Scrooge's Best Friend

From the Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22

Richard was tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep.

He had just arrived back from his hotel. After dinner, he left to speak with his manager and gather the remainder of his clothing, which mainly consisted of shirts and coats, with the occasional trouser. He needed to shop for more. He managed to catch Scrooge on his way to his room, who was tidying up his study and finishing some extra paperwork. The two had a small chat and parted ways to their respective rooms. The duck had thrown his coat and bag on the chair and went to shower.

He came out of the bathroom and put on his sleepwear, a loose red shirt, and grey sweatpants. He leaped onto the bed and snuggled with the purple blanket and pillows. He closed his eyes and welcomed sleep.

But it never came.

The duck was now staring at the ceiling, annoyed at his inability to sleep. He was exhausted by the events of the past two days, but nothing. He could barely gain a wink of rest. He had been experiencing this awful sleep deprivation for a solid month. It made him want to pull his feathers out. Only coffees would save him and teas would soothe him.

'Tea.' He dragged himself off the bed and to the kitchen, using the light from his phone as a guide.

He never liked the dark.

As he made himself tea, he heard an unexpected sound from behind him. He swiftly turned in paranoia, fists raised to defend himself. He glared at the window, looking for any traces of movement.

'It must've been from the bushes outside, covering who knows what.'

He waited for another sound, but it didn't come. He slowly put down his fists but stayed tense. On guard, he quickly grabbed his tray and phone and rushed out, glancing once more at the window. He swore he caught the figure of someone.

He stood up all night writing in his journal about the past two adventures, drinking tea in the meanwhile. At times his eyes would droop and close, but he forced himself to open them again. He knew he could not fall asleep by choice, he would have to tire his body out until he knocked out.

He woke up in the morning with his face planted on the table. He closed the journal and checked the teapot, to see it was empty. Glancing at the alarm clock, it read 6:00 am. He vaguely recalled glancing at the clock before passing out, noticing it was 5:00 am. So, he slept a mere hour.

'What a win,' he thought sarcastically, ruffling his feathers and hair.

He dressed out of sleepwear into his normal outfit. He wore his dark grey coat, black shirt, black shoes, and finally, his light grey scarf.

He then took the tray to the kitchen and served himself a strong cup of coffee. He seriously loved this invention. He leaned against the island, staring out the window, taking slow sips. Beakley came in when he was on the second cup. They didn't say anything, just nodded at each other in acknowledgment. He watched her actions; she was preparing breakfast for herself. She quickly ate her food. She then moved on to the others. There was a calm morning silence shared between the two, which Richard appreciated. He wasn't a morning person. Not like he had another option but to move until sleep consumed him.

By the time everyone woke up, around 8 in the morning, he was on his third cup and Beakley had finished cooking breakfast. The whole time he was in the kitchen, he regularly sent a glance at the window, checking for any movement. He left with his third cup when he saw the time.

"Now set your eyes to auto cause you're watching the Ottoman Empire all-day marathon!"

Richard lazed around the living room with the kids as they watched the Ottoman Empire. He didn't contribute much, for he was still groggy. And not in the best moods, for he was paranoid. The incident from the early morning gave him a real fright. Was someone watching them? Him? Nothing good ever came out of these situations.