Archive of Our Own ^beta

Max kind of hated the winter holidays, if he were honest with himself. There were a lot of things to go wrong – at least one always went wrong with him and his dad around – and even though it was supposed to be a time to relax, it was always so stressful. Between the food and shopping and presents and parties, Max felt like he was constantly holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, until January 2nd came and no one – company or otherwise – could demand the Goofs be present due to common courtesy.

Like tonight, and the Disney company holiday party he was forced to go to.

At least he wasn’t alone, though, as the party was halfway between a reunion of the Disney Afternoon cast, and a marketing event to revive another show from that programming block. Dad was around, talking with other adults and executives, but more importantly, PJ and Bobby were there too.

It didn’t stop Max from wishing he could have made excuses like Stacy and Roxanne did and gotten out of dodge for cooler climes. Skiing wasn’t really his thing, but snowboarding at Lake Tahoe would have been more fun than this stupid party.

“How long d’ya think it’ll take for people to make conspiracy theories about me getting replaced?” asked Bobby, who was doing his best to keep cool though it was only a matter of time before he either ditched or rioted.

“Three episodes,” answered Max.

“One trailer,” countered PJ. “You should have seen some of the stuff the news sites were speculating when you made a cameo in the new Ducktales.”

“Those sites are the worst and you know it,” groused Max. “And getting redesigned for one photo was so dumb. It took hours to do, and for what? Ten minutes of photography!”

“It took ten minutes to take one photo? It can’t be that hard to get your good side.”

Max shot a baleful glare at Bobby, who smiled cheesily at him – literally, too, because the three of them had taken refuge at the food table and Bobby had all the cheese on his plate. All of it, so Max didn’t feel bad when he swiped a piece from him. Mhmm, gorgonzola.

“With redesigns, we’ll all have new good sides to figure out,” said PJ diplomatically. “Do you think I’ll get to have a jacket again? I missed having one in the movies.”

“Depends on where it’s set, Cali or Ohio,” replied Bobby, then turned to Max in expectation – but Max was miles away now, thinking about other redesigns and relocations.

“Cover for me,” said Max, pulling out his phone and hunching down behind PJ’s bulk. Without a word of complaint, his friends stepped closer to help him hide. This was a ‘no phones’ party for legal mumbo jumbo reasons – executives were here for a reason, not just to make everyone be on their best behavior – so most of the party-goers had their phones off or in coat check.

Still, the holiday season for toons meant that even though it was supposed to be a time for loved ones – and thinking that made Max’s face heat up with embarrassment and gooshy feelings – he hadn’t seen his boyfriend Yakko for almost three weeks because of all the stupid parties and filming things they both had to go to. Could he be blamed for his next action?

Probably, but Max did not care as he quickly sent Yakko a message.

He sent it before he could think twice about it, and put his phone away before he could unsend it – both from fear of getting caught with it out, and the nerve-wracking wait until his phone would tell him the message had been read and/or replied to. The Warners had their own party to attend tonight – some Space Jam one, and Max knew they wanted bigger roles if there was a sequel.

Max just wasn’t sure how long they would manage to be on their best behavior. He wasn’t sure how long he could be on his best behavior.

He, PJ, and Bobby discussed their possible redesigns – mostly PJ’s and Bobby’s because apparently he already had one, though Max was sure he’d get a slight update at least in a Goof Troop reboot – and they were in the middle of talking about who else would come back to the cast when Max’s phone vibrated. Without a word, PJ and Bobby did what best friends would do, and covered for him as he checked his messages.

Max felt an ounce of regret somewhere deep inside him after he sent it.

Deep, deep inside.

That was as clear a sign as any for Max to put his phone away. He jammed it in his pocket and tried not to think too much about his growing anxiety over what might be happening to Yakko right at that moment. It was like a hot coal in his mind, though, and his hand hovered over his suit pocket as he hoped for another text to arrive. Bobby and PJ tried to take his mind off it too, and when that failed, they at least kept watch and acted as if everything was ok for anyone that might look over.

They were really the best friends Max could ask for.

He had no idea how many minutes actually passed, but if measured by Bobby’s plate of cheese, it was three-quarters past the gorgonzola and heading into the blue cheese hour when Max’s phone vibrated again. Despite knowing a text would come, he jumped out of his skin anyway and yelped.

Thankfully Dad laughed really loudly at the same time, so no one heard. Max pulled out his phone again, and his face fell a bit when he saw that the messages were from Wakko, who cared a lot less about grammar and punctuation. One of the three Warners was ok, so the other two were likely ok too.

“Are we finally blowing this popsicle stand?” asked Bobby, not hiding at all that he was reading Max’s texts.

“I guess so,” said Max.

“Do you got any idea how?” said PJ, asking the most important question. Max thought about it for a second, looked at who and what was in the room, and then grinned at PJ. “Why did I even ask?”

In the end, the plan was simple to pull off. There were two Goofs in the event hall, after all, not to mention Donald Duck. Between Goofy and Donald, as well as recruiting the Duck family triplets and Webby, the plan went off without a hitch. Causing a hitch was the whole plan. One accidental food fight later, and explaining that the kids were truly up past their bedtime, isn’t it awful that they had to stay up so late for this party, sir and ma’am, just look at them, Max was stumbling out the door with six others in tow.

Not that he was expecting it to be a real date night of any sort, considering that Yakko, if he could show up, would be there with his siblings. Max just wanted to spend any amount of time with him.

The wax museum was closed, just as Max thought, and not a lot of people were around. Before one of the triplets could complain – Max guessed Louie would be the most likely, ever since the Ducks were allowed to let their personalities shine through in the reboot – there was a sharp, short whistle, and a New York yellow taxi driven by a very confused driver pulled up. The passenger door on the sidewalk side opened while a familiar face popped out of the sunroof.

“Come here often?” asked Yakko, while Wakko and Dot pulled the rest of the group into the far-too-small taxi. Cartoon physics would save them if anything went wrong, he supposed.

“Never, but I make exceptions,” replied Max, climbing in through the top so he could quickly sneak a kiss with some privacy.

“Well none will have to be made tonight because we aren’t staying here. Pedal to metal, Miss – whatsyourname, let’s see – Mrs. Carlysle. Don’t worry, you know where to go.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” complained the bewildered, spatially-displaced taxi driver, but she complied, with cars squealing and horns honking as she did.

“You’ll get double if you don’t tell no one,” said Yakko conspiratorially, his accent as thick as gravy.

“Deal. Now sit down and buckle up, you little lovebirds.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

There were absolutely awful ways to spend a long December night, but being buckled two a seat meant for one with Yakko plastered to his side while being driven somewhere he didn't know was somehow not one of them.

“Let’s do this again next year,” said Max, wistfully. It was a little awkward, a little hard to do, but he managed to thread his fingers between Yakko’s and squeezed once their hands were held tight together.

“Let’s do this properly next year,” said Yakko, “without sneaking out and stealing back my phone. I want a real date, mister.”

“You got it,” he promised.