Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bushroot or any other Darkwing Duck characters portrayed in this fan Fic. They are the property of Disney. Used without permission and certainly just for fun. This document may be freely distributed, but not altered in anyway. ( At least the author -hopes- that you won’t alter it or claim it for yourself. )
Warning: This fic is rated R for some language. Angst. Sadness, and strong Slash/Yaoi suggestions. If M/M ideas offend you, well don’t read this.

Just Those Words
~Spug~

Life’s pretty pathetic when you’re a weed.

Baby blues peered solemnly over the rail of the bridge. Watching the wind sift waves against the pillars far below. Green leaf like hands gripped the metal of the swaying giants sides. If only one could cast themselves into the icy waters below and end everything. End the torment. The suffering. The.. loneliness.

No Use.. just grow back.

A sigh echoed across those vacant waters. Not a single boat carried freight tonight. It was deadly silent. A tall form slouched upon the rail. Long vine like arms shrouded in a overbearing white lab coat were entwined around his slender chest. A hug for the only person that even cared about him. Or did he? Was the question left unanswered on a night like this.

Can’t take it anymore. So tired of it all.

The noise of a train in the distance caused those beautiful hues to lift from their empty stare into wishful death. The slope of a beak junted upward. Startled a bit. A long tall-tale braid dragged against his lithe back. It had been so many years since it had happened. Shit. Could hardly remember everybody.

Yet, like a tree, he bore the years, and bore the scars of the past. They always hated him. No one understood. For sixty three years he’d been like this. A mutant. A freak. One super hero after the other. The sound of the train rumbling of in the distance reminded him of earlier times. Of earlier foes.

Of Lovers long gone.

Darkwing. Yes. He remembered the Duck. The one that had always tormented him. Short, boorish. Such an ego. Such a dominate spirit.

Those leaf like hands clung to his own scrawny white cladded shoulders as he moved off the rail and began walking down the hard, cracked cement of St. Canard bridge. Many times he had been here before. Often it had be because of that so called Masked Mallard.

Root like feet dragged exhausted against the rough surface. Strands of maroon hanging before his eyes. He no longer bothered to sheer it out of his vision. There was nothing he wanted to see. It had been like that for so many years.

Paused before the entrance to the Autobahn. Again those pretty blues, so haunting and tormented lifted, this time staring up at the empty dark windows of the tower. There was nothing there now. But so long ago, it had been the hideaway of his enemy.

He sure thought about that damn duck a lot.

Darkwing. Always remembering him. It had been here. Right on the bridge where it had happened. He remembered like it was yesterday. Like a song that never ceases, or ones first kiss.

He can’t forget. Never. His own brain won’t let him.

The plant duck let out a sigh and leaned against the cold stone of the tower wall. Shoulder slump back, as if he would fall over if the wall wasn’t there. And he would have.

Remember. Just Remember.

Him.

What had it been? Why had that short bulbous egotistical dimwit been so alluring? If not what they had become, just the need to be near him, back then?

At first he had despised the jerk. Darkwing ruined his plans. Often beat him senseless during encounters. He was always such a violent little jackass. How many times had the rather gentle botanist been sent to the Slammer by him? And that Ego!

Again he sighed. Arms wrapped tight around his slender chest, bunching up the white laboratory coat that covered his disgraced form. The braid was slung over his shoulder like Rupunziles rope. Not that anyone would ever climb it to reach inside this queer beauties head. Only one had even been able to get inside.

Right here on the bridge. Instead of beating him again.
* You have.. pretty eyes Bushy. Did you know that? *

He caught his breath as he remembered that. Slid down the wall like a crumbling flower. Arms falling from his sides. Coat fell open to reveal the long scar that ran down his chest. A memorial. To all the hate and cruelty of the world.

Feathered fingers had traced that once.

But those words. He would never forget them. It had been so off guard. Struggling over a detonator one night. Right here on the bridge. It had been windy. Drawing’s cape had blown around him like some kind of demonic unearthly god. A demon in the night. He was so dark but so righteous. He wouldn’t let the scientist gone mutant plant duck, get away with anything, especially trying to take out the Autobahn.

It had been a stupid idea. Darkwing caught on to it so quickly.

There they had been. Green leaf like hand entwined around the crime fighters own feathered ones. Tugging almost futile to try and pry the little boxed item away from Drawing’s grip. He hadn’t been scared or angry rather then desperate that night. Not only wanting to take out the bridge, but himself and the confounded Darkwing Duck as well.

He had seen his own icy blue reflecting in the masked mallards ebony gaze. Wide desperate gleaming orbs. They had spilled all his loneliness, hunger and agony to the world as he had wanted to end it.

End it all.

But he couldn’t out power Darkwing. For his size the Shorter duck was stronger. Feathered hands had dragged his own up against that purpled cladded chest, pulling the plant ducks taller form downward. He had had his bill clenched in hopeless determination. Eyes locked on the menacing stare of the crimefighter. They had stared and stared...

and stared. And then..

*You have.. pretty eyes, Bushy. Did you know that?*

What? Where had that come from? He could remember how he had reacted. The tugging had stop. Leaf like hand that had been so deadly tight upon the little box just let up. He had fallen backwards and landed on his rear end. Staring up at the Crime fighter with shocked, confused blue.

“ W-what?” He had stuttered.

And Darkwing had smiled.

Tossing the detonator over the side of the rail. The plop and defeat echoed only a few moments later. It had been so silent. Damn.

Dammit.

That damn duck had used something so dastardly as emotional compliments to win the battle. It had been unfair and down right dirty.. or had it?

The caped crimfighter, had dusted off his feathered hands with a “ yup yup yup.” Those webbed feet had sounded against the concert as he moved closer to the bewildered villain. Leaning down till the tip of his fedora brushed against the plant ducks forehead.

He had prepared for the mockery. For the humiliation.

He had lost.

And Darkwing had smiled.

“ I said you have pretty eyes Bushroot. Much less murkier then Morgana’s. I just kind of noticed.”

“ You just kind of noticed?”

He had actually shouted out. Angered then. How dare this duck!? What was up with him? He had felt so humiliated. A balled up green fist had been raised at the caped mallard. “ What the hell do you mean by that? Get away from me!”

And Darkwing had smiled.

The Masked Mallard knew his enemy well. Maybe trying to take out his own life. Or all their years fighting each other. They were closer then friends.. It was a bit of a love hate relationship. They couldn’t stand each other. Yet had always in the past managed to somehow come to an agreement.

“ Do I have to mean anything by it Reggie? Maybe you should just take it as a compliment, and something to go on living with? Lives more, you should live it.”

And then he had turned to go. Leaving him on his read end. On the cold cement. Staring after that waving cape with wide, watery -pretty- blue eyes.

You have.. pretty eyes, Bushy. Did you know that?

He had never moved so fast in his life. One moment he had been on his cold ass, alone. The next those leafy hands had been clasping into those velvety folds of the crimefighter’s cape. Upon his knees. Tugging like a child. He had expected Darkwing to turn around and lay one of those hard kicks into his stomach.

And Darkwing had smiled.

No. No kick had been issued. The Masked Mallard had turned around, Staring down at the pathetic form of the plant duck. Staring down into -pretty- blue eyes that were wet and over flowing with tears. He had only smiled, and reached down with a feathered finger and slowly traced on of those wet drops away.

Smiling.

* You have pretty eyes, Bushy? Did you know that? *

“ ... Thank... you..”

He’d never held onto anyone so tightly ever before.

-

Another sharp sigh as he lifted his head out of the dream he had placed himself into. Those jewel like blues were soaking again. Wet eyes. Wet pretty eyes. Even if they were slightly lined with age. Vine like arms had wound around his own lithe form again. Only he could recall such touches.

The way Darkwing had felt. His touches, his kisses. Oh God. He’d been incredible. Deep into warm nights. He’d learned to love his enemy. But still they were all faded memories he could hardly recall anymore. All he could remember was that one sentence that never seemed to leave him. He couldn’t remember what Darkwing had tasted like or his scent.

Just those words.

The memories had begun to dwindle the day NegaDuck had killed his lover. He did remember how hot Drawing’s blood had been. He did remember NegaDuck’s cruel laughing.

A leafy hand swiped the wetness away from his eyes as he stood up and began to slowly walk toward the other end of the bridge. He would have to leave his memories here. For another night. Till he wanted to remember.

He hadn’t jumped today. Maybe he would tomorrow. Just to be rid of those words. Words that had haunted him so long now. But then again, perhaps they kept him alive.

**

There had been blood on those soft white feather of Drawing’s cheeks. He had wrapped those long slender vine-like arms tight. Eyes watering up and flooding over as he stared down in dismay, watching the only person he’d ever loved begin to sleep away.

And Darkwing had smiled.

“ Y-you. have.. pretty eyes, Bushy. Did.. you know.. .that?”

Even after he’s eyes slipped shut, and his chest no longer rose. He had never stopped smiling at him. Bushroot had held onto that limp body like he had held no one else.

“ Yes.. Thank... you.”