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guyinmink · 2 years

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“You’re Dr. Akita’s new intern.”

Gyro turns around. There’s a crow in a trench coat glaring at him. “Yes! I am! Gyro Gearloose at your service!” He goes to stick out a hand to shake before remembering himself and dipping into an awkwardly unsteady bow. The woman looks even less impressed than a moment ago. “Sorry. I’m not good at…” He waves a hand in the air in the vague hope it will help convey something, fully aware he’s making everything worse by the second. “…introductions.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to continue glaring. “Ah… And you are…?” he asks after several long seconds.

“Inspector Tezuka. Tokyolk police.”

“O…kay,” Gyro says when she doesn’t add anything else. “It’s a pleasure to m–”

“You’re Dr. Akita’s intern.”

“…Yes. I am,” he says slowly. He resists the urge to look around to see if he’s being pranked or has somehow walked into one of those reality shows. He doesn’t think looking away from the inspector would be the smartest move. “Gyro Gearloose, at your service. Can I… help you with something?”

“I don’t trust robots.”

“You live in one of the most technologically advanced cities in the world. How does that even work?”

“I have no problem with technology.”

“…Just… robots.” Gyro’s officially lost the thread of this conversation. He’s not sure he ever had the thread in the first place.

“Robots are machines in charge of their own programming. They are machines that act not just without human intervention but are incapable of it. They are at best the reflection of the worst of their creators.” The inspector’s glare sharpens. Gyro takes an instinctive step backwards and she follows it with two steps closer, crowding him into a wall. “I don’t trust Akita and I don’t trust you.”

Gyro really should say something in defense of Dr. Akita. He’s brilliant and a visionary and has revolutionized the scientific world multiple times already and no doubt will again, not to mention he’s Gyro’s boss. But what comes out instead is, “You only just met me.”

A file is slapped against his chest. Hey, that’s the seal of his college and ooh, he’d forgotten about that incident.

“I know that looks… not great. But despite the dean’s hysterics, it wasn’t evil. It was just… misunderstood.” He glances down at the folder again. “Wildly so?”

Inspector Tezuka leans forward even more. “I want you to know I’ll be watching. You and Akita both. I will not let you endanger my city.”

And then she steps back, sudden enough that Gyro almost falls over. Without another word she turns and stalks off.

“…Nice to meet you too.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2-BO isn’t intended to be a parrot.

Dr. Akita’s original sketches have 2-BO as an inu dog, the same as him. But there’s problems with flight stability and aerodynamics, so they keep ending up back at square one.

Gyro’s been working on some sketches of his own. They’re not nearly on the same level as Dr. Akitas ideas of course, but maybe Dr. Akita will be able to pick out something useful from his small attempts.

He’s been turning over the idea of an avian build instead. Maybe a duck. 2-BO’s going to be the best defender ever, but there’s still the question of people accepting him. People like Inspector Tezuka and her ridiculous anti-robot paranoia. The more familiar 2-BO is, the easier that will be. And what could be more familiar than the second most common animal type on the planet?

(He doesn’t think suggesting a different breed of dog would go over very well with Dr. Akita and, well, he’s not exactly eager to make him angry.)

(Angrier.)

Except he keeps running into the problem of where to put the foot thrusters. He’s halfway through a sketch using his own feet as a basis in the hope they’ll work better when the paper is snatched away from underneath his hands.”

“Intern. What are you doing?”

“D-Doctor Akita!” Gyro flails, falling off his stool, landing in a tangled heap of limbs on the lab floor.

Dr. Akita picks up the page, studying it with sharp, cold eyes. His gaze shifts to him and Gyro flinches back without meaning to. “What is this?”

“It’s um, well I just thought–”

“It is not your job to think. It is your job to do as you’re told.”

Gyro’s flinch this time is harder. He hits the back of the under-table cabinets and nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact.

“I, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t– I didn’t mean t–”

“Get back to work.”

“I, um, I already finished–” The blueprint crumpled in Dr. Akita’s fist. “Right. I’m sorry, I’ll get right on that.” Gyro scrambles to his feet, stumbling backwards, and flees the room.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Don��t we have to tell Dr. Akita about any repairs? He got really mad last time.”

“This isn’t a repair,” Gyro says, shutting the small access panel on the back of 2-BO’s head and picking up the soldering gun.

“Oh. Okay!” 2-BO pauses again. “Aren’t you not allowed to make any modifications without Dr. Akita’s approval first?”

“Not modification, an improvement.” The last of the soldering done, he sets the gun down. He makes a show of looking around – just a show, he’s made very sure Dr. Akita is going to be out all day – before leaning in and lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. “A secret one.”

2-BO’s eyes go wide. “A secret? Just between you and me?”

“Yep,” Gyro says, tapping the side of his beak the way his grandpa used to when he snuck them cookies. “Just between you and me.” And fate is willing, it will stay that way, because if Dr. Akita finds out he will kill him. He’s not even sure that’s an exaggeration. Dr. Akita’s temper has always been… volatile. And what Gyro’s doing here is– Big. Gyro does not care. This is more important.

“What is it? What’s the secret?” 2-BO leans forward, eyes shining. “Please tell me Dr. Gearloose, please!” The overbalanced, nearly tipping straight off the table and Gyro scrambles to catch him.

“Alright, alright. No need to get wound up,” he tells the little boy in his arms. “We can’t have you falling off the table, we haven’t even tested your thrusters yet.” He lets himself cradle 2-BO in his arms for another minute before setting him back down on the middle of the lab table. “It’s an emergency power source.”

“But… my power core is–”

“–Self-sustaining. I know. This is in case anything happens to damage it.” He tips 2-BO’s head forward and studies the new seam, mainly to avoid looking 2-BO in the eye. 2-BO is going to be Tokyolk’s protector. A knot forms in Gyro’s stomach whenever he thinks about 2-BO in the line of fire. Anytime he imagines his s–

Anytime he imagines 2-BO getting hurt.

“If… something happens. Then this will kick in. If your core’s just drained then this will jump-start its backup. If it’s something– Something worse. Then it can power you. At least for a little bit.” He’s proud of how his voice doesn’t shake.

“Then I can finish the fight,” 2-BO says.

“Then you can get yourself somewhere safe,” Gyro corrects before he can think about it. He winces at his own words. 2-BO is going to be Tokyolk’s protector. Of course his responsibility will be to finish the fight first.

Gyro swallows, tasting bile in the back of his throat. He sets to work hiding the seam. “Just as you are now, not flying or using any of your defensive systems, you’ll have a day of power before you shut down entirely. The more systems used, the less–” He fumbles the micro-laser, burning his fingers. He drops it with a curse, clutching the edge of the table. 2-BO reaches out for Gyro’s signed hand. Gyro doesn’t let go of the table. “The more systems used, the less time you’ll have.”

2-BO nods once, uncommonly serious for such a little face. “Okay Dr. Gearloose. I’ll be sure to finish the fight quickly. So everyone will be safe. Then I’ll come back here to you. And you’ll fix me.” He looks up at Gyro, yellow eyes bright and trusting. “Right?”

Gyro kneels until they’re eye level. He lets go of the table and takes the little parrot’s hand in both of his. “Of course I will. I will always be there for you. I'm definitely a real boy.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where are we going Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro scoops 2-BO up with one arm, putting a finger to his beak with the other. “Shhh. It’s a secret. We can’t let Dr. Akita know.” Dr. Akita does not approve of 2-BO taking any trips outside of the lab. Gyro thinks 2-BO should know the city he’s going to defend one day. Dr. Akita does not. The last time he caught Gyro sneaking him out had been… unpleasant. They slip out the side door without incident, a miracle if there ever was one. “And you know I’m not a doctor yet.”

2-BO huffs, his cheeks puffing out adorably as he does so. “That’s not fair. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Don’t say that where Dr. Akita can hear you.”

“How come he’s a doctor and you’re not?”

“He’s finished his schooling and I haven’t.”

“Oh. Is that the only way to become a doctor?”

“Well, there are honorary doctorates, but…”

“Then why can’t we give you one of those?”

“Neither of us has the authority to give out honorary doctorates.”

“Who?”

“Well…” Gyro pauses to think about it for a minute. “Says the people with the authority to do so I guess.”

2-BO huffs again, cheeks puffing out even more. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t, does it?”

“You’re the smartest person in the whole entire world! You should be a doctor. Those schools and authority people will just have to catch up rather than waiting for them to figure it out.” He nods once, the topic apparently decided.

Gyro fights down a grin. “Alright. You’ve convinced me. From now on I shall forever be Doctor Gyro Gearloose! So sayeth 2-BO, the highest authority in the land.” He hoists 2-BO higher in his arms so that they’re eye to eye. “So. What should my doctorate be in?”

2-BO thinks for a minute before throwing his arms around Gyro’s neck. “Me!”

“Oh?” Gyro asks as they weave through traffic. People jostle them as they pass, a few smiling, most paying them no mind. Gyro is just another tourist. 2-BO just a little boy. “Robotics? Cybernetics? AI interfacing? Machine learning?”

“No,” 2-BO says, snuggling closer. “Just me.”

Gyro stops. “Dr. Gyro Gearloose. Doctorate of 2-BO,” he says softly. He clears his throat before adding, louder, “Okay then. Dr. Gyro Gearloose it is.” His fingers brush through the feathers, feeling the barely-there seam underneath. “Just don’t let Dr. Akita hear you.” Gyro glances back and forth to make sure they aren’t about to be caught. “Now pay close attention okay? I want you to be able to remember the route.”

2-BO smiles up at him, little arms still wrapped around his neck. “Okay Dr. Gearloose.”

The walk only takes a few minutes. 2-BO is silent the whole way. He’d given 2-BO control of his core memory banks last week. Gyro can see the flickers of code in the corners of 2-BO’s eyes, which means he’s employing it now, committing everything he sees to memory. Eventually they reach an old, battered door

“Where are we Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro shifts his hold on the little android as he opens the door. 2-BO’s liable to fall out of his arms with the way he’s twisting around to stare at everything. Not that there’s a lot to stare at. “This is where I live, when I’m not at the lab.”

“Really?” 2-BO squirms out of his hold and races through the door.

“Don’t get lost!” Gyro calls as if such a thing was even possible. The place has exactly two rooms: bathroom and everything else. The ‘kitchen’ such as it is, consists of two plates, three bowls, a cup and a handful of chopsticks all clustered around his souped up hot-plate set atop the cheap chest of drawers that hold his clothes. The beaten-up, overstuffed couch (because Gyro is still firmly western in some ways and that apparently includes furniture choices) serves as close as he has for a bed on nights he actually makes it back here. There’s exactly one window and it shows a view of nothing.

“This is so neat!” 2-BO barrels into his knees. “Thank you for showing me Dr. Gearloose!”

“I didn’t just bring you here for a tour, you know.”

2-BO blinks up at him. “You didn’t?”

Gyro wraps an arm around the robot. His little 2-BO. He's definitely a real boy. “I brought you here because I wanted you to know where it was. That way if you ever need to find me and I’m not at the lab you can come here. So no matter what you’ll always be able to find me.”

“Is this another secret Dr. Gearloose?”

Gyro carefully goes over the lines of code yet another time. Programming is not what one would call the strongest of his skills. “Yes it is.”

“So no telling Dr. Akita?”

Gyro reaches over and ruffles the top of 2-BO’s head. “So no telling Dr. Akita.”

“So what’s this program going to do?” 2-BO hovers in the air next to Gyro. They’ve been working on his flight capabilities and mid-air reflexes. It’s one of the last things they need to perfect before 2-BO is ready to go out into the world. Do what he was made to do.

Which is why it’s so important Gyro finishes this now.

“It’s… well I suppose you could call it a stasis program.”

2-BO looks over at him, head cocked curiously. “A stasis program?” The hesitation in his voice is so slight as to be almost nonexistent. Easy to miss. Gyro hears it. He turns away from the monitor and reaches out his arms for 2-BO. In response 2-BO cuts his thrusters, letting Gyro cradle him against his chest.

Gyro rests his head on top of 2-BO’s. “You know how I said your emergency power core can give you a day of minimal power? Well with this program you’ll be able to initiate a sort of super-power-saving mode. With this the power from the emergency core will last… centuries probably.”

“Why would I need that?” 2-BO asks, studying the scrolling lines of code.

“Well, maybe getting back to me will take longer than a day. Or maybe you needed to use extra power on something else and now you’re running low.”

He doesn’t mention the real reason he wrote the program. The lab has never been the safest place in the world. And once 2-BO starts patrolling the city there’s every chance someone will try a pre-emptive attack on it. If something happens to Gyro…

2-BO won’t have anyone.

That’s not true, he’ll still have Dr. Akita. Dr. Akita’s his true creator after all.

But–

Well, Dr. Akita’s just as likely to be in the lab with Gyro. And Gyro’s younger. There’s no reason to think he won’t outlive his mentor. So of course it makes sense to consider himself the last line of defense.

Once he’s gone they’ll be no one to look after his little 2-BO. If Gyro dies and something happens to 2-BO they’ll be no one there to fix him. He can’t risk 2-BO dying along with him.

He won’t.

“We’ll tie it into your visual and auditory processors so that when someone finds you you’ll wake up.”

Someone will find him. Someone will take care of him. Even if the worst ever happens, 2-BO will have a chance.

His little 2-BO will survive.

2-BO frowns at the screen. He glances back up at Gyro. 2-BO’s smart. He’s able to read between the lines of what Gyro’s not saying, able to put the pieces together. “I don’t know if I like this program Dr. Gearloose.”

“I don’t know if I like it either. But I like you not having it a lot less. We don’t have to install it if you don’t want to. But I’d feel better, knowing you had it. It’s my way of protecting you.”

“I’m supposed to protect you!” 2-BO burrows his face into Gyro’s shoulder, grabbing hard enough to bruise. He hasn’t had problems controlling his strength for months.

“I know you are. And I know you will.” Gyro holds 2-BO tighter. He rests his chin on the soft feathers on the top of his definitely real boy’s head. “You’re going to protect everyone.”

“And you’ll be there too,” 2-BO says stubbornly. “Like you’ve promised.”

“Always. I’ll always be there for you. I’m right there. In every line of this code. Until someone can find you again.”

“And bring me home to you.”

“And bring you home.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Gearloose!”

Gyro startles. The container of food slips out of his hand, landing face down on the ground. He takes a moment to mourn his lunch before looking up.

Inspector Tezuka storms towards him, absolute fury in her eyes. Gyro nods his head, torn between politeness and a terror-born instinct to not let Tezuka out of his sight even for an instant. “Inspector Tezuka. Nice to see you aga–aack!” He chokes as she grabs his collar and uses it to yank him closer. Her glare becomes even fiercer.

“You and Akita are building an attack robot,” she states. The there’s no inflection to the words, only anger.

Something sharp and defensive twists in Gyro’s chest. He forces himself not to snap at Inspector Tezuka. Antagonizing the police has not historically ended well for him. “2-BO’s not an attack robot. He’s going to be a defense robot. A protector for all of Tokyolk.”

“A robot can never be a protector,” Tezuka growls.

Now Gyro’s angry. “Now hold on right there. I know you stupidly hate robots but this is going too far. 2-BO is–”

The grip on his collar tightens. “What I know is that you cannot build a machine to do nothing but fight and then expect it to stand back and not do what it’s built for. Especially not one built by Akita.”

“2-BO is good. I don’t care what you think about Dr. Akita or about me. 2-BO is sweet and curious and kind and he. Is. Good.” He shoves at Tezuka’s shoulders, knocking her off him. “Now if you’ll excuse me inspector, I have work to do.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Plaster rains down from the ceiling. Dust fills the air, mixing with the smoke. Something off to the side starts sparking.

It’s quiet.

Gyro crawls out from under the broken lab table. “2-BO? Dr. Aki–” He cuts off, hacking, choking on the debris in the air. “Dr. Akita?”

There’s no answer.

He pushes himself up to his feet. “Dr. Akita?” he tries again. “Where are you? If you’re– if you’re hurt, just make some kind of noise so I can find you.”

There’s still no answer.

He starts picking his way across the room. His foot catches on a chunk of broken metal, sending him crashing to the ground. He lets out a cry, biting his tongue as he lands. Blood fills his mouth, mixing with the dust. Something crinkles under his hand. 2-BO’s blueprints.

2-BO– 2-BO had malfunctioned. 2-BO had attacked them. “2-BO? 2-BO stand down. 2-BO return to your designated station for diagnostics.” There’s a groan of metal as something collapses. “Dr. Akita? Doctor if you’re still there, please say something.” Gyro’s voice cracks, giving way. He coughs until his throat feels raw, nearly doubling over from the force of it. 2-BO. He has to find 2-BO. “2-BO, something’s wrong and I need you to come back to me so I can fix it.”

Plaster trickles down from the ceiling. Dust drifts through the air, mixing with the smoke. Something off to the side catches fire.

“2-BO, please answer me. 2-BO please. Please, just– Just tell me you’re alright.”

It’s quiet. In the distance there are screams.

He makes it to the front door.

Fire rains down from the sky. Smoke fills the air. Something off to the side explodes.

People are screaming.

“Gearloose!” A hand grabs his collar, yanking him forward. Gyro yelps, stumbling over his own legs. Inspector Tezuka glares down at him. Her other hand joins the first, dragging him closer. “What have you done?”

“I don’t– 2-BO malfunctioned. He– Something went wrong– He shouldn’t– We were doing final diagnostics and he just– I don’t know what happened!”

Tezuka yanks him closer. “How do I stop it?”

“I– H-His power core.” Gyro fumbles with the blueprints he hadn’t realized he brought with him. He flings the pages to the ground, searching frantically for the right one. “His power core’s in his chest.” He jabs the drawing, shoving it forward so Inspector Tezuka can see it better. “See here? It’s self-sustaining.” He jabs the drawing again. “So long as nothing happens to damage it he’ll never run out of power and shut down. But if– If you can land a solid enough hit, comp–” He chokes.

People are screaming. People are screaming.

“Compromise the power core. It will shut him down.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“A– A soldier hit? I– I don’t–” He looks up into Tezuka’s eyes. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I don’t care,” Tezuka growls. She flings him to the ground and takes off running.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inspector Tezuka’s shot lands. Gyro feels like the bullet hits him instead. He stands in the broken rubble that had once been a street, staring up at the tiny speck as it falls from the sky. The crash is too far away to see, too small to feel. Gyro feels it anyway.

Or maybe he’s hallucinating.

He falls to his knees, staring at nothing, and doesn’t move.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where. Would he. Go.”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

He and Inspector Tezuka have been going around in circles ever since she stormed into the small, windowless room they’d thrown him in, demanding he tell her where Dr. Akita is. Gyro’s run out of ways he can say he doesn’t know.

“I don’t believe you.”

Gyro buries his face in his hands. The chains on his wrist rattle as he does. His clothes reek of smoke. There’s a bloodstain on the sleeve of his shirt. He’s not sure if he’s bleeding or if it’s… someone else’s. “For the last time, I don’t know. Dr. Akita never told his plans to anyone, and certainly not to me.”

“I don’t believe you. You were his lab assistant.”

“If anything that made him less likely to tell me anything! I wasn’t a person! I was a– a– A self-propelled socket wrench!”

“Fine,” Tezuka bites out. “Then where is 2-BO?”

“I– What?” Gyro looks up. “I don’t– Shouldn’t you know? You shot him out of the sky.”

“It. It is not a he. It is not a person. It is a weapon. A weapon you unleashed on this city. And when I got to the crash site, it wasn’t there. So where is it.”

“I don’t know!” His voice cracks, hitting the levels of a panicked screech that in any other circumstances he’d be mortified by. He clutches at the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “He– It– would have gone back to the lab!”

“We have men all over that lab of yours Gearloose.” Tezuka plants her hands on the table, leaning forward. “We went through every inch. It’s not there.”

Gyro freezes. Bile claws at his throat. More emotions than he can process crash over him. Horror. Relief. More horror.

The weapon he built is missing. (2-BO is still alive.)

The weapon he built is still out there. (His little 2-BO.)

(His definitely real boy.)

“Then I don’t know! That’s its only designated return base! If 2-BO’s power core is damaged it’s supposed to immediately return to the lab for repairs! There’s nowhere else for it to go!” What if… What if he– it– hadn’t actually been hit? No. No. Tezuka shot him– it down. Gyro watched it– him– it fall. Dr. Akita is still missing. What if he got to 2-BO before Tezuka did? There’s no other way for 2-BO to have disappeared. Tezuka took 2-BO down. She shut him down. How else could it have–

It’s an emergency power source.

Gyro nearly throws up.

Relief. Horror. More relief.

Tezuka is still watching him. She stands up from the table, looming over him. “This is your weapon Gearloose. You know something.”

Gyro bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything when officers come in from the searching the lab, bringing with them boxes of blueprints and scraps.

He doesn’t say anything when officers come in from searching his tiny apartment, bringing with them boxes of his own blueprints.

He doesn’t say anything when Tezuka spreads 2-BO’s blueprints across the table, forcing him to go over every inch of them.

He doesn’t say anything when Tezuka spreads out pictures of the destruction, forcing him to stare into every last pair of unseeing eyes.

He’s not lying. Not really. He’s not lying. He doesn’t know where else 2-BO would go. His emergency power core probably didn’t even work. It doesn’t matter if he mentions it or not. It won’t help find 2-BO.

Inspector Tezuka sets another picture in front of him.

One day tips into the next and then it doesn’t matter at all.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At some point they shove him out of his little, windowless room. He doesn’t know how many days he’s been stuck in there. He doesn’t know if he cares one way or the other. His world’s already stopped.

They aren’t letting him go. They make that excruciatingly clear. They aren’t letting him go. They just don’t need him at the moment and do need the space he’s taking up. Gyro’s pretty sure somebody’s hoping he’ll lead them somewhere. Unfortunately for them he’s exactly as much the blind, gullible fool that he appears. There’s nowhere for him to lead them to.

The city is silent. Full of cracked pavement and the echoing ghosts of screams. He walks straight back to his apartment. He keeps his eyes glued to the ground the entire way. He can’t bear to lift his head and see the destruction in person.

There is a bloodstain on his sleeve. He still doesn’t know whose blood it is.

The door sticks as he shoves it open. He leans his shoulder against it and heaves. It holds for another half a second before giving way, banging against the wall, cracking the plaster. The room has been turned upside down. Boxes lay open, tools and spare parts spilling onto the floor. Drawers hang open, clothes pulled out and riffled through. His hot plate is missing. His plates have been broken. The couch is leaning at a haphazard angle against the wall. The lone window has been shattered.

Gyro strongly considers walking straight through to the shower. He considers collapsing right there in the doorway and giving up on moving. He considers picking up one of the glass shards and giving up on everything.

He shuts the door, walks over to the couch, and heaves it back upright.

Then he looks down and stops breathing.

2-BO is lying on the floor.

Gyro stumbles backwards, falling onto the floor. His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out.

2-BO is here.

There’s a hole in his chest from Tezuka’s shot, straight through his power core. He’s unmoving, head turned away, his eyes dark and staring unseeingly at the far wall.

Gyro inches closer. 2-BO still doesn’t move. He reaches out a trembling hand towards the robot, not quite touching. He doesn’t dare step around to the other side. He can’t bear the thought of those dark, empty eyes staring unseeingly at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Gyro’s mind blanks.

He grabs 2-BO, shoving him into a nearby empty box. He slams the flaps closed before those eyes can find his. The door is forced open right as he stands, shattering the frame. Armed police swarm in, come to take him back. Gyro goes with them. He does not look down. He does not look back.

They bring him back to the same small, windowless room as before. Inspector Tezuka is already there. They force him back into the chair, chaining his wrists back to the table. His feathers have already begun to be rubbed loose underneath them. Inspector Tezuka stares at him. “We’re going to try this again. See if you’ve had a chance to remember anything. Where is 2-BO?”

Gyro meets her eyes and lies through his teeth.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small, windowless room is traded out for a smaller, windowless cell. His wrists are rubbed bare, then raw, then bleeding. They leave him alone. In the silence he hears the screaming from that day. He covers his ears and the screaming gets louder. He shuts his eyes and unseeing eyes stare back. They take him back to his windowless room. Ask him questions he’s already failed to answer. They leave him alone. To the silence and the screams.

Dr. Akita remains at large.

2-BO remains missing.

Gyro remains unable to answer for either of them.

(In the middle of Gyro’s apartment an empty box remains undisturbed.)

(That’s all it is, just an empty box.)

Eventually they have to let him go. Dr. Akita left next to no notes behind. Without him or 2-BO there’s not enough proof for even the Japanese legal system to keep him. Gyro had been certain that in being unable to help them he was signing his own death warrant. Apparently not. The irony is almost enough to choke him.

An officer follows him back to his apartment. They’re still hoping he’ll lead them somewhere. He still has nowhere else to go.

The street has been fixed. The city is loud and full of life. The destruction of that day has already been drowned out and washed away.

Except where it hasn’t.

He keeps his eyes glued to the ground the rest of the way.

His apartment is still exactly as he left it. The window is still shattered, the couch upright. The box in the middle of the room.

Gyro stands there and stares.

He takes a breath.

He takes another.

He takes a step.

He takes another.

Glass crunches under his feet. It slices into his skin as he falls to his knees.

The box is old, cardboard stained, corner crumpled. On the side Spare Parts has been written and crossed out, replaced by Misc. Pieces which has in turn been crossed out in favor of simply Scrap Metal. It’s small. Gyro could cradle it in one arm. If he wanted to. He reaches out, hand hovering above the top flap. He does not open it.

The police escort him out of the country later that day. Onto a plane that will take him far away, never to come back. Inspector Tezuka is there when he leaves.

Everything he owns worth keeping fits in a small bag slung over his shoulder. In his arms he carries an empty box.

Just an empty box.

Nothing more.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The plane lands an unknown number of hours later. He stumbles off the plane and the door slams shut before he’s even fully on the ground. The plane takes off immediately, not even pausing to refuel. He’s not sure how that’s going to work out for them but sure.

He eventually realizes he’s been dumped in Calisota.

First, he realizes they haven’t dumped him at an airport but literally in the middle of a random field.

Eventually he finds a farmhouse. All he has is a bag full of tools, notebooks and mostly dirty laundry. And an empty box. When he rifles through his pockets and comes up with is a stick of novelty Pep flavored gum and a handful of crumpled yen. He doesn’t open the box.

The owners of the farm let him stay in their spare room in exchange for fixing their tractor. Resurrecting their tractor might be more accurate.

Four weeks and four tractors, three washing machines, six car engines, eight coffee makers, two television sets, five toasters and an industrial corn thresher later Gyro opens a repair shop. He has vague memories of his father briefly running one. Besides which, repairing things is safer. He’s seen what happens when he tries to create.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He gains a reputation in town. Well, he’s not sure there’s enough town to be called a town. Either way, he gains a reputation, surly and antisocial but dependable if you need something repaired. Rover, the farmer who first took him in, is something like a mayor or at least as close as they came to one. He vouches for Gyro and the rest of the town follows his lead.

He and his wife Rosie have a son, a hyperactive little boy named Rufus, and judging by the old fashioned crib still assembled in the corner of the guest room, they’ve a mind for one or two more. Gyro ends up dragged to their house for dinner more often then can possibly be normal. Probably. He’s never been good at social situations of pretty much any type.

Rover says he works too much. Rosie says he doesn’t eat enough. Gyro strongly disagrees. He hasn’t stayed awake to the point of hallucinations in more than two months and he hasn’t blacked out from standing up too quickly in almost twice that long. When he tells Rover that, the older man stares at him for several minutes before telling him in no uncertain terms he was coming to dinner that night and would be staying the night. He doesn’t know what gossip Rover and Rosie spread but suddenly his payments for repairs all come with a side of thank you food.

They’re always doing that. Insisting on ‘looking out’ for Gyro. Like he’s a child. Like he needs someone to take care of him. Like he deserves it.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first anniversary of Tokyolk Gyro gets himself a bottle of Travis’s moonshine and gets more drunk than he’s ever been in his life.

He wakes up the next morning laying face-down in the middle of his workshop floor. A mostly empty bottle lays on its side in front of him. The only thing keeping the alcohol from seeping into the floorboards is the fact there’s not enough left to reach the bottle’s mouth. He doesn’t remember anything of the night before. Just screaming and smoke and dark, unseeing eyes and a tiny speck falling falling fall–

Gyro grabs the bottle and drains the last of it.

Later, after he’s had a shower and passed out for a couple of hours on the cot in the corner that constitutes his bedroom, he finds them.

There, sitting innocently on his drafting table, are a set of blueprints. Normally that would mean nothing except he’d cleared his drafting table the night before. The last thing he’d wanted was to ruin any of his designs. He wanders over and picks the pages up.

For a long moment he can’t process what he’s holding.

It’s 2-BO’s blueprints.

Not– Not the real ones. Not the ones Dr. Akita drew. These are new. The penmanship is Gyro’s. He drew these. He drew these last night.

Gyro drops the pages, recoiling from the table.

He lights his drafting table on fire rather than risk looking at them.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro gets very, very drunk.

He sits on the floor, a half-full bottle of moonshine in his hand and two empty ones beside him. The world wobbles unsteadily, tilting wildly every time he moves his head.

Notebooks and blueprints (his blueprints) lay dissected and scattered across the floor where he’d left them. In the middle of all of it sits an empty box.

(That’s all it is. Just an empty box.)

“This is all your fault,” he tells the empty box.

The box doesn’t answer.

Gyro throws his bottle at it. The bottle explodes as it hits the ground, moonshine and glass flying everywhere. “All your fault. Aaaalll your fault.” He flops onto his back. The ceiling does loop de loops as he blinks at it. “All your fault all your fault all your fault! Everything is always all your fault! Useless, pointless, stupid… stupid, stupid intern.”

The ceiling keeps reeling. It’s going to fall, it's going to fall on him, he's going to be squished, he needs to move the ceiling’s going to fall on him.

Maybe he should let it.

He goes to take another drink. His bottle’s missing. When did that happen? He reaches out a hand, fumbling around until his fingers close on a new bottle. He takes a swig. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head to stare at the bottle. The bottle’s empty. He rolls it back and forth in his hands. The glass is heavy, even without anything in it. It’s a very big bottle. It holds a lot. Held a lot? It was full this afternoon. It’s empty now. Something– Something’s wrong. A bottle that big doesn’t just go from full to empty for no reason. Realson? For nothing. He looks around for another bottle. His gaze catches on the empty box. He surges up, chucking his bottle at it. The bottle explodes, glass flying everywhere.

“This is all your fault,” he says. Lying always made him feel better.

That’s a lie, he doesn’t feel better.

He goes to take another drink. His bottle’s missing.

Gyro stumbles to his feet. The world does its best to flip itself upside-down.

“You w’re– you wer sup– suppos’t to– you were– I was suppos’t to…” His knees abruptly decide they’re actually made of water and he crashes to the ground.

Glass crunches under his hands. It slices into his skin as he falls.

“You were supposed to be good.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“These are really my blueprints?” 2-BO cranes his head to see better, straining the wires hooked into the back of his head. Gyro gently nudges him further back on the bench.

“Part of them. You are a very complex robot so your blueprints take a lot of pages. This page is your power core.” He taps the drawing, sliding it forward so 2-BO can see it better. “See here? It’s self-sustaining.”

“Self-sustaining?” 2-BO leans forward again. One of the wires makes an ominous groaning sound and Gyro scrambles to push him back on the bench again before anything can break. After a moment he unhooks the wires. 2-BO looks up at him. “What does that mean?”

Gyro wraps an arm around the little robot. He cares more about him than he should and he knows it. Dr. Akita would be furious at him for it. He’s starting to suspect he doesn’t care. “Well, a normal power core would act like a battery where it would just store power and either run down and then be dead or they need a constant influx of external power. But your core powers itself.” He taps the drawing again. “So long as nothing happens to damage it you’ll never run out of power and shut down.”

“And if it is damaged?”

“Well… That’s why you have to protect it. And why it’s important for you to know your own blueprints. So you can know when something’s wrong and maybe even help us fix it.”

There’s a noise behind him.

Gyro jumps. He spins around, back to the bench. There’s nothing there.

He turns back around and 2-BO’s missing. He grabs the edge of the table, frantically searching. The bench is empty. 2-BO’s gone. The lights flicker, world falling away into darkness before coming back. A cardboard box sits on the bench. The box is old, cardboard stained, corner crumpled. On the side Spare Parts has been written and crossed out, replaced by Misc. Pieces which has in turn been crossed out in favor of simply Scrap Metal. It’s small. Gyro could cradle it in one arm. If he wanted to. He reaches out, hand hovering above the top flap–

“Intern. What are you doing?”

Gyro turns.

Dr. Akita looms over him, a huge shadowy figure. His hand reaches out–

Gyro wakes up.

The entire room reeks of cheap alcohol. His mouth tastes like something curled up and died in it. When he blinks his eyes open he immediately slams them back shut to keep out the thousand tiny knives trying to stab his brain.

That might just be sunlight.

That makes more sense. Sunlight is worse than knives.

The floor roils worse than a boat caught in the middle of a storm. He rolls over and empties his guts onto the floor.

He deeply regrets being awake.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually he manages to pry his eyes open and keep them that way.

The floor is sticky with moonshine. Papers lay scattered in a booze-soaked ring. Glass shards glint from the floor, the tables, the shelves.

In the middle of it all sits an empty box.

He picks up one of the shards of glass. Consider it. He sets it down and picks up the box. The cardboard’s newly stained. Glass shards cling to the edges. He sets it back its spot on the shelf.

2-BO’s blueprints are scattered together with his notes. Both sets. He picks up one of the pages of the set he drew up last night. He appears to have drawn the entire thing in crayon. The annotations are nigh illegible but the sketches are as precise as ever. He traces his finger over the lines of 2-BO’s power core.

See here? It’s self-sustaining.

He burns both sets of blueprints.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro shoves the box of blueprints into his car. It may or may not actually be street legal, he built it himself and he’s never owned a real car before for comparison. Wedging the box in next to the three others, he picks the last one and tries to figure out where in the hell it was going to fit.

Rover watches him from the little fence that lines the walkway to the workshop. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

“I’ve already packed all my blueprints and I’m not unpacking them.” He shoves at the box harder than necessary and it jolts suddenly out of his hand. He careens forward, arms flailing in a vain attempt to keep his balance. Rover’s hand grabs his shoulder, tugging him back upright.

“And you’re sure this is what you want to do.”

Rover’s hand is warm and steady on his shoulder. He brushes it off, turning away. “Well I already swept up all the glass so I guess I’m doing this then.”

“Alright. Then just what is it that you’re doing?” Rover asks, following him back into the workshop.

Gyro doesn’t answer, instead poking through the corner that makes up his living area, trying to decide whether or not to take any of it with him. Nah, all of it’s junk anyway. He tosses the blanket back onto the cot, shifting focus into shoving his remaining tools into a nearby crate.

“Where are you going to go?”

“No clue. Anywhere with a real lab I can work my way into. I’ve got more than two years of blueprints and the worst has already happened so why not!” He shoves a portable handheld power saw into his crate.

He picks up the crate of and almost immediately drops it because heavy. Rover scoops the crate into his arms, carrying it easily. “This doesn’t strike me as the smartest plan you’ve ever had.”

“Don’t care. I’ve reached my limit for hiding away in this backwater nothing of a town, withering away like everything and everyone else in it.” Some distant part of him’s aware he’s trying to pick a fight. Push away what little he’s scraped together. Rover, steady and patient and patently stubborn as ever, doesn’t oblige. When his shoulder knocks against Gyro’s it isn’t rough or angry. It’s the same gentle nudge he gives Gyro every time he and Rosie drag him over for dinner. Gyro grabs the last of the tools and pushes past him out of the room.

Rosie’s shown up with the kids while they were inside, Rufus tucked up against her side, little Riley a blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. She shifts Riley to one hand and presses a bag of food into Gyro’s hands with the other. “You come back and visit,” she says, a command as sure as anything he’s ever heard. Gyro swallows around the lump forming in his throat and nods, no idea if the motion is acquiescence or just empty appeasement.

It takes less than ten minutes to finish loading everything up and close up the workshop. The last thing he carries out is an empty box.

Just an empty box.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes Gyro two years to realize the truth.

He’s stuck on the biodegradable clock he’s building. Or trying to build anyways. He doesn’t understand why it keeps blowing up. This shouldn’t happen. He’s a genius. He’s better than this. He shouldn’t be accidentally blowing up his own lab.

Anymore.

The power source is based on Dr. Akita’s early work. It was one of the rare few things Dr. Akita bothered to properly teach him. Clearly he’s not remembering something correctly.

Either that or he’s even more of a failure than even Dr. Akita claimed he was. That’s possible too.

After the third explosion of the day and no closer to having a functioning clock he finally gives up and goes hunting for his old notes. He finds them in his old bag, next to an empty box marked Scrap Metal. There are a handful of battered notebooks, none of them labeled, because when has his past self ever made anything easier on himself? Underneath them is a lockable photo album emblazoned with My Memories in glittery cursive. A couple of dogeared pictures stick out from the overstuffed pages. The sight is so confusing Gyro stops in his tracks, original purpose completely derailed. He takes the album over to his work table, turning over in his hands as he goes. Slowly, vague memories come back from when he was a teenager, grand plans of using the album to protect sensitive notes and keep his important projects secret. Gyro nearly chucks the thing in the trash right then. Younger him was such a naïve, simple-minded chump. Curiosity wins out in the end. He doesn’t have the key anymore but a room full of power tools and no care whether the album survives makes it easy enough to open it anyway.

And then he finds them.

Hidden in the album, folded up and stuffed between the pages, are a copy of 2-BO’s blueprints. Gyro’s legs give out from under him. The blueprints spill out around him in a halo. He remembers. He remembers Dr. Akita locking away all the copies of 2-BO’s blueprints, suddenly refusing to let Gyro see them anymore. Gyro smuggling a copy out. Less than a week before the attack.

He stares down at the old blueprints. For the first time in more than two years, he confronts the proof of the worst mistake he’s ever made. They are exactly the same as the blueprints he’s drawn. Every detail remembered. The only difference is these ones are drawn in Dr. Akita’s hand.

Except they’re not.

It’s not Dr. Akita’s handwriting, it’s his.

There are a few places here and there that are Dr. Akita’s handiwork. But the rest of it – most of it – is Gyro’s work.

Hours later, as he stands in the middle of his shop, surrounded by an explosion of notebook pages and blueprints he finally sees it. He’s not Dr. Akita’s browbeaten intern anymore. (He’s not he’s not he’s not.) He’s older now. Better. He’s spent two years out from under Dr. Akita’s thumb.

He stares down at the old blueprints and now he can see the truth.

These are not Dr. Akita’s blueprints. This is not Dr. Akita’s invention. Dr. Akita wouldn’t have been able to build 2-BO. Not by himself.

That’s why he needed Gyro.

2-BO never would have existed without Gyro.

It’s all his fault.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello?”

Gyro’s mind categorizes several things about the voice filtering into his lab. Scottish, older, male, intruding on his work.

“Go away! I’m busy being brilliant!”

There’s a tapping sound and the voice gets closer. “Is that any way to greet your new landlord?”

Gyro turns around. And older duck in a top hat stands in the middle of the lab, not so much leaning on the cane in his hands as posing with it. He puts together the image with what he’s already registered. Scrooge McDuck. The richest duck in the world. Who now owns his lab.

Gyro turns back to his lab bench. “Go away. I’m busy.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this that easily.” The handle of the cane hooks around his arm, spinning him around to face the other man. “Now,” Scrooge says, “lets’s try this again. You are…?”

“Gyro Gearloose.”

“Well then Mr. Gearloose, wh–”

“Doctor Gearloose.”

That earns him a double take. “Huh,” Scrooge says, glancing around the lab. “Didn’t think this place had the money for someone with a doctorate.”

They don’t. The only reason they can afford him is because when it came to negotiations money had been far secondary to having a lab and full control of it.

Scrooge starts wandering around the lab, peering at the various projects scattered throughout. “What’s this then?” he asks, leaning over something on the central table.

Wait. Center table.

The only thing on that table is–

“Don’t touch that!” Gyro lunges, knocking aside Scrooge’s hand seconds away from making contact with the empty box sitting on top of the table.

(Just an empty box.)

Scrooge jolts back. “What’s in it?” He eyes the box much more warily now. “It’s not going to explode on us, is it?”

Gyro takes a step back, straightening his vest. He doesn’t look down at the table. “No. It’s just an empty box.”

“Ye nearly took my hand off for an empty box?”

“Yes.”

“Then why’s it so off limits if it’s empty?” Scrooge goes to poke it with his cane. Gyro snatches the cane straight out of his hands.

He waits for the explosion. For McDuck to demand if Gyro knows who he is (he does), the hell he could bring down on Gyro’s head (he does), just what kind of right does Gyro think he has to treat him like that (absolutely none at all but he’s stopped caring about that).

(He’s stopped caring about a lot of things.)

Instead Scrooge chuckles and tilts his head at him consideringly. “So why’s it so off limits if it’s empty?” he asks again.

Gyro hands him his cane back. “Idiot filter,” he hears himself say. “If they can’t follow one simple instruction they don’t belong in my lab.”

Scrooge’s gaze turns back to the box and he looks almost impressed now. “You know that’s not actually a bad idea.” He circles the table, studying the box, this time with his hands tucked respectfully behind his back. “I might have to borrow that tactic when interviewing potential new staff. Lord knows there’s a bobble or two lying around that really shouldn’t be handled if you don’t ken wha’ you’re doing and if they can’t even follow one simple instruction then they’re rather doomed from the start, aren’t they?”

“Uh… right. Exactly.”

A wide grin breaks out on Scrooge’s face. “I like you.”

Gyro blinks. “I ignored you, stole your cane, and yelled at you.”

“Exactly. Do you know how rare that is these days?” he asks, before adding with a loose shrug, “Discounting everyone who wants to kill me that is. Tell me Dr. Gearloose, how do you like your lab?” He motions around the room with his cane, encompassing the entirety of the cramped, dingy room with the motion.

Gyro glances around the room, although he’s not sure why. It isn’t like he doesn’t know what it looks like. He spends literally all his time here, the small beat-up couch shoved in the corner doubling as his bed, only really leaving when he needed parts or food. Mostly parts. “It’s a lab, and it’s mine.”

“Surely you could do better?” Scrooge presses.

“It’s mine. I’m in charge of it, I’m in control of it. That’s worth the trade-off of everything else.” He has no idea why he’s telling Scrooge this. Why he’s answering him so honestly, why he hasn’t tried to chase him out. There’s just something about him, about this whole interaction, that makes Gyro want to know how he’ll react. It’s been a long time since Gyro’s let himself be curious about… anything really.

(He wants to be curious again.)

Scrooge nods slowly. “That could be arranged. Within reason off course. Alright, that settles it. You’re not afraid of water are you?”

“No?”

“Perfect. You’ll love it, far better equipped.” He waves his cane around the room again. “Pack up whatever you like. I assume you’re just as finicky about movers as every other scientist I’ve met. Besides which, they cost, much cheaper to do it ourselves.”

Gyro has officially lost the thread of this conversation. He wants to find it again. For the first time in years he’s curious where it leads. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean this.” He points his cane directly at the empty box. “You’re not just smart, you’re clever. Keen sighted. If I jus’ wanted some feather-minded academic with more degrees than he knew what to do with I could go out and find a dozen of those. Probably fill the whole bin with ‘em if I had a mind to. But you. You’re something more. I can tell.” He plants the tip of his cane on the ground, adopting the same pose he struck when he first came in. “Dr. Gearloose, how would ye like a job?”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro has a problem.

Scrooge has a policy of reusing anything that possibly can be reused. Which is fine, Gyro’s grown up doing much the same. Science isn’t cheap and this job is the first time he’s actually had access to all the component parts he needs without having to scavenge or come up with some… creative workarounds.

(That’s not quite true. Dr. Akita’s lab had everything he could have dreamed of.)

(It’s all nightmares now.)

(But he’s not thinking about that.)

The problem is with the inventions that are unsalvageable. Not the ones broken beyond all recognition or melted down into slag, those can just be tossed straight into the dump. The problem is the broken inventions that are still just functional enough that they could be dangerous if they land in the wrong hands. So far Gyro’s been making do with a storage unit he’s rented – the cost of which has not been comped by McDuck Enterprises despite Gyro making multiple attempts to mark it as a work expense. He’s about ready to just give up and eat the cost forever just to stop fighting with the accounting department.

And now the problem’s come to a head with his construction robots. Or more accurately, what’s left of his construction robots. Thank you Ma Beagle and sons.

Gyro stands in front of the robot head, hands on his hips. He’s technically also standing in the middle of the street, but given that said street is currently blocked by said giant robot head he’s not worried about getting run over by the mobile crane in front of him.

For the most part.

He widens his stance and glares at the crane operator. “You’re not taking it.”

“Gyro…” Scrooge shifts closer to him, casting a wary look at the dismembered robot parts behind him. “Is this a matter of getting attached? Because that’s very… sweet. But it’s blocking downtown. Not to mention, you just said yourself it was unfixable.”

“What? No! It doesn’t even have a processor! That would be like getting attached to a pickup truck. What sort of overly sentimental neanderthal do you take me for?” Honestly. Gyro’s insulted. What’s next, thinking he’s going to name the toaster? “This is a security concern. The robot’s dead but it’s not dead dead. We throw it in the dump and there’s a chance the Beagles will somehow get it running again and next thing you know it’s robot street hockey part two.”

“Ye just said it was unfixable.”

“And I stand by that. But there’s knowing it’s unfixable and there’s spitting in fate’s face and daring the universe to prove you wrong. Throwing the robot Ma Beagle just used for a city-wide crime spree in her backyard is definitely the latter.”

“Then we’ll take it back to McDuck labs and have it destroyed entirely.”

“Well, I suppose we could…” Gyro says, running numbers in his head. “It would cost though.” Wait. He forgot to carry the one. “A lot. It would cost a lot.”

Scrooge predictably blanches at the thought of spending money. Gyro lets out a sigh, pushing up his glasses and pinching the bridge of his beak. “And this is why a good half of my failed inventions are currently in my storage unit.”

“And can ye–”

“No the construction robot will not fit.”

A week later Scrooge has come up with the solution of a private storage depot. Gyro spends an entire day transferring the contents of his storage unit to the new depot. When he’s finished the first thing he does is build an extra durable pallet. The next time he needs to clear it out he’s going to forklift everything out.

Really if money was no issue the storage depot would be more of an actual depot, a high-security warehouse instead of the walled but otherwise open-air junkyard they’d built. And the security features could – and honestly probably should – be better. But it’s Scrooge. Money is always an issue.

Eh, Gyro I'll take it.

Anyone with the knowledge to understand the stuff dumped there would have the skills to make their own and rather than pawing through a bunch of broken junk. And anyone who needs to paw through these scraps won’t know what to do with them. It’d take a special breed of hack to fall in the middle of that Venn diagram.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------

“They want to give me a what?”

“An honorary doctorate.”

Gyro pushes his mask up. He shuts off the welding torch so he can hear Scrooge better. “Why?”

“They’re impressed by your work,” Scrooge says.

“They want to be able to claim you so they can add you to their list of alumni they can brag about for clout,” Donald says, leaning against the bench. Della hops up next to him, knocking her knee into her brother’s shoulder.

“So does that mean they’re going to try to rescind their doctorate the next time one of Gyro’s machines go evil?”

“They’re not evil they’re just wildly misunderstood!” Gyro screeches. “And why are you two here anyway?”

“To see your face when Uncle Scrooge told you the news,” Della says.

“I was bored,” Donald says. Gyro chucks one of his welding gloves each of them. Della catches hers. Donald’s hits him in the face.

“I’ll pass. I don’t need a piece of paper saying a bunch of people dumber than me have decided to recognize that I am, in fact, a genius.” Gyro picks up the pieces he’d been soldering, studying the joint. What had he been thinking? The tensile strength in this is atrocious. “Who are they to hand out honorary doctorates anyway?”

“The board of Duckburg University,” Scrooge says.

“I’ll stick to the one I’ve got thanks. It’s better than anyone else’s anyway.”

“Well I’ve already told them you’d be honored so it’s happening.”

“I don’t get a choice, do I?” Gyro asks the room at large. Della stifles a laugh behind her hand.

“We’ll get the university to throw a party, a great big public ceremony where they can give you your new doctorate. It’s a great honor.” Scrooge claps his hands together. He’s wearing the smile that Gyro has learned to associate with the start of a new moneymaking scheme. Gyro inches over to where Donald and Della are. Safety in numbers and all that. “Also it’ll be great publicity for McDuck Enterprises.”

“The truth comes out,” Della intones. Gyro rolls his eyes and leans over to retrieve his gloves. Della holds her glove above her head to try to keep him from getting it. Unfortunately for her even with the added height of the bench on her side Gyro’s still tall enough to reach it. Della sticks her tongue out at him as he grabs it. Donald’s hits Gyro in the face.

“Get out of my lab.”

“So that’s a yes to the party then,” Scrooge says as Gyro starts herding them towards the door.

“Urgh. Fine. Just so long as you all go away and let me work.”

“Perfect. Think you can have your newest invention finished by next Friday? We can use the party as free publicity to promote it.”

“Sure. Absolutely, now lea– Wait.” Gyro freezes. “I’m not going to have to… say anything, am I?”

Beside him Della let out a snort of laughter.

“A public word or two of appreciation,” Scrooge says with a tilt of his head. “Perhaps a small speech.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going.”

Della’s laughter has reached the point where she’s having trouble breathing.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro holds up the framed diploma. The New Quackmore Institute seal gleams from under the polished glass.

He fishes out the box of diplomas, awards, and accolades from the bottom shelf of the storage room and shoves it in with the others. It just refuses to fit, sticking barely a quarter of the way in, jutting out awkwardly, the sides of the cardboard straining. “Urgh. I need a bigger diploma box.” But that means allocating a bigger spot on the storage shelf for it. Maybe he should just start sending them back.

“Why don’t you put them up and display them?” Donald says, pulling the newest diploma back out and flipping it over to look at it.

“It’s a waste of wall space.” Maybe he could take them out of their frames? Organize them into some kind of book or something. That’d take less space.

But that would take so much time. He had better things to do than PhD scrapbooking.

Della leaned over her brother’s shoulder to look at the box. “How many doctorates do you have by now anyway?”

“I don’t keep track.” He waves a hand in the direction of the box. “If you really want to know, count. Just keep them in the box and don’t go taking up my lab space with them.” …He could get the intern to do it. That’s a safe use for her, isn’t it?

There’s only so many times Gyro can have her reorganize the storage room.

“What if we set up a shelf to display all of them on?” Donald stands up, pacing out an imaginary shelf.”

“That would be a waste of wall, shelf, and floor space!”

“But just think about all the bragging you could do!” Della cries as she hops down from her perch. “Something classy that you could pose next to when Uncle Scrooge makes you take interview pictures.”

“I don’t brag!”

Donald snorts. He and Della share a look. “And when you introduce yourself as ‘Gyro Gearloose, certified genius and greatest mind you’ll ever meet’?”

“That’s just being factual.”

“Oh yeah,” Della drawls, “definitely no ego on you.”

“Why do I put up with you two?”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why am I here?” Gyro asks as Della drags him up to the front door of the manor. He cranes his head to direct his question to Donald, strolling in on Della’s side. He’s the rational sibling.

“For dinner,” Della answers. She lets go of his arm to throw open the door. Gyro takes the opportunity to spin around on his heel and walk off. He makes it all of two steps before Donald slides in front of him, blocking his way. Before he can get around him Della’s already reclaimed his hand. “Come on. Duckworth said he’s making Bolognese. Lots of carbs, just what you need.”

“I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.”

“You stood up too fast and passed out.” Della bares her teeth in a vicious smile. “You’re making time.”

Mental note: never let Della meet Rover and Rosie.

Or Donald. He’d absolutely snitch to his sister.

“Give up now,” Donald says, knocking their shoulders together as he moves forward to walk next to Della. “You know how feral she is.”

“I’m not the one who stubbed his toe and took out three walls last week.”

Donald sticks his foot out to trip her. Della jumps over it, smirking over at him. Gyro sticks his foot out, catching Della’s mid-landing.

“Aack!” Della’s hands shoot out and grab Donald and Gyro’s shoulders for balance. Only instead of keeping her upright the action pulls them down with her to land face-first on the floor.

“Ow.”

“You both deserved that.”

“Kids?” Scrooge pokes his head out of the dining room door. “Quit fooling around you two and come to dinner.” His gaze catches on Gyro and he steps fully out of the room, propping the end of his cane on the ground and cocking his head. “Gyro? What are you doing here? Ye didn’t blow up the lab again, did you? That’s not a way to get around your renovation budget.”

“He stood up and immediately passed out from lack of food,” Donald says as he pulls himself up from the floor. “Della and I are forcing him to eat.”

Scrooge looks at them for a second or two longer before he shrugs and turns around back into the dining room. “Alright then. Now quit fooling around you three and come to dinner.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on! It’d be so cool!”

“No.”

“Okay, but what if… What if you could produce them on a large scale as a more efficient form of travel! This could be like a reflex test! I could totally be the test dummy! Think of the Science!”

“You’d crash into a wall and break your skull. And then your uncle would fire me. Science done.”

“No I wouldn’t! I’m a pilot! First in my class and everything!”

“Still no.”

Della groans and flops backwards so she’s now taking up the entirety of the lab bench. “Please? Just one itty bitty little jetpack? Please please pleeeaase?”

Gyro turns and glares at her. It doesn’t work. Given that she’d introduced herself by plopping down on his work bench and launching into the story of the last adventure where she and her brother got kidnapped by a group of vengeful mystic warriors with a grudge against Scrooge he didn’t really expect it to, but still worth trying. He lets out a heavy sigh. “If– If I build this for you, will you go away and leave me alone?”

“Wait really?” Della asks, shooting upright.

“I can still rescind the offer.”

“No no! I can totally do that! You’ll never see me or hear a peep from me ever again!”

“I somehow seriously doubt that,” Gyro says, pulling out a fresh sheet of drafting paper. “Now, I assume you’ll want extra thrusters…”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ah, Gyro!” Scrooge calls out, cane extended in greeting. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

Gyro pulls himself to a halt, turning around. “Mr. McDuck.”

“I’ve got a task for you.”

“This isn’t another board meeting I have to attend, is it?” Gyro asks, wincing as he falls into step beside Scrooge.

“No no. Not after last time.” Scrooge shakes his head before tilting it thought. “I really need to look into hiring a board of directors who have a more accepting view of chaos. Lord knows that’s not changing anytime soon.”

Gyro gives a shrug before smirking down at him. “You’re the one who let Della and Donald pilot the plane and submarine.”

Scrooge grins back at him. “You’re the one who built Della a jetpack.”

“That was years ago. And anyway her broken arm healed fine.”

“And the rocket propelled underwater propeller you made Donald last month?”

“I lost a bet, that is not my fault.” Glaring daggers at your boss is probably not good form but then again neither is snickering at your employees. “Didn’t you have something you wanted from me?”

“Quite right. Duckworth’s come down with a bad case of something and the household cleaning is falling behind without him.”

“Have you considered a temporary employment agency. Because I don’t clean. That’s why you made me get an intern.”

“I didn’t give you an intern so the lab could have a janitor two weeks out of the year. Somehow I imagined science would be involved somewhere. Anyway, I was hoping you could build something to handle the cleaning. I figure we can use the manor as something of a test run and if your machine works we can look towards retooling it for mass production.”

“A robot maid? Yeah, sure, I could make something like that.”

“Perfect! It’ll be just the thing to bring to the investor’s meeting next month.”

“I could probably have something ready in that time frame.” Gyro nods, already sketching and discarding plans in his head. “Definitely multiple arm attachments. Maybe some sort of hovering capabilities for the top of tall shelves and dusty ceilings. And definitely multiple cleaning programs that you can switch between.” Urgh, coding.

“I was actually thinking of something a little more advanced. Something that can decide for itself what needs doing.”

Gyro comes to a halt. “You mean AI.”

“Sure, if that’s what it’s called.” Scrooge shrugs, waving his cane through the air in a vague circle before pointing it at Gyro. “I don’t keep on track of all the newfangled technical terms. That’s what I’ve got you for. So, when can I expect it to be ready?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

“I don’t do AI.”

“I’m your boss!”

“And it’s my lab. I’m in charge. I’m in control. I will make you a smart machine, I will make you a learning machine, but I will not make an AI. This is something I will not bend on.”

Scrooge stiffens. He clearly remembers the last time Gyro had said something along those lines. Scrooge had won that fight, Gryo had wanted to keep the home he’d found enough to risk it. He doesn’t think he can do that this time.

Not with this.

He and Scrooge stare at each other, a silent battle of wills. Then Scrooge huffs. Something in his face softens. “Alright then, no AI.”

Gyro lets out a breath. He takes another.

“I can have a cleaning bot prototype by the end of the day.”

Scrooge nods. His gaze slides over to Gyro, studying. He dips his head at him in a question. “Can I ask…?”

“You cannot.” He turns around, back to his lab, mainly as an excuse not to have to meet Scrooge’s eyes. “If I ever make that mistake again it will be on my own terms and by my own idiocy.” Pausing, he looks back at Scrooge. “Take me out before that happens. Nothing good will come of it.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donald holds out a crumpled mess of wires, metal and wood, a nervous, sheepish smile on his face. Gyro stares at him in undisguised horror. “What did you do?”

The smile drops away into a scowl. “You’re the one who asked me to test it.”

“Test it Donald! Not obliterate it completely!” He scoops the wreckage into his arms, cradling it with a wounded noise. The tangle lets out a puff of dark smoke. “How did you even manage to do this?”

“It’s not my fault!” Donald declares, folding his arms. “Your controls were too hard to understand!”

“It was an automated butterfly catcher Donald! And the controls were specifically designed so that a five-year-old could operate them!”

“Well clearly not!”

Donald’s feathers bristle, his face growing increasingly red. His hands ball into fists. He’s clearly about five seconds from blowing his top entirely. Gyro drops the destroyed catcher, pushing Donald toward the door. “Oh no you don’t! If you wreck my lab I’ll tell Della who it was who threw up in the Cloudslayer’s storage bin.”

“Then I’ll tell her it was you who spilled machine oil on her favorite jacket.”

“Then I’ll tell Scrooge about the underground monster truck derby you really went to when you ‘went camping’ last month!”

“Then I’ll tell Uncle Scrooge that the Soda Jerk malfunction was actually on purpose!”

Gyro and Donald glare at each other. Finally Gyro drops his arms and steps back. “It seems we’ve reached the point of mutually assured destruction.”

Donald huffs but his shoulders relax half a hitch, no longer at risk of blowing up any second. “Seems like.”

“What now?”

Donald’s arms drop entirely. “Ditch work and go get some lunch?”

Gyro glances over at the tangled mess on the table. Yeah, that was scrap entirely and start over. “Sure, why not.” He snags his jacket, falling in next to Donald as they head for the door. “Just not that sloppy joe place again.”

“They’re the size of your head Gyro! It’s the best!”

“Some of us have normal metabolisms Donald.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Gyro I’m booorrrred.”

“I don’t care.” Gyro tightens another bolt, doing his best to ignore Della. It doesn’t work.

“Entertain me!”

The wrench goes flying out of Gyro’s hand, skittering over the floor and under the far workbench. Stalking over to retrieve it he glares up at Della, who’s hopped up on the table and is now draped dramatically over his current invention. How mad would Scrooge be if he stabbed her with his wrench? Just a little. “I am not responsible for your entertainment.”

“Nope!” Della claps her hands together, putting on the absolute worst snooty British accent Gyro’s ever heard. “Amuse me jester!”

“No. Go bother your brother.”

“He’s still on his ‘great comeback tour’ with José and Panchito.”

“So go bother your Uncle.”

“He’s in Antelope Hills finalizing a business deal.”

“So go bother your girlfriend.”

“She broke up with me.”

Oh.

Della’s no longer draped out over the table. Instead she’s curled up in a ball of misery, arms wrapped around her knees.

Gyro sets the wrench down. He inches closer the same way one might with a scared cat. He opens his mouth only to immediately close it when he realizes he has absolutely no clue what to say. Should he give her a hug? Friendly shoulder punch?? Pat her head???

He’s not socialized enough for this!

Della lets out a soft noise that sounds like the precursor to tears.

“Right, nope, not doing that.” Gyro grabs Della’s hand, pulling her down off the table. “Come on.”

Della sniffles, scrubbing the end of her beak. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to test my experimental explosives by blowing things up until you feel better.”

Della sniffles again. She gives him a watery smile. “That could take a while.”

Gyro shifts so his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “I’ve got a lot of explosives.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro takes a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. He reaches to open the door before stopping himself, knocking instead. It ends up as more of a slap, but that counts, right? It makes enough noise to be heard on the other side and that’s the part that really matters.

“Come in.”

Gyro straightens his spine, takes another breath, and pushes his way inside. “If this is about the automatic ironing board, I’ll remind you that you were the one who wanted it to be able fold and sort clothes, so really–”

“That’s not what I asked to see you about,” Scrooge says, looking up from his desk.

Gyro lets himself relax. He’s not being sued by an angry fashion stylist today. Once was more than enough. “Then if this is about the improved infrared periscope for the submarine I told you it won’t be finished until the end of the month. I can’t just wave my hand and make it appear, not to mention I have my own projects, many of which are time sensitive. And even if they weren’t I’m not putting them to the wayside. Who knows how long it would take to get back to them. Not to mention–”

“Gyro. If I can cut in for a second?” Scrooge asks, cocking an eyebrow at him. He picks up the folders covering his desk, using it to gesture at the chair across from him. “Sit down and take a look at these.”

Gyro drops into the chair, picking up one of the files. It’s a personnel file. A closer look reveals it to not actually be a personnel file, but a file for a prospective employee. When he picks up a second folder, he finds the same thing, just for a different person. Gyro lowers the folder, eyeing Scrooge. “Is this a trick to get me to interact with people? Because that’s– Hey, wait a minute! This guy’s still in school!” He snatches up another folder. “And so’s she!” He drops the folders to grab a third. “Are they all students?!”

“These are applications for an internship position. Unpaid, of course. It’ll give them valuable work experience underneath the mentorship of the best of the best. And it’ll give us a chance to scout out the highest potential up and comers. Scoop them up before Glomgold can get his hands on them.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” he says as he scans the folder in his hands. It is admittedly an impressive CV. “What department are you going to stick them in anyway? Don’t say sustainable energy. The algae is at a very delicate state. The last thing I need is some wet behind the ears nitwit bumbling in and giving it sentience.”

“They’d be working at the main lab.”

“What do you mean, ‘Main Lab’? McDuck Enterprises doesn’t have a main lab.”

“Yes we do Gyro, you work out of it.”

A cold trickle of suspicion went down Gyro’s spine. “You want to put them in my lab.”

“They’d be your intern.”

It’s like someone pours a bucket of ice water over him. “what?”

“They’d be your intern,” Scrooge repeats. “You said it yourself, you have your own projects to work on. Projects only you can do. Having someone else around to help, someone who you can delegate part of the load, would give you more time to focus on your projects. Besides,” he adds with an amused grin, “putting up with you is an excellent stress test for prospective future hires.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I will not accept an intern,” he hears himself say.

“Don’t be daft. Now take a look at these folders and tell me which one you want to offer the job to.”

“I’m not taking on an intern.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And that’s final.”

Gyro sets the folder down. “Very well.”

“Good. Now which of these–”

“Mr. McDuck, I’d like to tender my resignation. Effective immediately.”

Scrooge stares at him. “Ye can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Gyo stands. “Thank you Mr. McDuck, for the employment opportunity. I’m sorry to see it end but we’ve reached an impasse I cannot bend on. I’ll see myself out.”

He turns around and walks out. He doesn’t let himself look back.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro steps out of his car, holding onto the top of the door as he stares up at the Money Bin. His grip tightens on the metal.

He can do this.

“Gyro!” Something slams into his side, wrapping around him and sending him flying. He collided with something else, or maybe someone else, as firm hands wrap around his arms keeping him from hitting the ground. “You disappeared for almost a month.” Della tightens her arms around his middle, squeezing out what little breath he’d managed to get back. “Uncle Scrooge said you quit.”

“Don’t be stupid, Dumbella,” Donald says behind him. “I told you he didn’t really quit.” Donald hauls Gyro upright and then hauls back and socks him in the arm. “You couldn’t have come up with a better way to get vacation time than fake your resignation? Or at least told us?”

He can’t do this.

“Gyro!” Scrooge strolls out of the Money Bin. He comes to a vault in front of the three of them, planting his cane in the distant, self-important way he pulls out for obnoxious investors. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m just here to collect my things and inventions.”

“Wait.” Della steps back, staring up at him. “You mean you really did quit?”

Scrooge glances between the three of them. “Kids, why don’t you let me and Gyro speak alone for a bit?”

They take the stairs down to the lab. Gyro’s silent as they step into the room. Scrooge follows after him just as silent.

Gyro walks across the room to the far shelf. He picks up an empty box marked Scrap Metal, cradling it in his arms.

“You know,” Scrooge says behind him. “Even if you do leave, this lab’s always going to be yours.” Gyro turns around to look at him. Scrooge has set his cane on top of one of the lab benches, staring out the window into the ocean on the other side. As if feeling Gyro’s attention, he turns his head, gracing him with a tired grin. “I originally had it built to try to coax Ludwig here after he retired. Didn’t take. After that it mostly sat empty. A couple of projects for the bin here or there where it was more convenient to keep the work in house, contractors and electricians and the like to keep it up to date, but it didn’t belong to anybody. Until you.” Scrooge turns back to the window. “Maybe some day it’ll be more than just yours, but I seriously doubt there’ll ever come a day where it won’t in some way or another be yours.”

Gyro stays frozen in the middle of the lab. He can see his reflection of the glass of the window, an empty box clutched to his chest. “I…”

“You’re a brilliant man Gyro. But you are so very bad at people. To the point where I’ve thought about making you interpersonal flash cards. Having someone else down here with you might be good for you. You might just learn something from the experience too. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”

Intern. What are you doing?

What have you done?

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“You don’t know that.”

Scrooge lets out a sigh. He walks past Gyro to retrieve his cane. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. Try having an intern around for two weeks. If you can make a genuine effort and keep them around for at least two weeks, I won’t ask you to try having an intern for the rest of the year.”

“How is that a deal!?!”

“Would it really be such a bad thing?” Scrooge asks, looking over at him. “That you’d rather give up everything and run away… Then even try?”

Gyro takes a deep breath. He forces down the shadows. It’s easier to do so here. In his lab. It’s easier now, after three weeks of family. He takes another breath and focuses on the practicalities. He could always have them organize the storage room or sweep behind the filing cabinets or something. He doesn’t have to teach them anything. He doesn’t have to steal from them.

He doesn’t have to be Akita.

“And what about when they prove to be an idiot? Can I fire them and kick them out of my lab then?”

“Would this be before the two weeks are up?”

“Presumably. I’m not putting up with an interloper in my lab for two whole weeks.”

“Then you can expect a new intern within the week. Just– just try it for two weeks. Just two weeks. If you do then you won’t have to deal with me foisting an intern on you again until next year.”

“You mean I’d have to play nice with some pea-brained toddler in a lab coat for two whole weeks only to turn around and do it all over again next year!”

“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

Gyro takes a breath. This is his lab. He can keep it safe. He doesn’t have to be Akita. This is his lab.

He wouldn’t be Akita.

A hand lands on his shoulder. He startles, nearly dropping the box. When he looks over Scrooge is looking back at him with an unreadable look on his face. He offers Gyro a small smile. “For what it’s worth, I hope you take it.”

Gyro looks away. He stares down at the empty box in his hands.

Scrooge squeezes his shoulder before letting go and stepping away. “I’ll give you some time to think it over.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s with the box.”

Gyro looks up from the stack of CVs in front of him, blinking away the spots hovering in front of his eyes. “Della?” He stands up, papers fluttering everywhere with the movement. He’ll have to pick them up later but that’s a problem for future Gyro. “I thought you and Donald were still mad at me.”

Della huffs but stands her ground. “I am. But I also missed you. I’m willing to hear your groveling apologies now.”

“I’m not groveling.”

“Fine, we can wait a week or so until Don’s cooled down enough to hear it too. And if you leave without telling us again I’m tracking you down to yell at you.”

“You’d have to find me first.”

“I’m not stopping until I find you. Nothing can stop Della Duck!”

“And Ducks don’t back down?”

“Don’t you quote Donald at me when I’m threatening you.”

A smile tugs at Gyro’s face without his permission. He ducks down and starts gathering the papers to hide it. “Duly noted.”

“So? What’s with the box? It’s not the normal one you hoard over.”

“You’re right, it’s not.

The empty box has been moved to his storage unit. Leaving it behind when he’d fled had made him reconsider the safety of keeping it in the lab. Especially now that he’s making the mistake of letting someone else in here with him.

He’d bought a new box at the packing store, tossing it on the far table. The box is unused, carboard a crisp white, corners sharp. On the side DO NOT TOUCH is scrawled in large red letters.

“Improved idiot filter. If they can’t follow one simple instruction they don’t belong in my lab and this way I don’t have to actually talk to them to get the point across.”

“You take antisocialness to whole new levels.”

“Thank you.”

Della leans forward to peer closer at it. “What’s in it?”

“Nothing.” Gyro flips open the top flap, tilting it so Della can see. “That’s not the point of it. The point is to see if the interns your uncle insists on foisting on me can follow one simple instruction.”

“So how are you going to know whether anyone’s touched it or not when you’re not looking?”

“I–” Huh. He hasn’t actually gotten that far. “I suppose I could rig up some sort of alarm and put that in it.” His gaze drifts over to the shelves, paging through his mental catalogue of supplies. “I’ve still got that ice cream truck siren from the soda jerk somewhere around here…”

“Oh Gyro. Gyro, Gyro, Gyro.” Della’s arm wraps around his shoulder and the smile that blooms across her face can only be described as devious. “Allow me to introduce you to the wonderful world of glitter bombs.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grumbling, Gyro dumps the last of the DT-35 into the cart to be shipped off to the invention junkyard. What’s the point of having an intern if they aren’t going to stay late and clean up? But nooo it’s all AAAHH!! The security droid almost took my hand off! Honestly. Gyro doesn’t care if the two week minimum isn’t over yet, he either needs to step up or get out.

“Hey Gyro!”

Gyro turns around at Della’s call. He blinks. Pulls off his glasses and scrubs at his eyes. Put them back on. Takes them off again and cleans them on his shirt.

“…What are you wearing?”

Della’s hair is pulled into a completely vertical ponytail by a giant neon pink and green scrunchie. She’s drawn a lightning bolt over one eye in glittery feather paint. Below that is a neck to toe high collared, rainbow bedazzled denim jumpsuit. Donald is wearing a headband, arm bands, leg warmers and a teal and purple shirt underneath a denim jacket underneath a life preserver. Also giant bright orange bedazzled sunglasses.

“It’s 80s night at the bar! Ooh! You should come with us!”

“Pass. I don’t drink.”

Donald crosses his arms, cocking his hip. “You don’t drink?”

“I occasionally get wildly and inadvisably drunk. There’s a difference.”

“Oh come on! It‘ll be fun!” Della grabs his hand, tugging on it. There are at least a half dozen bright plastic bangles on each arm. “When was the last time you cut loose and had fun?”

“Laughing maniacally under the influence of the ego machine doesn’t count,” Donald adds before he can answer. Gyro shuts his mouth.

Della and Donald stare expectantly at him.

The worst part is they’re right.

“…Fine, but I’m not dressing up.”

“Whoo hoo!” Della grabs his and Donald’s hands, pulling them out the door. “Let’s go!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gyro peels his eyes open.

He immediately slams them shut. Knives. So many knives, directly into his eyeballs. He rolls over and curls into a ball.

“…Dr. Gearloose?”

“Go away and leave me to die in peace.”

“Dr. Gearloose, you’re lying in the middle of the lobby floor.”

Gyro unearths one of his hands to wave it in the direction his intern’s voice. “Coffee. As strong as you can get it. Just pure liquid caffeine. Raid Quackfaster’s stash if you have to.”

“Um…”

“Go! Coffee or you’re fired.”

Urgh… What happened last night?

The bar. 80s night with Della and Donald. Let’s see… there were shots… And a round of delicious fruity girly drinks… More shots… A round of drinks with the dirtiest, most embarrassing names they could think of… More shots…

Karaoke. There was karaoke, he remembers karaoke. And Donald getting them kicked out of the bar with his singing. And the bar fight he started. Gyro has a very vivid memory of Donald punching a bouncer in the face.

Did Della break a barstool over someone’s head?

They ended up in the park. More singing. The cop showed up. There was a cop. What was her name… she said her name… Officer… Officer… Cambria? Cavalla? Kingfisher? There was definitely a ‘ka’ sound somewhere in there.

Donald stole a paddle boat to captain it. Della tried demonstrating the technique for something called cloud surfing that she learned from somebody at flight school, which led to her falling into the lake. And then Donald went in. Did he jump or did Gyro push him? He remembers Donald falling and his hand but he does not remember if he was helping or stealing the boat for himself.

The liquor store. They definitely visited the liquor store. There was definitely a liquor run somewhere in there.

Agreeing to go out with Della and Donald was a mistake.

And his calves are sweaty.

Oh. That’s why. He’s wearing Donald’s legwarmers.

And he apparently pulled the directory off the wall at some point last night because he’s now holding it. Scrooge is definitely going to make him pay for that.

Eventually he drags himself off the lobby floor and down to the lab. First step, shut off the lights. Fluorescent lights are the devil. He uncrumples the directory, trying to figure out why he stole it.

Oh. He’s drawn 2-BO’s blueprints again.

Okay then.

He uses the last of the truly abysmal handle of vodka he’d found under the lobby reception desk as accelerant.

The elevator doors open just as he ignites the welding torch. Gyro turns to look. The intern stares back wide-eyed. Dismissing him as unimportant Gyro gets back to setting the offending papers on fire.

The intern slowly reaches out and presses the close door button.

Gyro’s going to take that as their resignation. Good riddance. He pulls out his phone, hitting autodial.

“Let me diiieeee…”

“Good morning to you, sunshine.” He switches the phone to hold it with his shoulder and touches the flame to the paper. “Are we wanted by the cops? Because I remember a cop. Also I’ve got your brother’s leg warmers.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Gyro! Guess what!”

“Guagh!!” Gyro fumbles the beaker in his hand, only just barely catching it before it can spill and eat through the table. He carefully sets it down before rounding on Della. “What have I told you about sneaking up on my when I’m handling corrosive chemicals? I could have melted my hands off.”

“Oh please,” Della says leaning against the closest table. “That trick doesn’t work on me anymore. It can’t be that bad.”

Gyro raises an eyebrow at her. Maintaining eye contact he picks the beaker up and tips exactly one drop onto the box of steel siding next to him. There’s a hissing sound as a hole burns its way through all twenty sheets. Gyro sets the beaker down.

Della immediately straightens. “Or maybe it is.” She leans forward to better see the hole. “It’s not going to eat through the floor is it?”

“No, it’s reinforced. It would take something stronger than this.”

“You sure? I remember your universal solvent.”

“I fixed that problem! Mostly.”

“Alright, Alright.” Della puts her hands up in a sign of defeat. “Second question: Where are your gloves?”

“It ate through them already.”

Della blinks. “So it’s already eaten through your gloves…and rather than get yourself stronger safety equipment, you decided to continue without any protective gear at all?”

“Who are you, Donald?”

“Well he’s not here and you’re handling acid barehanded so…” Della gives a loose shrug.

“Didn’t you come down here to tell me something?”

“Oh yeah!” Della perks up, worry forgotten. “Guess what!”

“I don’t have time for guessing games. I need to finish this round of testing before I need to go tour the rest of the labs.”

“Come ooonnn! It’s worth it, I promise!”

“Alright, fiiine.” He turns around to fully face her, adopting a high-pitched exaggeratedly earnest tone. “Whatever could you have to tell me Della?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“You’re What!!!”

Della’s gives a little jump, practically vibrating. “Pregnant!”

“Wha– whe– y– How?!?”

“Well Gyro, when a girl duck and a boy duck like each other very much–”

“Do not. Finish that sentence.”

Della snorts. “You know Gyro, typically when your bestest friend in the whole wide world tells you they’re pregnant, the reaction is more along the lines of ‘Wow Della that’s amazing! I’m so excited for you!’ You wanna try this again.”

“Do Donald and Scrooge know?”

“Of course they know! You really think I wouldn’t have told them!”

“I don’t know! I was not excepting you to come down here and announce that you’re pregnant today! Give me a minute here! I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone! You never told me you were!”

“I’m not.”

“Um, Della, do I have to explain basic biology to you, because–”

“Okay, rephrase,” Della cuts in. “I’m not seeing anyone seriously. And no, having an egg in the oven is not changing that. Now, unless you want me to go into that topic further–”

“Emphatically no.”

Gyro’s brain has stopped processing. It’s just stuck on a never-ending loop like a glitching computer program. Della’s pregnant Della’s pregnant Della’s pregnant.

Gyro legs give out and he drops down onto the nearest chair. “You’re gonna be a mom.”

Della plops down on top of the table next to him. “Yeah.”

“A mom.”

“Yeah.”

“Who in the hell thought it was a good idea to make you a mom.”

“…do you really think I’ll be a bad mom?”

Della’s voice is small. Her shoulders are hunched in, hitched up around her ears in a tight line.

Oh.

Oh Gyro’s screwed up.

Gyro’s majorly screwed up.

Gyro throws himself to his feet, standing up fast enough the chair goes clattering. Della lets out a squawk of surprise. “Gyro what–” Gyro clambers up onto the table, nearly beaming himself in the chin as his shoes slide on its edge. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not good at this, okay?” Now finally on top of the table he turns around and pulls his legs in so he’s sitting back to back with Della. He tips his head back, leaning it against hers. “You. Are going to be the best mom.”

Something that had been pulled taunt in Della relaxes. He can feel it in the line her spine pressed up against his. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

“I’m gonna be a mom.”

“God help us all.”

Della shoves at him with her shoulder, knocking him forward. “Jerk,” she says but that’s okay. Gyro can hear the laughter in her voice again.

“So. Did Donald pass out when you told him?”

“Nah.” She tilts her head to the side and tips it back until it’s resting on his shoulder. When he tilts her head he can see the edge of her smile. “But Uncle Scrooge did.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“So. This is the lab.”

When Gyro turns around, there are three buzzards standing in the middle of his lab looking around them with barely-leashed disdain. Gyro clambers down from the animatronic Daspletosaurus he’s working on, brandishing a screwdriver at them. “Excuse me!?! You can’t be here, this is my lab! Who are you and why are you here? You know what, no. I don’t care, just get out. I’m very busy and you’re in my way. Intern! Escort them out.”

The middle buzzard turns his gaze to Gyro. “And you must be Dr. Gearloose.”

The distain is thick enough to be palpable now.

Gyro decides it’s a mutual feeling.

“I am. Dr. Gyro Gearloose, certified genius.” Gyro folds his arms, directing his best glare at them. “And you are?”

“Ah, Gyro!” Scrooge calls, stepping into the lab. “Come meet my new board of directors. Bradford, Bentley, and Buford.”

Bentley ignores him, continuing to glance disdainfully around the lab. Buford sneers at him. Bradford picks up one of the Spear’s supply reports. Gyro storms over, snatching it out of his hand. “Right. You can leave now. Intern!! Where is he? Lazy, good for nothing…”

“You fired him last week,” Scrooge says.

Gyro blinks. “Oh yeah.”

“This is who you have heading your science division?” Bradford says, turning to look at Scrooge.

Scrooge plants the end of his cane on the ground, striking his most self-important pose. “Dr. Gearloose is one of the finest minds I’ve ever met. Besides, he’s only head of McDuck Enterprises science division on paper. We’ve learned better than to put him in charge of managing people.”

“It’s not my fault people are all idiots.”

The look Bradford gives Scrooge speaks volumes. “As… educational as this visit has been, I think we’re done here.”

Gyro stands and watches as the three buzzards leave the room, elevator doors sliding shut. “I hate them.”

“Truth be told, so do I.” Scrooge leans back against the wall, spinning his cane in one hand. “But they’re still useful. They’ve been with the company for years now and it’ll be nice to have someone capable of heading the helm when I’m busy. Especially with the triplets on the way.”

“I still hate them.”

“Play nice Gyro. Break out the flash cards if you need to. I wouldn’t make an enemy of them. They’re now in charge of your lab budget.”

Gyro’s head shoots up as he lets out an inarticulate screech. “They’re WHAT?!?!”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Boo!”

“Della.” Gyro unlocks the lab door, setting the reports from his trip surveying McDuck Enterprise’s other lab projects before turning his full attention to Della. She’s definitely visibly pregnant now, stomach double the size it was even a week ago. She’s ginning, hand resting curled around the curve of her stomach, a new habit Donald said she’s developed over the last couple weeks. She looks happy.

She’s probably already losing her mind from stir craziness knowing how overprotective Scrooge and especially Donald can be.

“Should you really be in here when you’re in such a,” he raises an eyebrow, coating his next words with as much patronizing sweetness as possible, “delicate disposition?”

Della aims a kick at his shins and Gyro dodges it easily. Provoking the Duck twins is done at your own risk but Gyro has years of practice. Della glares at him. “I have video evidence of you trying to pick up that modified carburetor and tipping over. Complete with audio of the squawk you made.”

“It’s called brains over brawn.”

“So sayeth the wimp.”

He’s definitely taking that potshot at her in the Spear of Selene’s user manual.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey Gyro! Notice anything different?”

Gyro looks up. “Huh. You no longer look like you swallowed a watermelon.”

“Ha. Ha,” Della said flatly. “You’re not funny.”

“I don’t need to be funny. Only imbeciles have to rely on humor.”

“Wow. I sometimes forget how much of a jerk you are.”

“I just don’t bother wasting my precious time interacting with idiots.”

“But you waste your time on me!” Della cries, throwing her arms around him and practically jumping on his shoulders. “Aww… does that mean you think I’m smart?”

“No it does not! It means you’re impossible to get rid of. And you’re my boss’s niece so I can’t just drop you into the bottom of the ocean or shoot you into space or something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where are these eggs of yours anyway? You didn’t leave them alone did you?”

Della rolls her eyes. “Of course not. They’re with Donald. You wanna come meet them?”

“No.”

“Come ooonnnn! They’re your nephews too!”

“They really aren’t.”

“You’ll feel different once you meet them~” Della wheedles, sing-song. She grabs his hand, tugging him forward. “Come on!”

“I can’t meet them Della, they’re still eggs!” Gyro says, laughter breaking through even as he tries to level his best stern look. He stumbles after her, hand still caught in hers.

“Then think of this like a sneak preview.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring them here with you if you’re so determined I should see them.”

“I tried. Donald wouldn’t let me bring them down to the lab. Said it wasn’t safe. He’s such a worrywart sometimes.”

“Gee,” Gyro deadpans, “it’s almost like he spends a solid half his life keeping you from doing something stupid and reckless.”

“It would work better if he didn’t spend the other half blowing his top.”

Gyro’s laughter wins out and he slaps his free hand over his beak to cover a snort. He twists his hand in Della’s grip, shifting it to lace their fingers together. “Five minutes. Then I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Della knocks her shoulder against his, grinning up at him as the elevator doors close on the lab. “That’s what you always say.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ending? What do you mean the search is ending?”

“Exactly that. McDuck Enterprises will no longer be funding any more explorations for Della’s body.”

“She’s not dead! My oxy-chew–”

“You mean your untested, unstable prototype?”

“The numbers are solid! The math supports–”

“Look, I understand that you rightly feel that you’re responsible for Della’s death as you’re the one who designed and built the rocket that killed her, and you are, but McDuck Enterprises can no longer support throwing money at nothing.”

“Mr. McDuck would never–”

“Mr. McDuck is no longer in charge of the decision making for this particular project.”

“I won’t just give up and stop looking for her! I’m not stopping until I find her! I can’t– This is my lab! You don’t– Hey! No stop! You can’t–”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The elevator doors slide open.

The lights flicker, motion sensors taking a moment to kick in.

It’s quiet.

Gyro takes a step.

He takes another.

He takes a breath.

He crashes to his knees.

Della is dead.

It’s all his fault.

If he hadn’t– If he’d never–

They don’t even have a body to bury.

Della is dead and it’s all his fault.

Eventually he manages to force himself to his feet. Blueprints for the Spear lay spread out on his drafting table. A model of the rocket sits on the corner of the lab bench. Supply reports lay stacked next to one of the windows.

Astrocharts. Cosmic weather reports. Homing beacons.

Gyro grabs an empty, shoving everything he can reach into it. The model snaps, the astrocharts crumple, the blueprints rip. He tears through the lab, shoving every scrap into the box until no trace of the Spear of Selene is left. When he’s done – when he’s finally done – he slams the flaps closed. He sits collapsed on the floor, chest heaving.

He can’t– He can’t be here while it still is. He needs it gone.

He can’t be here with his failure.

The incinerator.

He forces himself to his feet once more. He picks the box up. He starts walking towards the door.

He stops.

There’s a photo on his desk.

He sets the box down and picks the photo up.

Della beams up at him. She’s got one arm around both him and Donald on either side. Donald’s laughing, head thrown back against his sister’s shoulder. Gyro’s caught in the middle of a squawk of surprise. Della had ambushed him to take that photo. In the background a grinning Scrooge is halfway cut off. He never knew whether Della meant to capture him or not. He never asked.

Now he’ll never know.

Della is dead and Donald is gone and the eggs are orphans before they’re even born.

They’re your nephews too!

They really aren’t.

Gyro opens the box. He carefully sets the photo inside and closes the flap. He picks the box up. He carries it over to the far shelf. He sets the box down.

He’s got years of practice living with his sins.

He’ll hold onto his guilt a little longer.

#for my eyes only #reorganized version of someone else's fic #fmeo

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