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The first time Gosalyn calls Launchpad ‘Dad,’ he assumes it’s an accident.
It’s late, and he’s carrying her up to bed after an impromptu movie night/pillow fort building competition. It’s only their third night in the new house, and cardboard boxes still clog much of the available space in varying packed and unpacked states. He nearly trips over them in the dark, jostling Gosalyn enough that she grumbles in that soft, half-asleep way of hers.
“Go back to sleep, Gos,” Launchpad says quietly, the unbroken darkness lending itself to whispering. He also left Drake snoring on the couch, and he’s in no hurry to wake him earlier than he needs to.
Gosalyn huffs, but does go mostly lax in Launchpad’s arms again as he continues their trek through the gloom. When he reaches Gosalyn’s bedroom it’s a mess of boxes and clutter worse than the hallway outside. The bed and desk are the only pieces of furniture they’ve set up so far. Launchpad pulls back the covers and crouches slightly to lay Gosalyn down as gently as he can. His progress is hindered by Gosalyn’s hands clutching tightly at the fabric of his shirt, refusing to let go even in sleep.
“Gos,” he murmurs, trying not to laugh. He tugs gently at her hands. “You’ve gotta let go, kiddo.”
“Noooo,” she whines without opening her eyes, her voice so quiet he doubts she’s even fully awake.
Fondness engulfs him so strongly he nearly aches with it. Not for the first time, he’s grateful Drake trusted his instincts all those months ago when he told him something felt off about Dr. Taurus Bulba playing guardian to his rival’s granddaughter.
Gosalyn’s grip finally loosens, and Launchpad softly lowers her hands against her stomach. As he tugs her blankets over her, she turns onto her side with a sleepy sigh. Before he leaves, Launchpad can’t resist the urge to card his fingers through her hair, brushing her wavy bangs out of her face.
“Good night, Gos,” he says faintly, unwilling to draw her even further from sleep.
Gosalyn sighs again. “Night, Dad,” she murmurs, and nearly stills the beating of Launchpad’s heart.
It was an accident, Launchpad tells himself fiercely, as he trips his way out of Gosalyn’s room. She’s half-asleep, and used to Drake being the last person she sees before going to bed. He knows that she couldn’t have meant it for him.
Regret pools low in his gut over not spending more time with Gosalyn before the move, during the adoption process with Drake. But he’d still been Scrooge’s pilot, and he’d had loose ends to tie up, things to pack, family to say goodbye to. It was unavoidable, and besides, Drake had understood.
It does nothing to diminish the icy sting of remorse, or wishing he was worthy of such a title.
The second time Gosalyn calls him ‘Dad,’ he attributes it to head trauma.
Drake’s called away to S.H.U.S.H. meeting last minute, leaving Launchpad to attend Gosalyn’s hockey game alone.
The club Gosalyn joined is coed, meaning that a lot of the boys, and even some of the girls, are significantly bigger than her, even if they aren’t as good of players. It brings Drake endless amounts of anxiety watching her play, terrified that one of the bigger kids will take out their frustration on her and slam her into the walls of the ice rink or something equally awful. They spend most of her games with Drake gripping Launchpad’s hand in a vise, never voicing his dread in the moment as they both cheer with riotous and embarrassing fervor.
Launchpad knows that as much terror the thought of Gosalyn getting hurt brings Drake, she loves it too much for him to ever make her quit playing. It’s endearing, and one of the countless reasons Launchpad loves him.
Today the competition is fierce, but Gosalyn’s Mighty Ducks are holding their own as the clock counts down. Launchpad’s on the edge of his seat as he watches Gosalyn race down the rink toward the opponents’ goal. She gets the puck passed her way, leaving the other team scrambling in her wake.
Launchpad’s so focused on her progress he doesn’t notice the other player until it’s too late. An overeager kid from the opposing team is barreling toward her, their arms pinwheeling at the last second when they realize they’re coming in too hot. It’s a futile effort. They collide with Gosalyn, who’s going just as fast, with a loud, sharp SMACK that carries all the way to the stands. The other player is bigger, and even they get thrown onto their backside. Gosalyn is smaller, even with all the padding ( God, she’s so small, he takes back every moment he thought Drake was overreacting) and she flies several feet before hitting the ground hard, her head bouncing off the ice.
Launchpad is standing before he’s even aware of moving, and he watches with his heart lodged in his throat as Gosalyn doesn’t move for a second, then two, and by the time three sluggish seconds have passed he’s already scrambling out of the bleachers. He reaches the players bench in a blur, and by the time he’s there Gosalyn is already sitting up on the ice, her coach and the referee by her side. None of the players or the assistant coach say a word to him, only making room for him in the booth.
Gosalyn clutches her head as they help her to her feet, but Launchpad can’t see her expression through the helmet. After entirely too long, and almost no time at all, she’s being helped into the players bench, stumbling on her skates.
Launchpad rushes forward to help her, gripping her gently by the shoulders.
“Dad?” is the first thing she says, her voice weak and warbling. Through the grill of her helmet, she looks dazed and afraid.
“It’s —it’s Launchpad, sweetheart,” he stutters, and hates himself a little for having to correct her.
He guides Gosalyn to the bench, which her teammates have helpfully cleared. “How do you feel?” he asks, a question so familiar to their family he has to fight the automatic, non-nonsense tone for something gentler.
She blinks hard, and when she opens her eyes again they seem clearer, even as she begins to squint. “No numbness,” she reports, equally familiar with this song and dance though usually they’re asking Drake. “But I think I passed out for a second, and the light is really hurting my eyes.”
“Headache?” Launchpad asks. “Do you feel dizzy?”
Gosalyn grimaces, closing her eyes. “Yeah,” she replies, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her. Launchpad squeezes her hands tightly, so she’ll feel it through her thick gloves.
“That sounds like a concussion,” Gosalyn’s coach says from somewhere behind them.
Launchpad nods briskly, already kneeling by Gosalyn’s feet so he can start unlacing her skates. “We’re gonna head to the hospital,” he says.
Gosalyn puts up a token protest, but it’s so half-hearted he has to fight to keep his worry from skyrocketing, or at least showing on his face. Gosalyn hates hospitals. It’s no wonder, after her grandfather and Drake, who only goes when his injuries are at their most dire.
Launchpad looks up when Gosalyn yanks off her helmet with awkward, jerky movements that almost send her tumbling off the bench. If he had any doubts about her having a concussion, he doesn’t now.
She’s a little pale, but he’s ready to attribute that to her fear of hospitals and not worsening symptoms. All the same, he reaches up to squeeze her knee, nevermind her knee pads in the way. It’s the intention that matters anyway.
“We’ll call your dad once we’re out of here, okay?” Launchpad can’t assure her quickly enough. “He can meet us at the hospital. How’s that sound, kiddo?”
Gosalyn’s smile is shakier than he’d like, and their something pensive about the furrow in her brow, the same she gets when she’s plotting something. But he has to resist the urge to laugh when she gives him a thumbs up with her clunky gloved hand.
“Sounds good, Launchpad.”
Launchpad and Drake have been married for a month when Gosalyn calls him ‘Dad’ for a third time.
He’s the only morning person in the house, though it’s not something he’d ever complain about. Waking up to Drake wrapped around him like a particularly clingy squid, their bodies flush, and his face sleep-slackened and beautiful in its tranquility is a gift Launchpad sometimes still can’t believe is his . His to admire, to protect. And now he has the rest of his life to cherish the unique joy of holding his husband in his arms, waking up in their bed, in their home.
It seems like just yesterday he was greeting the day from his hammock in Scrooge’s garage, perfectly alone and apart from the family in the mansion. By comparison, his new reality is almost too good to be true.
With great care, Launchpad starts to extricate himself from Drake’s hold. He’s loathe to leave the comfort of their bed, but once he’s awake it’s impossible for him to go back to sleep. He’s almost slipped free when the lingering pull to return to bed becomes a tangible thing.
“LP,” Drake grumbles, his face partially mashed into his pillow, “‘come back t’bed.”
He’s snagged Launchpad’s wrist, that single point of contact the only remaining tether between them. But Drake’s eyes are still closed, his brow only the slightest bit furrowed, and he’s clearly on the verge of falling right back asleep.
Launchpad is struck, as he so often is, but how much he loves him. He lifts his hand, maneuvering in Drake’s loose grip to press a kiss against Drake’s knuckles.
“I’m gonna get things ready for breakfast,” he murmurs into the back of Drake’s hand.
Drake makes a vague humming sound that might be affirmation. Launchpad gently lets go of his hand and rises fully from the bed, stepping out into the hall as quietly as he can.
Gosalyn’s door is still closed, which is no surprise. She’s as bad as Drake when it comes to waking up early, and she’s not even moonlighting as a crimefighter. On schooldays, it’ll be a mad rush between Gosalyn and Drake to get dressed in time to eat the breakfast Launchpad will have waiting for them, scrambling to brush hair and tie shoes and make sure their clothes aren’t on backwards. All the while Launchpad exists as an oasis of calm, doling out pancakes and the like and making sure Drake gets his coffee first thing.
But it’s summer now, and a weekend to boot, which means they’ll be spared the usual breakfast rush for the next few months. Launchpad belatedly remembers this as he enters the kitchen. Barring hockey practice, Drake and Gosalyn could probably sleep half the day away, so there’s no need for him to get started on breakfast.
In any event, he starts the coffee maker and sits down at the table to scroll through the news on his phone. He wasn’t a very big coffee drinker before he met Drake, but their late nights practically demand it now.
The sun steadily rises, filling the kitchen with golden light through the window over the sink. The percolating of the coffee maker is the only sound in the room, and they haven’t received any S.H.U.S.H. alerts.
Launchpad begins to wonder whether he should head to the Tower to get some maintenance done on the Thunderquack, when he hears movement from upstairs. It’s not even eight, and as he gets up to pour his coffee he wonders bemusedly over who could be up this early.
The answer manifests itself in the tromping footsteps coming down the stairs. Launchpad chuckles, though he doesn’t turn around just yet.
“Good morning!” Gosalyn announces, more chipper than he’s ever heard her at this hour.
Launchpad shushes her as he turns around. “Morning, Gos. But, honey, your dad’s still sleeping …”
Following Gosalyn into the kitchen is Drake, sleep-rumpled and expression wry as Launchpad trails off. His hair is still mussed, and he’s wearing one of Launchpad’s shirts under his plush burgundy robe. As ever, the sight of Drake in his clothes fills him with a swell of possessiveness and love, and he couldn't stifle his answering smile if he wanted to.
“Good morning, Mr. Mallard-McQuack,” Drake says as he approaches Launchpad at the counter.
“It is now, Mr. Mallard-McQuack,” Launchpad replies, beaming so widely he almost isn’t able to kiss Drake’s cheek.
When he pulls back, Drake’s face is slightly pink and Launchpad delights in still being able to make his husband blush.
“Flatterer,” Drake mutters, smiling.
Launchpad reaches behind him for the mug of coffee he’d just poured, pushing it into Drake’s hands. Drake rewards him with a warm look and a kiss to the side of his beak, before he moves away to retrieve cream and sugar.
“What are you two doing up so early, anyway?” Launchpad asks, “is Gizmoduck in town or something?”
Drake scoffs loudly, and Gosalyn giggles from the kitchen table.
Gosalyn’s hair is in curly disarray around her head and she’s still in her pajamas. But her expression is bright, and her smile contagious, nevermind that usually she can barely keep her eyes open this early. She’s practically bouncing in place, and though puzzled, Launchpad approaches the kitchen table .
As he pulls out a chair he notices the manila envelope for the first time. It’s suspicious in its innocuousness, and the way Gosalyn can’t seem to stop fiddling with it.
“Okay, what’s going on?” he asks, amusement curling his beak.
Drake takes a seat beside him, stirring his coffee. Launchpad knows what Drake looks like when he’s trying to school his expression, and try as he might Drake can’t completely hide the pleased smile marring his act. He nods at Gosalyn.
“Go ahead, sweetie.”
Like she was just waiting for prompting, Gosalyn immediately thrusts the manila envelope at Launchpad. “Happy one month anniversary!” she cries.
“What?” Launchpad laughs, accepting the envelope. He looks back at Drake for explanation, but his husband takes an unhelpful sip of his coffee, raising his eyebrows in a who me? expression.
Launchpad figures he’ll only get answers if he opens the envelope, so he does just that. There’s a thick sheaf of papers inside, and he tugs the first few free. The breath leaves his body in a rush as he reads the title on the first page, and he nearly drops the envelope.
He remembers what the adoption forms Drake signed looked like.
Drake reaches out to squeeze Launchpad’s arm, and Launchpad works his beak for a moment, unable to speak.
Tears are already welling up in his eyes when he glances at Drake, but his gaze is swiftly drawn back to the forms, with all the force of a lodestone.
“Are these…?”
“They’re adoption papers,” Gosalyn answers for Drake, and though Launchpad’s vision is swimming he forces himself to tear his gaze away and look up at her. Her voice is softer than he’s ever heard it, almost hesitant, and her smile is small but hopeful.
“You’re my dad too, even before you and Dad got married and...and I wanted to be your daughter, for real.”
Launchpad’s heart shatters and mends all at once.
“You are,” he says, swallowing thickly, “you are my daughter, Gos.”
“And-and look!” Gosalyn says, that familiar energy returning to her voice. She reaches across the table and pulls the envelope out of his hands, spreading out the papers on the table. “I even—Dad even helped me change my name, so that I have both your names!”
Drake threads their fingers together as Launchpad leans forward to see the form Gosalyn is pointing at. His breath nearly shudders as he reads the name printed there.
Gosalyn Mallard-McQuack
“I’d be honored to be your dad, sweetheart,” Launchpad says hoarsely.
Gosalyn grins so wide Launchpad’s cheeks ache in sympathy. She jumps out of her chair so quickly it nearly falls over, and Launchpad rises out of his own, sinking down to his knees to meet her halfway. She collides into his arms with enough force to nearly bowl him over, and he laughs wetly.
“You’re already my dad, remember?” she says.
Launchpad holds her close, clenching his eyes shut against the burn of tears. He feels Drake join them on the floor, wrapping his arms around both of them.
“Actually,” Gosalyn pipes up from in between them, “won’t it get really confusing if I call you both Dad?”
Drake snorts. Launchpad thinks he’ll really start crying if he laughs, so he just kisses Gosalyn’s temple.
“You can call me whatever you want,” he promises.
Gosalyn nestles further against his chest. “How about Pops?” she asks, and her voice is hesitant again, like she’s afraid he won’t like it.
Launchpad squeezes her briefly. “It’s perfect, Gos.”
She makes a drawn out, thoughtful noise that’s mostly for show, which should’ve been his first warning. “Or what about ‘Launchdad’?” she offers, perfectly innocent, and he can already imagine the devious little smile she’s sporting.
Launchpad does laugh then, and though Drake chides her with a stressed, “ Gosalyn ,” he’s laughing too.
“How about I sign these papers before you come up with any more names?” Launchpad suggests, and Gosalyn giggles.
They untangle themselves from off the floor, gathering around the kitchen table once more. It’s not even eight AM and they’re all still in their pajamas, Drake’s coffee growing cold on the table but he hasn’t paid it so much as a glance, his eyes shining like they did on their wedding day.
Once Launchpad’s sitting back down, Gosalyn climbs onto his lap. She hands him a pen and then nestles against his chest, clutching at his shirt with one small hand.
As he begins the process of filling out the adoption forms, he sees her smile and hears her murmur, “Thanks, Launchdad.”