“Reaffirming Bonds”

“Hello and welcome to Starbucks. What would you like to enjoy?” The couldn’t-be-bothered server asked in a monotone voice from behind the counter. The computer on the countertop made an effective barricade between her and her customers, allowing her to be rude without fear of repercussion. Her puffy pink hair bunched out of the hole in her green visor, while her bangs wavered in front of her eyes. Blowing a lime-green bubble, she popped it with her teeth and beckoned the gum back inside her mouth with her pierced tongue.

Blinking blankly, Wildwing and Canard stared at the younger woman, both amazed beyond words.

“She defies the Board of Health,” Canard commented, his face contorted in a horrified cringe.

Wildwing nodded in agreement, mortified. Swallowing hard, he ruffled the hair upon his head and found his queering voice. “Does this planet even have cleanliness standards for the food industry?”

“McDonald’s personnel is better than she.”

Rolling her purple cat’s eyes—cat’s eyes!?—her mouth wide open, she clicked her gum against her braced teeth. “You chilling with your peeps or frittering the forever-dictatorial evil that runs your sham?” (1)

Canard leaned closer to Wildwing and whispered, “Please tell me she’s not talking in English.”

“We come in peace,” spurted Wildwing uneasily, putting his hands up in a mock surrender.

“Yeah, and we don’t want fritters, either,” Canard added fast.

Furling an eyebrow, the girl scoffed surprisingly, then giggled, looking beyond the two ducks. “Ashton, am I getting punk’d?”

“We’ve crossed over,” Wildwing muttered exasperatingly, covering his forehead with his hand. “There is no way we’re in a civilized world.”

Canard shrugged noncommittally. “Hey, you were the one who said, ‘Let’s follow Dragaunus.’ I would have been happy to just stay on Puckworld.”

“Sure, take no blame for anything.”

“Hey! I take responsibility! I did say, ‘Let’s go for coffee.’ ” Adding with a laugh, he disclosed, “It was Phil that recommended this place.”

“What’s the haps, pops?” The girl interjected, obviously annoyed. Resituating her thin, black glasses upon the bridge of her nose, she snorted at the boys. (2)

Whirling, Wildwing and Canard gaped, demoralized.

“What the heck is the ‘haps?’ ” Wildwing questioned quizzically.

“Wildwing! Focus, bro! S—She just called us ‘pops,’ ” stammered Canard, his voice shaking.

“Hey, get a move on!” An angered customer screamed from the line that had formed behind the two ducks.

“Yeah! We’re hungry!” Another shouted.

“Ever hear of fast food?”

“Hey!” Canard twisted abruptly and flicked his hand in the air. “Have you ever been to Chic-a-Fila?”

The blonde business man, dressed in a three-piece black and red suit, studied him almost skeptically before shrugging, “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re about to see a chick-a-flick you, so pipe down, alright? If you don’t, then you’ll really see fast food!” Sighing, he asked good-naturedly, “So, any of you guys translators?”

Wildwing beseeched heavenward. “Why? Why do You enjoy torturing me? Is it a hobby, or do You just get a kick out of it?”

“Hey, dudes!” The pink princess once more called. “Ya gonna spill or be

dinner?” (3)

“Oh, you did not just say that!” Canard accused, pointed a shaking finger at her. “I’ve had just about enough of you, so you just better—”

Grabbing his brother’s wrist, Wildwing lowered the hand. “Hey, bro. I think she means she wants you to order.”

“About time.” Leaning against the counter, Canard considered the menu. “Okay…um…I’d like two caramel macchiatos, but is there anyway to get that bubbly stuff off the top?”

“You don’t want the bubbly stuff?” She mocked disbelievingly.

Canard’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t want the bubbly stuff.”

One eyebrows rised, she sneered, “What…bubbly stuff?”

“The bubbly stuff that comes on top! How can you not know about the bubbly stuff?”

“Dude, we have no bubbly stuff!”

“But the—” A hand gripped Canard’s shoulder hard, startling the angered mallard.

“We’ll have two larges with the bubbly stuff.” Wildwing interceded sternly.

Canard rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Whatever.”

“Two venti caramel macchiatos with the bubbly stuff,” the girl chortled, tapping her computer screen. “Is that it?”

“I asked for larges,” Wildwing eased calmly.

The girl nodded. “Venti.”

“Large,” Wildwing insisted.

“Venti.”

“Large. You know, the biggest.”

“Venti,” mocked the girl nasally. “You know, the biggest.”

“Okay! Listen here—”

“Move it or lose it!” Nosedive snapped, edging his way in between Wildwing and Canard, ousting both from the counter area. Running a hand through his hair, the teenage blonde leaned an elbow on the counter and rolled his eyes. “Totally lame, huh? Wigging you?”

“Totally.” She huffed, but a relieved, nervous smile tugged onto her lips. “Rejects from Generation-X?”

“The lost G. No grip on us Generation-Y’ers.”

“More like Generation-Y-Not!”

“Word!”

“Please tell me you understood a word of that,” Canard pleaded, astonished.

Wildwing shook his head, wide-eyed, blanked face. “I’m not even going to guess. I don’t want to know.”

Nosedive ignored them as the words rolled naturally off his tongue. “I need two venti caramel macchiatos, one no foam; a venti caramel apple cider, ‘X’ whip, ‘X’ caramel; a tall decaf latte, no foam, no whip, skim; a grande peppermint café, ‘X’ whip, ‘X’ roja and verde sprinkles; aaaaannnndddd a tall regular café, no whip, foam, or crème.” He smiled friendly at her as he lifted an empty hand over his shoulder. Wildwing rolled his eyes, but quickly reached into his jeans’ pocket. Pulling out a fifty, he slipped it into Nosedive’s hand.

“There you go,” Nosedive said to the girl, then winked. “Keep the change for the trouble.”

“WHAT!” Wildwing exclaimed. “That’s my—”

Nosedive calmly turned to Wildwing, a look of contentment on his face. “I’m sorry. Do you want to continue ordering?”

Narrowing his eyes at his smirking little brother, Wildwing huffed angrily. “You are evil.”

“Evil is as evil does. And hey, it’s not like you can’t afford it.” Nosedive retorted as he led the two Bronzeplumes toward the waiting counter. “You own one-seventh of the Mighty Ducks.”

“Actually, I own two-seventh,” Wildwing offhanded, smiling knowingly at Canard.

Nosedive’s face contorted in confusion as he began to count on his fingers. “Mallory, Tanya, Grin, Canard,” he mumbled softly, “Duke, you, and …” He halted in instantly. Wildwing and Canard smacked directly into his back.

“Hey, kid, what’s the deal?”

Whirling, he seethed toward Wildwing, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You so do not! I own—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s recap for the game log, huh? How old are you?”

A grumbled mutter returned, and Wildwing leaned forward, putting his hand up to his ear. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“And you call yourself a goalie?” Nosedive snapped.

“And you want to continue playing for this team?”

Rolling his eyes, the little brother moaned, “I’m seventeen.”

“How long until you are an adult?”

Nosedive instantly perked up. “A year!”

“Try four by Puckworld standards, baby bro,” Wildwing laughed, tussling Nosedive’s shortened blonde hair. “You are not going to see that money until then.”

“What? Don’t you trust me?” His vibrant cobalt eyes shone with mock-hurt. He whirled suddenly, his eyes ricocheting to Canard. “By the way, you owe me two hundred. I told you Phil wouldn’t let up on Wildwing until I did that jeans ad, and he so booked it today.”

“Wait, you’re actually letting him model jeans?” Canard scoffed incredulously at Wildwing, throwing his hands into the air. “I thought I had the inside track! You said you didn’t want him to be an ‘ultra-cool youth culture icon!’ ”

“And you owe him two hundred dollars. Do I want to know what that’s about?”

“Ah…never mind.”

Grabbing the coffees from the counter, Wildwing handed the tray to Canard and then grabbed his own. Nursing it in his hands, he wavered in and out of the crowd. “This better be some coffee for the price I paid.”

“It’s Starbucks’; it has to be good.” Nosedive chirped.

“That’s Welsh’s,” Canard shot back.

“Picky, picky…”

Wildwing stopped as they reached the Migrator, watching as his adoptive and younger brothers walked up the back ramp. He couldn’t help but remember a short time ago when he didn’t know who is his little brother was, wondering when—or even if—he would ever know him. Then, he finally met Nosedive, only to be pulled away by his duty to the planet and the Resistance. Nosedive was caught up in the whirlwind, too, being, captured, tortured by Dragaunus for information, then Marked…and all just to hurt Wildwing.

Sighing, the keeper of DuCaine’s Mask took a seat behind the Migrator wheel and placed his coffee in the cup holder. He turned to Nosedive, who had taken off his caramel apple cider’s lid. Taking a sip, his kid brother placed his cup down, too, not even noticing the whipped cream that now littered his beak like a milk mustache.

Wildwing laughed silently, a smug smile edging itself onto his face. He couldn’t believe what his little brother had went through and half-heartedly acknowledged that that Nosedive kept some details of the torture/enslavement/brainwashing to himself. That was a conversation for a different time, but somehow…now, none of that mattered. Nosedive was here and alive, and they would never be separated again.

Nosedive turned him, a glitter of mirth in his eyes that had refused to be darkened by the Saurians. He smiled lovingly, as if he knew exactly what Wildwing was feeling and felt the same way.

Wildwing drew his little brother into an embrace and murmured, “I love you, baby bro.”

Nosedive shrugged in the hug. “Well, I am so lovable.”

They stayed like that, both of them reveling in the reassurance of the other’s presence.

“Aw, what’s with all this gushy stuff?” Canard’s voice broke through the silence. “It’s making my caramel fall to the bottom.” He walked in between the two front seats, staring sadly into his cup.

“Hey, ruining the moment here,” Nosedive replied sharply and pulled out of the embrace. “You totally suck, bro.”

“You’ve never done any of this gushy stuff with me,” Canard mumbled into his coffee, taking a sip.

“Feeling left out?” Wildwing replied fast, catching Nosedive’s mischievous eyes with a smile.

“Aw, does Canard need a hug?” Nosedive asked childishly.

Canard quickly retreated backward defensively. “No, I don’t need a hug!”

Nosedive and Wildwing looked at each other and nodded once. Lunging from his seat with force, Nosedive bombarded Canard. The caramel macchiato flew from the elder’s hands as Nosedive wrapping his arms about Canard’s waist. On the other front, Wildwing attacked Canard’s upper body, wrapping his arms around the other’s shoulders, holding his adoptive brother tightly. They had been through a lot, Wildwing reflected, as he held the weight of his brother in his arms, and never once did Canard ever abandon him. Even when he searched for his brother, the invasion, when Wildwing even wanted to give himself up to free Nosedive, Canard was next to him. Blood or not, they were brothers, and nothing would ever change that.

Canard wiggled under the attacks, but eventually relented.

“You’re my brother,” Wildwing confessed as he released Canard. “Never forget that.”

“As long as you don’t.”

Wildwing shrugged. “Not even if I wanted to. It’s kinda hard with people telling us how much we look alike, twin.”

Nosedive’s head perked up in between them, his eyes securitizing them both. “Yeah, you do have the same build…beak…even hair…”

Canard’s face fell. “As long as us don’t call us bald!”

“Well…” Nosedive baited.

Instantly, Canard grabbed Nosedive and wrapped his arm around the boy’s neck.

“Not the hair! Not the hair!” Nosedive squealed as Canard nuggied his head relentlessly.

“Oh, you are so gettin’ it! First ‘pops,’ now bald!”

Wildwing shook his head and laughed as he took a seat behind the wheel and turned on the car. Canard had embraced Nosedive almost as much as Wildwing had, and Nosedive had returned the affection, too. How did his little brother phrase it? Canard was “his brother from another mother.” It didn’t matter. Wildwing had two brothers now, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

With a huff, Nosedive landed in the passenger seat. He pushed his disheveled hair back out of his eyes. “You think I got it?” He retorted. “Wait until later, bro! You are so getting hot water and bed! Know math? Guess what that equals?”

Canard smirked. “I’m so scared. I’m going to wet my pants.”

“That’s not all you’re gonna wet…” With a sigh, he buckled and took a sip of his cider. “Hey, you guys know that you crept out Missy, right?”

“Missy?” Canard repeated as he pulled on his seatbelt. “Don’t tell you actually know her!”

“Yeah, we hang at Captain Comics sometimes.”

“Wait. We freaked her out? It’s not our fault she can’t speak English!” Wildwing bellowed as he put the car into drive.

“Yeah,” Canard defended. “It’s like she’s from another planet.”

Nosedive blinked and stared at his brother’s brother skeptically. “Look who’s talking.”

THE END

Translations: (1) Are you hanging with your friends, or just wasting time?

(2) What’s going on, old guys?

(3) Are you going to order, or (well) be dinner?

And an added bonus:

“bubby stuff” = “foam”= froth