Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Rainy Days

Summary: When Beakley told Lena she could come over any time, she really didn't think that would include her sneaking into movie night after a spat with the Beagle Boys.

...

Beakley comes into the main TV room to find her granddaughter and the boys watching what appeared to be a low-budget horror movie- something benefiting from a title like "Attack of the Crab Monsters" and others of its ilk- curled comfortably on the couch, sipping soda and munching on various snacks while the thunder boomed just outside the walls. It's a welcoming scene, albeit a bit trifling, seeing how she'd have to clean up later. The sodas aren't caffeinated, so it's mostly just flavored bubbles.

She gets maybe five steps in, a warm greeting prepared, when she stops short, beak wrinkling. "Do I smell wet clothes?"

To the left of Webby, sitting quite comfortably at the edge of the far left cushion, a hand flew up. "Hey."

Lena. Of course.

Beakley makes a great show of walking behind the couches- she's never been fond of watching a lot of TV, but that's no reason to be rude- and around to the side, hands to her hips, with a bit of a lecture in mind- which, deep down, she knows is going to go right over her head, but she has to try. Then she sees her face, and all pretense of anger slips away. "What happened to you?"

Lena is dripping wet, shirt and hair sticking awkwardly to her wiry frame. Even her feathers seem strewn about. There's also the issue of the black eye that she seems to be conveniently ignoring, shrugging nonchalantly. "Hey, I wiped my feet."

She crossed her arms in an attempt to look stern. It takes a bit of sternness to get much of anywhere with Lena. "You're dripping all over the carpet."

"True, but I stayed off the couch, like a good house invader." She batted her eyelashes at her. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"There's a med kit in every bathroom of the house," Beakley informed her. "And some washing machines in the back. I suspect we'll be making use of both of those soon."

The sly smile slips off her face. Whatever she'd been expecting, concern wasn't part of it. "I didn't come here to be pampered, lady." Lena leaned on the side of the couch frame, taunting her with wet upholstery. "There's a scene later on where the MC fights a disembodied crab hand. Why not sit and watch senseless violence with us?"

"Hey!" Louie cried, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. "No spoilers!"

"Lena, tell him all the spoilers," Dewey said, shooting him a dirty look. "Maybe it'll teach him not to hog the snacks."

"There's more in the kitchen, Dewford."

"But we haven't finished what's in front of us, Louie."

Beakley leaned over and secured a good grip on the girl's wrist- not too hard, but not anything she could escape from- and pulled her to her feet. "You can debate spoilers later. Antiseptic comes first."

"I told you," Webby whispered ominously as she passed. Her voice turned vaguely British. "Yer in the doghouse now, love."

"Poppycock," Lena returned, just as faux-British as the other girl. "Ain't never been a dogcatcher that could wrangle the Beagle Birds, my dear."

"If you're done mocking my lit," Beakley broke in dryly, tugging Lena to the door. The teenager went along with very little resistance, glaring at her feet as she went. The bathroom is the typical McDuck family setup- white walls, white floor, white ceiling. The bathtub is big enough to drown someone of Beakley's size, with a sink and toilet to match. It takes a short tussle to get her to take her shoes off, and an even longer one to retrieve her shirt, which Beakley slips into the washing machine.

"You can't have this," she says as soon as she returns, clutching her necklace to her chest like a caged animal about to spring. "It's mine."

Beakley held her hands up in surrender. "Keep it." She grabbed a towel off the rack and tossed it at her. "Here."

Lena wrapped it around her waist, then awkwardly sat down on the pristine white bathtub ledge. The larger woman gladly took up the toilet seat, flicking open the medicine kit. "Give me your arm."

"This is stupid," Lena tells her, but holds it out anyway.

Beakley zeroes in on the cut on the inner part of her forearm, ignoring the hiss when the antiseptic begins to sting. It's unfortunate, but it's for the best. "There's nothing 'stupid' about proper bandaging. Now, who did you pick a fight with?"

"I didn't 'pick a fight' with anyone. I fell."

"You fell," Beakley intoned. "Onto claws."

"You don't know it was claws."

"Dear, it's incredibly obvious you've been nicked with claws. Don't play dumb with me."

"Alright, alright, it was claws." Lena threw her hands up; then, remembering the antiseptic, let out a wince and dropped them. "But I didn't pick any fight. I was just mindin' my own business when some Beagle Boy jumped me."

Beakley raised an eyebrow that was incredibly well-cared for. "In the middle of the night. During a thunderstorm."

"Are you insinuating something, tea time?"

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps not. I'm not really sure."

Lena blinked at her, the honestly in her statement hitting a nerve. "Oh."

Beakley scooched herself back a bit in order to get more comfortable, placing her hands on her lap. "Lena, is there a reason you're always by yourself?"

She shrugged, unable to meet her eye. "It's hard to keep up the mysterious rebel image if you got someone with you twenty-four-seven."

"I suppose it would be," the housekeeper agreed. She awkwardly set a hand on her knee. This wasn't a situation she'd ever had to face before. After all, it wasn't like Beakley had ever been in prolonged care for any children other than Webby. And Lena was so... Lena. It's a hard thing to describe. She was just as helpful as she was spiteful. Everything got complicated when she came around. "Listen to me, Lena. If there's... if there's something going on where you live. Something... unfortunate. I just want you to know that this house is open to you at any time, and for however long you think best. You wouldn't be making a nuisance of yourself by any stretch of the imagination."

"I'm always making a nuisance of myself," she quipped, but her voice was shaky, like she wanted to cry but didn't know why.

"Not in this sense. Mr. McDuck is by no means a man lacking in funding- and, as much as he hates to admit it, he'd rather rent out this entire mansion than send a single child back to a home that's, well, not a home." Beakley cleared her throat and tacked on: "I'm not going to ask you to tell me. If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, then I'll leave it be."

Lena opened her mouth to comment, but before she could the washing machine dinged from down the hall. Beakley heaved herself off the toilet and went to toss her shirt into the dryer. Lena followed, clutching the towel in one hand, her necklace in the other, and her pride in her teeth.

"I don't get you, Beakley," she says, but the sentence feels more like background noise, overshadowed by the clunking of the dryer and the tick-tockig of the wall clock.

"The feeling is mutual, I assure you." Beakley tapped her shoulder. "I've got spare coats in my bedroom. You'll just have to wear one of those."

Lena stared at her, baffled. "No offense, but I don't think we're the type of duo that can share outfits, you know? I've got my look, you've got your's, you're wide enough to pick up a tank, a stiff breeze could blow me over..."

"Is that your way of asking to be fed?"

"I mean, it wasn't, but if you're offering food I'm more than happy to take what I can get."

She probably doesn't get enough, her mind whispered. She ignored that thought with a grimace. There was no point in projecting. Lena must have some sort of money supply somewhere- her phone was a clear indicator of that. (Could be stolen, that little voice answered wickedly, and Beakley really didn't want to consider that option either).

There are movies, in which the child of one of the characters will put on their clothes and strut around. The image invokes the idea of long sleeves and a collar that hangs low-ish, with a middle wide enough for the child to get lost in. Such was the case with Lena, who flapped the sleeves on Beakley's spare coat like they were wings. "I'm pretty sure this single-handedly decimated my street cred. Thanks a lot."

Beakley prided herself on a job well-done as she looked the teenager over; bandaged, dry, and clothed. "The next time you come to my house bloody and wet, just head right to the laundry room, alright? Flopping down next to children while looking like a wreck is far from appropriate. It teaches them not to seek help with their own injures."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure that would teach them the opposite? And, besides; who the heck is gonna look at me and be all 'yes, this is a viable source for information about wounds, not the old lady who probably knows how to kill a man'?"

"Webby, for one."

She snorted. "Webby's smarter than you're giving her credit for."

"I know Webby's smart. I taught her. But you can't ignore that you have a particular influence over her forever." The teenager startled at that, but Beakley didn't pause. "You need to start taking more responsibility around her. She thinks quite highly of you, and I'd prefer if it her heroes didn't have a habit of bleeding all over the sofa cushions."

"'Heroes?'" she echoed. "You've gotta be kidding me. I'm not her hero."

"No, but she does admire you. That's fairly obvious."

"Is it, though?"

"It is."

"Oh." She smacked her lips. "Ah. Gotcha."

Beakley examined her for a second. The black eye wasn't particularly severe, though it had swelled mostly shut. Most of the other wounds had been bruising, barring the cut on her arm and the ones on her ankle, all of which were sporting nice clean bandages. Considering who she was working with, that was better than she'd expected. "Why don't you go sit down, and I'll make some grub? We're all getting a bit peckish by now anyway."

Lena stuffed her necklace into the closest coat pocket. She'd been like this all night; holding it close so she couldn't see it. Beakley imagined it must be deeply personal to her. "I'll try not to come next time, okay? I just kinda got lost, is all, and it's easy to find this stupid mansion."

"Still learning your way around?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Well, don't worry about it. I'd prefer you did come, if it means getting the help you need."

She gave Lena one last heavy pat on the shoulder and left her to find the couch once again. Beakley could feel her eyes on her as the door creaked shut.

Author's Note: I just really want Beakley to adopt Lena, ya'll. Be the stern but fair role model she deserves.

-Mandaree1