you have no idea how relieved i am to finally be posting this chapter! this is an au based off a post i made a while ago. i was originally just gonna write a short fic about it, but then it kinda... got away from me. there isn't really a plot or anything, and i don't have a set ending for this. i'm just a sucker for "outside looking in" stories, and there's a few different areas of the show i want to cover from that perspective. i realized when i started writing that i wanted the social worker to be a source of support rather than one of stress, so this is actually going to be pretty different from the original post i made. i hope you're ready for a fic that consists almost entirely of characters talking about their feelings, because here we go!

(you can also find some art i've already done for this fic at my tumblr art-gelato under /tagged/aptch.)

Chap 1: Gosalyn Mallard

It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. The lawn was green and neatly manicured, and the house was painted a perfectly acceptable (if bland) shade of pale yellow. In the driveway was an old brown station wagon that had seen better days. It was the only thing there that didn't look brand new.

Martha Brandgás walked with purpose up the cement walkway to the front door and knocked. Inside, she heard a muffled, "Oh, drat," then clattering and a thud, followed by a much less G-rated expletive. After a second, the door swung open to reveal a short, slightly out-of-breath duck, who she recognized from the file as Drake Mallard.

He quickly readjusted his rather ugly sweater vest, then put on his best smile and stuck out the hand that wasn't in a cast. "You must be Ms. Brandgás," he said. "Drake Mallard. It's nice to meet you."

She shook his hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Mallard," she replied. "And just 'Martha' is fine."

"Right. Martha." Drake cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "You're, uh. You're early."

"I'm always early," she said. "Shall we begin?"

Drake swallowed and shot a nervous glance over his shoulder before looking back at her. "We've only been here a week, so we're still just settling in. Things aren't as… tidy as they could be."

"I guessed as much from those roller blades you tripped over just before you answered the door," Martha said, gesturing past him at the clearly visible skates strewn across the hallway floor. A crutch was lying abandoned next to them.

Drake's smile grew weaker by the second. "You're very perceptive."

"It's my job," she replied, then angled her head forward a little. "May I come in?"

"Right. Right. Sorry." Drake moved aside, and Martha walked through the entryway. He shut the door and followed her.

The interior was just as pleasant as the exterior – or it would be, once all the boxes were gone. Martha navigated around the skates and went into the living room, where she saw a little girl with a helmet and a hockey stick, winding up to hit a puck.

"Gosalyn!" Drake barked, then flinched when Martha looked at him. "Sweetie," he said through gritted teeth. "What did we say about playing hockey in the house? Especially today?"

Gosalyn Mallard (née Waddlemeyer) rolled her eyes. "Not to," she muttered.

Drake limped over to her and held out his hand. Grumbling, Gosalyn relinquished the stick and tossed her helmet onto one of the armchairs. She finally turned her attention to Martha, assessing her with narrowed eyes.

"Gosalyn, this is Martha," Drake said, leaning on the hockey stick to take pressure off one of his legs. "She's our new social worker." When Gosalyn didn't respond, Drake sighed. "Why don't you have a seat?" he asked, gesturing to the couch. "Launchpad should be here in a moment with some lemonade."

Martha set her briefcase down on the coffee table and sat on the couch, folding her hands in her lap. "Launchpad?"

Drake moved Gosalyn's helmet to the side table and sank into the armchair. "He's a friend who's been staying with us to help," he replied.

As if on cue, a new, cheerful voice said, "I'm always happy to lend a hand!" A tall, well-built duck entered the living room, carrying a tray with four glasses of lemonade on it. He set the tray down on the coffee table, next to Martha's briefcase. "Ms. Brandgás, right?"

"Martha," she replied, standing up to greet him.

His hand almost completely enveloped hers as he gave her a warm shake. "Launchpad McQuack," he said. "It's real nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," she said, flexing her hand to work the feeling back into it after being released from his over-enthusiastic grip.

Launchpad sat in the other chair, and Gosalyn hopped up onto the armrest next to Drake. Martha noted how comfortable Gosalyn seemed – she'd expected a bit of tension, since Gosalyn had only been adopted a week ago. It usually took time for a child to adjust to a new home, but Gosalyn settled beside Drake like she'd known him for years.

Drake glanced at Launchpad, then Martha. "We were actually thinking about making Launchpad's residence here a bit more permanent," he said. "That… won't be a problem, will it?"

Martha looked at Launchpad. Despite his size, he was possibly the least threatening person she'd ever met. He had an "everybody's friend" vibe about him, and he smiled with a sincerity that was hard to find in most people. "Well, I'll have to do a background check on you, Mr. McQuack," she said. "How long have you two known each other?"

They both paused to do some mental math. "A few weeks," Drake replied first, while Launchpad was still counting on his fingers, face creased in concentration. "I met L.P. a couple of days before the accident, and he kept me company in the hospital. Then he helped with house-hunting, since I can't drive like this."

"Accident?"

"I got hit by a car," Drake said. "Driver took off before anyone could get his plate or anything. Launchpad's the one who got me to the emergency room."

"I see," Martha said.

Gosalyn shifted impatiently on her perch, obviously bored with this conversation. Martha decided it was time for a different line of questioning anyway. "Gosalyn," she said. "How do you like it here?"

Gosalyn looked at Drake out of the corner of her eye. "It's alright, I guess," she said casually.

Drake's posture stiffened at her tone, horror slowly creeping into his expression. He knew exactly what was coming next, and it wasn't going to be anything good.

"Y'know, when he remembers to feed me," Gosalyn continued. "I'd like a bed, but a pile of blankets in the corner is fine, too. And-"

Drake clamped a hand over her beak, laughing nervously. "Kids and their humor," he said, giving Martha a desperate look. Then he yelped and jerked his hand away from Gosalyn. "Did you just lick me?" he exclaimed.

Gosalyn burst out laughing so hard she fell off the armrest. Drake scrambled to catch her and accidentally hit his cast-bound arm against the chair, which hit him in the ribs in turn. He let out a strangled wheeze. Still giggling, Gosalyn climbed back onto her original spot.

Martha pinched her brow. "Please understand," she said, "that I have to take everything you say seriously."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Gosalyn said, forcing her smile down with some success. "I've never made a joke in my life."

Drake gripped Gosalyn's shoulder. "Gos," he murmured. "Please."

Something in Drake's voice gave Gosalyn pause, and she searched his face. After a taut moment, Gosalyn looked at Martha. "Sorry," she said. "It's actually really great here. Drake cares about me a lot, and Launchpad is fun to have around."

Drake let out a shaky sigh of relief, and he gave Gosalyn's shoulder a grateful squeeze before pulling away. "I can give you a tour of the house, if you like," he said to Martha.

"I think that's a good idea," Martha said, standing up.

Drake moved to push himself out of his chair, then winced and sat back. Launchpad helped Drake to his feet, while Gosalyn retrieved the crutch from the hallway. Now able to move with more ease, Drake led the way out of the living room.

There wasn't much to the first floor besides the living room, just the kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen counters were stacked with newly-bought dishware and appliances, some of which hadn't even been unboxed yet.

The second floor had three bedrooms and a bathroom. One was obviously Gosalyn's – there were already clothes and sports equipment spilling out of overturned boxes, as well as stacks of comic books and DVDs on the desk. Launchpad's room was also easy to identify, if the boxes labeled "LP" and the myriad of family photos and aviation posters were anything to go by. The third room had to be Drake's, but the only way to tell was by process of elimination. It was mostly empty except for a bed and a couple of unopened boxes along the wall, with no personal touches whatsoever. Martha wondered if maybe he just hadn't finished moving in all his things, but judging by how far along the other two rooms were, she had the feeling this was everything he had.

When the tour was over and they'd returned to the living room, Martha said, "Before I go, I'd like to speak with Gosalyn in private for a moment."

Drake swallowed and nodded. "Of course," he said. Then he looked down at Gosalyn and muttered, "Be good."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes at him, then followed Martha into the kitchen. Martha sat down at the table, and Gosalyn plopped into the chair opposite her, a sullen look on her face.

"So, Gosalyn," Martha said. "I know that you were only kidding earlier, but it's my job to make sure you're safe and cared for here. In the future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't make jokes like that." She glanced towards the kitchen door and added wryly, "And I think Drake would appreciate it as well."

"Fine, whatever," Gosalyn said.

Martha reached into her briefcase and pulled out Gosalyn's file. "As I understand it," she said, laying the folder on the table, "you gave your previous case worker quite a lot of trouble."

Gosalyn crossed her arms, slouching in her chair. "Miss Williams was stupid," she muttered. "And mean. She only acted like she was nice, but I could tell she hated me."

"Hm." Martha shuffled around a couple of papers. Sarah Williams was well-known around the office for her insincerity, as well as her impatient and judgmental attitude. Martha was loath to speak ill of a coworker, but… "I've met her a few times. After reading your file, I don't think she was an ideal match for you."

Something sparked in Gosalyn's eyes, and she leaned forward. "So you hate her, too!"

"It would be unprofessional of me to admit to that," Martha replied, a conspiratorial smile tugging at the corner of her beak.

Gosalyn grinned. "You might be alright after all, Martha."

"High praise." Martha rested her chin in her hand. "Will you speak honestly with me?"

Trepidation crept back into Gosalyn's expression. "What do you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"I mostly just have questions you've answered before," Martha said. "They'll bring back bad memories, and I'm sorry for that, but a file can only tell me so much and I want to be as up-to-date as possible. However, if you become too uncomfortable, let me know and we can talk about something else. I'm here to help, not make you miserable."

"You want to know about my parents and Grandpa," Gosalyn said flatly.

"Yes, to start with."

Gosalyn stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. "There's nothing new to tell."

"Maybe not about what happened," Martha said. "But my job is also to assess your emotional wellbeing."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're going to ask me how I feel."

Martha sighed internally. It was clear from the file that no one who handled Gosalyn following her grandfather's death had been particularly fond of her. Most notes focused on her misbehavior and stubbornness, and Martha knew she was going to have a hard time repairing the trust damaged by her predecessors. She decided to start by telling Gosalyn something probably no one in Martha's position had told her before. "Gosalyn," she said. "Right now, the absolute most important thing is how you feel."

Gosalyn blinked. "Huh?"

"You've been through quite a lot, especially for someone your age," Martha said gently. "I want to make sure you don't have to go through more. So, how do you feel?"

Gosalyn was quiet for a while, frowning at the table. "I don't remember mom and dad very well," she finally said, "so I don't miss them a whole lot. But… I sometimes do, I guess. Kids at school made me feel weird about not having parents. I had Grandpa, though, and he made me feel better. He was really busy, but he always made time for me. He would sing me lullabies every night, no matter what. It was hard to sleep after he died, because he wasn't there to sing." Then she snapped her beak shut, hunching her shoulders. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she furiously rubbed them away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"That's fine," Martha replied. "Can we talk about Drake?"

This brought back a bit of a smile. "Drake is… good," Gosalyn said. "He's strict and kinda shouty, but he's really good. No one's cared about me this much since Grandpa, and he understands me. He says he doesn't do lullabies, but he will if I ask."

"You seem very comfortable around him," Martha said. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised, considering you haven't known him for long."

Gosalyn seemed to think over her next words carefully. "He… makes me feel safe. And he doesn't think of me as a problem child like everyone else does. I know he'd risk his life for me."

Martha absently tapped her pen against her notebook. Gosalyn was earnest, and from what Martha had seen so far, Drake certainly cared quite a bit for the girl. But to have bonded so deeply in such a short time… It was definitely a good thing, but very unusual. Direct questioning wouldn't get her the answers she wanted, because it was likely something they wouldn't be able to explain themselves. No, the way to find out was through patience and observation. "Thank you for your honesty, Gosalyn. There's just one last thing I wanted to talk to you about. Right before you were adopted, I hear you had quite the adventure."

Immediately, Gosalyn lit up. "Oh, yeah! It was way cool! Criminal masterminds, superheroes, car chases – like right out of a comic book!"

Martha arched an eyebrow. The police had recorded their interview with Gosalyn about the incident atop St. Canard Tower, and she'd had a much different attitude about it then. A few weeks seemed awfully fast to go from giving half-hearted details to excitement. "So, you weren't scared at all?"

"Well, I guess there were some scary parts," Gosalyn admitted grudgingly. "But mostly it was cool."

"You did essentially watch someone die, though," Martha said. "How do you feel about that?"

"Taurus Bulba was awful and I don't feel bad for him at all," Gosalyn replied, lifting her chin defiantly.

"What about Darkwing Duck?"

Gosalyn froze. "What about him?"

"I watched your interview with the police," Martha said. "It sounded like you cared about him a lot. Losing him must have been hard."

A split second of hurried calculation crossed Gosalyn's expression. "Yeah, well," she said, her tone a little too casual. "At first, I thought he did die. But then I realized he's way too awesome for that. Superheroes have close calls all the time, but they always make it out. He's probably just recovering somewhere, and he'll be back in action soon."

Martha hesitated. On one hand, she was worried about giving Gosalyn false hope about the fate of her hero, and the long-term effect that might have when Darkwing didn't resurface. One the other hand, while Taurus Bulba's body had been found, Darkwing Duck's hadn't. "Alright," Martha said at last, returning the file to her briefcase. "That will be all for today, then. Thank you again, Gosalyn."

Gosalyn hopped out of her seat, and the two of them left the kitchen together. In the living room, Drake and Launchpad were holding a whispered conversation that ended the second Martha came into sight. Drake glanced between Gosalyn and Martha anxiously, searching for any sign that something had gone wrong.

Martha gave him a small smile. "Things look pretty good here," she said. "I'd like to check in again in another couple of weeks. I want Gosalyn enrolled in a nearby school by then, since September is coming up soon." She looked at Launchpad. "I'll run a background check on you, Mr. McQuack, and you'll need to come in to my office to sign some paperwork."

"You got it," Launchpad replied with a thumbs-up. "And just call me 'Launchpad'. Mr. McQuack is my father."

"Launchpad it is," Martha said. "I'll check my schedule to see when I'm available, then get in contact with you." She turned to Drake. "It was good to meet all of you."

"Thanks for coming," Drake said, shaking her hand in farewell. "See you next time."

He was obviously eager to see her go, and Martha had the feeling that, were he not apparently terrified of her, Drake would be all but pushing her out the door. She bid them all goodbye and headed out.

On the drive back to her office, Martha contemplated her new clients. They were an unlikely collection of people, and she couldn't shake the feeling there was something strange going on. Whatever it was, though, it didn't seem bad, and it also didn't seem like the kind of mystery she could solve in a hurry. Eventually, she'd figure it out.

She was nothing if not patient.