Darkwing's head was hanging down as he walked. He hadn't spoken the entire way there; Launchpad had tried several times to start a conversation with Darkwing, then given up. But now, as they walked over the path, the ghostly crimefighter finally spoke.

"Wish I'd been at the service," said Darkwing sadly as they moved through the moonlight. He turned his head, his eyes searching for something among the tombstones.

"Yeah," said Launchpad thoughtfully, then grinned. "Guess you were late for your own funeral, eh, D.W.?" The pilot chuckled a few times.

Darkwing ignored the remark, but turned earnestly to his sidekick, sighing. "Not to be morbid, but . . . it would have been gratifying to see the throngs of mourners, to-to hear the national outpouring of grief," and Darkwing was so caught up in his fantasies that he walked right over the freshly made plot of overturned earth before what he was passing really registered. He was still busy listing his regrets.

"To feel the----WHAT?"

He turned back and whirled in front of the plot, his eyes bulging as he started at the sight before his eyes. An orange traffic cone rested at the head of the new grave, with a small photo of Darkwing taped to the cone.

It wasn't even an 8 x 10 glossy! "This is IT?" cried Darkwing, as Launchpad stopped several feet away to watch the other duck's reaction. Darkwing's slumping posture was gone; he was throwing his hands up in amazement and horror. "Is this the end of Darkwing? No mounds of flowers spread over my grave? Where are the-the tasteless statues, the monumental memorials to my memory?" He was shrieking now. Launchpad ignored the usual egocentric ramblings of his friend, the pilot's eyes lowered in lazy exasperation, as he flipped at an itchy spot on his bill. Darkwing was just being Darkwing, after all.

Darkwing was kneeling over his own grave now, his voice heart-wrenching as he mourned in anguish. "Why? Why? Why?" He straightened suddenly, still kneeling. "Why didn't I hire a good press agent when I had the chance?"

Launchpad could only stare in amazement.

Suddenly the two friends heard the sound of plodding footsteps heading their way. "Ah, D.W., if you're done, maybe we should let whoever's coming have a little privacy?" asked Launchpad, keeping his voice low.

Darkwing continued to stare at the photo on the traffic cone, his eyes glazed over. "No, you go ahead, L.P. I'll catch up with you later back at home. I need to think. Besides, it's obvious whoever's coming won't be able to see me, because I am only seen by people who really care about me, and apparently, you three are it!"

"Sure thing, D.W.," said Launchpad in his usual calm, simple matter, and turned back down the path. He quickly disappeared from view.

The slow footsteps were getting much closer now, and Darkwing decided he might as well get out of sight anyway; no sense in scaring the wits out of someone on the off chance that they would somehow be able to see him. He retreated about ten or fifteen feet away, stepping into the shadows of a large duck statue that served as the marker for some rich person. And all I get is a lousy traffic cone, he found himself thinking bitterly.

After several moments, the footsteps passed right by the statue and Darkwing ducked even further into the shadows, drawing his cape around him to lower his visibility, more out of habit than for any other reason. He came forward again after the steps had passed by him and peered from his hiding place at the figure.

It was a young girl, a duck, who could hardly be older than twenty-one or so. She may even have still been a teenager; it was hard to tell. She was wearing a long black dress with a black cloak over her shoulders, hanging about her to her ankles. Her hair was a deep brown color, drawn back with a length of black material into a loose ponytail. She was obviously dressed in mourning clothes.

Darkwing looked at her, his self-pity disappearing and being replaced with sympathy for this stranger. Her eyes were half shut behind her delicate wire-rim glasses, and tears were streaming down her face so hard that the vigilante doubted that she could see very well. Clutched in her black-gloved hands was a single long-stemmed white rose and a simple wooden cross.

The crimefighter felt his beak drop open in amazement as the girl stopped before his grave.

The girl could do nothing but stare for several long moments, her green tear-filled eyes shining like stars as she looked down at the grave in wide-eyed shock and disbelief. But then she suddenly seemed to snap from her hesitation. Her shoulders shaking in silent sobs, she picked up the orange traffic cone and set it behind her. She peeled off the photo before turning her back to it, leaving the rose resting gently on the ground. She then went to the head of the grave and pushed the long bottom of the cross into the mound before placing the picture of Darkwing on it. She studied it for a moment, then turned away. She picked up the rose, placing the traffic cone several feet behind her. Then she approached the grave again, almost hesitantly.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Darkwing had to lean forward to catch the words.

"Hi, Mr. Darkwing Duck," she said softly, staring down at the picture. Saying his name seemed to start off another flood of tears, and she removed the glasses to wipe at her eyes with a black lace handkerchief. After several moments she replaced the glasses and continued. "If you're listening, if you're----" she broke off again in tears.

After a bit she continued, her voice a bit stronger now. "My name is Julieanne Bowen. You probably don't know who I am. That's okay, I know who you are."

She gave a wan smile at those words. "See, a year ago you saved my mother from being killed. I mean, you didn't do it deliberately. Oh, of course you were trying to save all the people; you just didn't know you were specifically rescuing my mother when you did it. I'm sorry, I'm babbling now." She paused to collect herself, then went on. "Remember when you stopped Negaduck from bombing the Daylight Savings and Loan? He was going to destroy it because they took down his wanted poster from their bulletin board? Well, you stopped him. And you kept that bomb from going off. My mother works there----she used to work there," and Julieanne began to cry again.

Darkwing's heart was beginning to ache.

"You saved my mother's life that day, Mr. Duck," said Julieanne through her tears. "She died last month in a car accident. I-I miss her so much. I didn't know it would hurt this much."

Darkwing bit his lip. There was a sudden flash of understanding in his eyes.

"She died last month," Julieanne cried again. "But if she had been in that building and it had exploded, she would have died then. She never would have seen me graduate from high school. She and Dad got to celebrate their thirty-fifth anniversary last year. And my brother, he and his wife just had a little baby boy six months ago. She never would have gotten to see him; she never would have been a grandmother. She got to hold her little grandson because you saved her, Darkwing!"

Julieanne wiped under her eyes as the tears continued to fall. "My brother and my Dad and I, we just miss her so much. It hurts so much! But I remember; she used to talk about you all the time, she said how thankful she was that the world still had such good people in it, people who were willing to risk themselves to help others. She put a picture of you on the mantle in the living room, and she'd look at it every day. One time I asked her why she looked at your picture all the time, and she told me that it was to remind her that there were still wonderful people out there, and that she owed her life to one of them."

Darkwing lowered his eyes, as he felt a single tear drip down his face.

Julieanne sniffed and began to gently stroke the petals of the rose in her hands. "She thanked you every day for what you did for her. So now, now that she can finally thank you in person----" and she began to sob again in earnest, "I wanted to be able to thank you myself. So . . . thank you, Mr. Duck, for what you gave us. You gave us just a little more time with a wonderful woman. We owe you so much for that. And I wanted to thank you for it. I hope you get to know her; her name's Elizabeth Bowen if you're having trouble finding her. She's a very optimistic person, she has a great sense of humor; I'm sure you'll get along with her very well. And I'm so grateful to you, Darkwing Duck."

The girl knelt down at the foot of the grave and simply cried for a while, allowing a bit of her grief to be released. When her tears had slowed down a bit, she straightened and placed the beautiful white rose over the grave, the petals gleaming in the moonlight. She caressed the picture on the cross, heaving a shuttering sigh, then stood up.

"Thank you again, Darkwing Duck. Goodnight," she whispered, her voice shaky. She stood there for several more moments, staring at the rose. Then she turned and walked slowly back down the path, eventually disappearing from view.

Darkwing stepped out from the shadows, tears running down his face. He walked forward several paces until he could once again see the diminishing form of the young girl as she continued to slowly drift away. "No, Julieanne," he said softly, brushing at the tears on his face, "Thank you."

The ghostly crimefighter watched her walk away until he could no longer see her. He went back to the grave, looking down at the cross and rose as he continued to weep. He knelt and brushed one ghostly hand through the rose, feeling a slight silky sensation from the petals as his hand waved through it.

"I'm sorry, Julieanne," he said again, rising to his feet. "I'm so sorry. But thank you."

Then he left the graveyard to go find Launchpad.