called Chapter One
In which, Nosedive attempts to cook.

Since the ducks had arrived and settled on Earth, (the hockey-playing, humanoid alien ducks, mind you,) it was a subject of discussion among some humans, hockey fans or not hockey fans, as to what the daily habits of them were. In time, certain savvy, business-minded television produces decided the harvest of this curiosity had to be reaped. So, one bright Anaheim day, a man and a woman came to discuss a business deal with the one human who had nearly exclusive access to the six ducks: Phil Pomfeather.

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Pomfeather," the brunette lady said as she shook Phil's hand over his dark oaken desk.

"Uh, no problem, boobalaette." Phil nodded as she sat down. Then, Phil turned slightly and shook the man's hand. He had an overly-bright expression on his smooth-skinned face, and it looked like the expression might be stuck that way.

"Please . . . Just call me Peppermint," the lady said.

"Sure, Miss Peppermint. So Mr. Kitzing, long time no see," Phil said to the man, who was now also settled in a chair.

"Sure is, Phil. It seems like only yesterday you were my intern," Mr. Kitzing said, while Phil nodded. "Now that we're equals, why don't you just call me George? All my friends do."

"Wow, thanks George!" Phil looked pleased, and George smiled in a self-satisfied way. "I remember everything you ever taught me about business, you know."

"Wheeling and dealing?" Asked George, with the raising of an amused eyebrow. His gaze was locked onto Phil's, and his mouth was set in a half-grin. The gaze and grin was of a kind that might lead a detached observer to conclude that the two were sharing some sort of in-joke. In reality, the both of them just took their business methods so seriously that it was an in-joke.

"Yep," Phil said, knowing that he had put these irreplaceable skills to use every day of his life since George had taught him.

"Exposé and exaggeration?" George continued.

"Yep."

"Deceptions for the greater good?"

"Can't live without 'em."

"Scheming?"

"Always!"

"Dreaming?"

"No doubt."

George paused. "Succeeding?"

"Yes," Phil said with the same strong assurance of his other answers. Then, he smiled weakly. "Well, I mean . . . when I can."

George nodded then leaned back in his chair. His expression smoothed. "The ducks could be much bigger, Phil," he said, "Much bigger."

Phil sighed. "I know, I know. But if you had to work with these birds . . . well, I don't know who would win, I really don't!" He shook his head. "And we both know you're the best in this business. I never forgot that time you got the actual first lady to play herself in that reality television gig of yours. It was golden. I don't know if we'll see such an achievement again this millennium."

"Yes. . . ." George said to himself with another half smile. "And the five hundred millions I made out of the deal wasn't too shabby, either." After a moment, however, he returned his attention to Phil. "You know, speaking of business, that's actually why I'm here."

"Oh?" Asked Phil.

"Yes, you see," Peppermint said, after catching George's gaze briefly, "There's a question on everyone's mind these days . . ."

". . . What are the ducks really like when they're not on the ice?" George finished.

"Well, I've already proposed making a TV show out of their life, but. . . ." Phil sighed, motioning to the side of the room, where a new floor-to-ceiling window (installed after the last trashing of the Pond by Dragaunus) allowed for a view of the ice rink. The ducks were practicing, skating about, passing, taking shots on Wildwing with the speed and accuracy that made them famous. "They thought it wouldn't sell and refused before I could even suggest it to any TV producers."

"Oh, Phil, you didn't really believe that, did you?" George leaned foward with a critical look on his face.

Phil shrugged. "They're always turning me down. I only bother pursuing when I think I can convince them, and that? They ripped my proverbial head off at the very suggestion!"

"Surely they're nothing but camera shy, Phil! Why, I bet they'd really enj0oy it if you just got them used to the idea."

"Yes," said Peppermint, "I used to be so afraid of the cameras." She put a hand on George's arm. "But Mr. Kitzing, here, he cured me."

"How's that?" said Phil, curiosity in the lift of his brow.

"Well, you see, I followed her around with a camera while she didn't know it," George explained, "And later I showed her the tape."

"It made me realize that it wasn't so bad after all," Peppermint said.

"Nice," Phil said with a nod. "But who would tape the ducks?" He threw out his arms, exasperated. "I mean, they don't just let random people into their headquarters, c'mon!" A silence followed as George and Peppermint stared straight at Phil.

"What? Me?" Phil pointed at himself, then waved his hands. "Boobies, boobies, I can't work a camera!"

"Oh Phil, don't you remember all that camera work I taught you?"

"I—I guess," Phil said, "But . . . Well, I haven't touched a camera in years!"

George grinned. "I'm sure you'd brush right back up. I have plenty of people who could help you."

"I . . . " Phil looked out at the Ducks again, running a hand through his hair. Those ducks, Phil thought, when I started with them, I promised myself I'd make them the biggest name in business! But no . . . they always have more important things . . . like saving the world! If the show was all ready to go, it'd be a whole lot easier to convince them. I just can't pass this up! It could be the big break!

Phil turned back to George, decision made. " . . . So. If I'm gonna be going to all this trouble . . . What's in it for me?"

"Hey, guys," Nosedive began as the Ducks neared the end of practice. He came to quick stop that sprayed quite a bit of ice. "Have you noticed that Phil's been up in his office this whole time with those two humans?"

"Yeah, he has, hasn't he?" Duke said, likewise stopping to look up into Phil's office. The duck frowned, his real eye narrowing. "I smell another stinky business deal."

"So, whaddya think he'll make us do this time?" Nosedive tried to get a quick slap shot past Wildwing. A human goalie might have jumped out of the way for fear of the puck's speed, but Wildwing just chuckled as he blocked it.

"Sorry, Dive, that lacked all surprise."

Nosedive glanced over and shrugged, quickly returning his attention to Phil's office.

"He do whatever he hasn't tried yet, probably," the Duck's right wing, Mallory, said. The sarcasm was clear in her harsh tone.

"Like what?" Nosedive skated back to get another puck.

"Nothing, that's what," she said. "Personally, I don't think he's creative enough to pull anything he hasn't already."

"I'd rather not underestimate him," Wildwing said after Nosedive tried another shot, with no success.

"Yes . . . " Grin nodded. "For a human, he has a conniving mind." Of course, he didn't even need to be the most philosophical member of the group for everyone to agree to that.

"Okay, so we split three way, I get free camera lessons and equipment and also . . . A date with Peppermint?"

Phil looked up at the elegant lady. "I hate to ask this again, but: you really want to go on a date with me? Would you mind if I wondered why? I mean, I try to look good but—" he smooth his brown hair with a hand and straightened his pants, "—I know I'm not the most good-looking guy out there . . . surely a lovely lady like yourself could, y'know—do better, I guess."

He was finding himself unusually embarrassed and maybe even humbled that such a pretty woman might have the slightest interest.

"Well," Peppermint flapped a hand, her eyes sparkling with good humor. "We thought it would sweeten the deal for you, and besides," she added with an actually honest-looking smile and blush, "I've always thought fat men were . . . Cute." She leaned forward and put a long-fingered hand onto Phil's, which was laying on the desk. Phil gaped. "So, what do you say?"

Phil began to pinken. He put his free hand on his wide girth. "I've been on a diet but, uh . . . anything for you, girl."

"It's settled then," George said, making it a statement and not a question. To this, Phil nodded.

Peppermint glanced at the watch on her wrist. "Sir, your director's meeting is in an hour."

George stood. "I'm afraid we've got to run, but I'm expecting big things, Phil."

"No problem!" Phil gave a thumbs up as the two swept out, Peppermint throwing back one last arch smile over her shoulder. When the door had closed behind them, he rubbed his hands together. "No way I'm letting this one go now! I've got a date, and I'm gonna make a mint. Ooooh, Phil you have really outdone yourself this time!"

"So, care to spill, Phil?" Nosedive said as Phil entered the locker room where the team was changing after practice. "What's the crazy plot this time?"

Phil sighed inwardly. He knew he needed to sound the Ducks out, and discover whether they suspected anything of his plan yet, but he didn't look forward to running this gauntlet. "What's what?"

He had to play innocent if he wanted to pull this one off, he supposed. But he couldn't come off as hiding something, either. Double sigh.

"What's your next wonderful publicity stunt?" Nosedive clarified more bluntly as put his stick back on the locker room rack.

"Nothing, really . . . I mean . . . " Phil rifled through his long personal list of convenient excuses for something suitable. "I was trying to see if I could wheedle that guy on giving me a better deal on this car he was selling. He's, uh, actually an old friend." That's right, Phil congratulated himself. The best lies are based in truth, after all.

"You spent all that time trying to . . . buy a car." Nosedive didn't sound like he believed this, and from the looks on the rest of the ducks' faces, they didn't either.

Drat. Time to bring the fake up a notch.

Phil glared at them a moment determinedly, then pretended to break down. "Okay, I confess, he's also an agent for this company who's developing fake eyes that people can really see with and they wanted Duke to model. Y'know, just a temporary exchange of his fake eye for theirs. Although they said you could keep it if you like it." Phil sidled up to Duke and hoped he looked hopeful enough. "What a deal! So, whaddya say, Duke, old pal?" He put a hand on Duke's shoulder and grinned big.

"Tempting . . . But no. Definitely no." Shrugging off Phil's hand, Duke turned and slammed his locker shut.

Phil sighed gustily, letting his shoulders slump. "I knew it. That's why I didn't even want to say. Well, don't feel bad, it's your life I guess, boobie, I'm just that guy who makes you do stupid stuff. . . . " Phil turned to exit, moping as well as he could manage when he really was on pins and needles to see how thoroughly they were buying it.

"Phil . . . " Duke said, now putting a hand on Phil's shoulder. "Look, man, it's just that you manage to come up with the weirdest stuff, and whatever is not weird always goes haywire. So, before some mad scientist decided to get pushy and do experiments on my eyes, I'm saying no. It's not you."

"I know. It wasn't that great of a deal anyway. I've got to . . . to uh, get my computer organized, so, see ya 'round." Phil waved and left the locker room.

"That was too easy," Duke said after Phil had gone. The ducks glanced at each other, unsure of what exactly felt wrong about the last exchange (it had sounded typical enough,) but not able to quite lay a feather on it. Phil, meanwhile, hurried away, satisfied that they he'd misdirected them enough to go forward without too much more suspicion.

Two weeks later, Phil had finished brushing up his camera skills, (maybe he should have gone into that business.) He'd also attended real lessons from a so-called ex-spy so he would be better at hiding . . . hopefully. Boy, had that lady's stare been scary. He guessed he tips had been helpful, though.

The only question in his mind was whether the ducks:
A) Actually already knew what he was up to and were waiting to get the jump on him or,
B) Would figure it out and totally ruin everything.

They'd commented once this week that he never seemed to be around, but had said nothing more. In any case, it was time, and he would do his darndest to get a stunt right for once. Phil was readying himself for his first day on the job while the sky outside was still dark, without a trace of dawn on the horizon.

"Extra film, check," Phil made a mark on a list. "Special lenses, check. Uh . . . Thingy . . . check. Extra batteries, check." He sighed and zipped his bag shut, then straightened his tie. "I feel more like I'm gonna go rob something than tape the ducks in action. But here goes." Phil locked the door of his apartment behind him. If things went well, he wouldn't be back until tomorrow night.

When he arrived at the private quarters of the Pond—the duck's secret headquarters, under the Anaheim ice rink—it was early, and not even the early risers were awake yet. Phil yawned as he prepped his equipment. Yesterday, while the ducks were out fighting that lizard dude—again—he had finished rigging most of the security cameras in the building to feed into his camera, all controlled by a special computer. It even had a remote control, and had been graciously provided by George.

It was hard work, but it meant Phil had extra points on his diet plan from all the extra exertion. Then again, who cared? These days, the diet plan was becoming less and less important every time he saw Peppermint. . . . Which had been twice in the last two weeks. Oh Peppermint. Sigh. He was starting to believe she was sincere about liking him!

Right. Anyway, to business. Those ducks had a lot of cameras. Phil still wondered how well this would work, yet the only thing he had to ask himself: Do you want that money and the girl or not Phil Pomfeather? Yes? Then go to it, and action!

Deep in the bowels of a strange collection of entertainment items, video games, and comic books, a sleeping teenage duck began to stir. Something was amiss. It was far too early for this Duck to be up at only 5:30 AM.

Nosedive raised his arm just enough to see his watch. "Must . . . sleep more. . . . " He mumbled, turning over and thinking seeing this time on his watch rather odd. But what had stirred him at first was about to stir him again.

"Grrrrr. . . . " Nosedive's stomach said.

"I knew I shouldn't have let Grin have that extra slice of pizza," Nosedive groaned, now rousing, sliding off his bunk and to the floor. "Ah, Cold feet, cold feet!" Nosedive skipped and hopped until he got his boots on. "Whew. Man, early mornings bite."

After changing his clothes and debating whether to brush his shoulder-length blond hair this morning: "Nah, did it three days ago. Tomorrow will do." Nosedive headed out to the main kitchen, luckily—or perhaps unluckily—unaware that someone was watching.

This kitchen itself was spacious but of a utilitarian design. It had an island in the center, around which were barstool chairs. The toaster was inset in the middle of this island, as well as was the blender base. The stove burners were not part of the island, rather, they were part of the half-circle of fidge, sink, countertop, burners, and paired double-stacked stoves around the island.

"Let's see, leftovers . . . No . . . doughnut . . . For once I don't feel like having it-" He paused. With a shake of his head, he leaned again into the fridge. "Nothing microwaveable that I want! Okay, what's easy to make-ah-ha!"

Nosedive pulled out a carton of chicken eggs and held them over his head. "Monsieur Nosedive," he said in a French accent, "Your eggs will taste the supurbist! No other chef can compare!" Walking over to the sink, he pulled out two and washed them.

Still holding the two eggs in one hand, Nosedive pulled out a pan, and a bowl to crack them into. "Now lessee. . . . " What was the next step? Oh right, butter in the pan. Drat. He'd forgotten it.

Eggs in one hand and carton in the other, Nosedive walked over to the fridge, figuring he'd put away the egg while he was at it. Upon arriving, he realized that both hands were full. Well, he thought, I can probably open it while holding the eggs. Carefully, he reached for the fridge handle. Three seconds later, the eggs he had been planning to eat were well cracked and scrambled, but on the floor.

"Rats. . . . " Nosedive stared down at his broken eggs, then opened the carton back up and slid it across the counter so it would be closer to the stove when he returned with the butter. Little did he realize how far off the edge it hung it now stuck out on the other side. He was preoccupied with cleaning up the mess, knowing that if he didn't he'd be in for an annoying lecture. He had just picked most of the eggshells up when he realized that someone was coming.

Instinctively, Nosedive dove behind the counter. He peeked over it a second. It was Mallory. As she approached the refrigerator, Nosedive wondered if he should warn her about the eggs still on the floor. The other duck didn't seem to have noticed it. Nervous, Nosedive moved around the counter to make sure he wasn't seen. A wicked grin bloomed on his face as he thought: Then again, it's Mallory. Why bother?

Nosedive could barely suppress his laughter when she shrieked and slipped with a thud. The resulting vibrations caused the open carton of eggs fell to fall onto Nosedive's head. Eggs broke open with crunching splats. Nosedive yelped and stood up as egg ran in his hair, and down his beak. When Mallory's shocked gaze met his, he realized this had not been very well planned.

Naturally, of course, she assumed this was one of Nosedive's oh-so-clever pranks. . . .

Which it half was.

It was at this exact moment that Duke entered, got a good look at the situation, blinked, turned, and left. If either duck had been next to him, they would have heard him mutter disdainfully: "Here we go again."

"Nosedive . . . !" Mallory yelled, getting up to attack, then slipping again. Egg matted farther into her healthy crop of red hair and smeared over her bathrobe. "Ow! Nosedive, you are a dead duck!"

"Hehehe . . . Oops?"

Duke locked himself in his room, glad that the walls were slightly soundproof. He decided to go back to bed.

Phil wiped his face. Why did it have to be so warm in here?

He was currently hiding inside the main kitchen's island countertop, which was basically just a hollow shell. This was so that Tanya could easily service the toaster and blender base that she'd inset.

But of course, since they'd been eating breakfast, they'd been toasting. A lot. And it was making Phil rather toasty himself.

The past months . . . Hours, he meant hours! . . . Had gone well. With his handy-dandy hi-tech laptop thing, he'd gotten great shots of the ducks being really normal. George would love it. Especially that one where Mallory slipped on the eggs. Beautiful shot. He could even see himself narrating a few words on Mallory's and Nosedive's relationship, which had always been a bit antagonistic and looked to stay that way.

If the ducks would just finish breakfast then he could relax. The walls were so close. . . . Maybe he'd diet while on this project, then forget about it.

"Hey, has anybody seen Phil today?" A now calmer, cleaner Mallory asked. Phil looked to his monitor screen, immediately on edge. They were suspicious. Not good.

Wildwing shook his head. "This is the last Friday of the month, right? It's his day off."

"Never stops him from showing up," Duke said dryly, shoving his bowl aside and picking up his coffee.

"Why, Mallory?"

"I don't know . . . It's just odd to me, I mean, he hasn't been around much lately. And he hasn't proposed any publicity stunts this week. It bothers me."

"I'm sure there's an explanation."

In his hiding spot, Phil moaned, then remembering where he was, clapped a hand over his mouth. Fortunately, not one of the ducks looked like they'd heard that. Pulling his paper out, he jotted down: "Propose ridiculous stunt so they won't get suspicious." Thinking about it, he erased "so they won't get suspicious"—what if he lost the paper and they found it? Boy, those spy lessons had got to him. He was thinking way too logically.

That night Phil slept in his hiding spot, figuring the less he went in and out of his hiding spot, the less likely it would be discovered. It was much more quiet in the Pond than that apartment complex in which Phil lived. The neighbors below him had teenage boys. (Just his luck.) Even for being cramped, he slept well and woke early. Trying to itch his shoulder, he switched all the cameras and monitors he was using to the duck's private rooms. Yes, they had installed cameras in their rooms. Phil figured it was only a security measure, because he never saw the ducks reviewing those tapes. Otherwise—creepy!

First he looked at what Dive was doing. Sleeping . . . Okay . . . Wildwing, hmm, reading, Mallory somewhere else, Grin meditating, Tanya somewhere else, Duke . . . Now here was something interesting.

"Yeah, so when do you want me?" Duke, oddly enough, was talking on the telephone.

"Ten, after the museum closes, two weeks from now, Friday. Got it." He paused. "Whaddya mean are you sure?" Another pause. Duke snorted. "I got plenty of look at the security and architecture. I'm telling you, I already have it all worked out."

What? Phil's eyes widened. Did that imply what Phil thought it implied? Duke was a former—or maybe still—a jewel thief, and he was going to go rob a museum. Hadn't he gone straight though?

Furthermore, hadn't there already been an episode where that was in question, and he'd proven he was a changed duck?

Though a conversation like this definitely did not sound good. Phil chewed at his bottom lip.

"Target? No prob. Right . . . What's a thief for? Talk to you later." He hung up and began to leave the room. "Time to get ready for my big heist," Duke grinned to himself.

That was definitely not the statement of someone innocent. Phil pulled at his tie, now under a moral dilemma. "Oh maaaan . . ." he muttered to himself. "I can't just not tell anyone. If he really pulls it off, I'd be aiding and abetting . . . and if the police ever found out . . . I'd be arrested! But what if the ducks figure out how I knew? Then my deal with George could be off! They'd never let me go through with it!" Wait. What if Peppermint dumped him on top of it all? "Money and girls or doing the right thing . . . ?"

Sadly, money and girls won over morality. Not really surprising, given the nature of Phil Pomfeather. Now where was this story? Oh yeah. . . .

Phil showed up at the game late, that night. He was not his usual self. He watched with the same expression, except a panicked look he took on intermittently a misplaced moments. The ducks hadn't struggled to win once.

Tanya skated up to him during one of the breaks, giving him a concerned look.

"Phil, are you okay?"

"What? Me? No, I didn't! I was under pressure I tell you, I couldn't help it!" Phil yelled, waving his arms. A few of the nearby humans and ducks stared at him.

Tanya cringed, then said slowly, "Maybe you should tell me, er, someone else, what's ha-happ-going on. You know, stress really isn't that good for you."

Phil put his head in his hands and began moaning. Tanya raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. "Hey," she said, feeling sorry for Phil, "Whatever it is, I bet it'll come out okay."

"Come out?" Phil looked more depressed. "No it won't. The way things are going I'll never be rich, and I'll lose my girlfriend."

Tanya was nonplussed. "You . . . have a girlfriend?"

"Peppermint." Phil was almost happy for a moment, before deflating. "But she'll hate me forever if I—if I don't—" He began tearing up.

Tanya shifted on her skates, now even less certain how to deal with Phil than when she'd stopped. "Um. I see. Hm."

"What's wrong with him?" Wildwing said, stopping by the bench. The rest of the team followed.

"Well, uh, he's worried about losing his girlfriend or something."

"Oh, haha, I get it now, Phil-mister. The reason you've been MIA is a feminine attraction. We've been wonderin'." Nosedive grinned.

Phil lifted his head, a bit taken aback. "I—yeah, that's why. I guess I forgot to mention it."

Nosedive gave him shocked look. "Watch out people, his head is in the clouds! Better stay away, it could be catching." He skated off.

"So that's what's been going on." Wildwing set his arms akimbo. "Explains a lot," he said, half to himself.

"Why do you think she would dump you?" Grin asked.

"Maybe she wouldn't, but without you guys agreeing to do my publicity stunts and to let me take some cuts, my savings remain a one-man gig. I'm barely making my apartment payments. There's no way I can support a lady who deserves all the luxuries in the world!" said Phil. He knew he was bluffing about why she'd dump him, but the rest of it was true anyway. He was finding himself "head-over-heels" for Peppermint. And he was rather poor. He looked to them sadly. Were they buying it?

Wildwing sighed that way he always did when Phil was getting on his soft side. "Alright, alright, what do you want? What's the next stunt?"

"The fact of the matter is, I don't have one. Between dating Peppermint and all the work it's taken to keep this rink running, I haven't had time to look for any deals that would appeal to you guys."

"I tell you what. Since you've been so busy lately, whatever publicity stunt you come up with next, we'll do it," Wildwing said. "And you can have a cut."

Phil began looking rather like a hopeful puppy, waiting for the expected treat. "Really 'Wing? You mean it?"

"Whoa, whoa, time out," Mallory objected. "How can you say that? Remember what happened the last time we agreed to do something for him?"

Wildwing shrugged. He put a hand up to shield from Phil what he was saying to the team. "I hate to say it, but we've gotta make sure Phil can make a living too. I mean . . . " He paused. "If Phil's got a girlfriend, maybe he'll finally get a life—and stop bothering ours!"

Everyone began nodding in understanding. "Alright, do it Wing," Duke said.

Wildwing turned to Phil. "I do have a few conditions."

Phil jumped up from the bench. "Name it, and you've got it."

"One." Wildwing held up a thick-gloved finger. "It can't be a stunt that anyone could get hurt on, like that extreme TV show; and two, it can't make us tangle with Dragaunus or anyone else we'll end up fighting with." Wildwing poked Phil in the chest. "Got it?"

"Aw totally babe, you've made my day, my month, my year. You're the greatest, Wing." Phil grinned and pointed to the rink, taking on the air of a coach. "Now you guys get out there and play hockey!"

"No way," said Wildwing, shaking his head.

"What!"

"Kidding Phil, kidding. C'mon, guys."

Except for that close call, Phil could not have been more pleased. He'd hold Wildwing to his word. Oh, yes, he would.

What was better, Duke hadn't come after him with threats, or with that big sword of his yet, so Phil figured that Duke didn't know that Phil knew what Phil knew. He was safe. Forget those moral obligations. He could say the footage had been automatically recorded and only reviewed later! What would the police know about it?

Besides, if Duke actually did anything, network television would be reporting him, and he wouldn't get away with it.

But . . .

No, he was going to ignore that continuing twinge of conscience. There wasn't anything more he could do. It was all coming together now. The next big Mighty Ducks promotion: Mighty Ducks, the Inside Story—or whatever those TV producers made Phil call it.

Hm, you think it's going to get better from here? Next chapter to be posted on Monday, and the conclusion next Thursday. CC is very welcome. Tell me what you think. Thanks!