The clock in Drake Mallard's bedroom ticked 11:00, as the duck sat at his desk, pondering a list he held in his feathered hands. "Alright, I'll just run it through one more time. Funzo's FunZone in the morning, Hamburger Hippo for lunch, the skate park till sunset, then Zombie Schoolyard 3 at the movie theatre. Perfect!" He jumped out of his chair with an excited grin on his beak and waddled to the closet, leaving the list on his desk.

Drake had been spending the night finalizing his plans for the ultimate day of fun for him and his adopted daughter, Gosalyn, to celebrate her one-year adoption anniversary. This special day had been on his mind for weeks, and he wanted it to be the best day she ever had with him, so while she was at school, he meticulously listed out all her favorite activities, and crafted the ultimate father-daughter excursion to rival any other.

As he stepped out of his closet, dressed in his nightshirt, he eyed the picture on his desk of him, Gosalyn and Launchpad that was taken not long after her adoption. He picked it up and stared at it fondly.

He began to ponder the memories of his first meeting with Gosalyn, how he saved her and the entirety of St. Canard from the sinister Taurus Bulba. A mini-movie of memories of the night's events commenced in his mind as he turned out the light and climbed into bed. He settled into his sheets and sighed contentedly.

His little montage had come to the part where she had taught him her favorite lullaby, which contained the activation code to the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, unbeknownst to her. He remembered her sweet face as he tucked her in and sung back the lullaby with his own little spin on the words.

Oh, Gosalyn, he thought, what a gift you've been to me.

He quietly hummed the melody to that sweet song as he closed his eyes and let the memories carry him to sleep.

Gosalyn awoke to morning sunlight streaming in from the window behind her bed. As her eyes opened, and she stretched the stiffness out of her limber limbs, she felt an itching sensation on her arms and instinctively reached out to scratch. She let out a yawn and began itching, relief finding her with every pass. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, looking around her room, from the door to her basketball hoop and finally to her bedsheets, acknowledging the small pile of fuzzy feathers that lay there with a small nod.

…wait, what?

She rubbed her eyes again, shook her head vigorously and looked back to her arms. Her soft coat of downy feathers was riddled with bare trenches where she had been scratching, and the dislodged feathers now lay on her sheets like excess lint from a dryer.

"Keen gear," she whispered as she scratched the side of her head, fascinated at the phenomenon befalling her, "am I…molting?"

She recalled the school nurse talking briefly about molting to her class a month ago, but she could barely remember the last time it had happened to her. Brief snapshots formed in her mind of a 5-year-old Gosalyn sticking molt feathers into every crack and crevice of every piece of furniture in the Waddlemeyer household, causing no end in grief for her poor grandfather. Had it really been that long since the last time?

As she itched her cheek, more feathers dropped off her cheek like little cotton balls onto her bed. She looked at the mirror across her room and stared with wide, curious eyes at the bare mark on her face where the feathers she scratched at used to be.

As she stared, she squinted because of the bright sunlight from the window bouncing off the mirror. What time was it? She glanced over to the alarm clock on her bedside table. The bright red digital numbers read 10:26. Dad'll be up soon, she thought.

Uh oh.

Her eyes grew wide and she gasped as she realized that her dad would probably have a massive cow if he saw what was happening.

"Gosalyn," she could hear him call out in the hall, "are you awake?"

She jumped and immediately broke out in a cold sweat. She could hear his voice in her head now, blowing this whole event out of proportion. She would be taken to the pediatrician, the dermatologist, the psychiatrist, and the local voodoo priest. Then she'd be stuck at home in bed with her dad doting over her every "symptom", unnecessarily, with every kind of pill, cream, and syrup under the sun.

Plus, wasn't today her 1-year adoption anniversary? Her massive day of fun with her dad? Well, it wouldn't be happening the way she was shedding like a fall tree.

And there was no way she'd be giving that up.

She scratched at her face again, her worries making the itchy feelings even worse. Thinking fast, she positioned herself on the bed so the bare spots on her face weren't visible, placing that side of her head on the pillow and keeping her arms tucked under the blankets. As the footsteps of her father drew ever closer to her door, she hurriedly shoved the old feathers under the covers, crossing her fingers that she had done enough to erase the evidence. She readied herself as the doorknob raddled and the door swung open.

Drake walked in, dressed in his usual attire of a pink button-down shirt (he called the color salmon), a green, slightly too big sweater vest, and a happy grin. "Good morning, my sweet!"

Noting her cue, she drew out a fake yawn and snuggled into the pillow. "Morning, Dad. You're not usually up this early."

It totally wasn't early, but for Drake, it might as well have been the crack of dawn.

"Well, today's a special day," he said as he walked to her bed, "you changed my life 1 year ago today." He reached out to stroke Gosalyn's cheek and was met with her jerking her head away.

Gosalyn saw her father immediately raise his eyebrow in confusion. "Uhhhh, you know, dad, I haven't washed up yet. Maybe you oughta hold off on the mushy stuff until I, you know, get clean." She flashed a toothy grin to sell her improvised line, hoping it would steer Drake away from the state she was in.

Drake's confused look turned into a chuckle. "You're funny, Gos. You and I both know you haven't taken a bath willingly this past year!" He winked as he said this, and Gosalyn rolled her eyes in response.

At that moment, the left side of her face began to burn with itchiness and Gosalyn couldn't help but roll onto her other side subconsciously. Before she even realized it, she had blown her entire plan, and the bare spot on her cheek was on full display.

Drake gasped overdramatically, and Gosalyn went bug-eyed, screaming at herself internally for ruining everything with such a dumb move.

He reached out gently to stroke the bald spot on her face, feeling the fuzzy downy feathers turn into coarser, more mature feathers where one met the other. He yelped a little bit when more of the fuzzy coat was lost to his touch, and he rubbed the fuzzy feathers in between his fingers.

"Uhhhh, it's not as bad as it looks, dad!" Gosalyn quickly said, scooting away from Drake's arm until she unwittingly scooted off the bed and fell with her blankets into a heap on the floor. The feathers she freed already were kicked up in her blunder, and Drake watched them float through the air with a flabbergasted expression.

He couldn't believe it. His daughter was molting.

She was growing up.

"Gosalyn…you-you're…molting!" Even as he said it, he still couldn't fathom it.

"I-It's not noticeable, dad. No need to change plans!" she assured him as she bounced up, trying to salvage their day, subconsciously itching at her head again. She saw the downy feathers come out by the handful, and both her and Drake did a double-take. She stared as they floated down and settled on the floor beneath her. As Drake turned his gaze back to her, beak agape, all she could do was chuckle nervously and put her hands behind her back in a nervous pose. "Well, maybe a little noticeable…"

Drake sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, regaining his composure. "Well, this is a prickly predicament."

Gosalyn frowned as Drake put his hand to his chin, his eyes narrowing as he began to think. There was no way their grand day out was happening now, and it was all her fault.

Well, it was her body's fault, but she couldn't help the guilt that swam in her stomach right now. She knew how much this day meant to her father and now it was all shot, because her body had randomly decided to shed like a madman. She wasn't even consulted on the matter.

Drake didn't know what to do. This was all new to him and through his cool, thoughtful exterior, he was panicking.

And she looked so disappointed. Wasn't there…guilt in her gaze as well? This day had thrown them a serious curveball, and Drake struggled with how he might still be able to get the home run of a day he desired for the both of them.

He muddled over the right words before saying, "Well…why don't you get dressed, and we'll talk over breakfast, okay?"

Gosalyn gave a slow nod as he walked out of her bedroom still deep in thought. Gosalyn sighed dejectedly as he slogged to her dresser. Not even her favorite jersey was gonna fix this mood.

Drake had prepared her favorite puck-cakes, hockey puck-sized pancakes with 10 times the sweetness, thanks to maple syrup mixed into the batter itself. As he munched on them, he studied Gosalyn, who was fiddling with her cakes, poking and prodding them with her fork. The disappointment in the air was palpable.

Drake gulped down his bite and put down his knife. "Is everything okay, Gos?"

"Why'd this stupid molting have to happen today?" she grumbled, stabbing her puck-cake with fire and fury.

Drake gulped again at the sight. And that puck-cake hadn't done a thing to her.

"It's a natural process. It just happens when it happens." Drake said gently, wanting to reassure her.

"Yeah, well, it could've waited until after we had our day of fun!"

Drake could tell she was very upset. He couldn't blame her. This was a heavily anticipated day between the two of them, and now it seemed to her that the downy feathers she couldn't help but itch off in places had put their plans down the drain.

Drake wanted to make her feel better. He debated in his mind for a way he could distract her from this untimely event and help her see that it wasn't her fault.

He had the perfect idea.

"Gos, have I ever told you the story of my first molting?"

She looked up at him, her look of sadness replaced by a hint of curiosity. "What? Did you ruin a day of fun with your parents too?"

He got up from the table and ruffled her hair, surprised that the feathers on her neck wouldn't budge as easily when he moved his hand there. "No, silly, I was at school."

Now she was interested. "At school?"

He tossed his dish into the sink like a frisbee and said, "Meet me in the living room. There are some pictures I'd like to show you." With a pinch of her bare cheek, he left Gosalyn in the kitchen with her half-eaten breakfast.

A few minutes later, he sauntered down the stairs, slinging a stack of pictures he'd retrieved from the attic. He strolled into the living room and plopped them down next to Gosalyn on the couch, who immediately grabbed the first one off the stack. She giggled a little bit at the duck she saw in the picture.

He was a young duckling, his large bill and feet the most prominent features. He was dressed in a brown hunting hat, pink button up shirt, green sweater vest, and forest green slacks. He slouched a little bit and wore a timid smile.

"Dad, is this you?" Gos said as she pointed at the awkward duckling.

Drake gave a sigh as he sat down next to Gosalyn. "Not my most flattering picture."

"You look like your mom dressed you!" Gosalyn laughed, realizing where he probably got his atrocious fashion sense from.

"She did, and she loved those clothes on me!" said Drake, acting offended at her snide remark.

Gosalyn took another look at the photo and noticed a similarity between her and this young Drake. "Hey, these feathers are the same color as mine." Despite the dark stripes that patterned his downy coat, young Drake wore the same sandy-yellow feathers as the ones Gosalyn was shedding this morning.

"Yep, yep, yep," Drake sighed as he scooted closer to his daughter, putting an arm around her, "and I lost them all one fateful day …"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was inspired to write this thanks to some amazing headcanons posted by rubbersoles19 on Tumblr. (Check her out, she's written an amazing DWD fic called "The Studio of Darkwing Duck"). I was originally gonna contain this to one part, but after writing over 2K words over a couple of sessions just on the beginning, I figured I had better split it up.

Next time will be Drake's first molting, as narrated by the duck himself! Thanks to rubbersoles19 for the title and the headcanons that inspired this! I'll see y'all in the next part!

-AJ

EDIT 1/16/2017: Fixed some typos.