An idea I had, in which it explores a sort of AU ending for my "White Noise" story that opens up possibilities that couldn't be possible if I followed the comic timeline so strictly. You may have seen some of my doodles for this idea on Tumblr

Effectively, this is an AU of a semi-canon fanfic I wrote myself, but I'm gonna be honest: I love the idea of QuackerJack and Claire as a couple, so this AU follows what I set up in "White Noise", but changes the ending to remove the timer set for how long QuackerJack can have with Claire.

What I'm saying is that I knocked away the ending of "Toy With Me", and shoved this all into an AU tangent, because, after all, what is Fanfiction if you aren't willing to really explore alternate possibilities within reason.

Also, the reason for this AU is mostly so I can have more flexibility with the pairing, as well as create a legit possibility that QuackerJack doesn't turn himself into a doll at the end of "Toy With Me"

That said, I'm still writing the next chapter of "It Started With a Laugh", I simply had this idea I wanted to start up and offer as an interesting take on things.

Enjoy, I've been doing a lot of side research for the exact technicalities.

Prologue

Darkwing Duck wasn't quite sure what he'd expected when he pulled open the front doors to the building, after all, the distance from the upper floors and the ground floor was quite a fall if one was to be thrown out the window, much like QuackerJack had been.

Darkwing had seen QuackerJack bounce back from more hefty drops, had seen him walk away from impact hits with very little shown damage, and had come to suspect that the mad clownish toy maker to have some level of resilience that could almost be admired.

So imagine his shock to find QuackerJack laying in a heap amongst the broken glass on the pavement walkway below. Darkwing looked up briefly to take note that it had been a fall from the third floor, then looked back at the motionless duck in front him.

"QuackerJack, didn't you hear what I said!"

Perhaps Darkwing had been in denial for as long as possible before the horrible thought sprung to mind: QuackerJack had fallen from the third floor window; he had yet to respond to Darkwing.

High strung, very energetic, it wasn't uncommon for QuackerJack to quite literally "bounce" from one action to the next. In fact, Darkwing had more than once witnessed QuackerJack spring up from a rough landing with little more than a scratch.

A weak cough was heard, and the feeble shaking from QuackerJack on the ground at least told Darkwing that at least the worst possible outcome hadn't happened. Darkwing approached him cautiously, and crouched beside him to get a better look.

QuackerJack's eyes were half open and blinking, as if he couldn't process what had just happened. One couldn't blame him, considering that hardly ten minutes ago, he'd been yanked back and forth between two sentient toys of his brought to life by a backfiring of the Molecular Digitizer, and even in his altered state of mind, it had been a horribly confusing experience.

It took a lot of effort, but eventually Darkwing managed to get QuackerJack to look his way by waving a hand in front of him, but the toy maker stared past Darkwing as if he wasn't there. That was about the time Darkwing realized that QuackerJack's hat was askew and torn from the impact, and that the reddish color he was seeing was in fact an abrasion on the right side of QuackerJack's head that was currently bleeding and soaking into the blue fabric half of the jester hat.

By all appearances, it seemed that QuackerJack had fallen on his head before he could get his bearings, and must have suffered an impact trauma from the landing.

"... Hey, QuackerJack, can you hear me?" Darkwing had forgotten about maintaining his vigilant, heroic persona now. One of his most infamous adversaries was now in a near lifeless heap on the pavement, and it was clear that QuackerJack wasn't in a fit state to even pick himself up from the ground, much less respond.

Darkwing cursed under his breath and shouted upward to Launchpad on the upper floor to get the Thunderquack ready to go.

Claire had received a phone call. She didn't know what to expect, honestly, but it was a phone call from the St. Canard hospital.

She asked the caller to repeat what they had just said, as for some reason, she couldn't quite understand what she was being told.

"... Who-? What! Jacky? He's there? Why is he there!" It didn't really occur to her immediately that Jacky might have been injured during the confrontation with Darkwing, whom Claire had trusted to reason with him during his rampage. "What's wrong with him, what happened!"

She scrambled for a pen and notepad to take notes as to what room to find him in, as well as a few other bits of important information she'd need to know.

"No, I don't know anything about any relatives, as far as I know, he's the only one in St. Canard, he never spoke about anyone else." She said, frowning as she switched the phone to her other hand and ear. "Please, is he alright? What's wrong with him?"

She almost dropped the phone at the answer.

"... What do you mean he fell out a third story window!" She shouted into the receiver. "Is he alright, is he awake, can I see him, is he going to know I'm there!"

This was all met with uncertainty. It wasn't clear at the moment how he was going to respond, if at all, as he was unconscious for the time being and not in a fit state to answer anything for himself, but at the very least, he was "stable and breathing".

It didn't take her very long to get to the hospital, and within minutes, she was being led to Jacky's room, having been forewarned that it was unlikely that she could get a reaction of any kind from him at this time. It was best to just let him rest, but she could at least peer into the room to look at him.

Claire honestly hadn't seen QuackerJack face to face for weeks, not since before he had escaped from St. Canard Penitentiary and went on a weeks-long "joy ride" through the city. That detached, wild eyed, empty-grinning face was not her "Jacky", and she had hoped that Darkwing would be able to reach him somewhere in that fractured psyche.

He was laying in a bed, patched up from the fall (in addition to the injury to his head, it appeared that the glass from the window had cut into him, so he also had bandaging wrapped and taped to the stitched up lacerations), and perhaps the only comforting thing about the sight was that there was only a few vital monitoring sensors stuck to him (monitoring his heart rate and brain activity, to name a couple of them), and not something as concerning as an oxygen mask or tube (so at least he wasn't having problems breathing).

His usual clownish attire was gone, and a hospital gown replaced it. The large, loose fitting garment only accentuated his lanky frame, which was noticeable thinner than she'd last seen him, making it very clear that he hadn't been eating properly during his time on the run.

His messy head feathers stuck out awkwardly from the top of his head because of the bandage wrapped around it. She had been told that it was seemingly miraculous that he didn't have any brain swelling or broken bones.

Clare looked at Darkwing, who was standing on a chair pushed up to the wall, so he could look into the room through the window. His hat was in a chair beside him, and Jacky's unmistakable jester's hat was in the chair on the other side of him, torn and visibly stained red.

"You were supposed to save him." She said quietly.

Darkwing visibly flinched.

"I didn't do this." He explained quickly with an almost desperate edge. "It's a bit hard to explain, but... You're really not going to believe this, but there was a... backfire and simply put, he fell out the window."

"I don't want it 'simple', I want to know exactly what happened to him."

Reluctantly, Darkwing stepped down from the chair and began to tell what had happened at the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office. He told her of how QuackerJack had been in a delusional state of mind, of how he'd been intending on using the very same technology that had once sent him into a video game (something Darkwing was able to vouch for the absurdity of the concept as he too had been involved in such an incident alongside him) to transform players into plush toys for whatever reason QuackerJack had conjured up in his mind.

He told her of how close he'd gotten to reaching out to QuackerJack with his beloved doll, but the progress was quickly dashed when the encounter was interrupted, and QuackerJack rejected his dear old friend almost violently.

Darkwing told her about how the machine had an unfortunate backfire, and how it brought his doll and it's "replacement" to life. Of how the events led to what was probably a mind shattering encounter as the dolls squabbled over him and all QuackerJack could do was stare, moan uncomfortably and finally scream for help. He told her how exactly QuackerJack ended up being launched through the third story window of the building, and how he must have been unable to prep himself for a hard landing, as he had done so many times before, likely because he couldn't process what had gone on and was likely in a daze long before he hit the ground.

"I've seen him get up from harder falls, so I didn't think much of it until he didn't get back up..."

Claire was holding Jacky's hat and stared at it with an expression of shock. It honestly hadn't occurred to her that the reddish stain was in fact blood, and the tear in it seemed to be from making contact with a rough surface and slid across. Now the bandage visibly wrapped around his head made more sense.

"... He fell on his head, didn't he?" She said, looking up and peering into the observation window at her unconscious boyfriend. Darkwing's awkward silence seemed to confirm that. "... It's a head injury, that's why he hasn't woken up yet, isn't it?"

"... I'm not an expert on this, but if I had to guess, I suppose so."

Claire asked the attending physician questions about Jacky's condition, such as when he was expected to regain consciousness and what was going to be done afterwards. All her questions were met with uncertainty, and it did nothing to assure her at all. A proper assessment could not be made until either enough data was collected, or if he regained consciousness and could be monitored.

Claire did not like the use of the word "if".

"Can I at least go in there and... I dunno, can I just be there for a minute or two?" She said before she really thought it out. "Will it help at all if I just talk to him, or hold his hand or something?"

"It's best to just let him rest for now, we still have to run some more tests through the night, but right now he's stable and been through a lot."

"I know that, but..." She started to protest but decided against it. "... You have my number, call me if there's anything else that happens tonight , I'll be back here tomorrow."

The Following Morning

She had been told to not expect him to be awake so soon, but it was hardly sunrise before her phone buzzed and chimed, an "alarm clock" she wasn't used to. It hadn't even been nine hours since she'd left the hospital and fallen asleep at home, but she was being called.

Jacky was awake.

He was having a fit, practically throwing a tantrum and screaming and chucking whatever he could pick up that wasn't too heavy and wasn't bolted down. From what she could hear in the background, Jacky wasn't very happy at all, and honestly, she couldn't blame him.

Claire was back at the hospital in less than fifteen minutes, and it was almost impressive how Jacky managed to keep that momentum of protesting, as he could be heard faintly before she even entered the building, and she suspected that if she hadn't known what room he was in to begin with, she would probably just be able to follow the angry yelling and crashing noises.

Once Claire got to the room, Jacky was swinging a pillow in the general direction of a well meaning nurse, shouting all sorts of angry words about how big of a mistake must have been made and all that.

"Mr. QuackerJack, please calm down, you've just been in an accident where you've suffered a head injury, the last thing you should be doing is this!"

"Like heck I have!" He gripped the pillow with both hands and lobbed it. "I don't know what is going on, but there's clearly been a mistake and I demand that you tell me why I'm here!"

The nurse ducked as the pillow sailed over her head, and hit a food tray, which knocked the hefty plastic bowl and utensils and contents off and onto the floor with a loud clattering sound.

"Mr. QuackerJack, I've already explained why you're here, you just won't listen!"

"Lies! I don't have to be here, I'm perfectly fine!" He shouted back, looking around in a near panicked fashion for something else to throw, but it seemed that the pillow had been his last desperate means of defense.

"Jacky!" Claire wasn't exactly sure what she had planned to say, but at the very least, she managed to say his name, perhaps a bit more sternly than she had intended. Before she could say anything else, however, Jacky had navigated the room and away from the nurse and was now standing beside her, clutching onto her fearfully.

"Claire! Oh, thank goodness you're here! I don't know what's going on or why I'm here or anything and I'm so confused and my head hurts and I wanna go home!"

It took her a moment to make much sense of what Jacky had said, mostly because it was all in rapid succession and all in one breath. He looked up at her, having buried his face just seconds before, eyes very wide, and fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt desperately.

"... Jacky." Claire said in a careful tone, as gently as she could. "Do you remember what you were doing before you ended up here?"

His eyes managed to widen even more for the briefest of seconds before he rolled his gaze to the floor and darted his eyes back and forth, trying to mentally sort out the series events to his knowledge. He bit his lip, reached a hand to his head and froze when he felt downy feathers touch his fingertips instead of the familiar fabric.

"... Hat." He squeaked before he raised his head and looked around frantically. He took a deep breath and shouted: "Hat! Where's my hat! My hat is gone!"

Claire remembered the state of the hat in question, and was almost hesitant to tell Jacky that his beloved hat was damaged, as he was already having difficulty processing this situation enough as was. The moment he started to claw at the bandaging around his head in a screaming panic and the attending nurse rushed forward to try to stop him, was when she decided to be about as blunt as possible about it.

"Jacky, you fell out of a window, you need to keep that on!" Claire was a bit surprised are how deceivingly strong his thin arms were, as she and the nurse both had to hold either arm back with two hands each. He screamed and kicked his feet and lost his footing, but thier grip on him prevented him from falling backwards, so he just sank to the floor.

"I don't remember that! I don't remember any of that! Where is my hat! What is happening! What's happening!"

"If he doesn't calm down, he's going to have to be sedated, and I'm sure he's not going to be happy about that when he comes around." The nurse said to Claire in a surprisingly calm tone, perhaps because she was used to unruly patients like this. "Personally, I want to avoid that as much as possible, because of the side effects will likely make him sick, but he's getting really close with all this fighting and screaming."

"... Sick?"

"While it will tranquilize him, the physical effects will range from drowsiness to pretty much inebriated. We prefer to use it only if necessary, as it tends to leave the patient feeling like a zombie afterwards, and more often than not, they may be physically ill, so we'd have to find an alternative." The nurse explained as Jacky continued to shout and squirm hysterically. She certainly seemed unfazed by his response. "In reality, it's a type of sleeping drug, and it comes with a host of side effects that may be problematic for a situation such as his. He's had a head injury, so drugging him right now could be detrimental, even dangerous if it's not under controlled conditions."

"Why would I have fallen out of a window, anyway!" Jacky pulled his arms back forcefully, managing to slip out of Claire's grip, and then he quickly reached his free hand to his other arm to pry it loose. "I was nowhere near a window! Where's my hat! What's going on!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, I have already explained the situation to you more than once, if you'd just calm down, I'd be more than happy to explain it again if you'd like."

"I can't calm down because I don't understand what happened and I'm very close to losing my mind over it!" He raised his free hand with the clear intent to strike the nurse, but Claire caught it. "... Claire, sweetie, you're grabbing my good hand." He said with sudden change of demeanor, as if he hadn't just been responding in a panic stricken rage just seconds ago.

"Because you're about to assault a nurse, and I know you really don't want to, you're just very confused right now."

"Of course I'm confused! I shouldn't be here, I don't know what's going on!"

"You fell out of a third story window, Jacky. You fell and hit your head, and that's why you're here and why you're injured."

"... Don't tell me you believe that too, Claire?" There was a strange mix of exasperated desperation in his voice as he looked over his shoulder at her. "I know I've been a bit difficult this week, but that's no reason to-"

"I was in here with you last night!" She didn't mean to snap at him, but it was getting frustrating that he didn't seem to understand the severity of the situation. "I saw you laying in that hospital bed, and you were unconscious and Darkwing Duck was the one who brought you here!"

This made Jacky freeze as though any input from his brain to his actions just plain stopped. His arms lost any muscle tone they hand and went completely dead weight, and he stared at Claire with his mouth agape.

"... That's... That's not funny, Claire..." He finally managed in a small voice as the nurse checked the tightness of the head bandage to be sure Jacky hadn't compromised the usefulness of it. He flinched when it was tugged. "... That's not funny, Darkwing has been missing for over year now... No one's seen him for a long time..."

This immediately did not sit right with Claire. She knew he knew full well that Darkwing Duck returned to St. Canard at least a few months ago; in fact, Jacky had even seen him face-to-face. But, the confusion Jacky had right now over that statement seemed genuine, as if he seriously had no idea.

"... Jacky, what day do you think today is?"

He recited it with absolute confidence, as if he didn't have a single doubt about the answer.

It was not correct.

Not even close.

"... That was four months ago, Jacky." Claire shook her head and felt her heart sink when her poor boyfriend looked as though he'd felt a rug get pulled out from underneath him. He looked absolutely lost.

"... Wha... What..?" Jacky squeaked, and his fingers unconsciously fidgeted as though he was trying reach for his now non-existent hat. "... Hat... I... I need to grab at... I want my hat..." He mumbled under his breath.

"I'm so sorry, Jacky, but... well, your hat kind of got... torn when you fell." Claire said carefully, and he looked back at her with so much apprehension, he just looked so physically affected by that news.

"... Did you save it? Where is it! Where is my hat! I want my hat!" Jacky was on the verge of tears now.

It was clear that his priorities were elsewhere at the moment, and he didn't seem to comprehend that the state of his hat was the least of his worries. Claire was well aware that QuackerJack had a tendency to lapse into a sort of defensive state where only one thing was important at the moment and he would likely not be placated until that one issue was resolved in his point of view.

He wanted his hat, it was almost like a security item, and he did not have it to grab and pull at while having to process all this confusing new information, so he was starting to be overstimulated with this entire ordeal with no real sense of comfort.

It wasn't long before he burst into tears and sobbed and wailed as he grabbed at the fabric of the hospital gown he wore as a weak substitute for grabbing his hat. He was absolutely inconsolable, maybe even hysterical, he didn't understand what was going on, he tried to but he just didn't understand.

He wanted his hat.

He wasn't sure how much time must have passed, but he found himself rubbing at his irritated eyes like a fussy youngster. He honestly didn't feel much better, in fact, he felt like he was going to be sick, probably from all the confusion and swirling emotions.

What followed next was almost as much of a blur as everything had been moments ago for him, and the only thing he was absolutely sure of was the sour taste in his mouth, the uncomfortable bubbling in his stomach, and the sudden heaviness of his poor dizzy head.

"... I don't feel good..." He mumbled weakly, burying his face in his hands with a tired groan. "... I don't feel good at all..."

"Mr. QuackerJack, I'm sure this is a lot for you to take in right now, but if you are feeling ill, then we really need to have those tests done to be sure that it's not connected with your head injury." He heard the nurse say with a mild sense of alarm that he hadn't heard used yet in this whole situation. "We need to be absolutely certain that you are not experiencing any complications that could be serious if we do nothing about it."

It proved to be a bit difficult to deal with him, as you might have guessed. It probably would have been easier to work with a cranky child, but he was a full grown, emotionally distraught adult, and the only thing he seemed to want to do despite the concerns having been voiced, was to cling to Claire with as much a grip as a koala on a eucalyptus tree. Had he been smaller, she might have been able to use that as a means to help transport him to a more comfortable place, such as the bed, while they waited for the doctor to arrive, but that was not the case, so his dead wieght kept her from being able to stand up with him.

"Jacky, please, I'm very worried about you."

"... I don't understand what's going on... I don't know what's going on... That doesn't make any sense..." He was muttering under his breath and it seemed like he was talking mostly to himself. This possibility was somewhat confirmed when he spoke up a bit louder in a strained voice. "... How can it be four months later, what happened, where was I, where was I..?"

This was about the moment that Claire realized exactly what must have happened to Jacky and his perception of time.

"Jacky, what's the last thing you remember?"

He pulled his head back and looked at her, and he looked so nerve wracked and exhausted, and just so unsure of himself now. It was honestly heartbreaking to see him this helpless.

"... I was at work." The confidence he had had when reciting the incorrect date had dissipated greatly, and he was beginning to realize himself that something was very wrong indeed. His voiced raised a few pitches as he quickly dissolved into a panic as he let go of her and grabbed his head and started rocking back and forth. "I was at work, Claire, what happened, I was at work, I was at work, what happened, what happened to me, I was at work, I know I was at work, tell me I was at work, Claire!"

"... Jacky..." Claire didn't know what to say. She certainly didn't want to lie to him, but it was clear that he was starting to have a nervous breakdown. She grabbed his hands and he looked back at her with a dumbfounded expression, mouth hanging open on shock. "Jacky, I really don't know how to tell you this, and I really don't want to hurt you, but... You snapped and... You... You've been doing things for the past four months, you've been doing these terrible things and-"

"Claire, that's not funny!" Jacky shouted over her, sounding as appalled as he looked hurt. "I haven't done anything, why are you doing this! I don't like this game, I don't want to play!"

"Mr. QuackerJack, please, you need to calm down." The nurse insisted, sounding a little more urgent than she had been several minutes ago. "I understand that this has to be very confusing and upsetting for you, but I promise that we will do everything we can to make this as easy as possible. We won't be able to get an accurate reading for your blood pressure if you keep being this worked up, as well as it can be an issue if there is any trauma to your brain from that fall."

"What fall! No one has even explained that to me! Why would I have fallen out of window, I don't remember that, I don't remember anything but being in my cubicle!" Jacky had yet to calm down, and his face was flushed from the whirlwind of emotional distress. "I don't-! I just-! I... I... oooh, I really don't feel so good..." He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "... I'm dizzy and everything is tilting..."

"Is he alright?" Claire asked the nurse as Jacky leaned into her in an attempt to find stability. "I mean, obviously he's injured, but can you tell right away if this is just a reaction to the shock of everything, or if it's more serious?"

"Once we can run those tests and check his vitals, we'll be able to get a better assessment as to what might be a concern and what is just a physical reaction to the news of this all." The nurse said earnestly, crouching to be level with the two ducks. Jacky opened an eye to stare at her apprehensively. "Mr. QuackerJack, the sooner we can get started, the faster we can get to tending to what's wrong."

"... No one still has told me why I could have fallen out of a window to begin with, I don't even know what you're telling me, my cubicle is in the middle of the office, it's nowhere near a window..."

"Jacky, I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but you didn't fall out of an office window. At least, it wasn't QuackWerks' office window."

"... Claire, I was at QuackWerks, I know I was at QuackWerks..." The denial was very thick in his voice, but he maintained stubborn confidence that it was fact he was stating. "... I told you, I don't like this game... It's not funny..."

"... I really don't want to be right about this, but I think you've got amnesia." Claire finally said, flinching when Jacky tensed and craned his head to look at her with a wide eyed gobsmacked expression.

"... Sparky's the one with a bad memory, not me..." He said slowly. Maybe it was starting to sink in, as his tone was now less confident and more desperate. "... I was at work, Claire, I know I was at work..." A smile suddenly spread on his face, the sort of smile accompanied by half-closed, bleary eyes and a slack posture, a clear sign of denial. "... I'm... I'm dreaming... This is all just a bad dream... I've been stressing out, and I'm just having another nightmare and I'm going to wake up and everything is going to be the way it should... I'm at QuackWerks, I'm still at QuackWerks..."

He didn't really see the look Claire on her face as she exchanged glances with the nurse. He did, however, feel the hand she had placed on his back in a comforting gesture, but he did not understand why she was doing that right now.

"... Jacky, are you going to be okay?"

"Nope." He laughed, and took a deep breath in the form of a very theatrical gasp. "Naw, I don't think so, I don't think I'm following very well, when do I get out of here so I can get back to work?"

"No, I don't think you're following very well at all, Jacky. It's been four months, you've had a psychotic break, and you been-"

"Please stop, I don't like this scary game you're trying to play with me, Claire, it's really starting to hurt my feelings." Jacky was very calm now, despite the fact that he was pale and shaking while he was speaking. "I was at work, and now I'm here and no one is telling me what really happened, and I don't appreciate it at all."

"... Why would you think that I'd be messing with you like this?"

"I dunno, that's what I'm trying to figure out, Claire."

"And I'm telling you that this is all the truth."

"Can't be." Jacky shook his head, but stopped when that affected his equilibrium, much to his discomfort.

"... Alright, then, Jacky, you try to explain it." Claire said suddenly, and this tactic threw her boyfriend for a loop.

"... Eh?"

"What do you think happened to you?"

"..." Jacky paused, and thought to himself, before he clenched his teeth and squawked: "I don't know! I don't remember anything after sitting in my chair! I didn't do anything! Why is that so hard for you to get that!"

"I get it, I get that you're very confused and none of this makes any sense to you, but I'm not trying to hurt you, it's the truth."

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone. The date on it, what's the day?"

"Exactly what we told you."

"The clock is supposed to be connected to some satellite thing, right? And that means that it's automatically updated with the proper time. Let me see what's the day and time."

Claire reached into her bag and pulled out her phone and handed it to him. Jacky awkwardly pressed at the side buttons and swiped at the screen until he finally remembered how to pull up the calendar and time.

His face fell, and he stared at it for a good long while before he looked up and said in a smaller voice: "... My phone. What's the date on it? There's clearly something wrong with yours..."

"Jacky, your phone was confiscated, I don't have it."

"... Whu-why!" He stammered in a strained tone. It was honestly as distressing to watch everything fall around him as it was for him to be experiencing this terrifying chain of events.

"... Open the messages, and look at our last exchange."

Numbly, he did so and if it was possible for the orange color of his beak to drop a few shades to a sickly hue, it certainly seemed like it did.

"... I didn't write this..." He said hoarsely. He blinked rapidly and shoved the phone back in Claire's hands as if wanting to get it away from him as fast as possible. "I... This isn't... I don't understand..."

"Jacky, I want to help you understand all this, but we're really not getting anywhere with this right now, and we're really cutting into time for those tests..." Claire honestly felt that upsetting Jacky like this was really not the way to go about it to begin with, and she'd honestly hadn't intended for the whole conversation to be this continous runaround of feedback.

Jacky didn't understand, simple as that.

He kept asking for information to disprove what he was being told, and every single thing was contrary to what he expected.

That was upsetting to him, and all Claire was able to do was reiterate what she knew, which did nothing to settle him. If she didn't interrupt him right now, they'd likely go through this cycle a few more times before he either gave up or couldn't handle any more information, and while she wasn't an expert on how memory works, she'd have to assume that doing it this way wasn't really helping at all.

Claire looked at the exasperated nurse, who must have had the patience of a saint.

"We can't stop now, I still don't understand any of this!" Jacky continued to shout, hands balled up in frustration. Oh, man, he missed his hat.

"Jacky, you've been out of it for a while, I bet you can't remember the last time you've eaten something." Claire was changing the subject in order to steer his attention elsewhere.

Jacky stopped and looked as though he certainly could not think of when indeed.

"... Now that you mention it, I don't think I remember when at all."

"You'll probably feel better if you had something to eat. We can probably do something about that after you get checked out."

"... Are you bribing me?"

"I'm just concerned. If it's going to get you examined sooner, I'd like that. You fell and landed on your head, that alone is a bit concerning."

"I've taken heavier hits, y'know? I've always been fine."

"Jacky, I saw you after you were brought in last night, you were unconscious, and you just woke up literally before I got here, that doesn't sound like one of those times." Claire said more sternly. "On top of that, you admitted that you don't remember anything about the accident, and I'm telling you that there's an entire four month space of time that you admit to have no memory of, and I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that could be a good reason to get examined, if at the very least it's to make sure you don't have a some kind of brain swelling or blood clot that hasn't shown up yet because you've been inactive since you got knocked out. Do you know how upset I'd be if you had an aneurysm because you were too stubborn to let us help you?"

"... Well, when you say it like that..." Jacky muttered, looking as though the importance of tending to his examination being the priority finally began to sink in, despite the fact that he still was confused as ever. "... I don't like this, Claire. I don't like any of this..."

"... I know, Jacky. Me, too."

Surprisingly, the exam went fairly well, considering.

Sure, Jacky was, for lack of a better term, disgruntled, but aside from being a little on the underweight side (from lack of proper eating while out on the run, which he continued to insist that he hadn't a clue about), and of course his scrapes and bruises from the fall, as well as the obvious impairment of his memory... He was in fairly good physical health for his situation, considering he'd been "gone" for four months.

X-rays showed his bones to be relatively fine despite having fallen from a third story window and landed on his head.

His reflexes seemed to be unaffected, and his balance while walking was relatively intact, aside from a minor limp from the soreness starting to settle in his extremities. In fact, he couldn't help but notice that his arms felt like they'd been pulled back and forth roughly, and there were some bruises on his forearms and wrists that looked suspiciously like two sets of very large hands had left thier marks.

An MRI scan showed that there had been some trauma to his temporal lobe, however, which apparently explained why he was having memory issues, though he didn't understand half of the technical lingo that was being tossed around.

All he really understood about the explanation was that he managed to land on the part of his head that was where his memories were stored (specifically, the very same spot where that nasty looking abrasion was that had been stitched and covered with gauze). He also had to figure that the fact that it had been localized to just four months worth of memory was nothing short of astonishing, and that there'd been many before him that had suffered a far larger range of amnesia from less serious spills.

"All the same, I'd feel better if we can monitor this for the next few days, just to be sure there isn't some underlying issue we haven't quite caught yet." The doctor said as Jacky sat on the cushioned exam table, legs crossed at the ankles, and posture rather tense. "If you really did fall as far as we've been told, then there's a concern for something like post-traumatic seizures, even though it's actually quite rare."

"... I've don't have epilepsy."

"That's what we hope to keep that way, hence why we want to monitor you." The doctor reassured him and Claire, who was reading a packet of papers she'd been handed. "We can counter the possibility by prescribing an anticonvulsant until we're out of the danger zone, but the side effects will leave you feeling a little on the disoriented side for a while."

"... Exactly how?"

"Well, to put it simple, it'll feel a lot like being on a tilt-a-whirl for a few hours in one go. You'll most likely be dizzy, tired and sick until it evens out, and you'll definitely feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton. But, I assure you, it's a better thing to deal with than the probability of seizures, and it may also curb the development of migraines that are a direct result of your impact trauma, if we act soon enough." The doctor explained, pointing to a highlighted portion of the information packet. "Honestly, the entire outlook looks positive, it's astounding that you've come out of this accident, for the most part, unscathed. We've had patients in worse condition from shorter falls."

"I'm being told that I've done things for the past four months that I don't remember at all, how is that 'unscathed'?" Jacky huffed, squinting at the highlighted section of the page Claire was on. "What is wrong with my brain?"

"Mr. QuackerJack, based on the examination and your results, we can only guess that the impact caused a localized injury to your temporal lobe, which, among other things, is where your long-term memory is stored." The doctor pointed to one of the x-ray layers and circled a finger around a particular spot, but Jacky honestly couldn't read the image at all other than it was a black and white internal picture of what was unmistakably his skull. "These kinds of injuries are varied, and how long they last is so inconsistent that we can't be sure for how long you'll be affected. Some recover lost memory within a week, and some have waited years, even decades, for them to come back. Some are unfortunate to sustain injury to a part of the brain that controls motor function, or even a part of the brain that allows them to do something as simple as how to hold a fork. All in all, Mr. QuackerJack, you're very lucky to be this awake and coherent from your accident last night."

"... I still don't understand how I could have fallen out of a third story window. Aren't those supposed to made with reinforced glass to prevent that..? I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be safety glass, there's all sorts of regulations in place to prevent that..." Jacky mumbled, pulling the paper packet out of Claire's hands to look at them better. "... Wait a minute... The Toy Department isn't even on the third floor, that's the second lobby!" He shouted suddenly as if something finally clicked in a way he still couldn't grasp beyond the surface.

"Jacky... sweetie... you didn't fall out of QuackWerks' building." Claire said with a heavy tone. Jacky did not like the sadness shadowing under it. "You haven't been at QuackWerks for four months."

"I just don't understand where I was and why I would have fallen like that. This is very scary for me, that's four months, Claire, that's one-third of a year, a whole season and then some, that's a lot to be forgetting." Jacky was grabbing at the hem of the hospital clothes he was wearing, and twisted it in his fingers anxiously. "... Oh, man, this is probably what Megs goes through everyday, I can't imagine how he handles it, and all I ever did for him about it was tease him for being such a scatterbrain, this is probably karma, I'll bet..."

It felt like an eternity to him until he was finally able to get something to eat. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten anything, and he'd have to assume that during this strange four months he was drawing a blank on, he must have not had much access to food, as he couldn't help but notice that his weight dropped back to that underfed scrawniness he'd been during his time as one of St. Canard's most wanted, back in the day.

He was rather disappointed, as he knew that meant that he hadn't been as healthy as he should have been, and to be honest, it was very startling to be in such a drastically different condition than he could last recall, and it just fed into his uneasiness of the whole situation.

"The list says that it's recommended that you probably should avoid junk food for a while and fruits, vegetables and alternative proteins that aren't red meat can help with healing your brain." Claire was reading another packet of stapled papers to him as they sat at a table in the hospital café. She was also cross referencing it with the laminated menu on the table. "Nothing processed, so that means anything from a can is probably right out."

"... I want a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake."

"You can have a nice salad and a fruit smoothie."

"That's almost exactly the opposite of what I want."

"Jacky, it says that junk food could slow down the healing process and chocolate and sweets might trigger headaches during then, I don't think you'd want that."

"And I want a cheeseburger with gooey cheese, like, really messy with sauce and all that, maybe bacon in it, too. Fries with ketchup, and a big chocolate milkshake. Oh, and onion rings."

"... I'll tell you what. How about we do that when we get the okay to do it? Right now, we have to take care of you, and that's certainly not the right thing to eat after a head injury."

"... I don't like this, it's boring." Jacky said with a little bit of a whine. "... Can't even put sauce on most of this, it's gonna be all bland and I don't like that..."

"You do know that there's a wide variety of flavors and textures that you can get with this particular diet, right?" Claire said, looking up from the page at him. "Besides, it wouldn't be a bad idea to get you to eat something a little healthier anyway. You can't subsist on just fast food, you know that."

"Fine, but you can't make me like it."

He had originally intended to be as slow as possible just to be mildly spiteful over being denied a cheeseburger, but he'd underestimated exactly how hungry he really was, and even a few bits of broccoli was appealing enough to him that he hardly complained beyond a small comment on how much he didn't care for broccoli. It was simply a bizzare thought to him that he was borderline starving, and it only made him more and more concerned that he had no idea what he'd been doing for the past four months. Apparently, he hadn't been in the right mind to also feed himself properly...

The smoothie was merely blended fruits and ice, so a very simple recipe compared to the more trendy varients available at local shops, and Jacky had to assume that the difference was that it had been prepared at a hospital than some hipster café (though he would have probably preferred those, as he'd actually have a say in what went in it). Being an easy-to-consume item that required very little action beyond sipping through a straw and swallowing, it was probably the least tiresome to actually eat, and that was appealing to him for the sake of convenience. The sooner he was done with this, the better.

He continued to sip at the smoothie as he and Claire walked back to his room, and he made noises of acknowledgement as she continued to read the information from the packet aloud. Recommendations for feeding schedules and activities to help with recovery and avoid stagnantion.

"Hmm, it actually says that there's evidence supporting that certain puzzle video games could help stimulate the-"

"Nope."

"I figured you'd say that, but I'm just saying that it's an option and I just want to be sure we do everything we can to get you better."

"Wow, I really must have been out of it for video games to actually be considered helpful." Jacky said with a hint of sarcasm before adding in a more serious tone: "Y'know, I was eaten by a virtual alligator once, in a video game. I don't mean that I played a game and the character was eaten, I mean that I was actually in the game because of some technical backfire of fancy technology mumbo jumbo, and I was actually, by all accounts, eaten by an alligator. It was not fun, and I can't see how that could be considered therapeutic."

"Okay, so that's one bad experience, but not every game is like that, really."

Claire wasn't sure if he had heard her, because her attention was captured by a sudden harsh gasp and she looked away from the packet and turned around just in time to see the plastic cup of remaining smoothie drop from Jacky's hands and splatter the fruity drink all over the linoleum tile and across his feet. He didn't seem to notice the fumble, as his eyes were fixed on something in the adjacent waiting room that appeared to be upsetting him.

"... Jacky?" Claire said cautiously as he didn't respond and he stepped into the waiting room, eyes locked on a mounted television in the corner. "Jacky, what are you doing?"

He didn't even look at her, and it was starting to get a little troubling. His eyes were wide, his shoulders slack, arms hanging limply, and his head tilted upward at the screen as he got closer to the corner, completely oblivious to the other people in the waiting room, who were just as perplexed by his behavior as she was.

There was a local news report being broadcast live, about something that had happened the night prior. Witnesses were giving thier frantic accounts of the event, and grainy surveillance footage corroborated the statements.

The unmistakable sign behind some of those interviewed showed that this building was "Whiffle Boy Entertainment".

There was a very familiar, very unmistakable, colorfully dressed clownish duck involved. The footage showed him to be very unstable, almost unhinged as he laughed and pranced around the office giddishly as the terrified workers cowered beneath thier desks. Jacky recognized the Molecular Digitizer, the very one that he'd been beamed into the Whiffle Boy video game several years ago alongside Darkwing, and he visibly paled as the screen showed the silent footage of the mad clown gleefully using it to turn a few helpless workers into sawdust filled dolls, all while the reporter narrated over it.

"... Jacky? Are you alright?" Claire said carefully, approaching him cautiously, not wanting to startle him any more than he already was.

He was biting at his nails now, and Claire knew if she didn't intervene, he was going to bite them down too short before he'd register in his mind that he should stop.

She grabbed his hands and pulled them away from his teeth and that's when he finally tore his attention away from the screen and turned his head to look at her with eyes as round as plates.

"... What did I do, Claire?" He said in a weak voice, as if he still didn't believe it. "... What have I done..? I did this, didn't I..?"

"... Do you remember any of it?"

"No. I don't remember anything, not about the last four months, not about last night, not even how I got hurt." He shook his head insistently. "... But, that's... that's me, that's me on the screen, I don't remember, but that's me, that's me, Claire, that's me and I don't remember anything!"

He looked back at the mounted television, shell shocked.

"-QuackerJack, who had escaped St. Canard Penitentiary two months prior during his sentence being served for terroristic attacks against QuackWerks and thier entertainment subsidiaries several months ago, was reportedly the only casualty in this attack, after a backfire of the device led to him being launched out of a window, where he was injured and later taken to the St. Canard Hospital, reportedly in critical condition upon arrival, but has since become stable. The attending physician tasked with tending to him was unavailable for comment, and it is unknown when the suspect will be capable of being interviewed once he recovers-"

"... Escaped St. Canard Penitentiary-?" Jacky wheezed weakly, looking as though he felt like the floor had just fallen out from under him and it left him with a sensation of free falling. "... I haven't... Claire? Claire! Claire! What's happening! What did I do! I don't remember any of that! What's happened to me!"

He was absolutely panicked now, and was pointing at the screen with a very shaky posture, actually having to brace himself against a nearby chair for support as the weight of this reality was dropping down on him, he himself completely unprepared for this information.

He was getting very dizzy, and the air was getting very thick and heavy for his lungs. His knees buckled and he found himself sitting on the floor with his hand still gripping the arm of the chair, having no idea how exactly he'd gone from standing to sitting so quickly, he was just that disoriented.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything about the last four months.

He went to work after a mandated two weeks vacation after he'd had an anxiety attack out of nowhere.

He'd gone to work. He sat down in his cubicle, and picked up his cell phone.

He'd gone to work, sat down at his desk and grabbed his phone, and woke up in a hospital bed, absolutely bewildered and terrified and bandaged and stitched up, being told that things had happened that he could not recall no matter how hard he tried.

But, that was him in the news footage. There was no doubt, it was his clown costume, his hat, his big wide toothy grin that really seemed so off in way he couldn't exactly place. It was him terrorizing those people. It was him laughing and skipping around the gaming company's main office as the scared workers shrank away from him beneath thier desks, huddling in groups as large as three.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what he possibly could have been saying to them, those poor people.

He dropped his head and didn't want to see any more of it, he didn't want to watch this, he didn't want to admit that it was him, but he knew that ultimately, there was no way he could use a faulty memory as an excuse.

"... I'm going to jail, aren't I..?" He moaned, running his fingers through the downy fuzz on his head, staring at his feet, which he was now distantly aware that there was sticky fruit smoothie dried across the top of them. "... There's no way around it, I did something bad and I have to pay for that..."

"... Let's just focus on getting you better, first, Jacky." Claire was sitting on the floor next to him, a little relieved that he'd managed to calm down before he'd triggered another anxiety attack, despite the situation. "You've been gone a long time, I've really missed you."

"... You heard the news, Claire. They called me a terrorist, that's a very strong term, it's a massive jump from just doing 'toy crimes'." Jacky said in a low voice, burying his face in his hands. "... I'm ruined, everything is ruined..."

"They're probably blowing that just a little out of proportion for the sake of ratings..." Claire tried (and failed) to alleviate some of his guilt. "Yeah, you did blow up a few buildings, and yeah, you kinda kidnapped someone, and okay... I admit that I was shocked that you'd taken the Whiffle Boy Entertainment office hostage, but really, there's no serious casualties beyond property damages and scaring some people. No one was injured or dead, so that's going to be accounted for when they adjust your sentencing."

"... I did what!" Jacky squawked, and Claire realized too late that she may have been a bit too blunt about it. "I kidnapped someone! Who!"

"Your old teammate, Mr. Sputterspark. That's all been sorted out, though, it was months ago."

"Megs. I kidnapped Megs?" Jacky racked his brain, and there was certainly no recollection of that anywhere, in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his old teammate. It was very concerning to him. "... Claire, I don't think you understand, I really don't remember anything about the last four months, it all feels like everything moved forward without me, I feel like I'm in one of those stories with the cornfield and the things on the wings of planes and I don't like this, I don't like it at all, Claire. I really tried to be good and work hard, and it's all gone and I don't know what happened, and now I don't think I really want to know..."

"It's not going to be easy, since there's no telling if you'll get any of that memory back, or when it might happen, but I'm just glad you're back, Jacky." Claire said, leaning on him in a comforting gesture. "I mean it. I've been worried about you the whole time you've been having this episode. I know what you were doing wasn't right, but I know you weren't feeling like yourself. You just... snapped, that's all."

"... 'Just snapped' isn't exactly an excuse, you know?" Jacky lifted his head from his hands and frowned. "I shouldn't have done any of that. I could have really hurt someone. Who's going to believe I won't do it again? This isn't the first time I went crazy, remember?"

"... Don't worry about it right now, just work on healing, and we'll deal with all that when we have to." Claire tilted her head to look up at him. "You need to take care of yourself first, brain and body."

"... Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"We're right in the middle of a waiting room, aren't we?"

"... Yeah, we are."

"... And those people saw everything, didn't they?"

"You did kinda wander off into here, yeah."

"... I wanna go back to my room now."

"Okay, Jacky."

End chapter one

Interesting note: I also happen to enjoy a few medical drama shows and I'm also a fan of CSI, Criminal Minds, and true crime shows on channels like "Investigation Discovery" and "HLN". I want to be sure I'm accurate enough on my terminology, I want to build a setting for this that's descriptive enough with a bit of curiosity to the reader.

What Jacky has here is a form of retrograde amnesia, which is an inability to recall (sometimes traumatic) events, and usually the before and after of it is intact. It's unsure how long it takes to recover lost memory, if at all, and it may manifest after a blow to the temporal lobe.

He legit does not recall anything that would have taken place during the comics.