Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth

Ye be warned: this story does NOT have the action of the last one. In fact, this story has melodrama. And angst. OH THE ANGST. Oh well, it's emo, live with it. Hope you like it!

Irene Webfoot was worried about her youngest daughter.

Her two older children had had difficulties in school, and although Candy had mostly overcome them by this point, poor Beef was still struggling. Now, at age six, it looked as though little Beth was going to follow suit. Her homework was infrequently done, and her class participation was minimal. At this early age, the teachers considered it a huge red flag of problems to come when a child seemed disinclined to play the Alphabet Game.

Irene sighed. Candy's problems had only been solved by being kept back a grade; the good side was that being the eldest child in her second grade class hadn't seemed to harm her popularity, as the young girl was constantly surrounded by friends. Beth, on the other hand, kept to herself and didn't speak much to the other children in the first place, so pushing her back to repeat kindergarten might be a social obstacle that she could never overcome.

On the other hand, it might make no difference at all. She certainly did seem to be starting at zero. This was another area that worried Irene about her daughter, but all her efforts to encourage her little one to be more friendly and outgoing - more like her older sister, in other words - had come to naught.

As she dried the last of the dinner dishes, Irene considered her options. Aside from repeating a grade, she didn't know what to do. "Bug?" she called. Her husband, in his easy chair, turned his attention away from the cop show on TV and gave her a questioning look. "C'mere a minnit," she said simply.

He came. "You look thoughtful."

"Hon, what d'ye think we should do about Bethie?"

Bug considered, the small frown on his face a particularly unfamiliar expression for a man who wore a fatherly smile 23 hours a day. "Well, what were you thinking?"

Irene sighed; there was a lot to love about her husband, but he seldom expressed an opinion of his own without having it dragged out of him. "It's like the same t'ing over an' over again, isn't it? First Beef, then Candy, an' now Bethie's got all the warnin' signs. Is it just somethin' natural, like the folks at the school keep sayin', or is it somethin' we're doin'? Somethin' we could change?"

Bug put his arm around her. "Are you thinking about having her repeat a grade too?"

"I was thinkin' it," his wife agreed. "But then, I was also thinkin', is that p'raps like a bandaid, when what she really needs is an ointment? Are we just rushin' into the quickest answer?"

"It seemed to work out okay for Candy. And Beef, well, I don't think there was an alternative."

"Mmm." Irene nodded. "I s'pose it's a start. An' we'll see what she does from there. I just wish I knew what was makin' the problem, y'know, Bug?"

"I know." Henry "Bug" Webfoot stepped towards the hallway that led to his children's rooms. "Look, let's not make our minds up yet. Let's just go see how she's doing tonight."

They made their way down the hall to Beth's room, but it was empty. This wasn't particularly rare; Candy often dragged her younger sister into her own room a few doors down, especially at night, and the two girls had taken to spending long portions of the evening together. Since Candy had spent the first few years after Beth was born declaring her sister a "stinkpot doodlehead", Irene and Bug were both glad to see them spending quality time together.

Candy's voice was audible through her half-closed door well before her parents reached the room. "Are you done yet?" she asked petulantly. "You're taking practically forEVer."

Beth answered, quietly. "Almost. I have to check them though."

Bug smiled at his wife, his expression fond, until Candy spoke again. "Well you better finish soon, 'cause I still have to copy it, you know." Both her parents frowned, as the statement had something ominous about it. "Do you have any idea what would happen if I turned in my fractions homework in your baby handwriting? I'd probably get kicked out of school!"

Irene and Bug peered through the opening of the door and found Candy, sprawled on her back on the shag carpeting, her blond hair splayed about her like a golden halo. She had a "Tiger Beat" magazine open next to her. Close by, Beth sat at her sister's desk, looking at least a year younger than she was. She was hunched over something that was almost certainly Candy's homework. "Right," she said quietly, continuing to focus on the page and the book in front of her.

"An' you wouldn't want that to happen, wouldja?" finished Candy. Beth didn't answer, and Candy sat up decisively. "Would you?" she asked again, a hint of menace in her voice, and this time Beth turned around to face her.

"W-well, of course not, I just -" She noticed her parents, and fell silent, her eyes going wide.

"You just what?" Candy demanded, and then caught on. She turned in the direction of her door, tossing her head and making her hair bounce in a way she'd mastered by the time she was four. "Hi Mommy! Hi Daddy! Is it bedtime?"

Irene pushed the door open all the way and entered the room like a force of nature. "WHAT is going on in here!" The way she spoke, there was no real question involved.

Beth cast a terrified glance at her father, and found him frowning. She looked near tears. Candy, however, would not be cowed so easily. "Bethie needed help with her homework, and since she's only in first grade and I'm in second I helped her!" There was nothing in her tone to suggest that she was lying. It was a little unsettling.

Irene looked to Beth, who clearly knew she was in trouble, and just as clearly seemed to be prepared to be the one at fault. She turned back, and frowned at Candy. "Candace Maureen Webfoot, you tell me the truth this instant."

"B-but I just told you-"

"NOW, Missy!"

"It was Beth's idea!" Candy tried another track. At the desk, Beth flinched and a moment later started to cry. "She - she wanted to try it, and I thought it would be fun to let her, and she liked it!"

At this, Beth started to cry harder, and Irene slowed. She had a feeling this wasn't entirely a lie. Bug went to the desk and looked at the paper Beth had been writing on, then looked up at his wife and older daughter. "Hon - give this a look," he said.

"Don't even t'ink yer not in trouble," Irene said firmly to Candy, pointing a finger straight at her beak, and then stepped to the desk.

The homework page was math - the "advanced level" of math in the second grade class, since Candy was retaking it and as such was well ahead of where she'd been last year. But, it occurred to Irene now, maybe her retaking the class had nothing to do with why she seemed to be in a higher skill level. The handwriting on all the numbers was clearly Beth's; the equations, meanwhile, were all clearly correct. There was not a single mistake.

Irene and Bug exchanged a look, while Beth's sobs quieted into curious sniffles. "Maybe we should talk to one'a the school couns'lors, after all," Irene said cautiously. Bug nodded.

The noises were such that, at first, they just folded right into her dream. Little clinkings and thumpings, and her dream sort of adjusted itself to explain why she could hear kitchen noises in a pet store by adding a little coffee shop near the back, where the tadpoles were.

It wasn't until consciousness began to intrude, and the noises only became louder, that Beth realized they were real; that there was, in fact, someone in her kitchen. She wasn't yet at a point of thinking clearly enough to wonder why she could hear these noises so well all the way from her bedroom; heck, she wasn't even really wondering who the kitchen bandit was, yet. As she lifted her head groggily from her pillow (pillow? Since when did she sleep sitting up against her pillow?), all that was really on Beth's mind was the question: What am I forgetting?

She rubbed her eyes - or tried to, and found her glasses still sitting on her face, impeding her hand - and just sat and blinked for a moment. Certain things were very odd this morning.

For instance: this was not her bedroom. This was her living room, and she had slept on the arm of the couch all night.

For another instance: who the heck was in her kitchen?

Answers fell into place like dominos, one after the other. Launchpad was in the kitchen; he was why she'd slept on the couch, because they'd both been up all night; he'd stayed because she'd been upset, and she'd been upset because...

The sudden weight of sadness almost crushed her, and her heart squirmed like it was trying to leap right out of her throat. She lost her breath for a moment, and clutched at the arm of the couch. Drake.

Her life was over.

For a moment, just one moment, she felt lost... swept away in hopelessness, drowning in loneliness so deep that she'd lost her identity in it. She was alone - she meant nothing to anyone - there was no Beth, and why should there be, no one liked Beth, not even Beth herself.

But she shook her head. There was no good reason behind that thinking, and she knew it. She was an adult now and she had to stop thinking that way. Just because Drake... just because...

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears; there'd been enough crying the night before, and she knew she was overreacting. She knew it logically, but her heart didn't seem to care about logic, and as she tightened her face to try to keep from crying it seemed instead that she was trying to keep from screaming, trying impossibly to keep from flying apart where she sat.

She relaxed all at once, breathing hard, almost panting. And then she remembered the other part, the part that might even be the worst part. Launchpad was in her kitchen, and any second now he would come out, and she was awake and she'd have to talk to him. Because she wasn't alone, and she did mean something to someone, and she had always thought that it would be nice just to be loved by anyone but it was all different when it was your best friend.

He'd let her get away with not talking about it the night before... possibly because she couldn't do much talking at all, once he'd said it. (Maybe he hadn't really said it. Maybe she'd misunderstood.) But she couldn't ignore it forever. She couldn't, because if she did, she'd lose Launchpad and then she really would have nothing and nobody. It was funny, she thought bitterly, how being rejected by one man that she loved was almost better than being the object of affections from a man she didn't love. Not like that, anyway.

A cupboard closed, and she jumped and considered feigning sleep until maybe Launchpad went home. Before she could try to put her head down, however, he appeared at the door holding a little bag of freeze-dried coffee.

When he saw that she was awake, he gave her a huge smile. "Mornin'! Did I wake you?"

Beth tried to smile back, and was aware that it looked a little rueful. "Um, nah. Not too much. Did you..." She wasn't sure what she was going to say, and ended up trying, "Breakfast?"

"Oh, yeah!" He held up the coffee. "I was just gonna make us both some, and I found this - I thought you didn't drink coffee!"

"I don't," she said. "I keep that around in case Dra-"

The way she bit off the word made it pretty clear, even if she hadn't already said most of his name. She lowered her eyes, looking neutrally at the coffee table, and said dispiritedly, "For company. Just... in case."

"Right." Launchpad nodded slowly, and made his way into the room. "So... how ya feeling?"

That was a tricky question. Beth pressed her mouth into a tight line, and dropped her gaze even further. Then she took a deep breath, and pulled herself together. "Better!" she lied, and did a decent job of it.

Launchpad smiled, although it was only a half-smile, and she had a feeling he didn't wholly believe her. "Good! I was kinda worried."

"Aw," she said, and the entire room seemed to tighten into awkwardness as she pretended she wasn't thinking of what he'd said the night before. "Well, no need to worry about me! I mean, I have some... stuff, to... get over, but mostly I'm..." She shrugged. "You know. Fine. Or, I will be."

Launchpad looked at the bag of coffee, and then set it down on the table and took her hand. "Look, Beth... I just wanna say -"

She stood up quickly, and pulled her hand away as casually as she could. Regardless, she still caught the surprised expression on his face, and hated herself. "Should I make the coffee? You usually have coffee in the mornings, right?"

"Uh - well, I was lookin' for a coffee-maker, but I didn't see one, so I came out to ask."

It dawned on Beth, for the first time in close to a year, that she had kept coffee for guests without actually owning a coffee-maker. "Do you need one to make coffee?" she asked weakly.

Launchpad considered. "Maybe we could boil it on the stove."

"Can you do that?"

"I think so," he said, and stood up next to her. "Wanna give it a shot?"

Why not? was the way her mind answered the question. Aloud, she said, "Sure."

She let him go into the kitchen first, and hung behind, watching him. She crossed her arms in front of herself and hugged her elbows, feeling sick. Maybe... maybe he hadn't meant it, or at least, not the way she thought he did. Maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Someone who wants to take care of you... who wants to come home to you, he'd said. Beth tried to think of a way that she could interpret that as being more platonic, and came up blank.

Sadness sidelined her again, distracting her from thoughts of Launchpad with the memory of Drake's words, and she put a hand over her eyes as Launchpad filled a saucepan with water and set it to boil on the stovetop. When she took a deep breath and uncovered them, he was staring at the freeze-dried coffee bag, evidently trying to figure out how to get it open.

"Should I get scissors?" she suggested, with the distinct feeling that this "boiling" experiment was not going to work... but if it didn't, no big loss, and besides, it was something else to think about.

"Good thinkin'," he answered, and once she'd come back with her kitchen scissors and they'd sliced the package open he dumped it into the pan. Beth handed him a wooden spoon, mostly to see what he'd do with it; he considered it and then tried stirring the heap of coffee grounds. Pretty soon it looked not at all unlike mud.

"Appetizing," Beth observed.

"Yeah, this might not work," Launchpad admitted, a little sheepishly, and Beth had to laugh despite herself. Launchpad echoed it, just for a moment, then fell silent and just watched her, smiling.

The laughter died in Beth's throat, and she looked away uncomfortably.

After a moment, he began, "Hey, do you - you remember somethin' I said last night...?"

Beth looked at him quickly - he was now facing the stove - and tried to think of a way to avoid this conversation. Stupidly, all she could come up with was to play dumb. "Ummmm..." She squinted, shook her head slightly. "Last night...? Not sure..."

Launchpad brought his hands together and started twiddling his thumbs nervously. "Uh, well, I said that... uh, I would -"

"I remember," she said quickly, shaking her hands desperately. The thought of hearing it again left a ball of guilt and anxiety in her stomach. "That, right, I remember that."

"Well, we didn't really... talk about it, y'know?"

Beth's stomach was tying itself in knots. She hung her head. "I guess we didn't."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him looking at her cautiously. She pretended not to notice. "I just want you to know why I said it."

For a moment, she was filled with hope. "Why?"

"Well, see, you were all upset... And you were talkin' about giving up on stuff, and you sounded all hopeless, so I just thought..."

"Did you not mean it?" she asked quickly, and realized how eager she sounded.

Launchpad didn't seem to notice, though. When she lifted her head to look at him, he caught her eye, and she couldn't drop his gaze. Her heart sank; she knew the answer before he said anything, but he said it anyway, his voice soft and faltering. "Uh, no... no, I meant it."

She swallowed, and they stared at one another before she found the strength to drop her eyes. "Oh." She swallowed again; she had to, to try to keep ahead of the lump that was forming in her throat. It didn't work, however; as her eyes filled with tears yet again, her head seemed to be full of an angry buzzing and her stomach clenched viciously.

"Beth - I just wanted to maybe help you feel better," Launchpad said apologetically, but there was no missing the disappointment in his voice, and she felt another stab of guilt - this time in her chest, straight through her heart. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, and had to step backwards when Launchpad tried to put a comforting arm around her. Quietly, he said, "But I guess I shouldn't've said anything."

"Oh god," said Beth into her hand, as her throat tightened. She tried to breathe deeply, and after a moment succeeded, but she was shaking. "C-can we talk about this l-later? P-please?"

"Sure," he said, sounding defeated.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her throat was burning and she had a strong feeling like she was about to throw up. He didn't answer for a moment, and she wanted desperately to continue to apologize, but no more words would come; they piled up in her head, I'm so sorry, forgive me, I never ever wanted to do this to you, but balked before leaving her mouth. Instead she concentrated on breathing, and trying to quell the increasingly violent shivers going up and down her spine.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, now sounding more worried than upset. She tried to nod, but the action may have been lost in the other tremors her body was putting her through. "Beth - don't do this, okay? You don't have to get so upset. Please."

For his sake, to stop him worrying, she did it - got in a full, deep breath, pushed it back out, and managed to hold herself still. "I'm okay," she said. He looked doubtful. She said, "I am. Honest. But I... I think I need some time to myself."

"Sure," he said again, sounding half-convinced. "Okay."

She paused. "It's not... you," she said softly. "It's really not." Her eyes met his for a second, and flicked away a moment later.

"Okay."

They stood in silence for a moment, then he reached awkwardly for her hand. She was filled with two odd, contradictory emotions: a wish to get away from him, side-by-side with an equally strong need for him to stay, to be the only one she saw right now - but she took his hand and held it for a moment before he stepped backwards, and let her go.

She couldn't think of anything to say, and he left in silence. And Beth had one of the worst moments of her life as he did, a feeling of self-loathing and loneliness and misery so intense that she couldn't breathe, nearly couldn't stand. It abated quickly, and that was its only mercy; it didn't end, it just lessened.

Trembling, she turned back to the stove and stared at the coffee in the saucepan, just starting to bubble from the heat. She turned the burner off, burst into tears, and sobbed until her breath was coming in gasps.

What kind of person was she?! How could she feel sorry for herself over Drake; how could she be lonely, sit there and bemoan her solitude when there was someone who wanted to give her all the things she wished for? Why didn't she feel about him the way he felt about her? Why, why was this so hard, why was this even happening?

She had to sit down. She made it to the chairs at the kitchen table and gasped, and for several moments put her head down and just cried as hard as she could. When time had passed, and she could catch her breath again, she didn't feel better. In fact, she knew this was only going to get worse. She couldn't stay here - what if Launchpad came by to check on her, she couldn't see him. She couldn't see Drake either. She had to get away.

Beth grabbed the phone and clenched it hard for a moment, fighting the impulse she was under. This was a desperate act; this was a last resource, the kind of thing you did when you had sunk too low for anything else, and she hated herself for it. Giving in, she dialed the number.

It rang twice before a woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

In a trembling voice, Beth said, "Mom?" She sniffled thickly, and said, "I want to come home."