Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Goldie O’Gilt stormed through the halls of McDuck Manor, throat raw and eyes burning with all left unsaid (unshouted) between her and Scrooge. How could he- ? How could she-? She forced the tears back, snarling to herself as she scrubbed an arm across her eyes.

Left, Left, Right, down these stairs-

Well, this certainly wasn’t the main hall that led to the exit. Scrooge must have remodeled yet again after Magica and Glomgold blew another hole in his property. Goldie sighed to herself, wheeling around to get her bearings and find a way out of this sentimental hellhole.

That door led to a washroom, and that one with the purple doorknob only existed on Thursdays. There was a set of double doors that led to a paperwork storage room, one of several. Goldie walked slowly down the hallway, looking for a familiar route. Second floor balcony door, laundry room, communal study-

Aha! There was a familiar sight to her right, just shy of a winding staircase curling away into the house’s ether. A banged up door, riddled with knicks and scratches, that had clearly been repaired several times (like the miser would ever just replace a “perfectly fine door” that just needs a little “spit and shine”). Flags and stickers cascaded down it’s face, Junior Woodchuck event mementos, various luggage stickers from dozens of countries. And there, under the doorknob, a little laminated business card for “Louie’s Kids” had been taped up.

The triplet’s room was one she had navigated her way out from a couple of times now, and even broken into when she knew they wouldn’t be around. Bentina and Scrooge never thought to watch for her comings and goings from this particular window, and the boys had never seen her do it. Goldie pressed her ear to the door, careful not to let the old floorboards beneath her boots creak. She waited for a full two minutes, and when she hadn’t heard a single sound the whole time, she gently pushed her way into the room, scanning for company.

The triple bunk was empty, the top bed made neatly, the middle one drooling bedsheets and blankets all the way to the floor, and the bottom one lazily arranged in a ‘good enough’ fashion. No one was at the desk, bending over books and old journals and field guides in a search for answers. There was a toy chest against the far wall, stuffed with sports balls, toy dart guns, and tap shoes, but no one was rummaging in it. And there was no one lounging on the carpet, or upside down on a bed, watching TV on their phone or staring at the wall as they tried to concoct another “perfect scheme”.

Goldie felt out of place, and hurried across to the window. The room was uncomfortably silent without the three identical hellions and their defacto sister tearing through it, even if she only ever listened from a safe distance (the vents on her way to Scrooge’s room...or Scrooge’s room itself). She went to undo the latch, but saw it was already popped open, and the window she had previously thought was shut was just barely ajar.

Goldie grimaced, and briefly debated turning around and finding another exit. If one of Scrooge’s kids had been stolen, the last thing she wanted to get wrapped up in was a rescue mission. But for some godforsaken reason, she didn’t. Not wanting to dwell on the emotions swirling around in her chest, she pushed open the window and scanned her surroundings. No one in the yard, no one in the courtyard, the coast was clear and-

“Aunt Goldie?”

Shit.

Goldie sighed, and looked up. Two little webbed feet dangled over the roof of the window dormer, kicking to an unheard melody. A tuft of hair and the top of a green hoodie were all she could see from her position.

“Hey there, Sharpie,” Goldie leaned against the window frame in defeat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Not really,” the boy mumbled. “It is, y’know, my room. In my house. Technically it’s fancy meeting you here on my roof.”

“I’m not on your roof.”

“Your loss. The stars are really nice tonight.”

Goldie let his claim hang in the night air between them, debating the best course of action. She could just wish the kid and his stars a good night and be on her way. She could do even less than that and just climb down the trellis to freedom. Or, she could let her curiosity for this odd situation (and certainly not her bleeding heart) get the better of her and push the matter further.

Hauling herself onto the window seat and dropping on leg over the edge, she leaned her back against the wall and revelled in the mild spring breeze. Summer was nearly here, she mused.

“So, kid, what brings you out here and away from your ever-larger and more convoluted family?”

There was the faint rustle of fabric on feathers as Louie presumably shrugged. “Dunno. Got tired, I guess.”

Goldie hummed. “Then why aren’t you asleep?”

There was an even longer pause, and for a while Goldie thought maybe her young pseudo-protege wouldn’t answer her. Didn’t bother her much, she’d find another angle sooner or later.

When the mumbled answer came, it was so quiet she nearly missed it. “Not that kind of tired.”

Goldie winced. She wasn’t equipped to deal with children and their emotions. Hell, she was barely equipped to deal with her own. She couldn’t really imagine what Louie was going through, what any of the kids were going through. They’d really had the rug yanked out from under them today, Pink more than anyone, sure, but the other kids weren’t to be discounted from that equation.

Near death (again), new family, the loss of what was and the confrontation of what is, and how different the night was from the morning you woke up to.

Goldie was struggling to comprehend it. And maybe that’s why she climbed the rest of the way out of the window and up onto the strip of flat roof Louie occupied. Because she was over a 120 years old, and had been running from the emotional tsunami of associating with Scrooge McDuck’s family nearly the whole time.

Not only was Louie only 12, he was a good portion of the reason she finally gave up the race. And even though she struggled to admit it to herself, and would rather eat glass before admitting it to Scrooge, the idea of letting Louie in on that little secret didn’t scare her as much as it did after Doofus’ party. Or even as much as it scared her four days ago, before she’d been abducted and thrown in a box along with everyone else Scrooge considered ‘family’.

Maybe she finally had nothing left to lose.

“Alright kid, spill it,” Goldie settled in next to Louie and jostled him with her shoulder. “We both know you didn’t leave the survival celebration party to come star gaze.”

Louie glared up at her, though his hoodie pushed his bangs into his eyes in a way that weakened its impact. Goldie waited, quirking her brow at him. The boy’s angry facade crumpled, giving way to exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion Goldie wouldn’t really expect to see on a kid.

“I don’t know, it’s just, like,” Louie struggled to find his words, and she waited while he grasped at his jumbled thoughts. Finally, he hung his head and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Everything’s gonna be different now. And I don’t really understand how to feel about that.”

Goldie nodded, an understanding and far too soft “ah” escaping her. She rested her left hand on Louie’s head, but kept her gaze staunchly on the stars above them. Louie lifted his head to look at her, and she played with the feathers of his bangs as she thought about what to say.

Louie wasn’t like the other kids. Goldie knew this, Scrooge knew this, but perhaps most importantly, Louie himself was all too aware of this. He was a different kind of smart, a different kind of tough. He wore his anxiety on his sleeve, but he didn’t let it control him. He looked before he leapt, he thought before he spoke. He was careful in adventuring, and even more cautious when dealing with people, no matter how aloof he thought he came across.

Goldie sometimes felt like she was looking in a tiny mirror. And maybe that’s why she didn’t ignore his sporadic texts, delete his number or block it entirely. Maybe that’s why the little golden idol she nicked from him wasn’t melted down or sold, but instead sat on a shelf of honor in her personal study. Maybe that’s why she was sitting here with him now.

They both knew Louie didn’t just reach for anyone when he was in need of comfort. He was too careful and calculated for that. The thought that he might be reaching for her now, that he might have been reaching for her every time her phone pinged at 3 am, damn near thawed the little bit of ice left around her husk of a heart. She knew she couldn’t offer him what his uncles could, or what his mother and brothers could, but she could give him this. An unbiased, similarly minded shoulder to lean on when it all got to be a bit Too Much.

Goldie cleared her throat softly. “How are you feeling right now?”

Louie shrugged again, snuggling further into his hoodie. “Dunno. Confused, mostly. Kinda lost?”

“Lost?” She began to press ever so gently, like when she was picking an old lock. “Lost how?”

He waved his hands in front of him, like he was trying to conjure an image she could see and understand. “Y’know like, lost! Like when you’re in the woods, and the trees are really tall, and it's getting dark, and you realize you're alone and you don’t know which way home is, Lost with a capital L.” He huffed, his tirade over, and returned his hands to his hoodie.

Goldie hummed. “Have you ever considered poetry?”

Louie rolled his eyes, flushing, while Goldie parsed through what she just heard.

“You feel alone?”

He shrugged yet again. “Doesn’t everyone sometimes?”

She nodded, conceding his point. “So not necessarily alone, but maybe alone in how you feel about how everything went down today?”

Louie grimaced. “Geez, you are sharp.”

“High compliment coming from you, Sharpie,” Goldie smirked, but it fell quickly. “So, you aren’t as over the moon about this new chapter as everyone else is?”

He looked away. “Please, don’t get me wrong. I love Webby like a sister, we all do. And I love Uncle Scrooge despite his, well, everything. They’re family. And family can be really great. But this, this is…”

She sighed. “A bit more complicated than they’re making it out to be?”

Louie nodded. He looked up at the stars, and Goldie ignored the way her heart squeezed at the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Am I a bad person?”

Goldie started, looking at him incredulously. Before she could talk, he kept going.

“I know I don’t do things fair and square like them, I’m not smart or tough as Huey and Dewey. But before all this that was okay. It was enough, y’know? I was enough. Now,” he sniffed. “I don’t really feel like enough.”

Goldie gently tugged his hoodie off his head, and fished around in her travel sack for her handkerchief. She pressed it into his grip before she asked, “Why?”

Louie looked at her quizzically. “Huh?”

“Why don’t you feel like enough, kid? Your uncle adores you, your mom and your dad think the world of you. Your family loves you a lot, you know. So why all the self doubt?”

He wouldn’t answer her for a long while this time, and she contented herself with running her fingers absently through his fluffy bangs and staring at the stars. The winter constellations had all but set, and her favorite, Ospreyan, was nothing much more than a winking shadow on the night’s horizon. After at least five minutes of silence, Goldie was about to change the subject entirely when he answered.

“I don’t understand what we’re supposed to be anymore. Before today, we were all Scrooge’s heirs- and no, this isn’t about the will. Before today, I knew who I was in this family. And I knew who everyone else was. And now that’s all gone. I feel like,” he lowered his eyes to his lap and turned away slightly, shame wreathing his features. “I feel like this whole time, we’ve just been placeholders in his life. Like, now that he has Webby, what’s the point of any of us? She’s tougher, smarter, and sharper than any of us. He doesn’t need us now.”

Goldie moved her hands to his shoulders, and turned him to face her. “Louie, you have to know that isn’t true. Not even in the slightest. Your Uncle Scrooge positively adores you, all three of you-”

He scowled. “Yeah because we’re Della’s kids. And she was like a daughter to him. And now he has the real thing and he doesn’t need us.”

Goldie scoffed. “Oh please. What makes Webby more real to him than any of you?”

Louie looked at her incredulously. “Did you miss the whole sharing DNA thing?”

“Kind of impossible to, but no, I didn’t.”

“She’s literally made of what he’s made of!” Goldie pushed away the vague feeling of nausea that hit her at that, focusing on Louie. “She’s the real McDuck deal! His blood heir! We couldn’t be more useless now.”

She gripped him tighter. “Louie. That isn’t true. You know that none of that matters to Scrooge. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about blood relations. He considers a half horse gargoyle to be his family, why would he draw the line here?”

He frowned. “I didn’t say we weren’t still family. I know that we are. But we’re not his kids. Not all of us. Not anymore.”

Goldie paused, unsure how to address that. Louie pressed on.

“This wouldn’t change anything if everyone wasn’t already acting so different!” He scrubbed at his eyes. “Webby was always our sister, always family. Why does her being Scrooge’s clone daughter change everything? It’s literally not even the weirdest thing this family has handled.”

Goldie smiled sadly. “There are a lot of reasons, Louie. All of which your uncle would be better equipped to talk to you about if he would ever realize them himself.”

The boy tilted his head, confused. She sighed.

“In my less forgiving moments, I would say everything is different now because your uncle is an egomaniac. And having a literal Mini Scrooge to follow him around and continue his absurd legacy is a dream come true for him.”

Goldie frowned, looking down and away from Louie’s gaze. “But that wouldn’t be very fair of me, or completely honest, I guess.”

Louie snorted. “Since when has that ever bothered you?”

She cuffed him around the head gently, enjoying his small lift in spirits. “Watch it, mister. I’ll ground you.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again and Goldie privately counted it a victory. Since when had making kids smile begun to count as victories to her?

“This change, this new beginning for him and Pink, is very novel right now,” she reached up and brushed Louie’s disheveled bangs out of his eyes. “But I think, once the dust settles, you’ll find that not much has changed at all. She’s still your sister, and he’s still your uncle. He loves you today as much as he did yesterday, and he’ll probably love you even more tomorrow. That’s just who he is, kid.”

Louie looked at her with wide, uncertain eyes, and leaned into the hand she left resting on his cheek.

“Your uncle cares about his family more than anything else in this world. More than all the gold on earth and on the moon, as hard as that is to believe. He was going to give it all up so he could keep you all safe. That means more than any cloning mishap, right?”

He nodded, looking down and sniffling into the handkerchief. But when he looked up, his gaze was scrutinizing.

“Us all.”

“Excuse me?” Goldie wondered if the exhaustion was finally getting to him.

“Keep us all safe. You said ‘you all’ but you were there too, so it would be ‘us all’. Or did you forget that you were locked in a box with the rest of our extended family?”

Goldie flushed, looking away from the kid. She really didn’t want to get into her wealth of personal reservations and insecurities regarding her long time lover’s family system with a literal child. She settled for an obvious dodge, and hoped he would leave it alone.

“My mistake, Sharpie. It gets hard to keep track of where you stand with Scrooge after a hundred odd years.”

But Louie didn’t drop his scrutiny, and she felt him studying her closely. Goldie refused to let her annoyance get the better of her this time. For reasons she didn’t want to explore too closely, she didn’t want to snap at him, scare him off and away from her. Despite her best efforts, she liked this one of Scrooge’s infantile hangers-on.

“You don’t see yourself as family, do you?”

God, this kid was tap dancing on her most hidden nerves.

Goldie shrugged, feigning disinterest. “What’s it matter to you? I’ll be popping in and out to annoy your dear old uncle ‘til the end of time, why stick a label on it?”

Louie scowled. “So you give me this whole big speech about how loving and great my family is, and why I should trust them to love me for me, but then you don’t include yourself in any part of that equation? Man, Scrooge was right about you.”

Goldie glared at the kid, feeling much less magnanimous now. “And what, exactly, did old Scroogey say about me this time?”

He was smug as he looked up at her. “That you spend all your time looking so hard for angles, that you can never see what’s right in front of you. And that makes you not as sharp as you think you are.”

Goldie felt very much like going to find Scrooge and cursing him out violently, and then ignoring him and his insufferable family until the kids were in college.

But that would only prove his point.

“Look, kid, it’s nothing personal. I just don’t do this whole family thing. I haven’t for a very, very long time and I don’t really see the point in starting now.”

Hurt flashed across Louie’s face before he could hide it, and he yanked his hood back up. “No fun when there’s no angle to exploit, huh?”

She winced, and pushed away the guilt stirring in her chest. “Now, look, I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, it’s fine. I get it,” he mumbled, resting his head on his drawn up knees. “There are bigger and better cons out there. It really wouldn’t make sense for you to waste time pretending to care about any of us.”

“Louie, that’s not fair-”

“Why not? Because I’m right? Because I know that tomorrow morning, you’ll be long gone, and I’ll be alone to deal with everything happening, again?”

Goldie was silent, regretting ever opening her mouth- no, climbing up on this roof. She decided that leaving before she hurt the kid anymore would be the best course of action-

Ah, shit. He was definitely crying.

Goldie sighed, looking towards the heavens for some deity or another to give her the strength and patience to get through this intact. And more important, get him through this intact.

“Hey, Sharpie, c’mere,” she wrapped her arm around his small shoulders and pulled him into her side. Gods, but he was tiny. He had such a personality, was such a force in day to day life, she really had no idea he was still so small. “Why does the thought of me not being a part of this traveling circus bother you so much? I stole millions from you, literally. Any duck with common sense wouldn’t exactly seek out the company of a swindling thief.”

Louie sniffled, burrowing further into her side, resting his disproportionately large head on her chest. “I dunno.”

Goldie snorted, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. It was getting chilly. “I think you do.”

He groaned, frustrated with having to say it. “Because Dewey has Mom, Huey has Uncle Donald, and now Webby has Scrooge. I don’t have anyone who gets me like that, except you. Even though you did steal the gift bags, you also stopped a robot from bashing my head in. And you saw my potential, where everyone else just saw a lazy cheat.”

Something warm and sharp was gripping her heart, and vaguely she wondered if she was about to finally have a heart attack. “Kid…I’m really not family material.” She protested weakly.

“Says who?” He was always so contrary. It was more endearing when it wasn’t directed at her.

“Well, your Uncle for one, and I can’t imagine your Mom and Donnie would be too thrilled about me sticking around.”

“Since when do you care what anyone else thinks? I thought you were Goldie O’Gilt, and no one could tell you to do anything you didn’t want to.”

Goldie smirked. “And what makes you think I want to be here?”

“I mean, you fell for the Crocodile Waterworks so I think you care a little more than you’re telling yourself.”

Sure enough, when she looked down, his eyes had dried, and he was smiling at her smugly. She almost let herself get angry at being played, before she deflated and began laughing.

“Well played, Sharpie, well played.”

He grinned at her, but made no move to extract himself from her side. If anything, he leaned in closer, resting all of his slight weight on her. It was nearing 1 am by her calculations, but the noise from the first floor of the mansion assured her the party was still going strong. She wondered if all the kids had passed out by now, or if it was just Louie that was utterly drained after his own personal emotional rollercoaster ride. She ran her fingers through his hair, fluffing up his bangs, content in the silence they’d fallen into.

“Hey, Goldie?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you come back to the mansion with everyone if you weren’t going to stick around?”

There was no suspicion in his voice, just genuine curiosity. Goldie was tired of talking circles, so she decided to give it up for now.

“Your uncle wanted to talk to me, that’s all.”

Louie hummed, shifting so his head fell into her lap. He was almost nearly asleep. “Was it important? Or was it about adult stuff we’re not supposed to ask about?”

Goldie chuckled. “He uh, he just wanted to ask me something. No big deal.”

“Ooo, do I hear wedding bells?” He teased. Goldie gentle flicked his head.

“Don’t even joke, kid.”

“Was he writing you into the will?”

“Oh please, like a piece of paper is gonna determine what I get after he croaks.”

Louie snickered. “You’re avoiding the question, Aunt Goldie.” He singsonged.

And therein was the rub of it. She sighed, resting her hand on the side of the duckling’s head. She debated just letting him fall asleep without an answer, but something in her, some force of emotion she had no name for, pushed the truth out of her before she could think twice.

“He asked me to move in.”

Louie stiffened. She was certain he was wide awake now. When he spoke, she could heard the desperate hope he tried to keep out of his voice. “Oh, did he now?”

She smiled sadly, not that he could see. “Yeah. Really made a mess of it, too.”

He snorted. “At least Uncle Scrooge is consistent in his emotional dumbassery.”

“Language.” She chided mildly, then wondered why she did. Louie took little notice.

“So that’s that, then,” he sighed. “You’re leaving for good?”

Goldie could all but see the crossroads laid before her. One path was worn, the same tracks and ruts that she’d always followed leading her down the road of familiar solitude. It was small, lonely, but laden with gold and comfort. The other was fresh and new, no footprints to be seen, but it flourished with ethereal riches, wreathed in a deep love the other had always lacked, but she had never seen. Thrown into contrast, she idly wondered why she had ever picked the first path to begin with.

She took a breath, and took a step.

“I didn’t say that, Sharpie.”

Louie sat upright, looking at her incredulously. She smiled at him, and ruffled his hair. “You mean you...really?”

She shrugged. “I can’t promise I’ll always be around. Or that I’ll fully move in like that old sourdough wants me to. But, I can stay tonight. And we can go from there.”

Louie smiled, and it reached his eyes in a way she hadn’t seen ever directed at her. He lunged at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and staying there. Gingerly, Goldie draped her arms around him in a loose hug, and let the feeling of correctness settle over her.

“Thanks, Aunt Goldie.”

“For what?”

“For not leaving me alone.”

She had no response to that, so she just held him a little tighter. Things weren’t going to magically get better for either of them. The polarity of their worlds had shifted, and the unknown was no longer just outside their door, but making its home with them. Goldie knew he would have bad days. And even more, she knew she would have worse ones. Days where Scrooge said the wrong thing, or didn’t do the right one. Days where all the children got on every single last nerve she had, and she would flee the mansion for her own company. There would be missed birthdays, arguments, fights about the most benign of things. All the reasons she had avoided family would finally catch up to her. And it would make her or break her.

Maybe Scrooge was right, when he waxed on about family being the greatest adventure of all.

She’d climbed mountains in parallel dimensions, sailed on oceans made of fine jewels. She had bestest demons, monsters, and gods alike. She had been tangling with the greatest adventurer in the world for nearly 130 years, in more ways than one, and had repeatedly come out on top. But this? This was standing on the precipice of a cliff, knowing she had to jump, all while her parachute depended on her more than she did on it.

Was she ready to do this?

A snore interrupted her spiraling thoughts. She looked down to see Louie had fallen asleep, his head plopped soundly on her chest again. She smiled, and brushed his bangs back. He would need a haircut soon. A cold gust of wind cut through her layers, and she shivered. They should get inside or they’d be sick by morning.

She nudged Louie, but he didn’t stir. She shook him, and he snored louder. Goldie sighed, and decided that yes, they were going to have to do this the hard way.

She lifted the duckling into her arms, settling him on her hip as if he were much younger. She shifted, making sure he was stabilized, and carefully swung down for the roof. She let go of the ledge once her boots were firmly on the windowsill, and she could carefully step down into the bedroom. She glanced at the bunks, relieved the green one was on the bottom.

Goldie pulled back the comforter, settling Louie on the mattress before loosely tucking in the blanket around him. She rose and crossed to the window, making sure it was firmly latched shut and sealed properly. That done, she made her way back to Louie, who was curled up in a ball, sound asleep. She smiled to herself, and leaned down the brush her beak very slightly against his head.

“Goodnight, Sharpie.”

Goldie was at the door, handle on the knob, before she heard a response.

“Night, Aunt Goldie,” he mumbled. “See you tomorrow.”

She sighed, closing the door behind her. She supposed he would. Goldie turned, determined to find Scrooge and have an actual conversation for once in their long, long lives, instead of a screaming match.

It wasn’t the fresh start she’d pictured for them, but maybe that was for the best.

Chapter Text

It was a drippy, muddy, gloomy day in Duckburg. Not a fun, thunderstorm kind of day, or ever a steady gentle rain kind of day. On those days, you could walk through the manor’s gardens and watch the flowers glisten with water. Or you could stay inside with a hot cup of tea, and pester Della or Scrooge into telling you a story. Maybe even play a few secret rounds of civilized Scroogeopoly in the confines of Webby’s loft.

Today was just a bummer. The rain wasn’t pretty or soft, or a force of nature. It just plink-plonked halfheartedly out of the sky, and into the muddy, soppy ground. It wasn’t enjoyable, just disappointing.

It didn’t help that seemingly every adult in the manor was in a poor mood. Except Scrooge, but only because no one had seen him all day.

After being kicked out of the kitchen for being “too rambunctious” by Mrs. Beakley, the kids trudged off to take their boredom elsewhere. Dewey took the lead, Webby close behind him on the search for entertainment.

“Is there any room in this mansion we haven’t seen? That isn’t filled with boring old crap that just sits there collecting dust?”

“Language.” Huey chided, nose buried in the JWG.

“It’s crap, Hubert, not sh-”

“Dewey!”

Louie stepped between his brothers, segwaying gracefully. “Not that I’m aware of. We’ve flipped this old mansion upside down, except for the Other Bin-”

“No.” Webby and Huey spoke as one. Dewey whined.

Webby paused to lean against the wall to think. “I mean, there’s Scrooge’s private study, Fethry and Gladstone’s rooms, the greenhouse, the hangar-”

“Yawn, snooze, maybe, boring and sweaty, probably dangerous.” Dewey interrupted, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“Uncle Gladstone’s room is pretty much empty,” Louie said. When everyone turned to look at him, he shrugged. “What? I wanted $20 for Funso’s.”

“Besides,” Huey closed his book. “We’ve already been in Scrooge’s study and the greenhouse-”

Webby shook her head “Not his private study. That’s the one on the third floor, but in the east wing.”
Huey frowned. “There is no study in the east wing. Just the media room, and an old storage closet full of interdimensional moss samples.”

“There’s a secret study if you know where to look.” Webby sang smugly.

“Ugh,” Dewey groaned. “How many studies does one dude need. What’s in the super secret office anyway?”

“No one knows,” Webby said mysteriously. “And he rarely uses it. But when he does, he disappears into it for almost whole days!”

The boys looked at each other, debating, before Huey shrugged. “Beats wearing holes in the carpet around here. Let’s go.”

Webby squealed and bounced on her feet, before grabbed the nearest triplet’s (Louie’s) hand and taking off, leaving the other two to race after them. She led them down the main hall of the second floor, up a short winding staircase tucked away in an alcove behind a grandfather clock (“how long has this been here?”). They picked their way across an odd attic like space, even though it was in the middle of the house and very clean, albeit strewn with boxes and trunks and chests, before stopping at a vent.

Dewey and Webby jiggled the rusting grate open, and the girl tumbled through. The boys followed, finding that it was not a vent, but a hidden crawlspace tucked between levels of the house. After shuffling around in the cramped room, Webby thumped a spot on the wall and they spilled out into a room they’d never seen before.

It was warm, almost cozy. A grand desk rested along a wall covered in overlapping, decaying maps. Some of the maps didn’t even show this world. Ancient-looking tomes, bound in cracking leather and strapped shut, rested on the desk. The rest of the walls were covered by floor to ceiling bookshelves, overstuffed with journals, heaps of papers, odd objects that were probably cursed being used as bookends. It was far from the usual organization their uncle preferred to work in.

“So, what can we do in here?” Louie slouched against a wall, only to stumble when it revolved and shut the passage they came through, leaving a bookshelf behind.

Webby shrugged. “I dunno. But I bet there’s a ton of secrets in here.”

“Works for me!” Dewey bounded over to the desk and began jiggling the locked drawers. Huey began running his fingers reverently along the spines of the books, tilting his head to be able to read the occasional title. Most were faded, and of those that remained, few were in a legible language.

Webby wandered over the bookshelf near Scrooge’s desk. Her Granny had taught her that every library, no matter how seemingly jumbled, had an order of reason to it. And if it was purposely randomized, then it was equally as telling. Sure enough, all the books on the nearest shelf were just field guides, personal effects of long dead explorers, and encyclopedias or atlases. She frowned, straightened up, and crossed to the direct opposite of the room.

This study had to be private for a reason, and Webby had several hunches that had recently become more...personal obsessions. She scanned this shelf, starting bottom to top, then top to bottom, then bottom to-aha!

There, squeezed between a humongous English to Elderbeast translator and a terrarium full of glowing aloe, was an unassuming and plain binder. It was cream, with tarnished gilt embellishments. She stood on tiptoe to reach it, climbing up the shelf carefully when that didn’t work. Gently, she slid it out of its spot, eagerly collapsing to the floor with her prize.

Yes! She cheered to herself as she opened it and found herself staring at a photo album. Webby could feel herself practically vibrating with excitement, but made sure to keep her hands careful and steady as she turned the gossamer page protector. She didn’t want to damage anything, or leave evidence.

“Whatcha got there, Webs?” Louie pushed himself off the shelf and pocketed his phone as he crossed over to her.

“A photo album!”

“Ugh,” Dewey groaned. “Yawn. Uncle Donald has like, hundreds of those. It’s just old baby pictures of relatives no one can ever remember the name of.”

Webby felt her temper start to tick up a notch, but kept her cool. “Maybe to you,” she muttered. “Besides, this one was hidden in plain sight, and in Scrooge’s secret office no less.”

Louie plopped down next to her, Huey joining them on her other side. “Yeah, good point. It’s a weird place to keep a photo album.”

Dewey gave up his uneducated lock picking attempts, coming to sit with them. Webby turned the page and drowned out his grumbling as she looked at the first sets of photos. It was from a young couple’s wedding day. The man had fluffy white-blonde hair like Scrooge, the woman a deep red or auburn. It was hard to tell through monochrome. They looked blissfully happy, despite clearly being rather poor. The suit was ill-fitting, and the dress had clearly seen better days. But their smiles were broad and twitterpated, the flowers in the woman’s braids in full bloom.

“Is that…?” Huey squinted at the photo.

“Whoa, hey,” Dewey leaned in. “I think that's Great Grandpa Fergus and Great Grandma Downy!”

“Whooaaaa!” The kids were wide-eyed. Huey was practically drooling.

“This photo is almost 200 years old! It’s in perfect condition!”

Louie scooted in even closer. “Keep going!” he urged. “These could be photos we’ve never seen before.”

Webby flipped the page again, and they took in the picture of an old house on a busy cobblestone street. There were other random photos of the town here, and they pushed past them to the next set of photos.

“Oh my gosh!” They all crowed. Baby pictures littered the next three pages at least. A newly hatched Scrooge, a toddling Matilda with her tiny hat, and a red-faced squalling baby that could be none other than-

“Grandma!” The boys gasped. Louie’s hand reached out to brush the picture almost reverently. He chuckled. “Man, Huey you looked just like that as a baby.”

Huey stuck his tongue out. “So did Uncle Donald.”

“I guess that’s where he got the temper.” Webby mused. Her hands ghosted over the pictures, an odd lump swelling in her throat. So much history in these crumbling pages. She swallowed it down and turned to the next page. More pictures of little kids, many unfamiliar now. Cousins, probably, friends and neighbors. Except for one…

Webby cocked her head, pointing. “Who’s that?”

It was a little girl, in a worn nightgown, who couldn’t have been older than 3. Her thick honey blonde hair was pulled into a hasty braid, but a swoop of it fell out of place to drape over emerald eyes and winking freckles. Next to that picture was one of an equally young Scrooge in an oversized sweater, sleeves pooling on the ground next to him. He was laughing in the picture, open mouthed and missing teeth. The girl was somber, thumb wedged in her beak, her other hand clinging to a ratty doll.

Huey shrugged. “Dunno, but there’s scribbling underneath.” They stared, but couldn’t make out the dialect. Webby huffed.

“It’s some kind of gaelic, but I haven’t gotten around to studying that just yet. Granny says its not as important as Mandarin and Russian.”

Louie snicked. “Don’t let Scrooge hear that.”

They chuckled, and turned the page on. Webby couldn’t get the young girl out of her head, though. She knew she’d seen those eyes before…

They flipped through page after page of photos, watching the McDuck siblings grow up. Soon, there was no more Scrooge in them, and the pictures became very worn. Some were water stained, others ripped or crumpled.

Dewey frowned. “They must have sent these to Scrooge after he came to America.”

“Can you even imagine that?” Huey murmured. “Being younger than us and having to leave behind everything you know and everyone you love to survive?”

Louie shifted around. “He made money though, a whole fortune of it. And he got to see them again.”

“Not enough, though,” Webby sighed. She tapped idly on a picture of a now-teenaged Hortense, leaning on a mid-twenties Matilda. Their dresses were messes of patchwork, and there was dirt on their faces from a hard day of work, but they were smiling like they’d never been happier. “I dunno what I’d do if I had to go away, and never know if I was going to see you guys again.”

The triplet’s leaned into her, Dewey hugging her from behind. Huey tucked his head into her left shoulder. “Well, that’ll never happen Webs.”

Louie’s arm was slung around her, and had knocked off Huey’s hat. “Yeah. We’re the Duck kids. Where we go, we go together.”

Webby smiled, hugging her friends- no, her brothers- back with no small amount of force. “Thanks guys.”

“Hey there she is again!” Dewey’s finger jutted into her peripheral, pointing at a picture tucked into the protective sheet. It was the blonde woman again, on a piece of photo paper that clearly wasn’t from the camera that all the others were. Webby frowned.

“You guys think she looks familiar too, right?”

Louie shrugged. “I guess, kinda. But in this family, a lot of us look the same.”

“No, that’s not it,” Huey shook his head. “We don’t really have any strawberry blondes.”

“Maybe she’s a Coot, from Grandpa’s side.” Dewey said. The kids shrugged, still not convinced but willing to let it go.

In the photo on this page, the woman still looked to be teenaged, but nearing adulthood. She was leaning on a fence, staring into a field of cows and horses. Only a quarter of her face was visible, but once again she wasn’t smiling.

They pressed on, ooh-ing and giggling at photos of their young great aunts, and gasping at the photos of young Scrooge that soon joined, taken from a different camera again, likely in America. He was almost always scowling, and if he was smiling, it wasn’t warm.

“Wow,” Webby mumbled. “Louie looks just like him.”

Louie scowled, only further proving her point. “I like to think I’m a happier guy.”

Dewey and Huey waffled their hands, much to Webby’s amusement.

“Wait, look, there she is again!” Huey pointed. “Is that…”

“No way- wait- what- no-”

“Oh my gosh! It’s-”

Scrooge’s voice cracked through the air like a lightning storm. “Absolutely none of you rapacious rebels’ business!”

Webby slammed the book shut on instinct, as the boys scrambling to block it from view of their irate uncle. Louie, ever the smooth talker, started babbling. “Uh, hey Uncle Scrooge. What brings you up here?”

“What brings me up here?” Scrooge mocked. “To my own private study that absolutely none of you should neither be in nor even know about?”

His cane thumped a warning on the floorboards as he approached, and Webby wrapped her whole body around the album before speaking up.

“It’s my fault Uncle Scrooge.” They all turned to look at her. She swallowed, staring at the carpet pattern beneath her. “I told the boys about it, and brought them here. I wanted to explore it, and we were bored, and-”

“Webbigail,” uh-oh, full name use was not a good sign. “Hand it over, lass.” He was right in front of her now, the boys having fallen back behind her. His spats had a spot on them.

“...no.”

Stifled gasps from behind her.

“No?” Scrooge’s voice was barely constrained anger. He didn’t want to shout at her.

Webby frowned. That ugly, angry monster was rearing its head inside of her again. Let him get mad at her like he did all of them. Let him rage at her, send her to her room. She wanted him to. She didn’t want to be different anymore. “No. Not until you tell us about these photos.”

“Webbigail, that is absolutely none of your business-”

There it was. “Yes, it is!” She leapt to her feet, album still clasped to her chest. She finally looked Scrooge in the eyes, and saw him deflate at the tears in her own. “This is my history now too, and there so much of it, and no one will tell me anything! I’m either family, or I’m not, but everyone keeps telling me I am, but then treating me like this, this unspoken thing,” she sniffled. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and knew Dewey was standing next to her. “Are you ashamed of me?”

Scrooge, with much creaking and groaning, knelt down on his good knee. “Webby darling,” he said softly, no more prideful anger left in him now. “Ye know ah’m not. I love ye, all four of ye, very much,” he reached out ruffle Dewey’s bangs, and popped Huey’s forgotten hat back on his head. “But some things, like the things in this photo album, or about your mother’s disappearance, or those ten long years without ye, are very hard for me to talk about.”

Louie stuffed his hands in his pockets. “We understand that, Uncle Scrooge. But I don’t think you guys always understand how hard it is for us to be left out of this huge loop that started and ended way before any of us were born.”

Huey nodded. “Yeah, Webby and Louie are right. We’re not trying to be nosy, we’re just confused. No one talks about the before. And while it’s always important to look ahead, we have to know where we’re coming from.”

“Yeah,” Dewey mumbled. “And Webby has the right to know. I mean, we all do, but her situation just got a lot more...unique.”

“Please don’t get mad at us for talking back.” Louie hastily added.

Scrooge chuckled, but it was sad. “Curse me kilts, how you kids have grown,” he sighed, looking down and then looking up at all of them, pride and love warring with reluctance and deep deep sadness in his gaze. “Alright. Come, sit down. I’ll tell ye what ye want to know, but in a chair. My old bones can’t take this kneeling business.”

He straightened up with much groaning, and even more cracking as they kids tried not to giggle. Dewey slung an arm over Webby’s shoulder as they went to the desk. “Y’know, Webs, next time you can just be straight with us.”

She blushed from no small bit of shame at fibbing to the boys. “Sorry, guys. I just, I didn’t want to make everyone sad and get all weird.”

Louie shrugged. “Dewey’s always weird.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t ever even think about it, Webby.” Huey smiled. She smiled back, secure in their regard for her. They clambered into comfortable spots on the desk. Huey and Dewey each perched on an arm of the great winged chair behind the desk, Louie and Webby electing to sit criss-cross on the surface of the table, careful to avoid any ink or maps. Scrooge settled into the cracked leather, and Webby placed the album in front of him.

Scrooge smiled at it. “Ah, this is the family photo album I put together just after the gold rush. I’d been keeping all the pictures my family had sent to me from Glasgow after I left, and the ones I took with me, in a tin miner’s box for safe keeping. A friend suggested I put them in an album once I settled.”

He opened the first page, telling them of his parents' wedding. How they’d been nearly destitute, but so in love they had married as soon as they turned 18. He’d come along a staggering 2 years into their marriage.

“Back then, kids, if ye didn’t have a kid within the first year, people began to make all sorts of assumptions,” Scrooge snickered. “So imagine the town’s surprise when I came along.”

He grinned at the yelling Hortense. “That girl was a firecracker from the minute she was born. You know the first thing she ever did to me was bop me across the beak?”

Louie guffawed as Huey flushed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“What about Aunt Matilda?”

“Ach, a sweet baby,” Scrooge smiled. “But a schemer from the beginning. She was always shuffling her haggis off inty the dugs’ mouth when Pa wasn’t looking. Or, she’d flick her peas onto my plate and then tattle that I didn’t finish my portions. What an earful that was.”

It was everyone’s turn to look at Louie, who hastily turned the album page. “Huh, neat, not ringing any bells though. Anyway.”

“Uncle Scrooge, who is that?” Huey pointed at the young girl in the tattered nightgown. Scrooge’s smile dimmed a bit.

“A very good friend, family now. She asked me to keep these safe for her while she traveled. They were all she had from her own childhood overseas.”

Webby frowned, starting to get the picture, but kept her beak shut. The story would unravel itself. Scrooge kept on, telling them stories of his sisters that he’d read about in letters sent from home.

“As I worked, and sent back money, times became less hard. But, the McDucks have never taken handouts, so my family kept on working at home. Matilda had a hand in almost every business in town. Ma was a seamstress, so she kept very busy. Always found the funds and time to send me a warm scarf for the Yule holidays, no matter where I was in the world. Da was a jack of all trades. He found work wherever he could when we were young to keep food on the table; he worked in the shipyards, helped the fishermen, found work on farms. He shone shoes, mended them, too.”

Huey leaned on his Uncle. “He seems like a good man.”

Scrooge sighed, but it wasn’t sad. “He’s a grumpy old codger, and I’m fairly certain he was born that way, but he loves his family more than anything. He’d do anything for us, and he did.”

“Sounds like Uncle Donald.” Dewey murmured.

“Aye, there’s a fair lot of Fergus in Donald, lad.”

“Hortense, too?” Webby smiled. Scrooge rolled his eyes.

“That lad is all Hortense. Always was and always will be. The pair of them have a temper that could tear down the Great Wall.”

“Shoulda just set Grandma on Lunaris.” Louie snickered.

Scrooge snorted. “It was only sporting of us to give him a fighting chance, eh?”

He flipped the page, coming to the photo they’d barely glanced at before they’d been interrupted. The kids gasped, Scrooge just sighing like he’d known this was inevitable.

“I was right!” Webby cheered. “I thought I recognized her.”

“I can’t believe-”

“Why didn’t you tell us-”

“You’re married?!” Louie shouted. “What does this mean for my inheritance?”

Scrooge scowled, and the boy backtracked. “Aha, I mean, wha-a-a-at? Married? Wow, congrats, I guess!”

Their uncle rolled his eyes, but gently traced the picture. It was undoubtedly a wedding photo of him and none other than Goldie O’Gilt. They didn’t look as effusively happy as Fergus and Downy, but they were smiling softly in a way that spoke volumes. The picture was old, and had clearly been folded and unfolded dozens of times.

Scrooge sighed. “It’s a very long story, kids. But we got married, ironically, for tax purposes. At the time we were both in Canada, and Goldie needed an out of a legal loophole she’d found herself in. We agreed to have it annulled before it could even really be authorized, but then we got frozen in that block of ice. When I thawed, I emigrated fully to America to start McDuck Enterprises and shove her out of my life. The annulment completely slipped our minds.”

He flipped the page, revealing another wedding photo. They were older in this one, but still younger than they looked now. “Then, we began travelling. Sometimes together, often separate. Many countries at the time had strict travel laws. We ran into each other at a pub outside Macaw, both having been denied entry to the city. One of the loopholes was honeymooners, so we agreed to get married. Again, we fully meant to annul it and then never got around to it.”

Webby was skeptical. “It’s beginning to sound like the “sharpest” people in the world forget a lot of things.”

“Never you mind that.” Scrooge said gruffly.

He turned the page, revealing yet another wedding photo. This one must have been recent, within the last 50 or so years.

Louie’s gaze was incredulous. “Geez, I know you guys are old but getting married this much points to senility.”

“Or true love!” Huey, romantic as ever, corrected smugly.

“Bah! Nothing of the sort,” Scrooge scoffed. “This one was much simpler. I was heading on an adventure into a different dimension. I didn’t have any of you kids in my life yet, and god bless my sisters but I wasn’t putting this company in their hands for a minute. I needed a legal safety net for my business in case I didn’t come back. Goldie was the only person I could think to trust with it, as backwards as it may sound. We had the vows renewed on American soil, and I set off the very next day.”

Dewey’s jaw was hanging. “Wait, that’s actually like, super romantic. What?”

Huey sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “True love. Truly ageless.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes, but Louie cut in. “Wait, wait, wait. So then, legally, she really is Aunt Goldie.”

Their uncle blanched. “Uh, yes, I suppose so. But, really lad, I wouldn’t dare to call her it in genuity unless you had a very solid escape plan in place.”

The gears in Webby’s head had been turning the entire time, but now they ground to an abrupt and terrifying halt. “Wait, in terms of legality then, Goldie O’Gilt is my step-mom.”

The boys looked horrified on her behalf, while Scrooge floundered. “Well, uh, y’see dear- um, it’s- ah christ, do not ever, ever tell your Granny.”

Huey turned to stare at him, incredulous. “You didn’t know?!”

“Lad, in all the hullabaloo, my barely legitimate marriages to O’Gilt were not at the forefront of my mind!”

“Does she get twice the inheritance?”

“I think you just became a hotel heiress…”

“Kids!” Scrooge quieted the kids down with a stern glance. “That’s quite enough. Now, I am only going to make myself say this once so listen very closely.”

They nodded, settling down to look at him. Webby couldn’t help but notice Louie radiating some unknown, but not pleasant emotion. Jealously? Insecurity? Webby knew he and the thief had a unique bond, she couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling.

Scrooge removed his hat, worrying the brim as he spoke. “Goldie O’Gilt is many things to me, but I would not commonly refer to her as my wife. I may love her, but love isn’t exactly enough for a traditional marital bond. Whatever we are to each other, it’s always been between us, and never needed a label,” he sighed. “Now, with you kids in the picture permanently, I suppose that they may be subject to change. But let me be clear with ye. Whatever relationship any of you choose to have with Goldie, it is wholly between you and her.”

Webby sighed, but she wasn’t sure if it was in relief or disappointment. Either way, her chest felt lighter. Her uncle-dad continued.

“You aren’t wee bairns anymore, and it’s not my place to instruct you to regard her as an aunt, or for her to treat you as her nephews, niece, or step-daughter,” he fixed them all with a stern glance. “She’s family to me, and she’s family to us, but family can be whatever you want it to be, aye?”

The kids nodded, contemplating his words. Louie spoke up, meekly. “What if I want her to be my aunt?”

Scrooge smiled. “Then you should talk to her about that. Right now, I think she doesn’t know where to stand with the lot of you, just as you aren’t sure either. But,” he leaned in conspiratorily. “I can tell ye she think the lot of you are mighty resourceful, and rather impressive individuals for your age.”

Louie brightened up, even Huey and Dewey smiling. “Really? She always seems so unhappy to see us.”

“Pah,” Scrooge snorted. “Most of the time, that’s a great big show she puts on. She’s prone to her moods, and as far as I know she’s never been as fond of kids as your mother and uncle, but she certainly doesn’t hate any of ye. In fact, I’d dare to say she’s quite fond of you.”

Webby smiled, but then frowned as a thought pushed to the front of her mind. “Wait, how come you’ve kept these pictures for so many years then? She must have a home, or at least a base of operation by now.”

Scrooge became a bit more downcast at that. “Ach, well. Her story is really not mine to tell, lass.”

Dewey frowned. “I thought we weren’t keeping secrets anymore.”

“Lad,” Scrooge rubbed a vein on his temple. “It’s one thing to share your secrets with someone, because they’re yours and you’re in control of how they’re told and to who, right? It wouldn’t be right of me to share her private memories with you, not when she’s trusted me with them for so long.”

“Does she know any of yours?” Huey asked, suspicious. Scrooge’s smile was tiny, and sad.

“Aye, she does. More than her fair share of ‘em,” he shook himself from his stupor. “But that’s none of you wee numpties’ concern.” He tapped Huey on the top of his beak in fond admonition.

Webby was still filled with questions though, and she couldn’t stop them from leaping out of her mouth in the quiet safety of this little hideaway. “Does she know about me?”

“Come again?” Scrooge puzzled.

“Like, does she know that I’m...that you…”

“Ah,” Scrooge nodded. “Yes. We discussed the situation after we all got back home that very evening.”

Webby played with her fraying friendship bracelet, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “And does she...well, what does she think?”

Scrooge folded his fingers in front of him, leaning back to regard her fully. “Goldie is reserving any and all judgement out of deference to all of us. She feels it's not her place to comment, or counsel.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “More like she just wants to see how this all plays out before knowing where to stand. She doesn’t want to get caught in the debris if anything comes falling down.”

The uncle’s nod was heavy. “Most likely, yes. Goldie, for many many years, longer than humanly possible, has been the only one looking out for herself. And after a while of living like that, you forget how to look out for others. Believe me when I say, she is trying. More than she’s ever tried before, with Donald or Della.

She fears your rejection, Webbigail, and all of you kids. She is scared that her place in my life could be put in jeopardy by any of your feelings toward her.”

“And could it?” The kids stared at their uncle, afraid of the answer. Afraid to know their opinion didn’t matter, afraid to know they were the pillars supporting a 120 year relationship.

Scrooge, ever the diplomat, shrugged delicately. “That would depend entirely. I’ve know Goldie for eight times longer than any of you have been alive. But you kids have been my family, have cared for me, in ways that have always been sporadic at best. Life is a balancing act, and should anything push the scales, it would have to be taken into very serious consideration. Are ye understanding me?”

Huey and Webby nodded, Dewey wiggled his hand, but Louie was still mulling everything over. Slowly, carefully, like a puzzle. Webby knew Scrooge thought he would make a fine lawyer one day.

“So,” Louie spoke carefully. “Your relationship has both nothing, and everything to do with us, and we should really talk to Aunt Goldie to get the full picture, is what I’m hearing.”

“There was a good bit of life advice in there as well, but sure, yes, that was the gist.” Scrooge rolled his eyes.

They nodded. Webby was just about out of questions, save for this. “So then, how do we contact her? To ask her?”

Their uncle snorted. “Ah, that’s the fun part, kids. She’ll contact you, one way or another. I’m sure she still texts Louie, so maybe start there. In all honesty though, the best thing to do with Goldie is wait, and listen. Sooner or later, she’ll tell ye exactly what she thinks of you. Won’t always be in words. In fact, it rarely is.”

Webby smiled, nervous, but excited in a way she’d never been before. Making friends and having family had been so hard for her, once upon a time. But now, she had more loved ones than she knew what to do with. Adding Goldie to that list wouldn’t be easy, but it would certainly be an adventure. And Webby was always up for a good adventure.

Chapter Text

It took months for Dewey to notice the biggest difference (for him, at least) between living in the mansion and living on the houseboat. Adjusting to life in luxury was a snap for him and his brothers; for years they’d longed for extravagant meals, endless Funso’s tokens, all the space they could possibly imagine for games and adventure alike. And, most of all, though they never ever mentioned it around Uncle Donald, or even outside the confines of their room in the secretive dark of the early morning: financial stability.

Yes, the Duck boys were more than happy to call McDuck Manor their home, well and truly. But, if Dewey were being honest with himself, there was one aspect of life on the houseboat he had been missing more than he let on.

The music.

Their Uncle Donald may not have had much of monetary value to his name, but that didn’t mean he had nothing. His DT85 High Fidelity Turntable stood guard in the far corner of their meager family room. Day and night, it spun record after record from Donald’s expansive collection. Dewey grew up on jazz, rock n’ roll, samba and salsa from his Uncles Panchito and Jose, and, his personal favorite, showtunes.

Donald didn’t like his Broadwing and Nest End standards records, but he held onto them when he realized that they were like oxygen to young Dewey. In tougher times, Donald had let go of several of his underplayed records to make ends meet, but never those. No matter how many times he had to listen to his nephew botch Maybe this Time, or If I Were a Rich Duck, or, in his more dramatic moods, I Dreamed a Dream, Donald held onto them.

Now, Dewey found his days occupied with adventures, mysteries, derring-do, and homework. He had no time to sit around singing showtunes, or begging his Uncle to teach him how to tango. Most of the time, he really didn’t notice the difference. But on days like today, where Huey was being extra bossy, Louie wanted to be left alone, and Webby was being a little too intense for even him, Dewey found himself longing for the crooning of Ella Finchgerald or the warbling piano of Cat Calloway. He missed the gentle rocking of the boat in the marina, sitting curled up in his armchair with his favorite tartan throw.

There was no denying that the mansion was better than the houseboat in almost every conceivable way, but some days it wasn’t the money that mattered. Some days, the mansion just wasn’t home.

Dewey heaved a great big sigh, trudging down the hallway to Scrooge’s “media room” (seriously, this dude made dirt look young sometimes). The records weren’t the same, and the armchairs weren’t as squooshy, but it would have to do. It was as close as Dewey was going to get with the houseboat back in the marina, and getting ready to set sail in the coming week.

Maybe he could persuade Beakley to let him bring a cup of tea in there if he promised not to touch any of the crusty old tomes Scrooge called books-

Dewey’s train of thought pulled to an emergency stop when he realized the great oak double doors to the media room were open, warm light spilling into the third floor corridor. This wing of the house was mainly storage, why would anyone possibly be up here...playing records?

A rich voice was wafting from deep within the room. It teetered on the verge of just too high for its own good before tumbling back into a rich alto. Dewey was reminded of the waves in the marina. The singer on the record moved up and down the scale like their boat did on a windy day. Nothing dramatic, or flashy, but quiet power held with masterful restraint.

Dewey poked his head around the door, but didn’t see anyone. That made sense, the record player was in the center of the room, the bookshelves and record racks arranged in a staggered bullseye pattern around it. Inconvenient for someone who didn’t feel like walking a mile to get where they needed to go, but perfect for sneaking. Keeping his feet light like Webby taught him, he started weaving through the maze of shelves, listening for company.

As far as he could tell, no one was in here with him. There were no footsteps, no books being taken off shelves or replaced, no shuffling of plastic sleeves or rustling of pages. Dewey emerged into the center of the room, and saw…

No one. Not even a sign of someone. No dislodged throws or reclined chairs, no stacks of books on a side table. The voice was still floating through the room, but as Dewey approached the gramophone, he stared in disbelief. There was no record on the player. It wasn’t even on.

What in the-

“Hell are you doing in here?”

Dewey jumped a foot in the air and whirled around, coming face to face with Goldie O’Gilt.

“Gah! Jeez, lady, warn a guy would ya?” He gripped his chest, almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his ribcage.

Goldie’s posture radiated annoyance, but also a tinge of what seemed like embarrassment. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest, and her cheeks were the faintest pink. “How long have you been in here?”

Dewey rolled his eyes, annoyed in equal turn. “Um, you do realize this is my house, right? I can be wherever I want, whenever I want. You’re the one who should be telling me why you’re in here, O’Gilt!”

Goldie sneered. “You’re a bold little brat. For your information, man of the house, I’m here waiting for your uncle. He wants my help on one of his hundreds of projects. Imagine my surprise when I get here and find out he’s still at his stupid Bin.”

Dewey frowned. “Okay that’s...a very solid alibi. But it doesn’t explain why you’re right here right now. Why the media room?”

Goldie shrugged, feigning boredom. “Scrooge has a few of my vintage vinyls stored in here somewhere-”

“Is that what was playing when I came in here?” Dewey looked around, as if the vinyls would materialize before his eyes if he looked hard enough. “That’s why I wandered in, well, sort of- I wanted to find out what was playing. But when I got over here, there was no record on the table. Did you steal it?”

The older woman’s blush was back in place. “Uh, yeah, kid, I stole the record. You caught me-”

“How?” Dewey tilted his head, searching her hands. “It was still playing when I walked over to the table, how did you get around me? And where is it, cuz your hands are empty? And why did it only stop playing when- WaitohmygoshwasthatYOU?”

Goldie shut her eyes the way Beakley did when she was trying to stay patient. “Yes, it was.”

“Wha-a-a-a-aa-a-at?!” Dewey gasped. “Where did you learn to sing like that? Did you steal someone’s voice like in the Little Mermaid? Can you teach me? Does Scrooge know? CanyouPLEASEteachme?”

“Whoa, kid, jeez!” Goldie held out a hand and took a step back, and Dewey belated realized he was all but vibrating in place. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

“How can I not?” Dewey chortled. “All my life, I’ve been the weirdo in the family because I sing and dance and like showtunes-”

“Doesn’t your uncle sing?”

“Literally doesn’t count, he sounds like hot wet garbage to everyone but Daisy.”

“Fair enough.”

“But now I’m not alone!” Dewey beamed.

Goldie blanched. “Uh, listen, Dewby-”

“Dewey.”

“Right. Listen, kid, I’m barely family-”

“Louie calls you Aunt Goldie, and Scrooge says you’ve technically been married for like, decades, sooooo…” he trailed off.

Goldie’s eye twitched. “He said what,” she shook herself. “That’s not the point, stop interrupting me. The point is, I’m not a singer anymore, so there’s really not much I can do for you. And if your wack-ass family is going to judge you for being into theater and performance of all things, that’s a little messed up on their part.”

Dewey, despite his obvious desire to interrupt, managed to wait until she finished. “Okay, so a few things. One, I don’t think you’re supposed to say ass in front of me-”

“Right, shi- uh, shoot. Don’t tell your uncle.”

“Two, not a singer anymore?” His cheshire grin made Goldie glare. “So, at one point. You were a singer?”

“Ugh, damn it,” Goldie muttered. “Yeah, I was, a long time ago. It’s ancient history.”

“But your voice isn’t!”

“Is this fun for you?” she mused aloud. “Is harassing a momentarily innocent old woman a form of entertainment for the youth of today?”

“Pleaa-a-a-se,” Dewey whined. “I’ll do anything if you just teach me to sing like you!”

Goldie scoffed. “First of all, that’s a stupid and dangerous bargain. Second of all, you can’t sing like me-”

Dewey hung his head, stung by the dismissal. Why was everyone so harsh about this? Just because he liked it didn’t mean-

“-we don’t have the same range, or even the same type of voice. I don’t do showtunes as much anymore, and even when I did, I preferred a loungier style. You should look into stage musicals, like Chickago, Featherspray-ooh, you could definitely pull off Link- hmmm, maybe Pipern?

Dewey saw his angle in. “I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

Goldie looked nauseous. “Listen, not to be a judgemental old bat, but you can’t claim to like theater and not know what those plays are. They aren’t even that old!”

Dewey shrugged, moving to plop down on an armchair. “Guess you’ll just have to tell me all about it.”

Goldie looked at him, giving Dewey the distinct feeling that he was being sized up. He tried not to squirm, but he had never been great under pressure. Finally, Goldie sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the shelves of vinyls. Dewey tried to make himself comfy, settling back into the somewhat-stiff armchair. No one ever came in here, leaving the furniture unworn and less comfortable than he would’ve liked. He squirmed around, looking for a soft spot and pushing off the excessive throw pillows. Honestly, who needed this many stupid tiny useless pillows?

Goldie came back around the corner, a few vinyls tucked under her arm, just as he angrily chucked the last small cushion to the floor. She quirked a brow at him, and Dewey flushed as he tried to rearrange himself into a much more lax position. She snorted, pushing aside the cushions with the toe of her boot as she crossed to the old gramophone.

“I hate them too. Dunno why Scrooge insists on all his couches having these silly little things.”

Dewey frowned. “I always thought it was Beakley?”

She shrugged. “Either way, they’re wrong. There’s opulence and then there’s impractical tackiness.”

Dewey was surprised to find himself giggling at the older woman’s dry whit. She reminded him a lot of Louie when he got annoyed, which was always an amusing time for him. Goldie smiled at him briefly before turning to the machine.

“Now, let’s see,” he watched as she checked the wiring that led to the outlets, then gently turned a knob on the surface. Dewey wandered over to stand on tiptoe and watch as she worked. She carefully unsheathed one of the records and placed it down on the table. The needle was lowered to the outer edge, and after a few moments of gentle crackling, an impish tune began winking into the room.

Dewey cocked his head, listening carefully, before grinning widely. “This is Willkommen! From Catbaret!”

Goldie looked at him, shock evident in her eyes. “Wow...yeah, that’s right. Hm,” she narrowed her gaze. “Maybe you do know your stuff.”

She walked over to one of the couches, sitting down on it and leaning back. She closed her eyes, and would have appeared to be drifting off to sleep if not for the low humming he could hear, and the way her fingers subtly conducted an imaginary orchestra at her side.

Dewey came to sit next to her. He waited, and waited, and then waited some more, but Goldie never spoke. Willkommen slid into Mein Herr, and just as it began to end he spoke up.

“So, uh, are you gonna teach me anything or are we just gonna sit here?”

“Sshhhh,” Goldie murmured softly, soothingly. “Just listen.”

“What’s that gonna do?” Dewey crossed his arms, annoyed. Goldie sighed.

“Think of music as woven threads on a loom, like a great big tapestry in the making, kay?” She waited for Dewey to nod, albeit confusedly, before continuing. “Pick one thread, the brightest one, the most interesting one to your ear, and follow it all the way to the end. Try not to get distracted by all the other strings. Just stick to your piece.”

Dewey nodded. “Okay, but why?”

“That’s how you learn to find your place in the music. When you feel comfortable, try humming along to your string. Listening is much more important than actually singing.”

“Huh,” Dewey got as settled as he could at the thief’s side, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try I guess.”

It was hard at first. He knew this album inside and out, but he’d never tried to pick apart the music before. He just sang along to whatever he thought was the most interesting part, shifting moment to moment, song to song. This added layer of concentration was not what he was used to.

“I feel like I’m getting a headache.” He muttered.

Goldie chuckled. “Yeah, it can be a pain to get the hang of. Don’t worry if you can’t get it. Having an ear for music is no easy feat.”

Dewey’s eyes flew open. “Is that a challenge? Because it sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be. Now shush, this is one of my favorites.”

Maybe This Time. It was one of Dewey’s all time favorites, too, and one he’d been singing since before he could speak, practically. He doubled down his efforts, ignoring the whimpering horn intro, and the plucking of the bass. All but the hoarse, desperate whisper of Sally’s lament, he forced himself to drown out. It helped that Goldie was softly singing along next to him, her brassy low timbre melting into the song like dew.

As the music picked up, Dewey began humming along so quietly he could barely hear himself. He would never admit it, but he was a little scared. He was scared to actually try, an entirely new feeling. This wasn’t like parasailing, or spelunking, or dimension hopping, or adventuring at all really. This was something private, something that was only his, that he wanted to badly he couldn’t even admit it to himself. If he wasn’t good at this, he felt like a little part of him might die.

But he was Dewey Duck, and he would never back down from a challenge.

His whispering hum grew to a murmur, as Goldie’s voice shifted up a notch as well. He felt the couch shift, and opened his eyes to see her standing. She offered him a hand.

“It’s much harder to sing sitting down,” she said. “Your diaphragm can’t fully expand, so your lungs can’t get all the air you need to control your voice. Try standing, and singing a few of the lower notes.”

He took her hand, and let himself be tugged to his feet. He took a breath, looking off at the middle distance. He kept Goldie in his peripheral but was otherwise too nervous to make eye contact.

“All the odds are,” he sang, softly but with more power than on the couch. He was careful to not let all the air rush out of his lungs, instead controlling the it as he moved up and down the notes. “They’re in my favor-”

“Something’s bound to begin,” Goldie joined him, singing louder but not loud enough to drown out his own voice. “It’s gonna happen-”

“-Happen sometime!” Dewey felt himself starting to smile, swaying to the music. What was he so afraid of? He was Dewey! And he knew he could sing, and more than that, he loved to sing!

The joined together on the next line, Goldie’s voice dipping into a harmony. “Maybe this time, I’ll win!”

Dewey took another breath, deeper, but Goldie held up a hand. “Try to not fill your lungs up all the way to the top. It’s harder to control your breath when you’re holding too much air.”

He nodded, determined. He breathed in deeply, but not so deep it became uncomfy. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the music like he used to on the boat.

‘No more whispering,’ he thought to himself. ‘It’s time to Dewey this!’

“Cause!” His voice burst forth, louder than he meant to, but controlled all the same. Welp, not what he wanted, but he’d make it work. “Everybody, they love a winner!”

“So nobody loved me!” Goldie sang next, matching his volume.

“Lady peaceful! Lady happy!”

“That’s what I long to be-e-e!”

Dewey wanted that, that controlled power, the emotion that flared up at the end of her note. He tried to mimic Goldie, singing until he was almost out of air, leaning into the notes as they went along. He opened his eyes at some point, and was thrilled to see Goldie smiling down at him encouragingly.

He totally had this!

“It’s gonna happen!”

“Happen sometime-” Goldie’s voice flipped up on ‘happen’, and Dewey stared in awe. How?!

“Maybe this time-” he was running out of juice, but there were only a few lines left.

“Maybe, this, time I’ll-”

“I’ll win!” His voice bubbled over hers like a stream, until they converged on the very last note. He held the melody, feeling his lungs start to buckle and strain, but he refused to give up. Goldie warbled harmony after harmony over him, and he marvelled at how good they sounded together. How easy it came to them to pick up where the other was leaving off.

The record spun itself into silence, waiting to be flipped, as they fought to catch their breaths. Dewey had never sang like that before in his life.

He loved it like he’d never known he could love something as commonplace to him as singing.

A hand landed on his flipped up bangs, and he looked up to see Goldie smiling down at him. She looked impressed, and Dewey felt himself puff up.

“That, kid,” she huffed. “Was some seriously impressive music.”

“Really!?” he bounced on his feet.

She nodded. “Really. You’re quite the performer, but something tells me you already knew that.”

Dewey smiled, sheepish. “Uh, my family tends to call it ‘dramatic’.”

“Well, whatever they call it, it’s nothing to sneeze at,” She walked over to the record player, lifting the needle. “My phone was buzzing up a storm through our little show, so I think I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Aw, man,” Dewey huffed, crossing his arms. “Okay. Wait!”

She paused in lifting the record, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Um, you can leave it there. I’ll probably hang out in here for a little bit.”

Goldie frowned. “What, no war games afoot on the gorgeous day?”

He shrugged, bending to pick up the throw pillows so he could push them somewhere that wasn’t all over the floor. “I dunno, not really feeling it today I guess.”

“Ah,” she hummed in understanding. “Then by all means, enjoy Liza Minnowli for both of us. I left a couple of my other favorites on the chair there, if you wanted to get a head start on your homework.”

“Homework?” Dewey puzzled.

Goldie snorted. “You’re good kid, but not even the best can shirk their intro to music classes.” He tried to scowl, if only for the posture of hating homework, but how could listening to music ever be dull? Goldie ruffled his hair again on her way to the door, calling out a goodbye behind her. “See you at dinner, Dewey.”

Dewey smirked, sing-songing after her. “Sounds like a plan, Aunt Goldie.”

She turned, tossing a scowl over her shoulder, but Dewey knew it was half-hearted at best. Hm, maybe Louie was right about the mysterious woman who made at least a portion of her living one-upping their uncle. There certainly seemed more to her than meets the eye.

“Hey!” he dropped his pillows in shock, speaking to an empty room. “She remembered my name!”

Chapter Text

It happened slowly, a series of seemingly unconnected instances over the course of months that, when they looked back on it, were building on each other like bricks. The kids knew their Uncle Scrooge had asked his (girlfriend? Ex-rival? Wife, apparently? Ex-partner? So many labels to choose from) friend to move into the mansion. And they also knew that she’d turned them down. For the most part, they didn’t really know how to feel about this. On one hand, another adult meant yet another person to dodge when they wanted to have any fun whatsoever. But, on the other hand, Goldie was not your typical adult. She rarely took interest in any of them, barring Louie. The odds were good she wouldn’t care when they were sneaking around the mansion.

Either way, they all agreed on one thing; Goldie was not their aunt, was barely family, and was definitely not to be trusted. Even Louie begrudgingly accepted this when they discussed it together, despite her contact saved in his phone as Aunt Goldie.

They were tucked away in Webby’s loft, sipping hot chocolate, discussing their not-aunt.

“I don’t know guys,” Huey mused. “Having Goldie around more could be fun. She’s Scrooge’s true love-”

“Barf.”

“-maybe she can soften him up!”

Louie rolled his eyes. “Oh, my dear sweet Hubert. The last thing those two do is make each other soft. They live to one-up each other. Imagine living with that?”

“I thought you liked Goldie?” Webby looked at him askance.

He flushed. “I do, don’t get me wrong. Aunt Goldie is cool. She’d probably help us prank Scrooge and the others. But…”

Dewey shrugged, looking into his cup. “Nah, I understand. It could be fun for a while, but in the end, she doesn’t really care about us. She would use us, probably, if she could. To get gold, or get Scrooge riled up.”

“Yeah,” Huey sighed, looking down. “She doesn’t really want to be family, and that’s kind of the most important part of any of this.”

Webby was oddly silent, staring into space. Dewey nudged her when he noticed her vacancy. She startled back to attention. “Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Bout what, Webs?” Louie slurped loudly on his cocoa.

She shrugged, feigning aloofness. “Aw, y’know. Just stuff about her and Scrooge. And me. Because of me and Scrooge, and all that…”

She trailed off, self conscious. Huey picked up the thread of her thoughts. “Do you think she doesn’t like you, Webby?”

She picked at the hem of her skirt as she bobbed her head, half-shrug, half-nod.

Dewey snorted. “I mean, I wouldn’t lose sleep of that. The only one of us she tolerates is Louie, it’s nothing personal, probably.”

Webby smiled, albeit wobbly. “Heh, yeah. You’re right, it’s nothing to really be upset over.”

Louie was oddly silent, neither denying nor defending the older woman. Huey took slight notice of that, filing it away in his mind to mull over later. He still didn’t fully understand the relationship his brother and not-aunt had, and Louie was as tight-lipped about it as usual.

He shook himself of these thoughts as Dewey jumped up. “C’mon, sitting around like this is gonna make us depressed. Let’s go play Stario Kart or something.”

The other kids followed his lead, clambering down the ladder in a heap. They took off, jostling each other as they raced for the game room, hollering dibs along the way, emotional distress entirely forgotten.

-----------------------------------

The first time Dewey took notice of the change, he was wandering the mansion looking for entertainment. Huey was at a woodchuck meeting, Louie was at chess club, and Webby was finishing up her online schooling for at least another hour. He was painfully, stupidly bored.

“Uugghh!” He groaned, listening to the echo in the mansion foyer. He had stopped by the kitchen to get a snack, but found the pantry empty of anything good. His mom and Beakley were at the store now, but that didn’t make his snack conundrum any better. “How am I this bored in a mansion full of treasure?”

He set off up the stairs, grumbling. He was getting dangerously restless, and without his siblings there to be his voice of reason, trouble was imminent. He was walking down the halls, looking for some artifact or piece of treasure he hadn’t yet played with, when he heard voices.

Arguing voices.

He crept lightly up to the door they were coming from, recognizing it as one of Scrooge’s more heavily guarded storage rooms. It was a larger, more open area than other parts of the mansion, filled with natural sunlight from the large bay windows. It was a room he’d been strictly instructed not to go into.

“Ah’m tellin’ ye, the talisman is going to be safest away from the gauntlet.”

“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong! It needs to be within fifteen meters of a piece of precious metal, but no further than twenty meters from organic life.”

Dewey poked his head around the corner, and stifled a gasp. Goldie O’Gilt, the thief! She was there in their home! He nearly leapt into action right there, but Scrooge’s voice stopped him.

“Dear, I think I know the layout of my own artifact room better than ye, hm?”

Goldie snorted. “So you’d like to think. Hon, just measure it yourself. Or are you that scared of being wrong?” She sidled up closer to the older man, leaning into his space. Dewey gagged to himself.

Scrooge sighed, regarding his companion with fond exasperation. “If I let you leave it there, and we agree to disagree, will you join me for a cup of tea before you go?”

Goldie sighed, but she was smiling. It was a weird expression to see on her face, Dewey mused. “Fine, I suppose I can stay for a little. It’s the least I can do if you’re letting me keep this talisman here without storage fee.”

Scrooge blushed. “Yes, well, let’s just have that be our little secret hm?”

They smiled at each other, before walking off toward Scrooge’s study. Dewey waited til they’d left through the far door and their footsteps faded away before he crept into the room. He walked up to the latest glass encasement, and read the temporary paper placard there.

“Talisman of Stratigraphic Conversion - reverses organic and inorganic processes. Do Not Touch.”

It was stamped with a gold ink star, which puzzled Dewey. He’d snuck into this room before playing hide and seek with Webby, and he’d seen that symbol before. He turned, and his eyes found another treasure. A levitating ruby, that occasionally pulsed with light. He trotted over, and sure enough, this placard was also stamped with a gold star. He wandered the room, finding gold stars on a bit less than half the items- crumbling maps, old journals, a puddle of purple water, a stone fish. Were these all Goldie’s? Dewey frowned, confused.

Since when had this been going on?

--------------------------------

The next time they took notice of a change was at dinner on a random Thursday. The usual hubbub and chaos was in full swing as people moved in and out of the dining room. The only designated family meal was sunday. The rest of the week, people were free to come and go as they pleased. They all led busy lives, sitting down together once a day was nigh impossible, so they settled for once a week.

Donald and Mrs. Beakley were carting dinner in from the kitchen while Dewey and Webby set the table. Huey and Louie were seated next to each other, the older helping the younger with his chemistry homework. Scrooge was pacing behind the head of the table, on a business call with a partner in Shanghai. Della and Launchpad were out back, making the latest repairs to the Cloudslayer. They’d wander in eventually, it was almost dark.

The front door opened and closed, and no one thought anything of it. Lena, Violet, Gosalyn, and even Boyd were known to walk in and out of the manor at will. Sometimes they stopped by for dinner, sniping food off random plates. There was always enough, and whatever didn’t get eaten went into the kids’ and Scrooge’s lunch bags the next day.

So, there was no notice as Goldie wandered into the dining room and picked up a dinner roll. It probably helped that Gyro walked in at the same time, making a beeline for the back door.

“Where Della?” he hollered as he went, waving his thanks as Donald pointed to the yard.

Goldie was leaned against the table, buttering her roll, watching Scrooge pace idly. She only moved when Webby brushed past her, concentrating on setting everything perfectly.

“Excuse Miss O’Gilt.”

“Oop-sorry, kiddo.”

Goldie shifted away to let the little girl through just as Scrooge hung up. She crossed over to him, grabbing his attention with a peck on the cheek. He whirled around, face burning.

“Goldie? Wha-”

“The Moon-Rune Map, the one for the Soul Mountain? The treasure horde of that old dragon? Where are you keeping it?”

Scrooge blinked, then screwed his face up in thought. “Eeehhh, last I checked, it was in the garage, in the royal blue trunk behind the now headless statue of me. If not there, it’s in the atlas room, third floor, fifth door-”

She waved him off. “I know the atlas room. Thanks, moneybags. Enjoy your dinner. Bye kids!”

Goldie walked off into the mansion amidst calls of “Bye Goldie!”

It was only later, once everyone had started eating, that they paused.

“Wait, what?”

------------------------

The next brick was laid when they came home from a woodchuck jamboree, just past 6 pm on a Saturday. They entered the mansion with trepidation, feeling the undercurrent of excitement run between them. It was game night.

Scroogeopoly had been banned, given the colony of tiny people living on it, and how Donald had torn up the replacement board they’d bought the very next time they played. In the interest of fairness, game nights now also included at least three rounds of Stario Kart, to even out the kids’ playing field. The other games were put to a vote, and this avoided any screaming matches over game choice. Mostly.

So, when they walked in, and the family den’s light was already on, voices already floating out of it, they gulped. Della turned to the three.

“Boys, you know the rules. Go wash up and change before we start game night so you don’t track mud in, and then use it as a projectile when things don’t go your way.”

“Yes, mom.” The triplets chorused, and headed up to their room. They washed off their hands and feet, changed out of their muddy playclothes, and grabbed a snack from the kitchen before they wandered into the den.

Louie nearly spit out his pep at what he saw.

Goldie was there, controller in hand, eyes glued to the plasma screen TV. Webby held the other controller in a white knuckled hand, tongue poking out in concentration. Della, Donald, and Launchpad were watching the screen raptly, Scrooge and Beakley talking amongst themselves off to the side.

“Uuhhhh,” Dewey stared in confusion. “Hi?”

Not one person watching the TV spared them a glance.

“Yeah, hey guys.” Webby mumbled distractedly.

“What’s uh,” Huey stepped forward, ever the leader. “What’s going on here?”

They came around the couch, and saw that Webby and Goldie were playing Super Crash Bros. Dewey’s jaw dropped. “Whaaaaaaaat?”

Goldie’s character (Sneik, or Zelva) smashed into Webby’s (Kurbi) violently, sending it flying off screen. She crowed, while Webby snarled and bent over her controller more.

“Give it up, Pink.”

“Never, thief!”

Goldie just laughed, sending her character dancing across the stage, away from Webby’s giant mallet. Della was vibrating in her seat. “Gah, I don’t know who to root for!”

Donald rolled his eyes. “Webby! Duh!”

Della scowled. “Well, if you’re gonna cheer for Webby, I’m gonna cheer for Aunt Goldie. No offense, Webs.”

Webby grinned. “Cheer for her all you want, she’s going down!”

“Excellent smack-talk, Webbigail.” Beakley called from the arm chair.

“Pfft, says tea and crumpets over there. Kid, I’ll teach you real smack talk- Hey!”

Goldie was cut off by Kurbi smashing into her character from above, killing her instantly. Dewey peered closer at the screen.

“They’ve each only got one more life!”

The triplets wordlessly agreed to suspend their disbelief at the situation and settled in to watch the end of the match. Goldie was leaned against the couch, seated on the floor in front of Della. Their mom had removed her leg, as she tended to do when they were just relaxing, and was leaning against her brother. Webby was seated next to Goldie, Launchpad next to her. Huey clambered onto the remaining couch cushion, while Louie plopped down on Goldie’s other side. Dewey climbed onto the arm of the couch next to Della.

Beakley and Scrooge wandered closer, everyone watching in rapture and shouting encouragement.

“There! Get her- oh!”

“C’mon Goldie, transform and use the- gah!”

“Webby, Webby, get the chest, go go go go!”

“Nooo! No no no! Go Aunt Goldie, she’s gonna win!”

“The hammer, use the hammer!

Goldie and Webby were grinning, but refused to respond. Wholly focused on their game, and the damage counter steadily rising for each of them. Finally, it came to head.

Kurbi smashed into the Ultimate Power orb and began glowing with power.

“YES!” Dewey screamed. “Go Webby, Go!”

“Run, Goldie, run run!” Huey was on the edge of the cushion.

“I’m trying!” Goldie was laughing. “I’m stuck!”

Zelva was stuck on a ledge, just underneath Kurbi. Before she could get away, she was captured in a vortex and sucked into a comically large cooking pot. As her character was broiled, the damage counter reached the max, until finally she was shot out, and off the screen, defeated.

Goldie and Louie groaned, though the older woman was smiling. Webby jumped up, cheering her victory. Dewey punched the air, while Della and Donald congratulated the little girl. Launchpad was still staring at the screen, as if in disbelief.

Webby turned to Goldie, suddenly shy. “Um, good game, Miss O’Gilt.”

The thief regarded her cooly, but soon cracked a smile. She leaned over and ruffled the young duck’s hair. “Just Goldie is fine, kid. That was some impressive button mashing.”

“Gee, thanks!” Webby beamed. “The boys taught me how to play.”

Dewey flipped off the couch. “And I am still the reigning house champion!”

Huey and Louie rolled their eyes, the latter leaning in to whisper to Goldie. “He cheats, I swear.”

She looked down and winked at him. “I’ll bet I cheat better.”

And so the rest of the night went, the kids taking turns against Goldie, teaching Della and Donald how to play when she tapped out. They even got Scrooge and Beakley to play a few rounds, though they were utterly destroyed by Huey and Launchpad. By the time they were all heading to bed, their sides ached from laughter, their throats raw from screaming for or at each other.

And for the first time, when Goldie wasn’t sitting at breakfast with them the next day, her absence was keenly felt.
--------------------

After that, they didn’t see her again for another month or so. Which, when they paused to think about it, did seem odd. They were discussing it at Funzo’s on a Friday night, waiting for Uncle Donald or Launchpad to come pick them up.

“It is weird, though? Isn’t it?” Huey thought aloud, slurping his water cup full of water. “But why?”

Dewey shrugged. “I dunno, but things feel different now.”

“Yeah,” Webby nodded. “Not bad different. But I’m hesitant to say good different? What if she’s just playing a long con.”

Louie hummed, looking into his illegal punch. “Seems a really long con to bother with. I mean sure, she’s capable of it, but what is there to gain?”

“Our trust?”

“Our love?”

“Our incredible adventuring prowess and skill?”

Louie looked at Dewey, dabbing in a victory pose. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Webby fiddled with her punch cup. “Maybe she decided she wants to be family after all.” She said quietly, unable to quash the hopeful tone in her voice.

Dewey, ever the optimist, smiled. “It’s possible, Webs.”

“Still,” Huey, the realist, butted in. “I think it’s best we keep our wits about us for a while. I don’t know if I’m ready to let my guard down just yet.”

The kids nodded, save for Louie, who was looking at his phone concernedly. “Lou?”

“Did you guys get a weird text from Uncle Scrooge or Donald or Mom?”

They fished their phones out, and sure enough, they had several unread messages.

“Kids,” Huey read aloud. “We were called away on urgent business as a favor to SHUSH. Someone will be by to collect you and bring you home shortly. Your uncles Gladstone and Fethry are coming to watch you for the weekend. Mind your manners, no sugar after 8 pm, and no horror movies. Wait for our signal to meet your ride. Love, Mom, Uncle Donald, and Uncle Scrooge.”

“I got a similar text from my Granny. But it’s in old Icelandic.”

Dewey groaned. “Great, we’re getting left behind again.” He crossed his arms and flopped back into his seat.

“Who’s coming to get us?” Huey wondered.

Louie’s phone pinged as if on command, followed by Webby’s. She frowned.

“This just says Agony.”

Louie smiled. “I think that’s our signal. C’mon.”

They collected their bags, put their shoes back on, and made sure all their tickets were safely tucked away before heading outside into the warm night air. It was nearly summer, and there were only two more weeks of school before they could adventure to their hearts content for three whole months.

They left the boardwalk, and made their way to the designated Funso’s parking lot. Idling just inside the entrance was a charcoal gray Jeep with gold rims and accents. The top was down, and the doors were off. Sitting in the driver’s seat was Goldie. She waved as they approached.

“Evening, troops.”

“Hi Aunt Goldie/Goldie/Miss O’G.” They chorused as they clambered into the car. Dewey claimed shotgun, excitedly fastening his seatbelt.

“This car is so cool!”

Goldie chuckled. “Thanks, Bluey,” she swiveled to face the backseat. “Passenger rules: One, make sure all loose bags and items are secured in the bungee baskets, I take no responsibility for unsecured items lost during travel. This includes yourselves, seatbelts are mandatory. Two, keep all hands, feet, and heads inside the car at all times under normal circumstances. In abnormal circumstances, do whatever the hell you want. Three, hold on tight.”

She turned around, and the rest of the kids hurried to follow the rules. She gave them a few seconds before throwing the manual transmission into gear. They peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of rubber on asphalt, and hit the main road with a roar. The car purred as it shifted gears, and soon they were bombing down the highway back to the mansion.

The kids were cheering, and Goldie grinned to hear their enjoyment. The wind whipped through her ponytail, and battered the kids smiling faces. They weaved through traffic, but it wasn’t terrifying like it was with Launchpad. Goldie’s driving was smooth, measured, but exhilarating in all the most fun ways. Dewey’s stomach was in his chest, like when they dropped down a pit in a forgotten temple. He turned to look at his siblings in the backseat. Louie was leaning back, enjoying the wind in his feathers. Huey was holding onto his hat tightly, but grinning. Webby had both her arms in the air, her eyes shut to enjoy the ride.

He turned back around when the car shifted gears again, this time slowing down. They were exiting the highway, turning onto the main road that led to home. The kids all groaned in disappointment.

Goldie laughed. “Sorry, guys. No joyriding tonight, but maybe some other time.” They pulled into the driveway, rounding the loop until she parked by the steps. They undid their seatbelts, and leaned forward to hang over the driver’s seat.

“Really?”

“You mean it?”

“Pinky promise!”

Webby stuck her pinky out at Goldie, who rolled her eyes but looped her own around the other girl’s all the same. “Pinky promise.”

Huey stuck his head forward. “How fast were we going? What year is this car? What’s the engine power? Have you made modifications?”

Dewey cut him off. “Can we take this to get pizza? Please? It’s just down the road, it’ll be so fast-”

“Are these real gold additions?” Louie was leaning over the top of the seat, looking at the mirrors with hunger.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roles,” Goldie undid her seatbelt and hopped out of the car, speaking as she came around to help them gather their things. “We were doing 85 at most, 75 if your parents ask. This is a 2020, but it doesn’t run half as nice as my restored 1948. Yes, it’s real gold. And didn’t you just eat a bunch of pizza at that germ factory?”

Bags acquired, Goldie ushered them up the steps to the mansion doors. She fished a key from her very full keyring and unlocked the door.

“Have you had that long?” Huey asked, looking at her askance.

“Longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Then why do you always use the windows?” Webby narrowed her eyes.

“Keeps my age-addled mind sharp. Now, go get settled. I have to make a call.”

They retreated to the den, huddled on the couch. It wasn’t the first time they’d been left alone on an adventure, but it was the first time they’d never had an immediate relative watching them. The house felt suddenly far too big and empty, as if it were poised to swallow them. Louie turned on the TV, letting the bright light lead them to distraction.

Goldie came in about 10 minutes after. She turned off the TV and sat on the ottoman facing them. They leaned forward in interest.

“You know I can’t tell you much about where they went, or why,” she sighed. “But they wanted me to tell you they’re safe, and if all goes according to plan, they’ll be home Sunday night. Gladstone and Fethry will be here first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, morning?” Huey looked alarmed. “Then what will we do tonight?”

Goldie narrowed her eyes at them. “What, you kids have never been home alone before?”

They shook their heads. Even Dewey seemed subdued, no suggestions of house parties or laser tag or exploring the forbidden rooms coming from him. Goldie rubbed her neck, seemingly at a loss.

“Uh, I can try to get ahold of Donald’s girlfriend, what’s her name, Daisy?”

The kids looked at each other, speaking silently for a moment. Finally, Louie looked at her. “Why don’t you just stay with us for tonight, Aunt Goldie?”

It felt like a test, but for what Goldie was entirely unsure. She refused to let her eye twitch at being called aunt. “Me? Why me?”

“Well, you’re already here.” Huey smiled.

Webby smiled. “We can play more Super Crash!”

Dewey bounced back from his momentary slump. “Yeah! Or make ice cream sundaes? Or both!”

Louie leaned forward to look in her eyes. “Unless you don’t want to?”

They all turned to stare at her with measuring gazes. Goldie smiled to herself. Ah, so they wanted to see if she had an ulterior motive for her behavior lately. Or, they were just insecure kids who wanted to know where they stood with her. Either way, she could respect it.

She shrugged. “Never said that, Sharpie. C’mon, I haven’t had a Duckburg pizza in years.”

They kids cheered, racing ahead of her to the front door. Louie hung back, though, walking side by side with her. He leaned against her as they made their way back to the car, and tried not to smile too obviously when she ruffled his bangs.

Dewey turned to bounce in place at the door. “C’mon, Aunt Goldie! I want shotgun again-Webby, no, I call dibs!”

He raced out to fight for his seat, oblivious to the chip he’d just made in the ice around Goldie’s heart.

-------------------------

“So, the kids behaved?”

It was several weeks, maybe a month or so, she wasn’t counting, after the night she’d spent watching the kids. Goldie and Scrooge were settled in his office, pouring over legal jargon, business projections, investment portfolios, and whatever else they needed to open this particular door in their lives.

“They did,” she shrugged. “I mean, sure, Bluey and Pink fuel each other’s stupidity in the worst way, but Hat and Sharpie kept them in check.”

“Aye, yeah, they do that,” he chuckled. “What did you do?”

It was asked innocently, but Goldie knew he was gagging for information. Sentimental fool. And yet, she indulged him. “I picked them up in the Jeep, gave them a small, controlled joyride home, and then we ordered pizza and played games until they tired themselves out. It’s not like they’re at a particularly difficult age.”

Scrooge was looking at her with those out-of-orbit, lovestruck eyes, but he was still coherent when he said, “Aye, and for that I’m grateful.”

Goldie chuckled. “Just wait til they hit their teenage stride. You thought Donnie was bad? Louie’s gonna be a nightmare.”

“I don’t want to even think about it.”

“And poor Webby-”

“Wot? Webbigail? She’s the sanest of them all.”

Goldie smirked. “For now. Being the sole teenage girl in a house of boys is going to get old, fast, Scroogey.”

He blanched. “Aye. Yes, I hadn’t, erm, thought of that-,” he shook himself of the nightmares. “We’ve got at least two years before we have to fret about that.”

“We?” she snorted. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“Yes, dear. We. Now, let’s get back to it.” He pressed a swift kiss to her cheek, revelling in the fact that he could just because he wanted to.

“Right, yes,” Goldie sighed and picked up her reading glasses, grimacing at them. The fact that she was even wearing them around Scrooge said everything she couldn’t about their growth so far. “Where were we?”

“The Macaw properties, I believe.”

“Right, so…”

They lost themselves in the world of business prowess for hours. He’d brought up this idea one night on a phone call, both of them pulling an all-nighter to catch up on their respective businesses. McDuck business centers, combined with Blackjack hotel luxury, and all the technologic modern convenience they both had to offer. Multiple package rates to suit virtually any business need. Included luxury rooms, five-star dining experiences, and whatever else they thought of.

This was big for both of them. More so than any of their several slapstick, half-legit wedding ceremonies, more so than even meeting his family. Their businesses were their life blood, their first pride and joy. They had different work ethics, of that there could be no doubt, but they had both worked hard to achieve so much. To agree to a merger like this was a bigger step than they’d ever taken together. It required complete honesty, and trust.

And to think, a year ago she had stepped into a dingy hotel in Florida expecting to emerge with youth tonic, a new property, and her relationship with Scrooge in its usual status quo. And now she was here, sharing confidential business information with the man.

It gave her butterflies like nothing else.

Scrooge was peering closely at her ledgers. “I see here you purchased properties across the world within the last year. Several, in major city hubs.”

“Mhm,” she leaned in, their heads brushing. “There was that dip in the hospitality market after the moonvasion disaster, remember? I bought as many as I reasonably could, and then some with the gold I managed to nab off those stupid rockets. No one wanted to travel for a while, and I was looking to do a third wave expansion since I hadn’t really opened anything new since the 90s.”

“Why these cities, here and here?”

“They’re experiencing an economic boom right now that looks promising, but I the projections are nothing certain yet. I wouldn’t recommend them for this particular project.”

“Wot? Why?” He scowled.

She rolled her eyes. “Because, moneybags, we want these centers going up in primarily already established cities. I’m not opposed to one or two in smaller areas, but remember, these aren’t only business centers. They’re an entire luxury getaway experience for businesses and their retreats. We want them to be encouraged to go out and see sights. Paris, Duckburg, Brazil, Hong-Kong, the works.”

He rubbed his brow, drawn in thought. “I see what you’re saying, dear, and I agree, but don’t you think we should also consider putting a few in areas that aren’t yet bustling? It would encourage other businesses to-”

“Uncle Scrooge?”

They looked up at the door to see four small heads, stacked like blocks, peering into the room. Scrooge frowned at them while Goldie barely looked up from the map of her hotels.

“Kids, what are ye doing home? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Uh,” Huey stepped into the room, heedless of the tower collapse he caused as he did. “It’s 2 in the afternoon. We just got home.”

“What?” Goldie looked up now, quickly hiding her reading glasses. “That’s impossible, we sat down to this at 9 am.” Even as she spoke, she became acutely aware of how hungry she was.

Scrooge’s stomach gurgled before she had finished her thought. He blushed as the kids giggled. “Right, well, we ought to be taking a break then, hm?”

Goldie looked reluctant to stop, and he wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to either. Webby took notice of this and stepped into the room to stand next to Huey. “If you want, we could make you some snacks to have in here? That way you can keep working on...what are you doing, again?”

The adults looked at each other, communicating silently, before Scrooge turned back to them. “We’re working on a new business venture, that’s all.”

“Wait, together?” Dewey tilted his head.

Louie frowned. “Is that legal?”

“Yes, lad,” Scrooge rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly legal, and in fact, very lucrative when done well. It’s called a merger.”

Dewey yawned. “Ugh, they talked about those in our intro to business class. I fell asleep.”

“What business is it?” Louie came around the desk, standing on tip toes to peer at the papers there. He frowned at the charts, graphs, spreadsheets, and unfamiliar words. “Oh boy, this looks complicated and boring.”

Goldie snorted, lifting Louie onto her lap in a fluid motion. “Not if you know what you’re looking for. See, here,” she pointed to a graph. “This is a projection. It’s almost like an educated guess at what a particular market, or business area, is going to do. Before you make any moves, you want to understand what this graph says and why.”

To everyone’s surprise, Louie nodded and absorbed the info. As lazy as he was, he was more eager to prove himself to Goldie. Huey came around the desk, pulling up a chair to stand on, excited as ever to learn.

“The next thing you want to have, in our case, is a ledger, or a list of the businesses you already have, where they are, and what their profits have been over the course of a period of time. We’re looking at the past 10 years for my hotels, and the past 15 for his business centers.”

Louie and Huey nodded, following Goldie’s finger as she pointed out different tools and papers. Despite themselves, Dewey and Webby came around the desk too, Webby climbing up to join Louie on Goldie’s lap without a thought.

“This is just a projection of the stock market, but specifically for hospitality businesses. Hotels, chain lodgings, that area.”

“What’s this one way up here? The one that’s way higher than the rest?”

“That, my boy,” Scrooge spoke up, sidling up behind them and placing a hand on Huey’s shoulder. “Is your aunt’s luxury hotel franchise, the Blackjack resorts.”

“Whoa, wait!” Dewey shot up. “Those big fancy buildings with fountains in the front and the lobby and like, ten penthouses, and ballrooms, and five-star restaurants and golf courses and- that’s YOUR hotel chain?”

Goldie smirked down at him. “Sure is, Ace. I started as the proprietor of the Blackjack ballroom back in Dawson. After the gold rush, I thought expansion might not be a bad idea for a steady income.”

Webby frowned. “And stealing.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes, deciding to wander down to the kitchen and grab them some lunch. Goldie had things well in hand here, keeping the kids occupied with a crash course in business. He looked back briefly, locking eyes with Goldie over Louie and Webby’s heads, and quirked an eyebrow at her.

‘You’re alright?’ He asked silently, taking in the image of her and his kids.

Goldie smiled at him, and winked.

‘Never better.’

Chapter Text

Another evening in Duckburg, another pointless and tedious gala for Scrooge to attend. This time, however, it was for his company, and not the mockery of business that was Flintheart Glomgold. McDuck Enterprises was celebrating 75 years of successful business, and just about everyone who was anyone was in attendance. His entire staff, of course, other executives (like the unfortunate case of Mark Beaks), scientists, and even celebrities who lived locally, Emma Glamour and her ilk.

Scrooge would like to say he was looking forward to the evening, but these events had a way of being fun for everyone except him. The kids would get to run and play with their ragtag group of friends, his peers would be dancing and mingling for fun. And he’d be stuck schmoozing and rubbing elbows, no one to talk to except other money-hungry executives, and they were never any fun-

“Scrooge, could you give me a hand with this?”

Well, save for one of them. He found her to be quite fun these days. Scrooge finished adjusting his cummerbund before he stepped away from the bathroom mirror and walked into his bedroom- their bedroom for the evening. Goldie was standing in front of his vanity, hair swept in an elegant updo, fiddling with a necklace. He came up behind her, and took the end clasps from her fingers. Her shoulders dropped, their eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“Excited?” She teased, smirking at him as she reached for the matching earrings. 

He snorted. “You know I’m not.”

“Oh, c’mon, moneybags,” she chided. “It’ll be fun. Delicious food, live orchestra, no Glomgold-”

“No, he’s invited.”

She glared at his reflection. “What? Why?”

“The invitations were sent automatically, and the non-personal ones didn’t pass through my desk. And they were organized by wealth, so…”

Goldie groaned, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll hover around 22 if he starts getting handsy. She terrifies him.”

“She hates you.”

“Feminism transcends friendship, Scroogey.”

He chuckled, resting the now-clasped necklace against her feathers, and pressed gentle kisses along her exposed shoulder. The right was covered in gauzy emerald fabric that cost more than the kids’ tuitions combined, and he didn’t feel like putting her in more of a tizzy. Quite the opposite, actually.

His soothing ministrations worked, Goldie leaning back into his chest with a hum. He pressed a last kiss against her temple before straightening up. “Have you seen my bowtie?”

“The red one is still hanging in the closet.” 

“I, ahem,” he scratched his head nervously. “Thought I might wear the green one. Got the green cummerbund on, anyway. Be a pain to change now.”

She swiveled in the chair to look at him, eyeing his tuxedo. He was indeed wearing a deep forest cummerbund instead of the usual red. It was a nearly flawless match to her gown. Goldie smiled, clearly touched by the gesture. She turned back to the vanity and busied herself with her eye makeup to hide the reaction from him. 

“I think I saw that one in the dresser last time I was here.”

Scrooge quirked a brow as he crossed the room. “What were ye doin’ in my dresser?”

“Pilfering, obviously.”

He snorted, more amused at her thieving antics than annoyed, especially these days. The bowtie in question was indeed in the dresser, and he set about fastening it just so. He hated these blasted things more than anything else involved with going to these functions. Before he could get too worked up over a scrap of fabric though, hands brushed his shoulder and bade him turn around. 

Scrooge did so, and allowed Goldie to take over. Her smile was soft, nostalgic. “You never were any good at tying these. How ever did you get by without me?”

Her movements were quick and precise. He smiled, leaning forward slightly so his beak rested aside her forehead. “Donald was a dab hand with knots, and Huey knows how to tie just about anything. I made do. Was never the same, though.” 

He looked down at her just as she looked up, their eyes connecting. The energy between them felt tangible, like a thread of lightning tethered them together. Her voice was a sultry whisper. “Obviously. I am irreplaceable.”

“In every way.” He caught her in a deep kiss, one he couldn’t help but smile into. Her hands came up to his shoulder, one twisting into his whiskers, the other draping over his shoulder. It was languid, heady, simmering within them like the impossibly hot air at the Golden Lagoon, and just as rich. Goldie pulled away first, chuckling as Scrooge’s beak chased hers to steal a few last pecks. 

“Scroogey, please,” she hummed. “We have to get going, or we’ll be running late to your own event.”

“Bah,” he scoffed, tugged her close and buried his beak in her exposed shoulder. He mumbled through idle preening that had Goldie melting into him. “It’s my own bloody soiree, if I want to be late because I had to drag my- er,”

“Your what?” He couldn’t see her smile, but he knew it was cheshire. She loved working him up, and this was certainly the easiest way to do so. Her refusal of any label for whatever they were had been driving him batty for decades. 

But tonight, Scrooge was feeling too good to let her have such an easy win. He wanted to fluster her right back. “My everything seems too broad, hm? My partner, these days, after the paperwork gets filed-”

“How romantic.” 

“My girlfriend is far too juvenile-”

“What are we, 17 again?” Her eye roll was felt as he continued to nuzzle at her. 

“I suppose I could just keep calling you my ex, though that might start getting confusing-”

Goldie pulled back to look at him, unamused. He pecked her cheek placatingly, pulling her close again. She rested her head on his shoulder, obviously interested where he was going but unwilling to show it. 

“And you continue to refuse to be my wife-”

“Oh do I? I must have missed the memo you mailed after one of our three-”

“Four.”

“-ceremonies,” she reached up to flick his tufts. “Legally I’ve been your wife for a while now, moneybags. And, if my geriatric memory serves me right, you’re the one who has refused to say it.”

There was no bite in her words, no anger or resentment. Once there had been, certainly, but they seemed well and truly past most of it now. Or so Scrooge hoped. He had a sneaking suspicion this was a bit of a honeymoon phase, but he had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.  

Now, her tone was speculative, and Scrooge tried not to stammer. “Well, I- I didn’t want to presume-”

“No, you would never,” she scoffed, pulling back to dramatically swoon. “Scrooge McDuck? Presume? The thought of it-”

“Alright, alright,” he scowled, and lightly swatted her rear. She giggled and plopped her head back down. “It’s just been so long, and neither of us has, ye know, worn the rings, or changed names, or even lived in the same country most of the time.”

Goldie hummed to herself. “Since when are those the things that define a marriage?”

“Ehm, since forever?” 

“Oh please,” she pulled back in earnest now, planting her hands on his shoulders as she looked him in the eye. “Scrooge, those are not the things that have ever mattered to us. We got those rings to hoodwink a demigod we found in a Macaw casino. We had the weddings for conveniency. They’ve never impacted how we treated each other, except for maybe the 24 hours after. Depending on check-out times.”

He flushed. “Mendacious minx-”

“My point being,” she continued. “If those were the things that really defined us, and our relationship, we wouldn’t be the people we are right now.”

“Aye, well,” he shrugged. “Then how would you define it? Us? Marriage?”

“Hmmm,” she stepped away from him, rummaging through the dresser. Scrooge let her for curiosity’s sake. “Longevity; we’re tried and true. How many times have we hurt each other, left each other, attempted to move on? And how many times have we come back to each other?” She moved to the next drawer. “Loyalty, I suppose. There’s never been anyone else for either of us, and we both know it. Flings, seductions, ulterior motives. But not…”

“Love?” He finished for her. She flashed him a smile. 

“Yeah, that pesky little thing,” her rummaging continued. “And, now, there’s this whole, y’know, family thing. Between us, around us. I came back for you, you caught me. We’ve changed, sourdough. And that’s what marriage is, really is. Not rings, and fancy parties, fake words and made up magic. It’s change, and growing independently, but together. It’s, well, it’s what we’ve always had. It doesn’t need a label because it defies them all, and defines them at the same time.”

Scrooge’s heart was in his throat. That had to be what that lump was. She turned back around, an old box in her hands. She leaned on the drawer, shutting it, pondering the box. At length, she tossed it to him. 

“If they’re that important to you, then fine. We can wear them. It won’t change who I am to you, who you are to me, right?”

He shook his head, dumbly. Goldie smiled. 

“I can’t promise to wear it all the time. We both know there are greater dangers than F.O.W.L. out there. But, I will when I’m here. If it means that much to you.”

Scrooge blinked rapidly. “Since when has it mattered that much to you, what it means to me?”

She shrugged, relocating her gaze to the floor. “Since the Foreverglades.”

He strode toward her, and swept her off her feet in hug that left them both breathless. He spun her, gently, before setting her back down. “I love you, my Goldie girl. 

It was her turn to blink, looking up at the ceiling. “Tch, c’mon, I just finished my mascara.”

While she was distracted with preventing a cosmetic emergency, Scrooge opened the box, gently removing the rings. They were plain and simple bands of gold, but they’d been melted down from the nuggets they’d worked so hard to get- together. Goldie’s was engraved subtly, in looping miniscule Irish-Gaelic it’d taken him a week to properly write, while the interior of his was stamped with coordinates- the coordinates to their cabin in the Klondike. But, without close study, they were just plain rings. 

He took her left hand in his, and slipped the ring on. She returned the favor, eye makeup still firmly in place. They held each other's hands for a moment, just staring. 

Goldie giggled, a bit hysterically. “This is so stupid. They’re just rings! We’ve been together over a hundred years, why should this feel so...so-”

“New?”

“Yeah.”

Scrooge smirked at her, eyes hooded. “You’re timeless to me, Goldie. It always feels new.”

He’d won. And they both knew it. She flushed red, nearly to her roots. “You- you-! Ugh, damn your stupid sap.”

“Ye love it.” He winked. She rolled her eyes. 

“Pleading the fifth,” but she leaned in to peck his beak. “Now, where’s my clutch? We’re really going to be late now. I’m sure the kids are-”

Right on cue, the door slammed open and a gaggle of children tumbled into the room. 

“Uncle Scrooge-!”

“Aunt G-

“Huey says my tie is wrong but I googled it-”

“My sash won’t tie and none of the boys are any good at it!”

“Am too! It’s in the JWG-”

“Guys! Guys! Check out my playfully loose bowtie-”

Goldie scowled at him over the children’s heads, while he just smiled. A year ago she would have swan dove out of the window at the racket and chaos. Now, she simply motioned for Webby to turn around while she stood between Huey and Louie’s argument. 

“C’mon boys,” Scrooge grabbed the aforementioned clutch off the vanity, and swept both their phones and essentials into it. He passed it to her as he herded the lads out of the room. “Let’s go find your mother and Penumbra. Huey, go see if Launchpad has the limo ready, please.”

He left the girls to the last of their dressing, smiling as he overheard Webby trying to convince Goldie she should have eyeshadow on, too, because Lena was going and Lena always wore eyeshadow, and it was the prettiest purple, and Lena was so pretty anyway-

“Hey, moneybags,” he turned in the doorway to see Goldie wink at him. “Save the last dance for me.”

- - - --------- - - 

Goldie had to admit, she was suitably impressed by the caliber of the evening. It was a true red carpet event, being held in the McDuck wing of the city museum. Gleaming marble, inlaid with gold and other precious stones, provided a stunning backdrop for the evening; while Glomgold’s wing had been filled with tourist trap facades and plain stucco, Scrooge made sure that his was elegant, refined, and tastefully studded with artifacts from his adventures. Several smaller pieces had been cleared away to make room for a dance floor and buffet table, and a large sea of numbered tables for the inevitable speeches. 

She knew Scrooge had been reluctant to allow the kids to come. He loved them more than life, it was plain to see, but they did have that habit of getting into trouble wherever they set foot. But now, watching the kids run around with their friends in their Sunday best, she was glad he’d let up under Della’s pressure. There would scarcely be a company worth celebrating without them, in her silent opinion. 

And watching Della have to run after them and keep them out of trouble was a nice bit of karma after all these years, too. She’d saved that girl from certain death (albeit reluctantly) more times than she could count, and now she got to enjoy watching her pry Dewey away from the chocolate fountain. Life could be a dream. 

Even Louie, her unlikely student (and nephew, if she were pressed into admittance), was having the night of his life. He and Lena were lounging off to the side, trying to look as cool as possibly (not very), but she didn’t miss the subtle flashes of magic and swimming shadows on the floor. It was no coincidence Beaks’ phone kept falling, or that Glomgold’s tam o’ shanter was comically askew. She left them to their harmless fun. After all, if she was going to be an aunt, she was certainly going to be the cool one. 

The dinner had been divine, the dancing exquisite, even if her preferred dance partner was too busy rubbing elbows to twirl her around. Even the speeches had been tolerable. She loved Scrooge, but she could only sit through so much of him having praise heaped on an already concerning ego. 

But it had been, dare she say it, very fun. Being in attendance as family was different. She’d never felt like she was on the outside looking in, because she had never cared to be ‘in’ before. But now, after leading Dewey through slap-dash swing number, watching Webby and Lena dance around each other and share a commiserating eye-roll with Huey, and actually getting to talk to Della and catch up on years missed, she was feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with dancing. 

“Hello, beautiful.”

Ah, shit.

“Glomgold.” She answered shortly. She had just come off the dancefloor after some casual mingling (and careful pickpocketing) with two other executives, one from Duckburg, one from Mouseton. She’d been catching her breath over a nice glass of merlot, and keeping an eye on Webby, who seemed to be a socially-inept juggernaut without a care for stranger-danger rules. And now, she had to deal with this.

“I didn’t see your lovely name on the public guest list.” He was standing far too close to her exposed shoulder, but Goldie was an old hat at this. 

“It wasn’t on it.”

Glomgold cackled. “Ah, the party-crashing vixen,” Ew. “Here to steal Scrooge’s oh-so precious night away from him.”

She shrugged, sipping her wine while looking for an exit strategy. “Sure.”

“Say, how would you fancy a dance, lovely?”

“Dance? Sure. With you? I’d rather lick rust.”

“Ha!” His cackle was harsh and wet. Goldie’s lip curled. “Playing hard to get I see, eh?”

The portly man shimmied closer still, but Goldie held her ground. If he touched, she’d remove his hand from his body. He knew this. So she had no reason to back off. Besides, after decades of fighting off some of the most deplorable cads and lowlifes the world had to offer, Glomgold was nothing more than a gnat. He was stupid, and malicious towards Scrooge, but not in the way she knew some men to be. 

“So, how’d you get past security, hm?”

“I walked through, and gave them my invitation.”

“Wha?” Gods, this man was not smart. “But, you said you weren’t invited.”

“No, I said I wasn’t on the public invite list.”

The gears were turning so hard in the little man’s head, Goldie could hear the grinding. “Wait, were you on Scrooge’s personal list?”

“Now you’ve got it.”

Glomgold frowned. “Why on earth would Scrooge personally invite you to his gala?”

Maybe she was feeling petty. Maybe she was a little tipsy off her favorite vintage, which she knew had been catered here just for her. Maybe she was finally so tired of all the lies and tricks, after 80 long years. Whatever it was, it loosened her tongue. 

She gently tapped her gold ring against the crystal glass, relishing the moment Glomgold saw it. “Probably because I’m his wife.”

“What?!”

Shock and dark, deep envy (of her? Not likely. But of Scrooge accomplishing something he didn’t? Oh yes.) twisted Glomgold’s features. He reached out, a grasped her upper arm as if to pull her hand closer to examine, but Goldie wasn’t about to let that happen. She managed to get her wine glass on a table, and was getting ready to sucker punch the old man in the jaw when-

“Aunt Goldie!” 

Her gaze broke to her right, and she ignored the choked noise Glomgold made beside her (“ Aunt?!” ) to greet the children-

Except they were barrelling at her. Webby took a flying leap, and Goldie lunged forward to catch her on instinct, wrenching her arm from Glomgold’s sweaty grip. Bandy arms wrapped around her neck, and Goldie felt the air leave her lungs in a quiet oof . Kid was pure muscle, and it showed.

She situated Webby more comfortably against her, supporting her with both arms hooked under the young girl. The boys swarmed around her, a waist-high private security detail. She chuckled, beginning to understand why they’d rushed over.

“What’s the news, troops?” 

Louie grabbed her waist in a hug. Huey leaned into her other side, while Dewey stood in front of her, leaning to glare at the man behind. Webby leaned in and whispered in her ear, confirming Goldie’s suspicions.

 “Granny says people shouldn’t touch other people without explicit permission. Are you okay?”

Gods, but these kids were endearing, even for all their annoyances. She squeezed her with one arm, letting the other drop down to tap on Huey’s hat. “I’m alright, kiddo. I can handle myself.”

Huey looked up at her with wide eyes. “Yeah, but it’s always nice to have backup. Junior Woodchuck Rule 5 says there’s never a wrong time for the buddy system.”

“Excuse me,” ugh, right, Glomgold. “Erm, children, I was having a grown-up conversation with your, um, aunt, was it?”

Goldie looked at him over her shoulder, barely sparing him her attention. Webby still clung to her, but she was getting the impression that she was holding the smaller girl back. Glomgold was a creep, but Goldie really didn’t want to bother with a scene. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of the kids, Flintheart. Unless, of course, you’d rather reconsider?”

She narrowed her gaze, the threat clear, while the kids matched her glare. Dewey stuck his tongue out, mature as ever. Goldie paced a warning hand on his head. The other firecracker of the group, and the one she most often tried to keep her eye on (not that anyone needed to know that). He was a mini-Della after all. 

Glomgold, never one for intelligence, glared back at them. 

“No one tells Flintheart Glomgold to reconsider-!”

“Excuse me,” Scrooge’s voice cut through the din of Glomgold’s response like ice. Took him long enough. “But may I ask what on earth is going on over here?”

Before either adult could respond, Louie turned on his uncle, crocodile tears blazing. “Mr. Glomgold was being weird to Aunt Goldie, and then he grabbed her arm really hard, so we came over and then he started yelling at us!”

Scrooge glared at Glomgold, whose jaw was doing a fine job sweeping the floor. Goldie hid her face behind Webby’s head, trying to hold in her laughter. Dewey and Huey voiced their own disgusted confusion, used to playing along with their brother’s schemes. Webby leaned into Goldie, simply observing. Good, she was never too young to learn how gross men could be.

Scrooge’s glare could be considered glacial, if not for the fire she could see sparking behind it. He had a better lid on his temper these days, and an even stronger hold on his possessive streak, but Goldie was pleased to see neither had fully dissipated. 

“Flinty, I really think it’s best you go find someone else to bother now,” he growled. “Don’t make me throw you out and cause a scene for both of us, aye?”

“I’ll show you a scene-!”

Once again, he was cut off, this time by the band’s instruments gently tuning. The night was winding to a close, and this would be the last dance. Scrooge and Goldie locked eyes over the scene. He winked at her, and she herded the kids away. Let Scrooge take care of Glomgold so she could make her way to the dancefloor without a clutch of children following. 

She plopped Webby down in a chair, impulsively leaning in to smack a kiss on the crown of her head, eliciting a giggle. She ruffled the boy’s heads, and smiled at their groans. “You kids sure are something else, huh?”

The four of them smiled back at her, a bit red in the face. She shook her head fondly. “This is going to be the last dance, and your uncle made a promise I intend for him to keep. So, if you want to dance anymore tonight, I’ll see you out there.”

Webby leapt to her feet, racing away to find Lena, presumably. The boys looked at each other, blushing and scuffing the floor with their feet. Goldie laughed aloud, backing away. “No pressure, boys. Just have fun!”

Goldie turned, twisting her way through the throng to the dancefloor, where she found Scrooge waiting for her amongst the other couples there. He held a hand out to her as she approached, spinning her once before holding her close. She sighed, tucking her head into the soft fabric of his suit jacket. He smelled like old books, the expensive cologne she’d sent him two years ago for his birthday, and the cognac he’d been nursing all night. He smelled like their bedroom, in the home they’d be returning to after this. 

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Alright, love?”

She sighed into his shoulder. “I’m very happy.” She whispered, almost frightened of the implications there. But he only smiled into her honey tresses. 

“As am I.”

The band jumped to life then, and they straightened up, falling into the first position of a casual waltz when they recognized the song. It was soft, jazzy, but not overly fast. The rhythm bobbed and lilted, swaying on a sea breeze. Scrooge’s hand adjusted from her back to her hip, leading her in a fanciful square. They often did this, gauged the area they had to work with, the level of those around them, before deciding just how loose to cut. 

Fenton and his girl (Gandra, was it?) looked nervous to even be within a foot of each other. Goldie chuckled, remembering those days. Launchpad and his fiance, Drake, were surprisingly light on their feet for two men who could barely walk down the block without sustaining serious injury. Della and Penumbra were sweet, Della guiding her date through a basic waltz as she had been all night. The moonlander was looking to be getting the hang of it, and if she stepped on Della’s feet, it was just laughed off. (“Not like I can feel it half the time, anyway.” Della had told her over a glass of wine.) 

The kids were toeing the edge of the dancefloor, waiting to see how underfoot they’d be if they joined in. All except for Lena and Webby, that is, who had claimed the far corner as their own. Webby was an enthusiastic and very talented dancer, Goldie had learned. Lena looked perfectly happy to be twirled and spun around to her friend’s (date’s?) heart’s content, as long as she got to be holding onto Webby. 

Young love, if Goldie’s wasn’t mistaken. And she rarely was. 

Scrooge’s eyes caught hers, shaking her from her thoughts. He pulled her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed and stepped. The movements were in their bones, they didn’t need to devote any extra attention to the steps when they could spend it on each other. 

“Some kids you’ve got there, Scroogey.” 

Her voice was husky, from the wine, from talking all night. From him and the proximity and the inherently intimate nature of dancing with him. His chuckle reverberated through her chest, and she shivered. 

“Aye, they can be very protective of their family.”

“Hmm, sounds familiar.”

She pulled back just in time for him to spin her out. She floated there for a handful of steps, their arms extended and palms touching softly. They waltzed in a casual circle, gazes locked on each other as the room turned around them. The music dropped low, and she spun back into him. His hand ghosted along her hip, coming to rest on her very lower back. It was practically indecent, making her giggle.

He rested his head alongside hers, murmuring in her ear as he led them through the next steps. 

“Now, you wouldn’t be calling me jealous, would ye?”

Goldie held in a very unrefined snort. “You? Me? Never, Scroogey,” she purred. “I wouldn’t dream of calling you, the man who once smashed a whisky bottle over some Dawson sourdough’s head when he grabbed my tail feathers before you even knew my name, jealous.”

Scrooge was blushing, softly. “It’s not right to treat a lady that way,” he sniffed. “Or anyone. Glomgold is lucky I let him keep his bloody fingers for touchin’ ye. Besides-”

They cut off again, another twirl, followed by a small dip, and then they were off again. The steps were getting a bit faster, but they never faltered. 

“-you’re mine,” he mumbled, almost shy. If any other man had said that to her, hell, if Scrooge had said that to her a year ago, she would have laughed him off the dancefloor, and stolen his pocketwatch just to prove a point. But now, for some godforsaken reason, it gave her butterflies. (Alright, it had always given her butterflies, but her pride was a very effective insecticide.) “And I love that you’re mine. And more than that, I love being yours.”

Goldie rolled her eyes. “You’re going to give yourself a cavity with all that sugar, you know.”

Scrooge chuckled, daring to pull her close enough to press a kiss to her temple. She only smiled. 

The cameras had been flashing since they took the dancefloor, and the whispers had been following her (and probably him as well) all evening. They let it all roll off their shoulders. There was nothing left to hide. 

“Oh, by the by, hon,” she murmured. “I may have told Glomgold we’re married.”

Scrooge’s face lit up with malicious glee. “Ha! Good. Let him take it to the bank and see if I care.”

She stared at him. “You’re not mad?”

“Naw. I figured it’ll be everywhere by tomorrow anyway.”

Goldie hummed, and another thought grabbed her attention. “Say, uh, what are we gonna tell the kids?”

“Hm?”

“The kids? We didn’t really tell them what was happening. We just slapped some rings on.”

“Ah, right, well- och, hang on-”

The music swelled, and Scrooge lifted her in a gentle turn. It was effortless, and that did a hell of a lot for her ego, alright. Her smile, once back on her feet, was wolfish. He glared a bit.

“Didnae think I could still do it, eh?”

“Oh, hush,” she kissed his cheek. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, erm, the kids already know about the marriages.”

She flushed. “What?”

“They snuck into my study. The private study behind the bookcase. Webby tracked down a photo album, wanted to know more. It was a while ago, in the early days. She was looking for answers, poor girl.”

Goldie winced, and glanced behind them to where Webby was being twirled by a much-more enthusiastic looking Lena. She was such a happy kid, Goldie hated to think of her feeling lost in the massive expanse of Scrooge’s shadowed legacy. 

What on earth had happened to her?

Outwardly, she nodded. “I see. And they found…?”

“The wedding photos,” he sighed. “The pictures you asked me to hang onto. My baby photos.”

She giggled. “The sweater one?”

“Aye.” He grumbled, red in the cheeks. 

“My favorite. And did they, y’know, ask?”

“They did. I told them about the weddings, why we did them, that it didn’t change anything for us and it shouldn’t for them. Webby, ahem, asked if that legally made you her step-mother-”

“Oh, fuck no.”

“-and that’s what I told her. I just told the kids that whatever relationship they wanted to have with you, was between the lot of ye, and I wouldn’t be intervening unless I was asked to.”

Goldie was stunned silent. “Wow...um. Who are you and what did you do with my Scrooge? The one who lives to meddle and orchestrate as he sees fit?”

He scowled. “I learned the hard way.”

“Ah, always fun,” she nodded. There was deep, contemplative silence between them for a moment. Then, she leaned in again to rest her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Scrooge. For letting me figure this out. All of this.”

“Thank you, darling,” at her puzzled noise, he smiled. “For your patience with this massive adjustment. Going from two kids, to two adults, to no kids, to about four on a good day, and not running away.”

“But I did run away.” She whispered.

He shrugged. “Not where I couldn’t follow. Not where I couldn’t find you if I needed you.”

Her heart swelled, and she squeezed him as tight as the dancing allowed. It had slowed down to a gentle sway. “I love you.” It was quiet, so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.

“And I you, m'eudail .”

The music faded out on floating strings, and Goldie took a moment to study Scrooge. His deep blue, nearly black eyes, his brow which was so often crumpled in focus or frustration. The tufts of feathers she ran her fingers through every chance she had. He wasn’t the young debonair explorer he was when she met him, but something so much more now. And yet, despite all the masks he wore, all the roles he fulfilled, he was still the same old sourdough to her, underneath it all. 

“C’mon, Mr. O’Gilt,” she teased. “Let’s go home.”

He chuckled, and lifted her left hand to press a kiss to the gold band there. “Aye, Mrs. McDuck. Let’s.” 

Chapter Text

The flu came upon the household like a summer storm; entirely by surprise and with enough force to bowl them all over. It started with Huey. It was the second week of the school year, late august and sweltering. The last time anyone would be looking out for the flu of all things. But, kids are germ factories, and with everyone’s immune system being so relaxed after not seeing each other for months, it had spread through the school like wildfire.

Scrooge was minding the bairns on his own for the week. Donald was still at sea with Daisy, June, and May. Della and Penumbra were taking a tour of Von Drake’s space laboratory. Beakley was visiting family in Cardiff, apparently some great uncle thrice removed had died and she had to handle the affairs. Webby had asked to go, but as this was her first year enrolled in a real school, and not online homeschooling, Beakley had reluctantly vetoed her. Launchpad was helping Gosalyn get settled in his boyfriend’s home; apparently his long-term fostering request had been approved ahead of schedule, and adoption wasn’t far around the corner.

So, Scrooge was on his own with the kids. Normally, this wouldn’t phase him. They weren’t toddlers, and they all fancied themselves to be rather independent, so they really only came to bother him when they were bored, or seeking a mediator for some frivolous argument. He wasnae a fool, though. He made sure chores, homework, and routines were done and adhered to. He’d learned his lessons long ago, and while he may be the fun uncle, Scrooge McDuck would never let himself be considered a pushover.

All things considered, the week was off to a great start. He saw the kids off to school on Monday morning, made sure their lunches and assignments were packed, and headed to the bin.

It was around 11 am when he got the first call.

“Mr. McDuck?” his secretary, Bailey, popped her head into his office. “Incoming call for you.”

He grumbled, neck deep in resumes for a new CEO. “Can it wait?”

“Fraid not, sir,” Bailey winced. “It’s the school nurse. Says she needs to speak to you ASAP.”

That grabbed his attention. He sat bolt upright in his chair. “Send it through.”

Bailey smiled in a way that was sympathetic, and also a little proud. She had been his secretary for almost 3 decades. She’d seen him through it all, and had never said a word of judgement. He remembered idly that she was a mother, too. Soon to be a grandmother. He made a mental note to look into upping her pay. “You got it, sir.”

He picked up the phone before it even rang, speaking as soon as he heard it connect. “This is Mr. McDuck.”

“Hi, Mr. McDuck,” the nurse sounded like a young man, maybe around Gyro’s intern’s age. “This is Nurse Jay. I’m calling because I’ve got Huey here in my office-”

“What’s wrong,” Scrooge felt frantic. “Is he okay? Is he hurt? Is it a panic attack? Does he-”

Nurse Jay laughed cooly. “Whoa, whoa, Mr. McD! Everything is alright, I promise. No broken bones, cuts, scrapes, bruises, or bumps here. I think we’ve just got a small case of the flu. It started circulating at the end of last week, spreading like wildfire.”

Scrooge sighed in relief, then tensed right back up. “So he’s ill?”

“‘Fraid so,” the nurse tsked. “Slight fever, runny nose, the usual. He’s a bit clammy, and could definitely use a nap. I’m gonna have to ask you to come collect him within the hour, can that be done?”

“Absolutely, I’m out the door now.”

“Excellent, thank you,” the nurse sounded like he was scribbling. “I’ll let the office know. Now, are there any other kids in the house with Huey? His brothers, right?”

“Aye, and Webbigail Vanderquack, she’s a new student.”

“Right-o then. Don’t get too comfy when you get home. I’m gonna call them down, see what’s up. If any of them are feeling off, I’ll have to send them home too. Are you a valid emergency contact and legal guardian for all of them?”

“I am, yes.”

“Excellent, Mr. McD. We will see you soon.”

The line went dead, and Scrooge tossed the phone on the receiver. He grabbed his cane and hat, and was out the door telling Bailey to hold his calls before you could blink. He climbed into the car, not the limousine but the family SUV they all used interchangeably. It was much easier to get around Duckburg without that stretch monstrosity, and it made school pickups safer for the kids. Donald forbade the limo from ever getting them, and Scrooge really couldn’t blame him.

He pulled into the school in record time, slapping the handicap flag on the mirror so it would be a shorter walk for the lad. He hated the damn thing, but his doctor insisted in case of ‘emergency’, whatever that meant. Scrooge thumped up the steps to the main office, buzzing the intercom to be let in.

“Yes?” The tinny voice crackled.

“Scrooge McDuck here to pick up Huey Duck.”

“Do you have ID?”

“Do I- wot?” he blinked. “Is that really necessary? Ah’m Scrooge McDuck!”

“It’s protocol sir-”

But whatever she was going to say was cut off by the door opening. A young bluejay, presumably the nurse, stood there grinning. He looked Scrooge up and down, and leaned back to yell into the office. “It’s all good, Kendra, it’s definitely him.”

He stepped aside, allowing Scrooge to enter the school. He walked into the office, and found Huey looking very small, curled up in a leather waiting chair, his constantly-overstuffed backpack at his feet. The boy wasn’t asleep, but his eyes certainly weren’t as alert as Scrooge was used to. Huey, much like Louie, was always absorbing the world around him, but in a more wide-eyed, curious way than his brother. That was gone now, replaced by a very small, and very sick duckling. Scrooge walked over to him, kneeling down to his level and gently shaking him.

“Huey,” he murmured. “Wake up, m’boy. It’s time to go home.”

“N’time yet. Bell didnring.” He slurred.

Scrooge chuckled. “Alright, lad you keep resting. C’mon then.” He scooped up the backpack, light to him but far too heavy for a child- they’d need to have another talk about the dangers of scoliosis. He slung it over his shoulder, made sure it was secure, and then scooped Huey up into his arms. The boys would be hitting growth spurts soon, he could feel it, but for now they were very totable. Making sure the boy was secure on his hip, he clumsily signed Huey out of school with his very full hands.

Once Huey was buckled and the backpack was in the footwell, Scrooge straightened out his back with a crack. He turned to face the nurse, who had followed him out, and shook his hand.

The young man smiled. “I’ll be in touch within the hour probably.”

They parted ways, and Scrooge hopped back into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Huey in the rearview, relieved to see he was completely out cold. He was pale, though, with heavy bags under his eyes, and a slight wheeze to his even breaths. He backed out carefully, and drove home like the old man he pretended he wasn’t- careful not to go too fast, turn too quickly, or break too hard in deference to the child.

By the time they got home, parked the car, got out, and Huey had been carefully deposited on the sofa for now, the wheeze had become a full-blown scratch. He hurriedly called Della, but the line never even rang. Right, there was no service at the lab- it was almost a half mile deep in a mountain. Donald was halfway across the world, there was absolutely no point in worrying him. And 22 had gone dark for the privacy of her family abroad.

Scrooge frowned, the reality setting in that he was really alone with a sick child, and that the number would probably multiply. He gulped, then steeled himself. He was Scrooge McDuck, dammit! King of the Klondike, Buckaroo of the Badlands! There was nothing he couldn’t do if he set his mind to it.

He nodded to himself, assured, and went out to Huey, who was awake but struggling to stay upright. He looked a bit delirious, and very confused.

Scrooge cleared his throat, padding into the room. “Huey, m’boy.”

“Uncle Scrooge?” he blinked slowly. “Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You’re home, lad. You have a flu, so the school called me to come get you.”

“Oh,” he bobbed his head lethargically. “Sorry about your work day.”

Scrooge shook his head. “Bah, think nothing of it. You kids are always more important, you know that. Now, do you want to stay here? Or head up to your room? Either way, you’re headed for quite the nap.”

Huey mulled it over in his head carefully like he always did. Scrooge waited patiently, used to his nephew’s thinking processes. “I think I wanna stay here for now. Don’t wanna stairs.”

Scrooge chuckled to himself. “Aye, that’s very fair, lad. I’ll fetch yer blanket and pillow, do you need anything else?”

“Can I have a glass of water with a straw?”

“Coming right up.”

He set about collecting Huey’s blanket and pillow, making sure to leave the stuffed woodchuck on the bunk bed. If Huey wanted it, he’d say so. He could be very particular about when and where he wanted his things, so if he had wanted Scrooge to bring it down, he’d have said so.

Scrooge got him tucked into bed on the couch before fetching the glass of water. He placed it on the table, and settled into the armchair in the room with his phone on ring. However, Huey began tossing and turning and huffing soon after, alarming Scrooge.

“Huey?”

The boy whined, patting his head with his hands. “Too heavy and loud. Warm.”

“Ah, yer head is stuffed and your ears are ringing?”

He nodded. Scrooge looked around the room, eyes landing on the family bookshelf. He smiled. “Would a book help? I know how you like to read.”

Huey debated this, but scowled. “Headache.”

“Hm,” he stood, walking over to the books. “How about I read one to you?”

This seemed to please Huey, who nodded gently. “Please.” Scrooge scanned the shelves, finally picking up a colorful, somewhat thin book. He turned it over.

“How about Alice in Underland? Looks fun.”

Huey smiled. “Yes, please. That’s a good one.”

And so, Scrooge passed the next half hour reading aloud from a book that quickly shifted from charming to bewildering and whimsical in the most bizarre way. Luckily, Huey didn’t notice his struggle to pronounce Momerafs and Tweetles and Jabberflock. He had fallen asleep about two pages in, but Scrooge had kept reading to make sure he stayed that way.

No sooner had he paused to study a new word (what in blazes was a Fraptious Day?) than his phone began ringing. He snatched it up and ducked into the kitchen to answer.

“Scrooge speaking.”

“Hey Mr. McD! Long time no chat.”

“Mr. Jay,” he sighed. “How can I help you?”

“Well, Webby’s running a very slight fever.”

“Och, nae,” Scrooge rubbed his eyes in vexation. “Like Huey?”

“She’s not as high just yet, but who’s to say where it’s headed,” the nurse sighed. “Listen, I’m just gonna send them all home to save you the trouble. They all share a house, so the boys are at risk anyway. The school will email you with the return conditions within the next few hours”

Scrooge nodded, cataloguing the info. “Right, got it. I’m on my way.”

He hung up, and scribbled a note for Huey to leave on the table. He didn’t want to wake him up for the car ride, or to tell him he was leaving, when he’d just fallen asleep. He wrote the time of departure and the estimated time of arrival on the note, just as he knew Huey liked, and made his way back to the school.

Webby was certainly under the weather, eyes watery with tears of frustration when he found her and the boys in the office. Louie and Dewey looked normal, Dewey playing a game on his phone, Louie chatting with the office workers. Webbigail had tucked herself in a ball, and was glaring at passerby.

The boys lit up when he walked in, but Webby only spared him a glance before burying her head in her arms. Scrooge sighed, and vowed to deal with this later, at home. She did still take his hand though, and let Dewey carry her backpack, so he was fairly certain she wasn’t mad at any of them.

They piled in the car, Webby and Dewey in the backseat, Louie calling shotgun. Scrooge told them about Huey, the nurses’ orders, and what to expect.

“I don’t want any rough-housing from the two of you, alright? Huey is very over sensitive right now, and needs all the rest he can get. It wouldn’t hurt the two of you either. Webby, you can either camp out on the couch with Huey, or in your room, but either way you’re resting until dinner, aye?”

“Kay.” She mumbled, not making eye contact. Scrooge sighed.

“Hey, Uncle Scrooge, we should probably grab some vitamins and soup from the store, juice, that kind of stuff.” Louie piped up.

Scrooge paled. Right, sick kids needed soup, and nutrients. They couldn’t be expected to just power through it like he did (or so he’d been told). “Er, right, good thinking lad. Dewey, you and Webby are gonna head inside so she can rest. I want you to sit with your brother until we get back. Am I understood.”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge.” Dewey nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” Webby muttered. Scrooge refused to let his temper flair at her flippance. She was sick, it wasn’t her fault she was out of sorts.

He dropped them, made sure they were inside, and then set out again for the grocery store. Louie gave him a measuring glance.

“You seem a little on edge, Uncle Scrooge.”

He sighed. “Sorry, lad. Jus’ poor timing is all.”

Louie nodded. “Yeah, this is kinda new turf for all of us, huh? I don’t think we’ve ever been sick without uncle Donald around.”

“Aye, that must be a big change for you boys. Doing alright?” Scrooge knew it came out awkward, but he was trying and he hoped that counted.

“Yeah,” Louie smiled easily. “You know us, we roll with the punches.”

“Atta boy, laddie.” Scrooge ruffled his hair. “We can handle this, you, me and Dewey.”

“Unless we get sick,” Louie frowned. “I feel fine, but so did Webby this morning and now she’s the mayor of Cranky Pants City.”

“Being sick brings out the worst in us, Louie, she can’t help it.” He pulled into the store parking lot, navigating to non-handicapped spot. They hopped out of the car, Louie grabbing a cart.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I just don’t get where the anger is coming from. It’s not like she can punch the flu.”

Scrooge snorted. “If anyone would try, it would be her. Or yer mother.”

“Yeah, that tracks.”

They navigated up and down the aisles, grabbing juices, ingredients for Donald’s chicken soup that Louie had a picture of on his phone (“what? It’s good soup. You never know when you might need a good soup recipe.”), vitamins and cold medicines, and a few large jugs of water. Scrooge couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a grocery store. Although he kept his scowl firmly in place, he was secretly having a bit of fun.

“We should get veggies, too, and fruit. Uncle Donald says they’re important to snack on when you’re- wait, who’s calling me?”

Scrooge leaned over to see the screen. “Is it one of the kids?”

“No it’s-” Louie frowned, then grinned. He quickly swiped to answer the call. “Hey Aunt Goldie!”

Oh, good. The last thing he needed was Goldie storming into his life, stealing artifacts, maps, one of his children for a mission-

He forced himself to calm down, and think rationally. They weren’t doing that anymore. He had no idea what they were doing, but ever since Florida, Goldie had been on remarkably good behaviour (for her, anyway). They’d been texting regularly, calling every other night to catch up instead of once a month. Odds were good she wasn’t calling with malintent. Besides, she called Louie, and Scrooge knew she loved the boy too much to hurt him.

They chattered on while Scrooge examined bunches of bananas and heads of broccoli. As he was debating an avocado, Louie tugged his sleeve. He glanced down to see a phone being thrust into his face.

“She wants to talk to you.”

Scrooge sighed, trading the phone for the avocado. “Pick out what other veggies you want, and none of that organic malarky. It’s a classist scheme to steal money- hello?”

Goldie was chuckling on the other end. “Hey, Scroogey. How are things?”

“Overpriced as ever.”

“Wasn’t really talking about the state of American supermarkets, but good to know.”

He flushed. “Ah, right, sorry. I’m grocery shopping with Louie.”

“So he said,” he heard rustling on the other side, and doing some quick math, realized it was still about 10 am for her. She was probably getting ready for the day. “What’s the occasion?”

“Hm? Oh!” he coughed, and saw Louie roll his eyes at him over the endcap of trail mix. “Huey and Webby have come down with the flu, so all the kids were sent home for the day, probably tomorrow as well.”

Goldie tsked. “Oh, that’s too bad,” she sounded genuinely sympathetic. “But why are you out and about? Where are their, y’know, parents and grandmother? No offense Scrooge, but you’re kind of the last line of child-rearing defense.”

Scrooge scowled. “I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic guardian- Louie, no, stop swinging the meat tenderizer before ye take out someone’s knees.”

“You were saying?”

“Yes, well, Donald, Della, and Beakley are all abroad for the week at minimum, so it’s just me and the kids.”

“Yikes,” now she sounded concerned. “Are you gonna be alright, old man?”

Normally, before, Scrooge would bristle at her concern, take it as the highest offense and a blow to his capabilities. Now, things were different. He decided to try telling the truth. He lowered his voice so Louie wouldn’t hear him as he perused the pita chips. “Honestly, Goldie girl, I’m not all that sure. But, there’s genuinely no other options. I’m all they’ve got right now.”

There was a pause, before Goldie said softly, “They’re in perfectly capable hands, I’m sure.”

Scrooge smiled at the genuine compliment, but it faded fast. “Aye, that’s the problem. I’ve only got two of them. The odds are good that Dewey or Louie are gonna catch this thing, and then it’ll be three to two, one and a half if I’m left with the blue one.”

Goldie hummed. “There’s really no one else you can call?”

“Well,” Scrooge rolled the word around carefully. “There’s one person I’d like to call, but I’m not sure if they’d come help, really.”

“It’s gotta be worth a shot, moneybags. All you can do is ask, worst they’ll do is say no and you’ll be in the same spot.”

“Aye, that’s true.”

“Good, so give them a call.” She sounded very self-satisfied. Scrooge smirked.

“I am, right now.”

“Excuse me?”

Scrooge shrugged, nervous as all get out but unwilling to show it. This was a whole new world- asking each other for help, and him with at least two sick children on the table. He was crazy to think she’d-

“Scrooge,” she sighed, and he felt his heart begin to sink. “I don’t really think that’s the best idea…”

“And why not?” He was careful to hide any emotion. Too much sadness, and he could poke a bear. Anger, and she’d shut down. Too much hope, and she’d run. No matter how far they had come, old habits were hard to break.

She exhaled, and he heard clattering in the back. Hair pins probably. “Because they’re kids. And I’m me. And they’re going to be all...sticky. And cranky. They barely tolerate me in good health, I don’t think they’d appreciate my presence right now.”

Once upon a time, Scrooge would have taken it as a major deflection and dismissal. Now though, he heard the insecurities he’d never listened for in the past. “Goldie, the kids adore you and you know it.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Just because it scares ye doesn’t make it untrue.” Scrooge said flippantly while he tossed some chicken broth in the cart. He tread on thin ice.

“I ought to hang up on you for that.” She mused. There was a startling lack of heat behind it, though.

“And yet, we’re still talking,” he snorted. “Look, ah’m not asking ye to come play happy family for a week, ah’m asking ye for help making sure they don’t keel over. I don’t think there’s going to be a grand wealth of emotions at play here.”

There was silence, and he let her mull it over while he tried to figure out whether or not they needed tomato paste anytime soon. It was on sale. Louie had wandered back over, bored of running amuck, Scrooge assumed. His nephew leaned against him and looked up.

“Is Aunt Goldie coming to visit? Or were you whisper-fighting about something else?”

“Here,” Scrooge tossed him the phone. “Ask her yerself, I need to make sure we’ve got everything. And take the junk food out of the cart, I saw ye put it in. We don’t need Toasty Mallows cereal or Sour Squeezers. S’all chemicals.”

Louie grumbled and took the phone back. He whined into it as he fished his ill-received gains out of the cart. “I thought you were gonna distract him so I could hide the stuff in the cart. Scheme’s only as good as its weakest link, you know.”

Scrooge smiled, tuning out his family’s conversation (or the one side of it he could hear, at any rate). He really could use Goldie’s help, and if anyone could persuade her to come lend a hand, it was Louie. He didn’t necessarily understand how their bond started, or even approve of it at first, but they did each other a world of good. Louie was comfortable around Goldie like no one else was, and she understood him better than any other adult. Scrooge was happy to see they tended to bring out the best in each other, the pieces of them they tried to hide from the world.
While he debated whole fat versus half fat milk (for cooking. Huey drank soy, Webby drank oatmilk, and Louie and Dewey found milk disgusting), he could hear Louie wheedling at the phone. From the smile on his face, it looked like he thought he was winning. Scrooge snorted to himself. He’d been there before. But then Louie was hanging up, and the smile wasn’t fading.

He skipped over to his uncle. “She said she’d be here by 5, and to save her some soup. And also to pick up aspirin. And wine.”

“Wot?” Scrooge was dumbstruck. “Really?”

Louie only shrugged. “Yeah. I told her you were gonna lose your mind, and that you tended to be less snappy when she was around, and that-”

“Alright, alright,” he scowled at Louie’s triumph. “Well, ye got her to agree, so thank ye, Louie.”

“It’s all good. I’m glad you’ll have some help with the invalids.”

Scrooge snorted. “Don’t let Webbigail overhear ye, she’ll have ye through the windae.”

Louie gulped, nodding. They grabbed the last item- Goldie’s wine- and made their way to the front of the store. Scrooge ended up relenting when his nephew tried to smuggle string cheese and sugary yogurt into the cart, allowing the boy to think he’d won. They paid for the groceries, hauled the lot of them to the car, and arrived back home to a disquietingly silent house.

“Uh, anyone alive in here?” Louie called softly. Scrooge scowled and tapped him on the back with his cane. “Right, uh, that was in poor taste. Sorry everyone. And Duckworth.”

They wandered through to the kitchen, putting away the groceries before setting off to find the others. They walked into the living room, stopping before they made too much noise. The three children were curled up on the couch, Webby and Huey sharing the blanket end to end while Dewey was flopped a few feet away. They were all sound asleep. Scrooge sighed, relieved.

“Good, they’ll need all the rest they can get.”

He walked over to feel Huey’s head, wincing at the warmth. Webby was next, and he was dismayed to find her equally warm now. Dewey, though sound asleep, was perfectly cool. Scrooge was almost amazed.

Louie laughed at his expression. “Yeah, Dewey’s got a crazy good immune system. Donald thinks it’s because he used to eat dirt and lick floors.”

Scrooge recoiled internally. “Aye, yeah, that’ll do it. C’mon, lad, you’re awake so let’s get your temperature.”

“Bleh, fine.”

They went back to the kitchen, where Louie hopped up on the counter while Scrooge fetched the thermometer. He gave it to the boy while he set about defrosting the chicken for the soup, and making sure the ingredients were good to go for that evening. Where did Beakley keep that monstrous crock pot?

The thermometer beeped, and Louie yanked it out. Scrooge came over to read it, relieved. “Yer in the clear for now, lad. Looks like you’re second in command.”

Louie grinned. “I promise to exclusively abuse this power.”

“Aye, wouldn’t expect anything less. Now, do you have any homework to get out of the way?”

“Uuughhhh,” the eye roll Scrooge received was strong. “Way to kill the fun.”

“You can either get it done now while I make the soup, or help me make the soup and then work on it while I wake the other kids for medicine.”

Louie pondered this. “Soup beats sentence diagrams. Let’s get cooking.”

He dragged a small stool over so he could comfortably reach the countertop, and Scrooge smothered a grin. He knew one day soon the boys would all be taller than him, but for now he would enjoy the amusing sight of Louie struggling to reach the cabinets.

They set about tossing the chicken, thyme, rosemary, and garlic into the pot and pouring the broth over it. Scrooge peeled potatoes while Louie, under careful supervision, sliced the carrots and celery. They double teamed the onion, until the sting was too much for the younger duck and he backed away to the far wall, tossing Scrooge encouragements. They dumped the veggies in, seasoned with a bit of salt, pepper, some gentle onion powder, parsley, and a hint of red pepper flakes.

Scrooge looked at Louie funny for the last addition, but he only shrugged. “Uncle Donald says it adds extra spicy stuff to the soup that you can’t really taste, but it opens up clogged noses.”

“Ah, very smart.”

The pot was set to slow cook for 6 hours, and Scrooge cleaned up while Louie dragged his backpack into the dining room. While he set up, his uncle cleaned the mess in the kitchen. Beakley made it look so easy, but then again, 22 made everything look easy. It took him about half an hour of scrubbing, but Scrooge had never shied away from using a little elbow grease. Afterwards, he grabbed the bag full of medicine, and made his way to the family room.

The kids were still asleep, so Scrooge took the opportunity to check their temperatures with his hand. Webby and Huey were still burning, not to any surprise. But when he got to Dewey, he was horrified to find him ice cold.

He shook the boy by the shoulders. “Dewey,” he whispered harshly. “Dewey, lad, are y’awright?”

The blue triplet twitched, before groaning and rolling into a ball. “Uncle Scrooge, turn off the alarm clock.”

“What alarm clock?”

Dewey cracked an eye open crankily. They were bloodshot and heavy. “The one ringing, duh.”

Scrooge sighed. “There is no clock, Dewey. Are you cold?”

“No, how could I be cold when it’s, like, a kajillion degrees in here?” He tucked tighter into the ball.

Well, that was that, then. Dewey was definitely sick. “I’m sorry, lad, but yer brother and sister are freezing, so we have to keep the heat up in here. Would ye like to head to your bed?” Dewey nodded. “Alright, then just hang on a moment.”

Scrooge moved to Webby and Huey. They were still sound asleep, but their breathing sounded scratchy. Congestion, then. He fished the decongestant out of the bag and left it on the table. He left the cough medicine there as well. There wasn’t anything he could give Dewey yet, all he felt was hot, despite being frigid to the touch.

Speaking of, the middle child had fallen back asleep, which gave Scrooge time to collect the kid’s water bottles from their bags. He took them to the kitchen, plopped some ice in, and filled them up. He grabbed the green one, stuck with stickers of dollar signs, cats, and an Ottoman empire decal, first. He brought it out to Louie, along with the vitamin C gummies.

“Here,” he dropped them on the table next to the school assigned laptop. “Drink this. All three of them are sick now.”

Louie blanched. “Jeez, I’m the last one standing? That never happens.”

“It is odd, isn’t it?” Scrooge mused, making sure his nephew took the two gummies and drank some water. “Did you do anything they didn’t?”

“Not that I can think of. We don’t really even share classes, except P.E. cuz it’s by grade.”

Scrooge shrugged, and patted Louie on the head as he left with the blue water bottle, which was extremely dented and entirely covered in stickers of skateboards, musical playbill decals, and bizarre quotes.

He scooped Dewey up and began the careful trek up the stairs to the boy’s room. Halfway there, he stopped. Dewey was on the second bunk. If he got disoriented, or nauseous, he could be at risk to fall, or create a biohazard. And the bottom bunk was Louie’s, who was still healthy.

Scrooge sighed, and turned to head toward the different wing. Dewey roused a bit at the change. “UnclScroozhwherrwe?” He slurred.

“I’m gonna put you in Gladstone’s room. The bed in there is absurdly large, and lower to the ground than your bunk. And there’s an attached bath. So if you feel like you’re going to be sick, you can run in there without breaking your neck, aye?”

Dewey snuggled into his shoulder, already asleep again. “Yea tha’ soundgoods.” Scrooge opened the door, pleased to see the room was well kept, not dusty whatsoever. He gently placed Dewey down on the side closest to the bathroom, and placed his water bottle on the nightstand. He ran his fingers through the lad’s drooping bangs fondly before leaving. He checked once more on Webby and Huey, but they were still out.

He hoped they’d sleep through the night if they were napping this much.

Louie was still at his seat in the dining room, only looking up when his uncle dropped into his place at the head. “Everyone alive?”

“Webby and Huey are still sleeping, somehow, and Dewey doesn’t look like he’ll be awake soon, either.”

“Yeah that sounds about right,” Louie scribbled more notes down as he spoke. “Uncle Donald usually lets us sleep as much as we can when we’re sick, but he does make sure we get some food in us at some point. So maybe wake them up for dinner and then let them head back to sleep.”

Scrooge nodded. “Aye that seems smart.”

“Oh, just a heads up. When Dewey gets the flu, he usually gets pukey. Huey gets everything else.”

“Eugh, lovely,” Scrooge massaged his temples. “Your brother seems to have a general proclivity for, erm, upchucking, so I put him in Gladstone’s room with the attached bath. And you’ll probably be staying in a guest room, too, lad, until we can get your beddings sanitized.”

Louie sighed. “Yeah, that makes sense. As long as it’s not Fethry’s room. There’s a lot of weird shi- stuff in there.”

Scrooge was too tired to reprimand him for his near slip up. “How’s the homework getting on?”

“Good, I guess,” he shrugged. “I don’t really like English, but this book is better than I thought it would be. It’s a little bit nerdy, but maybe that’s not so bad.”

“Oh? What are you reading?”

And so the next half-hour passed with Scrooge receiving a very animated review of The Hobbit by JayRR Tolkeet, and how Louie found it to be both lame and charming. After that, Scrooge brought out some of his own paperwork and they spent the next few hours working together in companionable silence. Every hour or so, Scrooge checked the soup and the kids. Huey roused briefly to down his water bottle and some decongestant and use the bathroom, but he passed out again almost immediately. Webby had yet to wake.

Finally, at around 4:45, Louie shut the last of his books and began packing them away. All that was left was the aforementioned Hemmingjay, which he glared at sullenly. Scrooge chuckled.

“Read it aloud, it’ll help you get through it.”

“You won’t mind?” Louie eyed him skeptically.

Scrooge shrugged. “I’m just reading horrid resumes. I could use the background noise.”

Neither of them had heard the front door open and shut, or noticed the presence in the doorway just behind them until Louie was just getting into a scene where the protagonist’s cookware was being manhandled by rude and unexpected houseguests. Scrooge could sympathize.

“Blunt the knives and bend the forks, smash the- the bottles and burn the pork- no, corks. Uh- chip the plates- no- ” Louie was struggling to get the rhythm of “one of the hundreds of thousands of unnecessary and flowery” poems strewn through the book, when-

“-Chip the glasses and crack the plates, cause that’s what Billnose Baggins hates?”

The lilting tease startled them both, heads whipping to the door. “Aunt Goldie!”

Louie leapt from his chair, nearly knocking it over, and tore across the room. Scrooge smiled as she bent down to meet him, opening her arms to his hug when he crashed into her. It had been at least two months, maybe more, since she’d visited. Hardly any time at all to the two of them, but the kids had become used to her in and out presence. Goldie had lamented missing their first day of school to him (privately, over the phone, and after a glass of wine), but she’d just returned from a very long and tense land purchase negotiation abroad yesterday.

Scrooge let them have their moment, his grin growing when neither rushed to end the hug. In fact, Goldie kept an arm looped around Louie even after they stood and came back to the table. He stood to greet her properly, fighting to keep his smile somewhat reserved.

She winked at him, and it was as if she’d never left. “Evenin’, Scrooge.”

“Goldie-girl,” He sighed, and looped an arm around her waist to tug her to him. Louie made a barfing noise and slipped away, but not before Scrooge called out. “Louie, be a lad and go check the soup, aye?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He feigned annoyance, but they both knew him too well to believe it for a minute. The kitchen door thumped shut behind him, and they were alone briefly.

Scrooge leaned in and pressed his beak to hers, once, twice, three times. She sighed into his mouth, shifting in his arms, reaching up to bury her fingers in his whiskers. They pulled apart scarcely an inch, voices barely a murmur.

“Thank you, Goldie, for coming.”

Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corner. “As much fun as it is leaving you high and dry, that kid has a gift for sweet-talking.”

“Hm, wonder where he got that from?” Scrooge ran his fingers through what he could of Goldie’s hair. She had it tied in a messy bun, bangs swept to the side and out of the way. He leaned into her space, breathing deeply. “Stars, but you are intoxicating.”

She chuckled appreciatively. “Scrooge, honey, there are children literally everywhere. Afraid you’re gonna have to save that for later.”

“Aye,” he pulled back to a modest distance, but kept his hand on her hip. “Dinnae if there’ll be a later, though. The kids are in rough shape, I have very low expectations for a full night's sleep.”

Goldie grimaced. “Wonderful. So, what’s the low down?”

“Take a seat and I’ll fill you in. Louie, you can come back now!”

The kid burst through the door not a second later, clambering back into his seat. “Are you done being gross?”

“Depends entirely on if you finish your chapter.” Goldie replied evenly. Louie groaned, picking his book back up with a huff. He didn’t read aloud, but he did mutter the words to himself. Scrooge smiled and turned back to Goldie.

“Webby and Huey are asleep in the family room, but we’re going to have to wake them up to get some food and medicine in them. Especially Webby, she hasn’t woken in about 6 hours. I’ve been checking on them every hour or so. Dewey is asleep in Gladstone’s room. He said he feels hot, but he’s ice cold when I touch his head. Louie says he has a tendency to vomit when he’s ill, so we have to look out for that.”

Goldie nodded, grimacing only mildly. “And Sharpie over here?”

“Miraculously, healthy as anything.”

She looked impressed, and Scrooge noticed Louie trying not to puff up with pride. “Not bad, kid. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“I took my vitamins and everything, no need to worry about me, Aunt G.”

“Really?” She smirked. “Because you haven’t turned a page this whole time.”

Louie grimaced. “Know it all.”

“Damn straight.”

“Goldie!”

Twenty minutes later, Louie had dragged himself through the chapter, perking up quite a bit when he realized there would be a dragon fight at some point, and the soup timer had gone off.
They all stood, clearing the table of workstuffs.

“Lad, you’re on soup duty. Turn off the pot, get it dished in some bowls. Try to get mostly broth for your siblings, aye?”

“You can count on me, Uncle Scrooge. It’s in the bag.” He lazily saluted as he wandered off to the kitchen.

Scrooge looked at Goldie. “Ready to face the horde?”

She sighed, taking his hand in hers. “Not even in the slightest.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Chapter Text

No matter how many steps forward they took, there was always the chance of stumbling back, of hitting a wall or failing to clear a hurdle. Scrooge often forgot that, both in terms of business and personal growth. In fact, it was when things were going their best that one had to keep the sharpest eye. Maybe that made him cynical, but he had yet to be proven wrong. And when it came to Goldie, a small dash of cynicism was never out of place. For either of them.

He should have known something was off when she missed Sunday family dinner. They all knew she was in town; she’d picked Louie up for a joyride on Friday after school, and told him she’d see them all that weekend. But then she’d gone dark; no texts going through, calls met with voicemail. Not even Scrooge’s private line could reach her. Sunday night passed without any word from her, and the kids went to bed feeling rather sore about it. Especially Louie, who’d excused himself from dinner and stomped up to his room early.

Monday came and went with much the same treatment, until finally on Tuesday, Scrooge actually got his private line to ring. She didn’t pick up, but now he knew her phone was back on. It was enough for him to stop panicking (albeit internally), and he turned his focus to business for the rest of the day. It was later that very night it all hit the fan rather disastrously.

The kids were sitting in the family room with Della, reading and playing games and finishing up late assignments. Beakley and Scrooge were in the foyer, sorting through the latest adventure’s yield. His carefully stacked pile of stone tablets came crashing to the ground, though, when the front door slammed open and shut with palpable rage.

Goldie leaned against the door, eyes shut, breathing heavily through her nose. She was covered in bruises, scrapes, and she had a nasty cut across the top of her beak. And when she pushed off the door to storm across the foyer, Scrooge noticed she was limping slightly.

“Goldie!” He leapt into the midst of her war path. “What in blazes do you think your-”

She shoved past him harshly, trucking him to the side with her shoulder. “Move.”

Beakley bristled. “Now see here, O’Gilt-”

Goldie didn’t break pace, merely tossing a rude hand gesture over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. Beakley rolled her eyes, going back to vacuuming up the stray coins. Scrooge scowled, offended on her behalf. As far as he knew, Beakley and Goldie had reached a sort of armistice; they tolerated each other and didn’t go out of their way to interact and it worked for everyone involved. This was out of character for Goldie, nowadays at least.

The kids peeked their heads out of the family room just as Goldie vanished around the bend of the stairs. Louie brightened up, and made to follow her.

Scrooge hooked his hood with the handle of his cane. “Haud yer wheest there, lad!”

“I’m sorry, what-”

“Yer aunt is in a right foul mood, Louie. I think it’d be best if I went and talked to her myself, while the rest of you wait here.”

Louie scowled. “But that’s not fair! She totally ditched me- I mean, us. We kinda deserve an answer on that, y’know.”

“And ah’m not sayin’ you don’t, lad,” Scrooge held firm. “But I think right now, if ye all go up there, even with the best of intentions, she’ll get overwhelmed and lash out. And then you’ll all be sayin’ things you regret, and we’ll have a right mess on our hands, aye?”

The kids mumbled reluctant agreements, and allowed themselves to be shuffled back into the family room. Della looked concerned, but she had experience on her side; if Goldie O’Gilt wanted to be left alone, then you left her alone. Or the consequences were on your own head.

Scrooge sighed, and began his trek up the stairs after her. He came to his bedroom door, ajar when he knew he’d closed it. He steeled himself, stepping into the dim evening gloom that washed through the space. No lights had been turned on, but the attached bath’s door was shut, and there was light leaking through the bottom. A trail of clothes, muddy and torn, divided the bedroom. Scrooge set about turning on some softer lights, not the harsh overhead. He even pulled a large candle from the nightstand on her side of the bed and lit it.

Satisfied with the peaceful ambience he’d made, and crossed to the bathroom door and rapped his cane against the wood. No answer.

“Goldie girl, I know you’re in there.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He bit back a groan. “May I come in?”

“It’s your house, do what you want.”

“Goldie…,” Scrooge sighed. “Ye know that’s not an answer.”

There was a long pause. “Fine. Come in.”

Scrooge pushed open the door gently, unsurprised to find Goldie in the shower. The water burst from the shower head as he entered, and he smiled to himself. She’d known he would follow, and had waited to start cleaning.

He approached the rippled glass of the shower door, quickly steaming. He had a feeling he would be unwelcome in there at the moment, so he slid carefully down to the tile floor and leaned his back against the door. After a moment, it cracked open briefly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Goldie’s voice was rough, as if she’d been yelling or was holding back emotion. Probably both, knowing her.

Scrooge nodded. “I didn’t think so.” He took his hat off and tossed it across the room.

Silence reigned again, interrupted by the occasional grunt or hiss as Goldie washed her injuries. Scrooge craned his neck to peek through the slivered opening and attempted to gauge just how badly she was hurt. He could see she was leaning against the wall, keeping weight off her foot. But other than that, nothing.

He cleared his throat. “Will ye be staying here tonight?”

“Don’t know. Probably not.”

“Ah.” He tried to sound carefully neutral to hide his disappointment, and apprehension at what he’d tell the kids. He failed.

The shower door slammed open with a crash, and he briefly feared the reinforced glass would shatter. Goldie strode from the shower, shaking the loose water from her feathers brusquely before snatching her robe off the radiator. She fastened it, and whirled around to face him.

Fury like he hadn’t seen in years blazed in her eyes. He was used to cold disdain, hollow temptation, fairweather affection. Her domain was deception, and any anger she showed was often a facade for a grander scheme. This was unfamiliar.

“How dare you ask me to stay here, to sit around and play house with you,” she seethed. “After what I just went through in St. Canard, you want me to go pretend I’m Aunt Goldie? That I’m what- Mrs. McDuck? You can f-”

Scrooge leapt to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his knee. “And how in Dismal Downs would I know what you’ve been through when you dinnae want to tell me! I cannae read minds, and ye well know it!”

“That’s besides the point-”

“It is literally the point!” He roared, his voice echoing off the tiles. “And what is this nonsense about pretending and playing house? If you think after all these months, with all that those kids think of you, that this is some kind of bloody game-!”

He saw her snap before she felt it, if the surprise on her face was anything to go by. She stormed into his space, beak to beak with him as she shouted to match him, “I know damn well that this isn’t a game, Scrooge! More than you’ll ever know for all your sentimental bullshit!”

Scrooge pushed back, refusing to give ground despite the tears welling in her eyes. “Then tell me, woman! Tell me what I should know! Tell me why you storm in here, bold as brass, flip off my housekeeper, scare the wits out of my kids, shout at me-!”

He was cut off by her beak crashing into his, and he swallowed the mournful whimper that escaped her. She clawed for purchase in his greatcoat, desperate for comfort and some form of control. Scrooge grabbed her back around the waist, hauling her bodily to him. Crushed together, seeking solutions to unknown problems the only way they knew how.

After moments of heated kisses, he could no longer ignore the tears dripping down her face, finding their way to their mouths. He pulled back gently, though it wrung his heart as she chased his lips with hers, stealing kisses even as they separated.

Goldie’s eyes were red, puffed from a combination of steam and tears. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and the incandescent rage had been snuffed out by this deeper sadness. Scrooge felt his own eyes burn, but held it in.

“C’mon,” his voice was gruff but he grabbed her softly. “Into the bedroom. The bathroom echoes, and my old bones are sore.”

She nodded without protest or quip, which alarmed Scrooge more than the tears. She headed back through the doorway, while Scrooge made sure the water was off, the towels were hung, and the lights were off before he left. He may or may not have also been giving her a few moments to gather herself.

He found her curled up on top of the duvet on her side of the bed, staring into the flickering flames of the candle. When he curled up behind her on his own side, it felt like trying not to startle a wild animal. He knew how mercurial her moods could be; he’d seen her oscillate from tears to anger to frigid walls as quickly as she could change keys when she sang. It would be equally impressive, if it didn’t alarm him.

But this time, she merely rolled over and buried her face in his chest. Stunned, Scrooge rested his hands carefully on her shoulders, only tightening his grip when he heard felt them start shaking.

“Goldie girl,” he sighed into her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her feathers. “Will ye please, please tell me what happened?”

She didn’t speak, but she nodded, and that was enough for now. He kept on running his fingers through her shoulder and neck feathers, frowning at the matts there. Showering only did so much after an adventure; she’d need a thorough preening to get the rest of the tangles and grime out.

Luckily, he had the perfect opportunity when she rolled back over and began to speak.

“I was in St. Canard this weekend, not Duckburg. I was supposed to meet with a buyer for an artifact I found in the Amazon last month, but didn’t have a use for. We agreed on a nice sum, and a location, and I figured that was that. It was supposed to be in and out. But when I got there, he started asking questions. A lot of questions. Questions he shouldn’t have even known to ask.”

Scrooge swallowed. “What kinds of questions?”

She sighed, long and low. “He didn’t just want the artifact, he wanted several new plots of land I picked up abroad, and the location of the Wronguay youth fountain, and other things we hadn’t talked about, and I had no intention of giving him. He knew that, and he came prepared.”

Goldie paused, shifted uncomfortably. Scrooge frowned, and tilted his beak into her shoulder. “May I?”

She grunted, and Scrooge set to work picking through her clumped feathers as she continued.

“He knew about the kids,” she whispered, and Scrooge nearly choked. “He started asking about their class schedules, how often they go to Funso’s. He asked about Louie’s upcoming chess tournament, and the science fair Huey’s in next month. He knew so much, and he…”

Scrooge draped an arm over her waist. “He what?”

“He threatened them. Or rather, he threatened me with them. Said if I didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d make sure they suffered for it. And he fully intended to make good on it.”

He waited with baited breath, but didn’t stop his rote cleaning. “So what happened? Why were you late? Where is this mad man now?”

There was a sneer in her voice. “He won’t be an issue. He was a maniac, but he was a fool. Let slip early on he worked alone; no henchmen, no boss, no safety net. When he started threatening the kids, I kicked his ass. That’s what the bruises and scrapes are from. He fought back, and he fought dirty,” she sounded almost bored of the rogue. “The usual, hit me with a chair, pulled a knife on me, yadda yadda. It was too bad he didn’t know what to do with the knife, and I did.”

“Atta girl.” Scrooge jostled her playfully despite his wildly thumping heart.

She smiled a bit. “Apparently he brought a dimensional scrambler to the meeting place, a private room off one of my own hotels. It slowed time, so I only felt like I was in there for a few hours. But after I threw him into his own wormhole and pocketed the thing, imagine my surprise when I realized it was Tuesday, not Saturday.”

They fell silent. Scrooge had finished preening her left shoulder, but didn’t want to push her to get to her right. He let her lead, sensing the real root of the issue had yet to be dug up.

Carefully, he pried. “Goldie, love, we deal with rubes like that louse all the time. Why did this one get to you?”

Goldie rose abruptly, shifting from quiet contemplation to annoyance in a heartbeat. “Maybe you deal with this all the time, Scrooge, but I don’t.”

Scrooge stood as well, apprehensive for what was to come. Maybe he should blow the candle out, so nothing caught fire if she hurled it at his head. Worse had happened, after all. “Is that what this is about?”

“Of course that’s what this is about!” Her hands came up to run through her hair, still very damp. “I can’t do this, Scrooge. I thought I could, but I can’t. It just doesn’t work, not for me.”

He grabbed her hands away from her head before she started ripping out feathers. “Can’t do what, Goldie? Please, just talk to me!”

“I can’t love them, Scrooge!” He reeled back as if struck. Her heart was breaking in her eyes at the admittance, and he was helpless to stop it. “I can’t,” her whisper was hoarse, desperate. “Not when it means this.”

He frowned. “When it means what?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I have enemies that aren’t like yours, Scrooge. There are people out there, who hate me, who wouldn’t think twice about killing any one of them. It wouldn’t even be a blip on their radar. And I- I’m...” She trailed off, her breathing becoming erratic. Panic was setting in, and he knew he only had moments before she took off for who knows how long.

Scrooge shook her arms, bringing her focus back. He looked into her eyes, brilliant green that had always pierced his heart like a storm. “Goldie, please. We’ve come so far. I just need you to trust me with this,” he pleaded. “You’re what? You can tell me, and I promise, I’ll listen. I will.”

He knew she didn’t believe him, not fully, and he didn’t blame her. For as much reason as she’d given him not to trust her, he knew he’d never really given her great reason either. She was a swindling con-artist, sure, but he could play her game just fine, and had, several times.

But something in her gave way, and she spoke. “I’m scared, Scrooge. I’m terrified down to my very bones that something is going to happen to those kids, and it’s going to be my fault.”

If a breaking heart could make a sound. “Goldie…”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but it was like dam had broken deep within. “I don’t know what to do, and I always know what to do. Everywhere I look, there’s a new, disgusting emotion to cope with, and someone who would try to use it to kill me, or them, or you. I’m so scared, all the time, and I can’t handle that, Scrooge, I just can’t. I’m Goldie O’Gilt, damn it, I don’t do scared.”

Goldie ripped her hands from his grip to pace in front of him. “When I’m here, I feel like some sort of imposter, lying to you and those kids and myself. I feel like a liar, or-or an actress, playing some role that I didn’t do anything to deserve. When they look at me, all I can see is every way I can mess them up, every single tiny way I could possibly let them down.

“I know I’m going to mess it up, I know I’m going to do something to ruin this. I’m going to get them hurt, or kidnapped, or lose them, and everyone will wake up and see what a screw up I am, and you’ll realize I don’t belong here, that I never have and that I’ve been lying to all of us.”

She was choking on sobs that overtook her ability to speak, and Scrooge couldn’t take it anymore. He wrapped her in a hug she had no chance of escaping, letting her bury her wails in his shoulder.

“I hate this,” she wept. “I hate feeling like this. I hate that I’m crying, and that I’m too weak and soft to do anything about it. I hate it so much, Scrooge.”

“I know, darlin’,” he held her tighter. “I know.”

When she spoke again, it was so soft he could scarcely hear her. “I want this so bad. I want it in a way I’ve never wanted treasure, or gold. And it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever lived through. It hurts worse than being in that block of ice.”

“Please believe me when I say I know exactly how you feel.” Scrooge murmured.

Goldie looked up at him through her tears, despite how angrily she was wiping them on his jacket. “How so?”

He sighed, stroking her hair. “When Donald and Della landed in my custody, as on and off as it was, I found myself irritated at first, then utterly charmed by them. But, once that sort of honeymoon phase wore off with the novelty of it, I realized I had no bloody idea what I was doing. And then I was petrified.”

“Really?” she snorted, albeit quietly. “The great Scrooge McDuck brought low by a couple of kids?”

“Ah, but you see, that’s the very thing,” he smiled at her. “To them, we aren’t ‘the great Scrooge McDuck’ and, well, all of your many epitaphs, but just Uncle Scrooge. And now, Aunt Goldie. It feels terrifying because it is.”

He urged her back toward the bed, climbing into it and resting against the headboard. He opened his arm, and smiled when she snuggled into his side. “Kids have this way of stripping away all your masks, all your titles, and seeing you for who you really are. And I think, for people like us, that can be very hard for us to face. At least, it was for me.”

Goldie leaned against him, comforting and contemplative. They sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t tense, or angry, or even sad. Just full of thought, as they both examined what had been, and what was now.

At length, Goldie spoke. “You know, I never thought I could be this happy. And now, it feels like all the world wants to do is take it from me.”

Scrooge nodded. “Aye, some days certainly seem that way. At least, the bad ones do.”

She sighed explosively, thumping her head against the headboard. “Any solutions, O Guru of Familial Wisdom?”

“Ach, I wish I had those answers,” he snorted. “All I can tell you is that on those days, when family seems like more trouble than its worth, and all you want is to go back to a time before four little hellions took your life by storm, you should hold them all the closer.”

She looked at him, tsking at herself and rolling her eyes when they filled with tears again. “Damn it,” she hissed. “I am so tired of crying, this is stupid.”

“Nah, let it out, lass,” he kissed her temple. “You’ll feel better for it.”

“Whatever,” she grumbled. She flopped against him, tucking her knees up. “Do they hate me now?”

“They could never, and ye know it.”

“I missed stupid family dinner.”

He smiled. “There will be many, many more. Louie’s a bit sore, though that may just be teen angst.”

“Nah, I promised him I’d take them all to Starducks Monday morning before school. I owe ‘em.”

“How about you take them tomorrow, hm?” he asked diplomatically. “If you think you’ll be up in time.”

They both knew she hadn’t forgotten her claim of not staying there that night, but they also knew the storm had blown out to sea. For now, at least. Scrooge anticipated there would be other moments, stumbles and hiccups. But what he knew, and what Goldie would learn, is that they had a family ready to catch them when they fell, and pick them back up.

Goldie kissed him, softly but with promise. “Alright, then. Tomorrow morning.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been, taking care of the kids with Scrooge. But then again, she’d only been here a few hours, and she was a cynic. So it was probably safer to say, it wasn’t that bad yet.

Webby was in the foulest mood Goldie had ever seen her in, and she found that to be the biggest challenge of the evening. When they’d gone in to rouse the kids for dinner, Webby had grumbling and glared, turning over with a huff. This ripped the blanket off poor Huey rather violently, who woke from the sudden chill. Goldie had taken him to get a hoodie, leaving Scrooge to deal with Webby.

Huey was silent as he trundled up the stairs, Goldie’s hand on his shoulder in case he stumbled. They made it to the triplets’ room, where Huey looked around the room like he’d never seen it before. Finally, he pointed at a dresser.

When he didn’t move past that, Goldie stepped over to him. “Do you have a hoodie in there?”

He nodded. She touched the first drawer, waiting for a cue. Huey shook his head no. She touched the next drawer, and he nodded again. She pulled it open gently, and extracted a large red hoodie with a game emblem and a pixelated dragon on the back.

“Is this one okay?” Goldie was careful to keep her voice low. Scrooge had explained Huey’s overstimulated state of mind, and she didn’t want to send the kid into any sort of spiral. He had more than enough on his plate. Luckily, Huey nodded happily at the choice and grabbed for the jacket. He slipped it on, and Goldie hid her amusement at how the sleeves fell past his arms, which became very difficult when he started flapping them up and down against the floor.

“All good, kiddo?”

Huey smiled and nodded, before being abruptly winded by a massive coughing jag. His whole body rocked with it as he buried his beak in the sleeves. Goldie tried not to grimace, she didn’t want him feeling guilty for something he couldn’t help.

Even if it was a really, really nasty cough.

Goldie didn’t know whether to reach out to him as he wobbled. She figured it was better to let him initiate any contact at the moment, but she also didn’t want him falling over. Fortunately, Huey made the choice for her, falling into her as the cough wound down into a wheezing rasp. Small arms wrapped around her waist, tugging.

She sighed, and lifted him into her arms, careful to keep his germy mouth turned away from her own face. Huey’s sleeved hand swam vaguely through the sign for thank you, and she nodded. “Don’t mention it, kid. I’m gonna take you down to your uncle before I get the blue one, alright?”

Another nod. She nudged him carefully as they descended the main stair. “Don’t go falling asleep just yet. You have to get a little soup in you before you head back to bed.”

Huey sighed, but gestured his agreement. Goldie patted his back idly. When they reached the dining room, she had to smother a sharp laugh. Webby, Louie and Scrooge were seated, picking at their soup, but the water stain on Scrooge’s greatcoat told her Webby hadn’t acquiesced without a fight. That, and Louie’s very amused smirk.

“Scrooge,” she called softly. The table looked up, and she diligently ignored how Webby’s eyes narrowed at her. “Take Red, I’ve gotta go get the other one. And make sure he gets cough medicine.”

“Aye, ta.” Scrooge took Huey, who clung to him like a monkey. He sighed, resigned, and pulled Huey’s bowl over so he could pick at it from his uncle’s lap.

Goldie headed back upstairs, and knocked softly on Gladstone’s door. There was no answer, so she pushed her way in. Alarm flared when she realized the bed was empty, but quickly traded hands with apprehension when she saw the bathroom light on and the door open. She wandered over carefully, wrinkling her nose at the stench that hit her.

“Ugh, no,” she winced. “Kid, did you-”

“Puke? Yeah, a lil.”

Dewey was huddled on the bathroom floor, clutching one of the folded bath towels to his abdomen. He was tucked into the corner between the toilet and the tub, his head leaned against the cool marble of the bath. He grinned weakly at her. “Hey, Aunt G.”

Goldie sighed. The bathroom was clean, really. He’d clearly made it to the toilet and flushed away the sick. So it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. “Feel any better?”

He waffled a hand. “Eh? My stomach feels better. But I’m cold, and I can’t stop shaking, and I’m really tired but my muscles don’t wanna move. It feels like when that bug bit me when we were in the jungles of Arnyana.”

“Mhm, I know the feeling,” she nodded. “How about a hoodie? And then maybe a little medicine and a bite of soup?”

Dewey looked nervous. “What if I puke again?”

“Look, kid, if you’re gonna puke, you’re gonna puke. But in the meantime, you should try and get some nutrients in you, even if it’s just some simple broth and a fever reducer.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense.” He wiggled out of the space carefully, and Goldie took notice of how dark and sunken his eyes were. He was the most coherent of the sick, but he was certainly not getting off any easier.

She walked with him to his room, helped him grab his hoodie out of his bunk, and then escorted him to dinner. Everyone else was just about done when they got there, which may have been for the best. She got him settled a few seats away from Louie, who gave him a sympathetic wave.

“Hey, Dew.”

“Hey, Lou.”

Dewey grabbed his bowl and brought it toward him with gusto, but Goldie stopped him with a stern look as she set down the fever medicine and a glass of water. “Sip that very slowly, kid. Your stomach can’t take anything more than a snail’s pace right now.”

Louie winced. “Didja puke?”

“Yerp,” Dewey slurped his soup carefully. “S’all good though. How are Huey and Webs?”

Huey waved gently, mostly asleep as he leaned against Scrooge. Webby’s anger seemed to have faded to a dull misery, and she stirred her spoon through her bowl vaguely. Goldie disappeared into the kitchen to grab her own bowl of soup and a fortifying glass of wine. Not that she’d get through even half of it knowing her luck.

She rejoined them, sitting down on Scrooge’s free side, across from Webby. The girl stared at her intermittently as she ate her soup, and Goldie tamped down her confrontational instinct. All kids had a staring problem, everyone knew that. Maybe the baby ninja was just trying to test her. Or maybe she had something on her face.

Whatever it was, Goldie was set on ignoring it until it wasn’t an option.

A hand touched hers lightly, and she looked up to see Scrooge looking at her far too softly. “How did the land deal go?”

She rolled her eyes, speaking softly. “It was an unorganized nightmare, and my Mandarin is really rusty, but the paperwork is done and on its way to the Dawson notary, so all’s well that ends well, I suppose.”

Scrooge hummed, and snagged her wine glass to steal a sip. “So, is this going to be another hotel?”

“No, I was thinking…”

They passed the rest of dinner idly discussing business plans, her company, his ventures. She noticed Louie trying desperately to follow along out of the corner of her eye, and felt an odd pride fluttering in her chest. Sharp as ever, that kid.

Hard not to be when you’re learning from the best.

Eventually, though, the soup was done, the wine (split evenly) gone, and the kids were either asleep, or restless. Huey was snoring away in Scrooge’s arms, swallowed in his hoodie. Webby was tapping her fingers against the table, trying to focus on some game on her phone, but clearly failing. And Dewey-

Was looking rather green.

The fever reducer had probably digested into his system by now, thankfully, but the soup looked like it was about to make a reappearance. Goldie blanched, and nudged Scrooge’s foot under the table to nod discreetly at his blue nephew.

His eyes widened. “Dewey, c’mon, bathroom.”

“Yerp.”

Huey was deposited in her lap as Scrooge strode quickly to the other boy. He hustled the child out of the room and down the hall, a door slamming in the distance.

Louie winced. “Eugh, poor Dew. Flu’s always give him the ralphs.”

“Yes, thank you, Llewelyn,” Goldie admonished dryly. “I’m gonna plop Huey on the couch, then we can tackle the dishes.”

“Ugh, fine,” Louie slouched off of his chair, grabbing his bowl and grumbling. “Hate the dishes.”

Goldie rolled her eyes, looking to Webby next. “You wanna stay in here, or head to the living room?”

A shrug.

“Would you prefer to head to bed?”

Shrug.

Goldie shifted Huey in her arms, refusing to rise to the bait. Kids sought reactions, and she would not be giving her one. “Well, you’re a big girl, I’m sure you can figure out where you want to be next.”

That earned her a glare. She stared back, even and unphased, before taking Huey to the living room. These kids were almost too big to carry, in her opinion, but weighing the potential back pain against the consequences of waking them provided a clear answer.

She tossed a blanket over Huey and headed back through the dining room, grabbing the remaining bowls and her glass as she went. Webby still hadn’t moved, but now her phone was off and she was glaring at the table. Goldie shrugged to herself. She had absolutely no idea what was up with Scrooge’s (her?) niece, but she was beginning to think it was more than the flu.

Louie was at the sink, scrubbing away at the dishes. She dumped her collection in, snickering at his groan. “Oh, c’mon, I was almost done!”

“Relax, I’m coming to help.”

She modestly refilled her wine glass first, before rolling up her sleeves and heading to the sink. Grabbing a bowl and a sponge, she set to.

Goldie waited a polite moment or two before carefully starting to pry. “So, what’s up with Webbigail?”

Louie shrugged. “I have no idea, but she’s been crabby ever since we got called out of class, and getting worse.”

“Hmmm,” she scrubbed at a piece of dried celery. “And she wasn’t like this yesterday?”

“Nope, not at all. And to be honest, she only started getting really mad when Uncle Scrooge showed up.”

“Huh, that’s weird. She adores Scrooge.”

Louie made a wincing face. “She did, yeah,” he looked around, and lowered his voice. “Between us, I think she’s been getting less and less happy with him because they still haven’t talked about the whole, y’know, clone thing.”

“What?!” Goldie almost dropped the china bowl. “Still?”

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’. “So maybe it’s something to do with that. I know she felt like Scrooge was hiding her, and she was worried he was ashamed of everything.”

Goldie shook her head. “He could never be ashamed of any of you. You kids are his life. He’s just,” she sighed. “Not the most emotionally aware man.”

A snort. “Hoo boy, that’s an understatement. But, it could also not be that, too. Or a few things, like, all at once. This was Webby’s first week of real school. Maybe she’s having a hard time adjusting.”

“Ah, right,” the picture was slowly coming together for Goldie. “So, suffice to say, there’s a lot going on in her life right this very moment.”

“Big time,” Louie nodded. “And Beakley’s out of the country, so she’s probably feeling a little alone with all those feelings.”

Goldie inhaled deeply. Scrooge was certainly not going to pick up on that, not with everything going on. He was the most reactionary person she knew, and that was the last thing Webby needed right now. They’d fuel the cycle of frustration together until they blew up.

She blew the air out through her nose, harsh and short. “Okay, Sharpie. Wrap up these dishes, then grab your book for English. We both know you didn’t finish your chapter.”

“Man, c’mon!”

Goldie chuckled. “Relax, kiddo. I’ll do the reading. You just focus, kay? Phones stay in the dining room.”

He huffed. “Alright, I guess that’s better. Ish.”

“Take the ish.”

“Yes, Aunt Goldie. “

She grabbed her wine glass, and ruffled Louie’s bangs on the way out. Webby was exactly where Goldie left her, arms crossed and staring down at the table. Except now, she was definitely more sad than angry.

Steeling herself, Goldie sat down next to her, leaning her elbows on her knees so she was eye level with Webby. “Hey, kiddo. Can we talk?”

Webby shrugged. “I guess.”

Goldie winced. Her voice was cracked like glass, hoarser than Huey’s. “Maybe we should wait. Your throat needs some more rest, sweetheart. Will you drink some tea?”

The younger girl shifted to face her a little more, hands uncrossing and dropping in her lap. She nodded and sniffled. “Yes, please.”

“Nutmeg?”

Webby wrinkled her beak in disgust. “No, thank you.”

Goldie laughed softly. “Alright. How about some decaf black tea with lots of lemon and honey?” Watery eyes lit up in delight, and she nodded fervently. “Okay. How about you head in with Huey, and share his blanket nicely this time, alright? You can sip your tea while we help Louie through his book, and then you and I can have a chat after that okay? Just us girls.”

She winked, and Webby smiled. “Okay. Thanks, Aunt Goldie.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Go on, now.”

Webby scampered off to the family room, while Goldie headed back to the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets for the decaf tea she had stashed here last time. She peered over her shoulder at Louie, who had started playing some awful racket from his phone while he washed.

“Tea, Lou?”

Louie bobbed his head in a nod. “Sure! Thanks, Aunt G.”

“Anyone else gonna want any?”

“Uncle Scrooge, maybe. Dewey hates tea and Huey only drinks herbal.”

“Got it. What on god’s green earth are you listening to?”

“Some song from TikFlok, it’s called Sugarcrush.”

“It’s pitchy.”

“I know, right?”

Goldie merely grunted as she set the kettle to heat. Louie lived to annoy her with his self-proclaimed garbage music taste. Whenever they were in the car, he grabbed for the aux cord so he could annoy her with trap, or rap, or whatever it was. Crap, as she called it.

Sometimes he was nice, and just played synth-filled 80s music, which was their middle ground. Tonight, she was not so lucky.

“Why must you torture your poor old aunt with your crap music?” She teased, grabbing the kettle as it whistled.

“Trap, Aunt Goldie. And because she stuck me with dish duty, and now my sleeves are wet.”

“You live such a hard life, young one.”

“I accept all sympathies in the form of cash or check.”

Goldie barked a laugh, pouring the water into four mugs, and dousing them appropriately with cream, fresh lemon, and enough honey to drown a bee. She continued to let them steep as Louie turned off the water and shook out his sleeves in annoyance.

“Man,” he tsked. “This was my last clean one, now I gotta wait for it to dry.”

“Busy yourself with getting the book ready. Here, take your tea.”

“Ughhh,” he sighed, but took the cup. “Fine.”

Goldie placed the rest of the mugs on a tray, stopping in the family room to deposit them before heading toward the bathroom on the ground floor. She knocked softly, opening when Scrooge answered wearily.

Dewey was curled up again, tucked into his uncle’s side and shivering. The kid’s personality was larger than life, it was disturbing to see him this small. He waved meekly.

“Hi Aunt G.” His voice was ravaged, a hoarse whisper at best.

“Hey, kiddo. You guys alright?”

“Aye, yeah, just waiting out the shakes,” Scrooge sighed, running his fingers through the downy feathers of his nephew’s head. “Figure it’s safer to stay here for a while than have to run for it again.”

“Mm, yeah,” Goldie knew she was making quite a face, if Scrooge’s amused glance was any indicator. “Well, I left you some tea in the family room, moneybags. Turbo, I’ll pour you some water. We’re gonna read more of Louie’s assignment.”

Dewey made a strange motion with his arms across his face, though it was weak and half hearted. Scrooge shook his head at the boy. “Tha’s braw, love, ta.”

She blushed a bit, as she always did when his brogue got thick, and ducked out of the room with a last wave. Everyone was settled in the warm family room, sconces lit, tea set out courtesy of Louie. The book rested beside the oversized armchair on a worn coffee table, a bookmark slapped haphazardly into its pages. Louie was curled up on half the armchair, clearly waiting for her.

Louie’s predilection for physical affection wasn’t something they discussed, in exchange for her own being ignored. But once he’d gotten comfortable with her in and out presence, which started a year earlier for him than the other kids, it was impossible to deny him the comfort he wordlessly sought. It started with him leaning against her side; no matter how often she pulled away, he found his way back. Then he’d grab her hand when he was startled, and not just when they were pulling off a con. Eventually it graduated to falling asleep against her on train rides back from field trips, leaning on her to take ugly selfies that he lied about deleting. At some point, it became more favorable to him to share her space than occupy his own when there was ample room to do so. Like now.

She plopped onto the chair, lifting her arm without thought so Louie could snuggle into her side. He reached across her and grabbed the book, opening it to the right page. She picked up her tea, and took a long sip.

She gave Huey and Webby a glance. “You kids want to listen or should we keep it down so you can sleep.”

Webby looked to Huey, who signed half-heartedly again. “We’d like to listen, if that’s okay.” She croaked.

Louie shrugged. “More the merrier, this thing is incomprehensible.”

“It’s a fairytale, Lou,” Goldie said. “Just let your mind wander, and be glad it’s not My Side of the Hilltop.”

“Meh, fine.” He flopped against her. Goldie cleared her throat and picked up from where he indicated he left off.

“‘Up jumped Billnose, and putting on his dressing gown went into the dining room…’”

Goldie remembered reading this book when it first came out, and finding it to be a compelling mixture of absurd and charming. It was published as a children’s novel, which she hadn’t realized until after she was seated on a cross-country train for a 36 hour trip with only that book and another to occupy her. Reluctantly, she’d read it, and had found herself bewitched by the simplistic yet evocative writing. She still had her original copy, tucked away in her personal bookshelf in her bedroom in Dawson.

Louie, despite all his protestations, had clearly become equally entranced as she had been; he was relaxed, but she could feel his alertness in how he tilted his head to read along. Webby was leaning over the arm of the couch, enraptured by the fanciful story of tiny Billnose wandering out into a world bigger than he ever could have imagined. Goldie figured she must sympathize heartily. Even Huey was fighting sleep, despite clearly being half-conscious as it was.

At some point, Scrooge wandered in with a shivering Dewey in his arms, changed into pajamas and wrapped in his bunk’s blanket. He deposited him carefully on the couch, where Webby and Huey scooted to make room. Scrooge took the other armchair across the room, picking up his teacup along the way. His hat and cane were tossed to the side as he finally allowed himself to relax.

“‘-Thank you, said Boarin.’ And that’s chapter two,” Louie turned the page for chapter three, but she gently extricated it from his grasp. “I think that’s enough for tonight, kids. It’s time for you to get some sleep.”

Louie sighed, but nodded; a testament to just how wiped he was. She looked to Scrooge, but snorted when she saw he was out cold. Well, she was on her own then.

“Alright kids, let’s try to do this without waking your poor old uncle. Now, none of you can sleep in your rooms tonight because they’re all up ladders for some godforsaken reason, and we don’t want you falling in the night, right?” The kids nodded. “So, Webby you’re taking Matilda’s room, Dewey’s in Gladstone’s, Huey can take Fethry’s, and Louie will be in Donald’s. All sound good?” More nods. “Alright, Louie, help Webs to her room. I’ll get Huey and Dewey to bed.”

They broke up, Webby leaning heavily on her green brother, while Goldie lifted Huey into her arms. Dewey wrapped his blanket around himself, shuffling along beside her like a miserable and lumpy ghost. She placed a hand on top of his head for guidance as they navigated the winding halls. Huey snored away in her ear the whole time, until Dewey had been seen safely to bed, and she plopped the red-clad child down on Fethry’s quilted bed.

He roused slightly, looking around blearily.

“It’s okay, kid. You’re in Fethry’s room.”

Huey nodded, and flopped back down.

“Will you be alright to sleep in the hoodie? Or should I get your pajamas?”

Huey gave her a thumbs up and pointed to the hoodie, so she nodded and drew back the quilt, making sure he was tucked in before standing. “If you need anything, just knock, kay?”

Another thumbs up. By the time she reached the door, he was snoring again. Goldie checked on Louie, who was already in bed with his phone, watching Ottoman empire. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, brushing through his downy bangs. “Thanks for all your help today, kid.”

He tore his eyes from the screen to look at her, placing the phone down. “No prob, Aunt G. Thanks for coming.”

She smiled, softly. “Guess your whole family schtick is rubbing off on me pretty bad, huh?”

“Meh,” Louie shrugged, but he was smiling. “I’ve found it’s better not to fight it.”

“I think you might be onto something,” she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Get some sleep, kid. Your body needs the rest if it’s gonna keep fighting off this flu.”

“Yes, Aunt Goldie.” His eye roll lost all it’s effective sass when it was interrupted by a massive yawn. She chuckled, and headed for the door.

“See you in the morning, Sharpie.”

Door shut, she had but one kid left to check on.

Chapter Text

Webby was curled up in a tight ball under the duvet in Matilda’s eclectic room. Her phone rested on the nightstand, charging, and the lights were turned low. Goldie knocked on the door frame softly, in case she was already asleep. “Webby?”

“Come in.”

Goldie did so, shutting the door softly behind her. “Your voice sounds a bit better. How’s the throat feeling?”

A small head popped out of the covers, mussed and tangled around her bow. “Better, but only kind of.”

Goldie hummed, looking around for… aha! A hairbrush. She grabbed it off the vanity, along with a small comb. She held them up, and when Webby nodded and scooted forward, came to sit behind the duckling on the bed.

“That’s normal, unfortunately. It’ll probably be sore again when you wake up tomorrow, so you can have more tea with your breakfast.”

“It doesn’t taste like Granny and Scrooge make it.”

Goldie snorted. “That’s because the british make their tea weaker than water, and Scrooge is a weirdo.”

Webby giggled despite herself, and Goldie cheered internally. She was breaking through to her, bit by bit. Time to try something direct, get the lay of the land.

“So, can I ask what was up with the ‘tude, today? Or would talking about it make it worse.”

Goldie set about trying to detangle the hair snarled around the bow, affecting an air of nonchalance. In her experience, if someone felt you didn’t care one way or the other about an answer, they were more likely to trust you with the whole truth. For some ass-backwards reason.

Webby sniffled. “I really thought I could do it all. And I was. And then today happened, and it all came crashing down and now I can’t do any of it.”

Goldie furrowed her brow. “Can I have some background info? What’s ‘it’? What do you feel you can’t do.”

A jerky shrug. “Go to school. Be a normal kid. Be the boy’s sister. Be Scrooge’s kid. Still be Granny’s kid. I dunno, just, be me, I guess,” she inhaled shakily. “But now, I don’t even know who me is. And neither does anyone else. I thought going to a normal school would help, but I feel more out of place than ever. And now I’m sick, and I’m going to miss so much, and I won’t catch up, and everyone’s gonna think I’m stupid, and Scrooge is gonna think I suck- and- and-”

Webby dissolved in body-wracking sobs, folding in on herself. Goldie’s heart, so carefully spackled and fortified, cracked sharply in her chest. This poor kid had the weight of the world on her shoulders- no, she had the weight of Scrooge’s world on her shoulders, plus trying to navigate her own world. No wonder she was angry.

Goldie set the brush and comb to the side, and wrapped her arms around Webby carefully. This was new territory for both of them. While she and the boys got on well (better than she expected, really), she’d always felt a vague nervous tension between her and Webby, and now she was starting to understand why. This girl was a reflexive people-pleaser, and Goldie made sure she was an enigma.

And more than that, she wasn’t like Scrooge when it came to the kids. She had no expectations of being pleased, per say. The kids were who they were, and somewhere along the line she had transitioned from looking for their usefulness to seeing their ability for what it was. Goldie didn’t feel the need to tell the kids to jump, and expect them to say how high.

Maybe that wasn’t fair to Scrooge, but she knew he could be a difficult man. She knew better than anyone, especially four kids who thought he hung the stars in the sky each night.

“Webby, sweetheart,” she cradled the girl in her lap as though she was much younger than her 12, almost 13, years. “Take some deep breaths, in through the nose out through the mouth.”

Webby did so, coughing into her arm on the exhale. Jeez, this kid was running the gauntlet. Goldie rocked idly back and forth, hoping it would soothe. It seemed to help, Webby’s sobs eventually fading into hiccuping sniffles.

Goldie smoothed a hand over the girl’s mussed hair. “Kiddo, I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even half a fourth of the answers. But there are some things I know better than myself, and one of those is your uncle.” Webby looked up at her with curiosity and open trust. Gods, but kids still terrified her. “You are placing yourself under an absurd amount of stress to be everything that everyone wants you to be, or, what you think everyone wants you to be. And that is in no way on you. You know why?”

Webby shook her head.

“Because you’re their child. You’re a kid. And you are not responsible for their emotions, nor should you be expected to manage the hopes and dreams they foist on you. They’re responsible for your emotional wellbeing, for giving you an environment to become the best you you can be. Isn’t that a parent’s job?”

Webby shrugged, but nodded.

“Right. So all this bullshit, is not your fault.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Webby’s beak snapped shut. “I don’t know much about kids, let alone raising them, obviously. But I am people smart. And I lived through 18 years of my own familial hell, so I know a thing or two about what a parent should or shouldn’t do. Now, what’s all this about Scrooge and your Granny thinking you suck? Because the last time I checked, those two think the world of you, kiddo.”

Webby narrowed her eyes at her. “I’m definitely going to ask about half of what you just said-”

“You can try.”

“-but I’ll let it go. For now,” Webby turned her head away, becoming somber. “I feel like everyone expects so much of me, that no matter what I do, I’m going to let someone down. He hasn’t said it, but Scrooge wants me to take over the business I think. And Granny wants me to join SHUSH.”

“And what do you want?”

“Huh?” Webby looked up at her with confusion. Oh, this poor kid. “What do you mean?”

“Not to be blunt, kid, but who gives a damn what they want? They have their lives, they’ve made their choices. Your life should be exactly what you want it to be. And if you make a choice that disappoints them, then it’s on them for deluding themselves into thinking they’re entitled to your happiness.”

Webby stared at her hands. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Isn’t that harsh?”

Goldie shrugged, moving to grab the comb again. “Some people would call it harsh. I call it setting boundaries. Very important skill to learn, particularly if you’re a woman.”

The younger duck pondered this, mulling it over as she sniffled. Goldie began picking through her hair again, detangling the strands like she planned on detangling Webby’s train of thought.

“Have you ever really considered what you want to do? When you picture the rest of your life, your dreams or whatever, what do you see.”

“Hm,” Webby played with her fingers. “I usually see myself adventuring, traveling. I don’t know if I want to be a treasure hunter, though. That’s always just kind of the natural conclusion, but it's not the best part of getting to go all over the world.”

“What is?”

“I like the mysteries. I like unraveling them, the feeling of discovery. And I like experiencing other cultures; I like to try new foods, and see new places, and learn languages and traditions. That means more to me than treasure.”

Goldie smiled. “A love of learning like that will open more doors for you than SHUSH or McDuck Enterprises ever could, kid.”

Webby looked up, jostling the comb. “You don’t think it’s stupid? Or a waste of time?”

“No, kid, I don’t,” Goldie brushed her fingers through freshly combed tresses. “And I don’t think your grandmother or your, erm…”

“Uncle.” Webby said firmly, and with not undetected current of something a bit more bitter. Goldie let that slide for now.

“Neither of them are going to stop you. Hell, they’ll support you more than anyone once they get over themselves.”

Webby sighed, slumping against her. Goldie set to brushing her bangs down. “Why do they make it so hard? It’s like they don’t even know how much they’re putting on us.”

“Well,” Goldie hummed carefully. “They probably don’t really know. I doubt anyone’s ever told them. And if they have, it was probably in the heat of argument, and forgotten shortly after. I can’t speak for you grandmother, but Scrooge is...emotionally complicated, hon.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

“He loves you kids more than the world. But he doesn’t always show it in the best, or kindest, or safest way. Scrooge’s ego is sometimes too large for him to see around, so he doesn’t fully understand the shadow it can cast. Or the people it can hurt.”

Webby’s eyes grew damp again, and she looked down. “I don’t want to disappoint him. But I feel like it’s inevitable.”

“Hon,” Goldie brushed some gathering tears away with her thumb. “Like I said. If he takes your choice to live for yourself as a reason to be disappointed, then he did it to himself.”

Webby still looked uncertain, so Goldie pulled her in close again.

“And if he’s really being a prick, and he won’t listen to reason, and you’re feeling this broken up about it all, hop on a train to Dawson for a dose of perspective.”

“Really?” She scrubbed her arm across her drippy eyes and beak.

“Yeah, really. Someone needs to be a foil to Scrooge self-centrism, and I’ve had a few decades worth of practice.”

Webby mulled that over too, and Goldie reached up to unclip her bow so she could finish her brushing. At length, another question was lobbied. “Aunt Goldie? You love Uncle Scrooge right?”

“Don’t spread it around, but, yeah, I guess.”

“Then how come you disagree so much? I thought that when people were in love, they agreed on everything.”

Goldie looked to the ceiling for guidance as she suppressed the harsh laughter welling up in her. She didn’t want to laugh at Webby in such a vulnerable state but, by god, was it hard.

“Um, no, sweetheart, that’s not always the case. Your uncle and I disagree on just about everything you could think of, except for the important stuff.”

“What’s the important stuff?”

“Depends on who you are. For us, it’s business practices mostly, plus all that other boring adult stuff; politics and such.”

“So, you don’t agree on anything?”

“Not much, no.” This knot was particularly stubborn, and she didn’t want to pull the girl’s hair too hard.

“So, what do you do?”

“About the disagreements?” Webby nodded. Goldie sighed, heavily. This wasn’t really where she expected this conversation to go, but she had no escape. “Well, in the past, we would fight about it. As we got older, though, we didn’t sweat the small stuff. When we did argue, it was over things we cared about enough to try and have the other understand where we were coming from. Even if we didn’t understand that at the time. Nowadays, all we really argue about is my, um, extra curricular hobbies. Or the stock exchange”

Webby frowned. “Was it hard? To argue?”

“Um, well, that depended on who started it. But usually, yes,” Goldie smirked at her. “Making your uncle mad is never going to get old, believe me, but starting petty arguments just to be able to talk to him is something I’d rather leave in the past,” she looked down at Webby. “It’s hard to fight with people you care about. No matter how strongly you feel about arguing. So, when it comes to disagreements on little things, it’s rarely worth the energy. And if it’s a bigger thing, maybe try having a civilized conversation first. Isn’t that what your Uncle Donald does before he yells at the boys?”

Webby giggled. “Yeah, he tries. They usually make him pretty mad, though.”

“That’s because they’re hellions,” Goldie snorted. She fixed Webby with a stare, probing. “Did you have an argument with someone? Before you left school today?”

Webby froze, then looked down and nodded. “My best friend, Lena.”

“Ah,” It was plain to see that what the girls felt for one another went a hair deeper than friendship, but that was for them to discover. “That’s always especially hard.”

“So you’re saying that if it’s small enough, to let it go. But if it’s big enough to bother me, ask her to talk about it?”

Goldie winked. “Got it in one.”

“Why is everything so hard?” Webby whined.

She couldn’t help her laugh at that one, passing the brush through one more time for even volume. “Hon, as soon as I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know. For now, it’s bedtime. You’ve had a very long, very emotional day, and you need the rest.”

Goldie shifted her off her lap and into the bed, helping her to crawl under the covers. Once Webby was firmly snuggled, she flicked off the lamp on the bedside table, and pressed a kiss to the girl’s head.

“Sleep tight, kid.”

“Thanks, Aunt Goldie. For everything.”

“Seriously, don’t mention it,” she got up to cross to the door. “You kids are crushing my reputation these days.”

She shut the door, leaning against it and pressing her heels into her eyes. She could feel an exhaustion headache creeping into her temples, aggravated by the stress of helping Webby through a full-tilt mental breakdown. Wine, then bed.

Goldie made her way to the kitchen, collecting the tea cups as she went. Scrooge was still asleep, neck awkwardly tilted in the chair. She snickered, already feeling the grumpy mood he’d be in the next day. Dishes deposited, wine glass in hand, she went to wake up Scrooge the best way she knew how.

She placed her glass beside his spectacles on the table, and perched on his lap. She wound her fingers through his feathered tufts, tugging gently. He hummed, but didn’t wake. She began pressing light kisses along his beak, trailing down to his neck. At some point, his arms wrapped around her body, but he still wasn’t really awake, just acting on muscle memory. She idly preened his neck and upper chest feathers, peeking above his greatcoat, humming as she went.

His feathers were matted with sweat and probably sick child substances she didn’t want to think about, but neither of them had the presence of mind to shower that night, so this would have to do. Eventually, his voice rumbled through his chest, humming against her beak.

“A little to the left, dear.”

Goldie snorted. “Took you long enough. I was about to leave you here for the night.”

“Ach, please, my back couldn’t take it.”

He stretched beneath her, wiry muscles rippling with the strain of movement. She smiled, and leaned her head against his chest, content to listen to his beating heat. “C’mon, sourdough. Time for bed.”

With much grunting and groaning on his part, they got themselves upright and moved toward the stairs. She carried her glass and his hat, sipping as she went, while he replaced his spectacles and cane to aid his journey. He stopped suddenly just outside the bedroom, jolting around in bewilderment.

“Wait, the kids! We cannae leave them downstairs, they need to get to bed-”

“Whoa, whoa,” Goldie placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Scrooge. They’re already in bed. In the guest rooms you mentioned so no one has to climb.”

Scrooge whirled to look at her with such astonishment that Goldie almost felt a bit insulted. “You-? He spluttered.

“Yes, me,” she rolled her eyes. “Louie helped Webby, I carried Huey, and Dewey managed to get up the flight of stairs.”

“But Webby-”

“Is fine, for now,” she soothed. “She had a fight with Lena before school ended, and from there it just kind of became a spiral,” Goldie ushered him into the room just in case their voices carried and any of the kids were still up. “She was worried about a lot of things, from missing school, to the expectations people place unwittingly on her tiny, pink shoulders. She was just feeling very overwhelmed.”

Goldie tried to keep it nonchalant, but Scrooge knew her better than that. “Did I…? Er, I mean, is it something I did or didn’t do?”

She began unbuttoning her shirt. “I think you really just need to talk to her, Scrooge. She feels very uncertain right now.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?” he scowled, going into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “I don’t want to go in blind.”

“Scrooge, you know this is between you two. I really don’t want to be in the middle of this. All I can say, without betraying her trust, is that she feels under a lot of pressure from you and Beakley regarding her future.”

Running water, the sound of spitting. “Pressure? With what? I havnae had the chance to talk to her about anything in weeks, let alone put future expectations on her.”

Goldie sighed. There was no way of getting out of it. Shirt and pants discarded, she padded over to the bathroom, throwing her hair up in a sloppy bun as she went. Leaning down on her side of the double sink, she splashed her face. “Listen, I don’t want her knowing I told you any of this, she told me in confidence, and that is very very important to me, alright?”

Scrooge nodded, frown softening. “I’m sorry, Goldie. I don’t want to drag you into this, I’m just worried.”

“I know, hon,” she sighed, squeezing her face cleanser onto her fingers. “She thinks you want her to take over the company. And she thinks Beakley wants her to join SHUSH. And right now, she doesn’t see herself ever wanting to do either of those. And she’s so stressed about being a disappointment to you two, she’s about ready to molt.”

Scrooge looked horrified. “A disappointment? She could never-”

Goldie held up a hand to stop him, though her eyes were shut against the soap. “I don’t need to hear it, Scrooge. I know how much you love those kids. But she does. Because she’s 12 and everything is terrifying, and she thinks that in order for you to love her, she needs to make you as happy as possible in everything she does.”

“Curse me kilts,” he groaned, and she heard a thud as he leaned his elbows against the sink. “I never meant to make her feel that way. I mentioned the company thing offhandedly, so she would know it was an option available to her if she wanted it. We all know it’s going to Louie, he’s the only one of them with the head for business.”

Goldie hummed, scrubbing her face clean. “I think she’s maybe just still very sensitive about the whole, y’know, unexpected progeny thing. She doesn’t know if you want her to be you, or her, or someone else. And I get the feeling she’s always had to be someone for someone else. She doesn’t quite understand the concept of being enough for her own self.”

“Aye, yes,” Scrooge sighed. “She’s always been a bit overeager. I thought encouraging that energy would be good for her, but now she thinks I’ll drop her as soon as she strays from my path?”

Goldie hummed carefully. “Scrooge. I’m not going to mince words. You can be incredibly demanding of those you love, and your family often gets the impression that it’s your way or the highway, because that’s how you tend to express yourself. And all those kids want is your approval. Surely you can see how that would maybe not foster the most healthy of mentalities?”

Scrooge’s scowl was firmly back as she toweled off her face, swapping cleanser for lotions and creams. “I love my family, and I want what’s best for them-”

“Of course you do, Scrooge,” she laughed softly. “I’m not attacking you. I’m just suggesting you maybe let them decide what’s best for themselves, for once. Look,” she tugged her brow up gently as she applied eye cream. “You held Donnie, Ace, Fethry and Gladdy by very tight leashes. And that worked really well until one mishap had everything flying apart at the seams, right? So maybe, loosen the leash, and see what these kids can build for themselves.”

She met eyes with him in the mirror, and saw him warring with himself deep inside. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly.

“It’s enough to encourage them to do what they want. You don’t need to tell them who to be, you just need to help them get there on their own,” she pulled back slightly. “Those kids are something amazing, Scrooge. They’re gonna be okay if you let go a little.”

He sighed, brow crumpling as he nodded. He came around behind her, wrapping his arms around the fine feathers of her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. “I know you’re right, deep down-”

“Oh how I love hearing that.”

“But I have no idea how to even start.”

Last of her cream applied, Goldie carefully let down her hair and pulled it to the side that Scrooge’s head wasn’t occupying, brushing it.

“Well, talking to Webby would be an excellent first step I think. She deserves an honest conversation with you about everything, and you’ve been putting it off for too long. Take her for ice cream, or coffee, or whatever the kids are doing these days.”

Scrooge nodded, quietly transfixed as he watched her quickly twist her hair into a braid. Done, she turned in his arms, planting her hands on either side of his head and pulling him into a searing kiss. She pulled away before he could even reciprocate.

“I love you, Scrooge, but it’s time to pull your head out of your arse, alright?”

He laughed, a bit stunned. “Aye, well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?” Scrooge shook his head. “Y’know, I don’t think anyone else on this planet would have the gall to speak to me like that.”

Goldie pecked his lips again, pulling away with a wink. “And that’s why you married me. Thrice.”

“Aye, sure,” Scrooge’s eyes swam with mirth. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She swatted his tail, pulling away with a laugh. Evening ablutions taken care of, she put away her soaps and creams on her side of the medicine cabinet before allowing herself to be led to the bedroom by Scrooge.

They finished changing into sleep clothes, Goldie stealing a pair of green flannel pants and a ratty Navy Dad shirt (Dad had been crossed out, Uncle scribbled over it in fabric marker) from the drawer in lieu of her usual nightgown. They crawled into bed, exhaustion hitting them like a freight train as they curled into each other. Goldie tucked her head under Scrooge’s beak and tangled their legs together, burrowing into the fluff of chest feathers peeking over the stretched collar of his sleep shirt.

A content hum rumbled through Scrooge, vibrating through her in tandem. Between this breath and the next, the two had fallen into deep sleep, worn out from hours of nursing.

It felt like seconds later when Goldie woke up to her shoulder being pushed lightly. She swatted at the sensation, snuggling deeper into the blankets. At some point she’d rolled over, but Scrooge’s arm was still secure around her waist, his other bicep acting as pillow. Sleep tugged at her, and she let it pull her back down-

“Aunt Goldie?”

Please be her dream. Please, be a subconscious whisper of a dream-

“Aunt Goldie, I feel really really bad.”

Damn it.

Peeling one eye open, and waiting for it to focus, she saw a green lump standing a foot from her face. “Sharpie?”

“Yeah,” a sniffle. “I don’t feel good.”

She grunted, rubbing her eyes. “Like you’re gonna throw up?”

“I don’t know,” his voice wobbled. “Maybe. I don’t want to, though.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you have a say.”

Vision finally clearing, she saw Louie standing before her, shaking like Dewey had been, but clammy with sweat like Huey and Webby. His nose looked rubbed raw, like it had been running. And most concerningly, his feathers were turning a disturbing green pallor on his cheeks.

Goldie quickly and carefully removed Scrooge’s arm, swinging out of bed with a refreshed alertness. She snatched Louie up by his armpits and made a beeline for the master bath. She kicked the door shut behind her, wincing at the slam that was sure to wake Scrooge.

They made it just in time, Louie already heaving into the bowl before his feet touched the tile. Goldie winced, and felt a strange feeling of powerlessness and guilt wash over her. It was absurd, it wasn’t like she could take the illness from Louie (not without a certain amulet she had stashed in the Other Bin), but with a startling ache she realized that she truly wished she could.

She knelt just behind him, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he choked and coughing through the pain. His abdomen, which seemed so small to her, seized violently with each lurch, and she grimaced for the soreness he’d feel tomorrow. After what felt like half an hour, but was really only minutes at most, Louie crumpled away from the toilet, gasping for air.

Goldie swallowed her own bile, determined not to let this get to her. She’d faced far more revolting things in her travels than a child’s sick. This would not be her stomach’s downfall. First things first, she leaned over and flushed the toilet, not looking into it except to make sure there was no blood- old habits die hard. Next, she worked at the buttons of his pajama shirt. His pants had been spared any mess, thankfully, but the shirt would need to be laundered. Or burned. Whichever.

“Louie, honey,” she whispered. He cracked open an eye. “Do you want to rinse your mouth out? Or is there more coming?”

He whined, rolling his head against the glass. “Don’t wanna.”

“I know you don’t,” Goldie smoothed a hand over his bangs. “But you’ll feel much better if you let it all come up, I promise.”

He sniffled, then winced as more bile flew down his throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, not wanting her to see his tears. “Hate throwing up. Hurts.”

“It sure as hell does,” she rested her chin on his head lightly. “But keeping it in will make you sicker.”

He hiccuped, and leaned into her shoulder. She rubbed more circles on his back, not sure what to do. He hadn’t eaten much, so he was probably all wrung out, but on the off chance he wasn’t, getting him re-dressed and back in bed would be a waste. She sighed, torn at what to do. Luckily the decision was made for her.

Louie pulled back, tears still swimming in his eyes. His voice was hoarse with illness when he whispered. “I think I’m gonna hurl again.”

No sooner had he spoken than he was hunched over the bowl, retching violently.

And so they spent the next hour or so, hanging out together on the bathroom floor. Louie’s nausea came and went in waves that left him weak and shivering, and blackened his eyes like he’d been punched out. He explained that this always happened when he threw up, that the blood vessels in his eyes would burst and leave him looking like a zombie for days. She cycled through wash cloths; one to wipe his mouth, one to dab on his sweating forehand and tearing eyes, and another to clean his chest feathers between bouts of sickness.

At some point, retching turned into reflexive dry heaves that wracked his body but produced nothing. It was around then that he crawled into her lap, desperate for comfort and warmth (Scrooge kept his bathroom freezing when she was away - the absolute madman). In an effort to help him relax and fall back asleep, or at the very least stop the muscle spasms, Goldie began humming as he pressed his head to her heart, convulsively shivering.

She reached up to the towel rack above them, and grabbed a clean towel to drape over him. The worst of it was probably over, but she hesitated to move him just yet. So, with dawn beginning to break (it was probably around 5 am now), Goldie wound her way through a meandering and heavily improvised ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’, until the kid was firmly snoring.

Just as she was pondering how in the hell she was going to move, the door creaked open, and an equally exhausted Scrooge stepped into the room.

She tilted her head, but didn’t break her humming. Scrooge would understand what she meant.

“Webbigail woke me up about an hour ago, said she felt dizzy. I brought her downstairs to make her some tea, and she threw up in the hall bath. She just fell back asleep on the couch,” he gestured to Louie. “Same boat?”

She nodded, and waited for Scrooge to come over to her. She whispered softly to not disturb Louie. “Help me up, sourdough. This kid’s been through the wringer, and I don’t want to wake him,” Scrooge leant down, wrapping a sturdy arm under her arm and around her shoulder blades, and hoisted her bodily to her feet. Her tailbone reset with a crack, and she grimaced. “I’m too old to spend my nights on the bathroom floor. I left those behind in Cork.”

Scrooge smiled at her. “I know what you mean. My knees are shite.”

He helped her out of the bathroom, Louie still secure in her arms. “We’ve been up since about three, I think. He was sick on and off for a few hours before he passed out, but he's not gonna be able to eat solids for a few days I think.”

Scrooge sighed, rubbing his brow. “And here I thought he was gonna make it out scott free.”

Goldie rocked unconsciously side to side as they spoke. “Are you going back to bed?”

“Ach, no point now,” he stretched. “My alarm was set to go off in about an hour anyway.”

“Do you want to take him back to bed, then? I’m gonna try and sleep some more.”

Scrooge reached for Louie, but when he tried to unwind his grip from around Goldie’s neck, the boy scowled and yanked his arm away. Goldie huffed as he clung tighter to her, gripping her braid. Scrooge tried again to pry him off, but that only resulted in a whine and an even stronger grasp.

“Scrooge, stop, the two of you are gonna choke me,” she rubbed at her neck. “Just let him rest here. I’ll be up in a few hours anyway.”

“A’right, fine,” he sighed. “I’m gonna figure out what these kids can keep down for breakfast.”

“Plain toast and oatmeal with water instead of milk.”

“Eugh,” he grimaced. “Just like the good old days.”

“Oh please,” she snorted. “We at least had eggs and bacon. And that tar you called coffee. Speaking of, could I convince you to make me some?”

Scrooge sneered. “Absolutely not. If I never have to touch the stuff again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Please, Scroogey,” she batted her eyelashes at him. “For me? For taking care of sick children and giving up a night of rest? For throwing out my back? For-”

“Alright! Alright!” he kissed her gently, cutting off her self-aggrandizing speech. She hummed happily. “I’ll make yer stupid coffee”

“Thanks, love,” she winked. “See you in a few.”

Scrooge kissed her once again, softly, before patting Louie’s back and heading back downstairs. Goldie grabbed another ratty tee from the chest of drawers, tugging it over the boy’s head when she set him on the comforter. Either unconscious or asleep, he was little help in getting his arms and head through the holes. It sat on him like a night dress, but it would do for now. She let go of him, and he flopped onto his back on Scrooge’s side without the support. She went around to her own side, made sure the blackout curtains were secure, and crawled under the sheet. After making sure Louie was rested on his side and breathing properly, it was only seconds before she slipped off into a hazy and dreamless sleep.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Hours later, Goldie awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows and a warm lump attached to her side. She grunted, trying to move away, but the lump moved with her. What in the hell-

Oh, right. Sharpie.

He was curled up in a ball, arms and legs tucked to his chest, though he’d pulled his arms inside his sleeves, and pressed to her side with no small amount of force. Gently, she pulled away to check him over. His coloring was back to normal, and the shivers and cold sweats seemed to have stopped. Air wheezed in and out of his nose with a scratch, though, so she suspected he’d be coughing all day.

The bedroom door creaked open, and a tired-looking Huey popped his head in. “Aunt Goldie? Is Louie in here?”

Goldie smiled to hear him speaking again, albeit with a definite rasp. “Sure is, kid. You sound a lot better today.”

Huey smiled bashfully. “Thanks. I still feel pretty crummy, but the migraine died down while I slept. No more ringing in my ears, or hot flashes, or photosensitivity.”

Goldie nodded. “Good. I’m very glad to hear it. Now, how can I get out of this bed without waking up my tiny parasite here, hm?”

Huey stood on tiptoes to peek at his brother and smiled. “Aw, yeah, he gets really cuddly when he’s sick. It’s cuz he’s the baby.”

She muffled a snort. “Is he really? I didn’t know you three had an order.”

“Yup!” he smiled, clambering onto the bed to sit next to Louie, still sound asleep. “I’m the oldest, then Dewey hatched 2 minutes later, and then Louie hatched a whole 30 minutes later, and he went right back to sleep according to Uncle Donald.”

Goldie did chuckle at that. “Sounds about right,” she ran her fingers through Louie’s bangs, and he mumbled before turning over toward Huey. “Excellent, now I can get coffee.”

Huey frowned. “Should we leave him here?”

“I think he’ll be alright. Are you heading downstairs? I imagine that’s where everyone’s gathering.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling a little hungry.”

“Let’s go rustle up some plain toast and watery oatmeal, then. Louie will find his way downstairs when he wakes up, but for now he should rest.”

“What about your bedsheets? Now they’re all sicky,” Huey looked guilty. “I feel bad.”

Goldie stretched as she got out of bed, yawning widely. “Kid, at this point I’ve spent longer with a kid coughing and sneezing and flopping on me than without,” she flicked the brim of his hat, smirking softly. “If getting sick wasn’t something I could cope with, I wouldn’t have come.”

Huey nodded. “That makes sense,” he hopped off the bed with a cough to the elbow and smiled. “Alright then, time for a nutrient rich breakfast with a side of vitamins and medicine.”

“Yum.”

They wandered downstairs to find everyone else in the family room. Dewey was sprawled on the couch, reading a book (Goldie recalled Scrooge telling her video games were not allowed when home sick). Webby was curled up on her uncle’s lap, snoring, while Scrooge flipped through a report from his company with one hand, the other resting on his niece’s head. Goldie smiled, happy to see Webby had regained some confidence back where Scrooge was concerned.

He looked up when they entered, sparing them both a smile. Dewey clambered to his feet, also looking much better than he had yesterday, if still a little wobbly. He looked to Scrooge, who nodded, before joining them on the way to the kitchen.

“The oatmeal should be ready by now. And Uncle Scrooge made a pot of coffee, Aunt G.”

“Bless his soul,” she breathed, already smelling the heady, roasted aroma. “I’m barely functional.”

She grabbed them bowls from the top shelf, and made sure they (mostly Dewey) didn’t take too much. She was really, really over dealing with puking kids. But they were reasonable, only taking a cup or so, and making sure they topped off their water bottles with fresh water. Huey doled out cough medicine, decongestant, a fever reducer for himself, and a stomach medicine for Dewey with clinical precision that left Goldie equal parts amused and impressed. Meanwhile, she set about procuring the deepest mug she could find and filling it to the brim with coffee, creamer, and sugar.

She settled at the table with the boys, making small talk about school. Dewey was all too happy to regale her with completely realistic, unexaggerated stories of his heroics on the school’s basketball team. Huey, in between eye rolls and bites of oatmeal, filled her in on the upcoming science fair (“state-wide!”) and what he planned to do. Goldie was a well-read woman, but had never been formally educated in science (especially the stuff that had only been discovered after she was well into adulthood), so she asked plenty of clarifying questions. Huey was thrilled to answer them for her. Goldie liked the kid; he was smart without ever making others feel dumb, a lesson that most professionals couldn’t even learn. She found him very easy to talk to, and unnervingly polite to boot.

She asked Dewey plenty of questions about other sports he’d be joining, the drama club he’d be trying out for and what plays they were doing. Luckily, the blue one could talk the cord off a telephone, so she was able to eat in peace while he debated with himself which song he should audition with, and whether or not he should prepare a tap routine, too.

When they finished, she took their plates while they ran inside to read or nap. Goldie busied herself doing dishes, a novel experience for her; she hadn’t truly washed a dish in probably about 65 years, save for when she camped. When that was done, she took herself into the family room, settling down the massive armchair from the night before. The laptop bag she’d brought rested beside it, and she fished out her computer, some reports, and her reading glasses.

Dewey giggled. “Wow, Aunt G, cool glasses.”

“Thanks, Dingus.”

That shut him up, and made Huey and Scrooge hide laughter behind their hands. Goldie winked at the boy when he scowled, conveying no hard feelings, before returning to her spreadsheets and expense reports.

The early afternoon came and went like this, the five of them hanging out and doing their own thing. Huey plugged away at his homework on his school laptop, eventually badgering Dewey into joining him. Webby eventually woke up, and Goldie got up with her to stretch her legs and fix them both some tea. There was a new level of shared contentment with one another, something Goldie was privately grateful for. She had a deep feeling that Webby’s teenage years were not going to be easy, and if she could spare her weird not-mom pseudo-aunt drama, they would all be better off.

They rejoined the family to see Louie had emerged from hibernation with the most deranged case of bedhead Goldie had ever seen. She snickered as he shuffled by her, yawning and grumbling and smacking his lips. He returned a few moments later with dry cereal and a glass of water, as well as his copy of the Hobbit. He clambered up next to her again, and wordlessly she lifted her arm to accommodate his tiny stature, focusing on the budget report from Macaw unbroken.

She did, however, look up to see Scrooge staring at them with so much love in his eyes it made her heart do somersaults.

Louie stayed slumped against her for the better part of two hours, picking at his plain oat cereal and flipping through the illustrations in the hobbit. It didn’t escape her notice that he kept peering at her laptop, gauging how busy she was, biding his time to ask her to keep reading. But these reports really did need to be sent off today, so Billnose and his unexpected adventures would have to wait.

Finally, around 5, Scrooge was forced to take a business call from Quackfaster in the other room. Webby slid to the floor to let him go, careful not to bother Huey and Dewey, who were bent over Dewey’s laptop. The eldest was coaching his younger brother through a disgusting sounding chemistry assignment that Goldie was incapable of following. Why children needed to know such pointless drivel was beyond her. If she had her way, they’d be learning how to pick locks, disarm opponents, and how to balance an investment portfolio.

Louie had fallen asleep again for a while, tucked into her side like a ball again. Goldie didn’t mind, and would even be hard pressed to keep to herself just how cute she found it. But now he was stirring with a yawn. “Aunt Goldie, can we read more now?”

Dewey perked up, whipping his head toward them. He was bouncing back the fastest, having had the fewest symptoms. “Yeah, can we? Please?”

“You still need to balance this reactive equation, Dewford.”

“It can wait til later or tomorrow, Hubert. We can’t go back to school yet anyway.”

Before a full blown argument could erupt, Goldie interjected smoothly. “We can read a bit, but only after you finish that last equation. And, after I get some water and tea. I’m parched.”

Webby padded over to her. “Can I have more tea, too?”

“How's the stomach?”

Webby waffled her hand. “Better but not great. But we have peppermint tea, and that’ll help it.”

“Ooh, yeah, that stuff is good,” Louie rose to his feet gingerly. “Even if I can’t drink it I wanna sniff it.”

Goldie snorted. “Fine, but let’s not tell your uncle that we’re wasting his hard-earned tea.”

“Oh please, he doesn’t drink it anyway.”

They made tea and procured more cereal for Louie, while Webby spooned a little more oatmeal into a bowl to heat it up. She figured Dewey and Huey and she and Scrooge would finish up the soup. Dewey and Huey joined them in the kitchen, the red one grabbed a Rooibos blend while Dewey added some flavor packet to his water bottle instead.

When she raised her eyebrow in concern, he waved it off. “It’s got electrolytes in it which you’re supposed to drink after you hurl. I think. Huey?”

“That’s right.”

Goldie shrugged. “Works for me. Just sip it slowly, please, Turbo.”

“Roger that, Aunt O.G.”

He made the weird arm motion across his face again, which prompted all of his siblings to roll their eyes. They gathered their spoils and retreated back into the family room, which was becoming quite the mess of blankets, tissues, glasses, books, a chess board, and school bags and notebooks the kids had needed throughout the day. Goldie snorted.

“You kids better heal up and get cleaning before 22 comes back or she’s gonna tear you a new one.”

Webby gulped. “Yeah, Granny would have a cow if she saw this.”

“Well, ye bairns cannae help it that yer sick,” Scrooge walked back into the room as they settled into their mess of blankets. Goldie could see the vein throbbing in his forehead as he approached her. She caught him by the shoulder as he moved past her, and turned to press a kiss against itl. He hummed, smiling softly at her, while the kids groaned in harmony.

She settled into her chair, swapping her tea mug for her reading glasses, and tried not to feel the unnerving lack of recoil at the tooth-rotting domesticity of it all. Laptop pushed aside, Webby climbed into her lap while Louie curled up beside her again. Scrooge joined the boys on the couch this time, feet propped on the coffee table. His nephews leaned into either side, Huey’s hat askew.

Goldie took a sip of her tea, ignoring the way it seemed to scrape down her throat despite the honey and lemon. She must have been clenching her jaw while she worked, it happened all the time. It would explain the slightly swimming in her vision before she put her glasses on too, and the faint pulsing in her temples. She hadn’t slept very well, either.

It was nothing to worry about.

She cleared her throat with a fully internalized wince. “‘Chapter 3: A Short Rest. They did not sing, or tell stories that day…’”

The kids fell back into the rhythm of the reading, and even Scrooge, ever the hater of fiction, grew interested in the story as she read. As they segwayed into the next chapter, and even the one after that, Goldie began adding inflections and accents to the different characters, which amused Scrooge and enchanted the kids to no end. Multiple times she had to stop Webby from jumping up or squealing in excitement as the tale progressed. And all the kids were trying to guess the answers to the riddles that Billnose and Smeagull posed to each other in the dark of the goblin caves.

By the time they reached the end of a staggering four chapters, Goldie’s voice, despite the tea, was utterly failing her. She hid it though, not wanting to worry the kids or Scrooge. They had asked her here to help them, not the other way around. They’d taken a break for dinner after chapter 4, so at the end of chapter 6, all were yawning and dozing off.

Scrooge cleaned up the dinner plates and tea cups with Dewey’s help, while Goldie dozed with Webby and Louie. Huey flipped through the illustrations in the book, running his hands over the glossy pages. A short 15 minutes later, Scrooge was lifting their niece from her lap, and then it was a sleepy parade up the stairs into bed. By the time Goldie fell back into the plush pillows of their bed, the pressure in her head had built to a disturbing level.

She was asleep before Scrooge had kissed her goodnight.

-- --- -- - - -- - -- -

Sadly, good things like sleep and feeling healthy were, in her mind, never meant to last. Some would call her a pessimist, she called it practicality.

At 3 am, according to her phone, she was woken up by a sharp pain in her stomach. She tried rolling over and snuggling into Scrooge’s warm chest, but when her muscles cramped so violently she almost cried out, she knew this wasn’t something to be ignored. And when she felt her mouth start to water disgustingly, she made a break for it.

“Goldie? What-” was all she heard before her knees cracked into the tile and she was retching into Scrooge’s poor toilet. Footsteps sounded in the bedroom as she coughed and gasped, and her braid was tugged back as he knelt behind her. Scrooge rubbed circles into her back through the thin tee. “It’s alright, yer alright. There ye are.”

Normally, she would have snapped at him with feral pride for coddling her, but she was a bit too occupied to care at this moment, or any of the moments that followed for the next hour or so. At some point, the pain in her stomach stopped, and she managed to get upright with Scrooge’s help. She rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth, immediately discarding the toothbrush. She was half carried back to the bedroom, where she crawled under the covers that were lifted for her, and dropped back into a fevered sleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but it was fitful and unrestful at first. Goldie wasn’t prone to nightmares, and she wouldn’t really call her dreams as such, but they were vividly hazy, like a mirage in the desert. Her dream self felt sweaty and flushed, and at one point she was thrashing and snarling like she’d been captured, even though she was certain she was alone. At some point, she woke up with a jolt, and realized she could hardly breathe through clogged airways and heavy lungs. There was a cool towel on her forehead, and a packet of medicine on her nightstand. She downed it, chasing it with the tepid water she’d left, and dropped back to sleep.

The next hours passed dreamlessly, but in a fugue of overheated tossing and turning, and bouts of half-wakefulness. Dimly, she was aware of the cool cloth being changed out, and at one point she was pretty sure her sleep tee was exchanged for one that felt much cooler and cleaner on her feathers. The next time she woke fully, it was dark out, her mouth was tacky, and her vision was so bleary she couldn’t even make out the time on her phone. She stumbled to the bathroom to wash and tend to necessities before climbing back into the warm bed.

Goldie snuggled into the pillows, debating another bout of sleep, when a warm aroma and hushed voices hit her senses. She blinked an eye open, and saw four shadows moving back and forth in the hall just outside the double doors of the bedroom. She listened quietly.

“Uncle Scrooge said not to bother her!” That was Huey. “She needs her rest.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also been a whole day since she’s eaten anything so she’s probably pretty hungry, Hubert.” Dewey was right, she could definitely eat a bit.

“Guys, shut up! He’s gonna find us. Figure out what we’re doing.” Practical as ever, Louie.

“You’re all taking too long. I’m going in.”

“Webby, no-!”

The knob turned, and Goldie shut her eyes. There was a moment of silence before the door opened further, and the muted pat of webbed feet approached. The bed dipped a bit on Scrooge’s side. “Aunt Goldie?”

The bed shifted again. Dewey’s whisper was barely below his normal excessive volume. “Are you alive?”

“Don’t be a dingus, Dingus,” Louie’s eye roll was audible. “She’s breathing isn’t she?”

Huey sounded panicked, as he almost always did. “Guys, quiet! We’re gonna wake her up!”

“I’m already up,” Goldie murmured, smirking at the gasps that rippled through her pint-sized audience. “But your concern is appreciated.”

“We’re sorry,” Webby sounded mournful. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

Goldie stretched her very sore limbs. “You didn’t. I woke up about ten minutes ago. What time is it anyway?”

“About 9 pm.”

“What!” She bolted upright. “I’ve been asleep all day?”

Louie shrugged. “Guess you needed it. But we also figured you needed food, because, y’know, nutrients. So we brought you soup.”

Dewey and Huey brought a previously-unnoticed tray around to her side of the bed, placing it carefully on the nightstand. She flicked on the lamp, which turned on several of the light sconces along the walls, and shuffled toward the middle of the bed before grabbing the soup tray. She tucked in immediately, but carefully. After a few sips, she noticed the kids were staring at her, then each other, then seemed to be having a silent argument.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Four heads snapped back to, ranging from guilty to embarrassed to determined.

Naturally, Webby spoke first. “We were wondering if we could read more of the book to you while you ate.”

“If, y’know, you wanted to know what happened next. It’s not like we’re all that invested in some crummy assigned reading, it’s whatever.” Louie kept his eyes glued to his phone.

“I care,” Dewey stared dumbly at his brother. “I wanna know what happens next. It’s good. Please, Aunt G?”

Goldie shrugged, but smiled. “Sure, I’m all ears. And Llewelyn,” he scowled. “You better be paying attention since this is, after all, your homework.”

“Ugh, fine, yes Aunt Goldie.”

But it was with a lot of anticipation that he clambered up to sit beside her, Dewey taking the other spot. Huey and Webby elected to switch off reading while everyone else listened.

Huey cleared his throat performatively. “‘Chapter 7. The next morning, Billnose woke up with the sun in his eyes…’”

By chapter 8, her soup was finished (as were the crackers, thanks to Dewey) and her tray was off to the side again. She was propped up on pillows, arms around her green and blue nephews. Dewey was listening with rapt attention, but Louie was starting to yawn, head pillowed on her clavicle. Webby took over, her vivacious voice waking them a little.

But, by chapter 9, Louie was out like a light, Dewey was snoring into her collarbone, and Huey, who had come to rest his head on her stomach, was blinking sleepily. Goldie was feeling quite ready to sleep again herself, so she nudged Webby with her foot. “I think the giant spider chapter is going to have to wait.”

“Aw, man” Webby pouted. “That’s probably gonna be the best chapter yet.”

Goldie laughed softly, afraid to jostle the boys. “It can wait, Pink. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” she yawned, jaw cracking. “But sleepy.”

She pushed Dewey’s feet aside irreverently, snuggling into Goldie’s chest. Moment’s later, she was out too. If she stayed awake much longer, Goldie knew she was likely to start getting emotional and soft, so she let her eyes drift shut, buried under more love than she’d known in the past hundred years.

-- -- -- - --- - -

“Kids? Kids! Where in blazes are ye?”

Scrooge had searched the first floor top to bottom, checked all the bedrooms, and even the attic and the garage, but his 4 wards were nowhere to be found. If he kept this racket up, he was going to wake Goldie, and he didn’t want to face whatever foul mood she’d be in if he-

-interrupted her rest. Of course.

Striding quickly down the hall to their bedroom, Scrooge slapped a palm to his forehead when he saw the door ajar. He approached slowly, poking his head in with caution. But when his eyes landed on the bed, it was obvious he’d been concerned for nothing.

Louie was tucked in Goldie’s left arm, head under her chin and pillowed against her collarbone. Huey, beneath him, with his brother’s foot pushing his hat off, was resting against Goldie’s stomach, hand clutching the fabric of her tee shirt. Webby was curled into her side, dozing just above her chest, and it was obvious she’s dislodged Dewey to make herself comfortable; the blue lad was sprawled perpendicular to the others, only his head tucked into his aunt’s shoulder while his feet rested atop the adjacent pillow. Scrooge smirked. Even in sleep, the boy was a whirlwind.

Goldie was resting peacefully, seemingly unbothered by her hangers-on. Scrooge clocked the soup bowl and the book, and felt his heart melt. When the kids asked if Goldie was awake, he assumed they wanted her to entertain them. Once again, the bairns were full of surprises, and even more full of selfless instinct that consistently left him humble.

Content that all was well, Scrooge picked up the soup dish, turned off the light, and backed out carefully. Even after hellish nights and slow, sickly days, his family was in no better hands than each others’. In fact, he had a feeling that they’d never been better off.

Chapter Text

Loathe as she was to admit it, Goldie loved being at the manor. She had spent the past century relatively alone, no one to chat with or be with other than herself and occasionally Scrooge. And most of the time, Scrooge could be counted on to be in one of his moods. The kind of mood where her flirtations were met with snarls and brogued snaps. By the time she softened him to her, it was time to split, and the process began again. Goldie wouldn’t have called it lonely, as she preferred her own company to most anyone else’s, but being in the manor was easy, natural. It had become home.

But, as with anything, some days were better than others. Usually, the kids didn’t bother her as much as she had expected them to. They were rambunctious, sure, but they wore each other out with their war games and little adventures. Or, they were quiet. They watched TV (a lot of TV, in Louie’s case), did their homework. Huey loved to read his books or scribble in his journal. Webby and Dewey usually ran around together, singing, putting on shows, looking for mysteries. Their energy was nearly endless, but they used it productively, and Goldie was mostly left alone.

Some days, on the other hand, were not that. Some days she had business meetings go south, or an investment proved to not be as profitable as she had expected it to be. Or other days, she woke up grumpy, and remained grumpy, try as Scrooge might to coax her from her mood. On those days, Goldie preferred to be left alone. And usually, the kids understood. They were shockingly emotionally adept, which she chalked up solely to their Uncle Donald, and knew when she wanted to be alone.

But they were children, and they weren’t always mature for their age. Water and oil were bound to meet in a household full of varying energies, and sometimes a day is just meant to be bad.

That day would be today. Though, truthfully, it was more of a slow burn week.

Monday had come and gone with little note, but Tuesday dinner was tense. Louie had received a less than stellar grade on a math exam. It was odd for him, Goldie had come to learn, and he was stabbing his dinner with extra gusto. She paid him little mind, absorbed in an expense report from Honoluloon on her phone. It wasn’t her place to ream him out, and he was clearly punishing himself enough. Della and Huey didn’t share her opinion though, and were chastising Louie gently.

“Honey, you’ve got to cut back on the TV time if this is the results Ottoman Empire marathons are going to get you-”

“Louie, I told you you needed to go over the trinomials again, but you didn’t want to listen, and now-”

There was a crash, and Goldie’s head snapped up along with Scrooge’s. Pasta sauce splattered around Louie’s place setting, the half-sunken fork that had clearly been slammed into the dish responsible for the mess. Beakley and Scrooge both opened their mouths to berate him, but the kid was already moving. He pushed away from the table hard enough to topple his chair, and stormed out of the room. The room was quiet in his wake, until the violent SLAM from above indicated he’d gone to his room.

Della pinched the bridge of her beak. “I’ll deal with that in a minute.”

Goldie offered her a sympathetic grimace, not envious in the least, and returned to her dinner and playing footsie with Scrooge under the table.

Wednesday was worse. Louie was in no better of a mood, and it had clearly rubbed off on his brothers. When Goldie came into the kitchen to fill her travel mug with hot coffee before she went to visit her Duckburg property, she was greeted with the mother of all shouting matches.

“You know what, Dewford,” Louie snarled. “You can take your stupid writing class, and your stupid community theater credit, and shove them up your ugly, stupid as-”

“Llewelyn!” Goldie barked. The kids froze upon realizing there was an adult in the room. Huey, who’d been holding his twins apart, looked up in hope for help. And help she did, grabbing Louie by the upper arm and jerking him away from his brothers. “Check yourself, now. It’s too early for this.”

“Early for you, maybe,” Louie muttered mutinously. She rolled her eyes. “To everyone not up with our uncle at all hours of the night, it's a perfectly respectable time.”

Outwardly, Goldie didn’t react. Inwardly, she was amused, horrified, and most of all, incensed. Louie could be a real brat, and it was fun to watch when it wasn’t directed at her.

Dewey and Huey gasped, and she turned around slowly.

Huey stammered over himself. “He- he didn’t mean that, Aunt Goldie, he’s just- he-”

She held up a hand. “Thank you, Huey, but your brother can deal with the consequences of his own actions. Louie,” she turned to her protege, glaring at her. “In exchange for your kind words, I am rescinding my invitation to take you to Macaw with me next weekend.”

That did it. His jaw dropped, and his cheeks flushed with rage. Maybe shame. Probably both. Goldie turned back to her coffee, adding creamer and sugar while Louie stumbled over his own words.

“Wait- but-! You promised!” She heard a foot stamp against the ground. “We even cleared it with Mom, you bought my ticket! That’s not fair, you can’t just do that-!”

She grabbed her purse off the counter, and turned to face the growing green tantrum. He looked at her in fury, but she only shrugged. “Sorry, kid. I don’t suffer fools, and you know it. You want to be a little shit, that’s fine, but I don’t have to take it around the world with me. And you can tell your mother why you won’t be coming with me. Not them,” she pointed at his brothers. “You. And if there’s an issue, she can reach me on my cell phone.”

Goldie turned away, breezing out of the kitchen with a heavier heart than she’d expected. She knew Della would think her harsh, but that wasn’t really her issue. She felt worse at having to punish the kid when she knew how much he’d been looking forward to the trip.

She worried her cheek between her molars as she climbed into her sports car. She wouldn’t return the ticket just yet. If he apologized, she would take him with her. That was fair enough.

But apologize Louie did not. Not that evening, though that was more on her. Her hotel in Duckburg hadn’t been expecting her visit, and Goldie was not thrilled with the state of things. After a long day of covert interviews, inspections, and close scrutiny, she now had a list of people on the chopping block, which really only made her life more stressful. Plus, a passing waiter from the restaurant attachment had bumped her, and she’d spilled her coffee on her blouse. She’d come home, ignored dinner entirely, and gone right to their bedroom to shower, change, and relax with wine. She was asleep before she even saw Scrooge.

The next day wasn’t as bad, but still not good. Dewey had received detention over an incident Goldie hadn’t caught the details of, which meant a parent teacher conference. That left Della in a foul mood, grumpy at being pulled out of the hangar on repair day. When she brought the kids home, Dewey had a bruise on his cheek, Louie still wouldn’t talk to anyone, and Della sent them both up to their room to work on school work before dinner. Huey offered her a weak, stressed smile as he passed into the kitchen, while she headed to the garage to tinker with her jeep’s alignment.

Webby found her later when it was time for dinner, and Goldie was shocked to see her in a funk too. She wiped at her greasy hands. “What bit your tail, kid?”

“Dewey,” Webby grouched. “He got detention because he got in a fight, and now he’s mad I didn’t back him up, but I was on the other side of the soccer field, by the swings, so how could I have known, and my granny isn’t like his mom, and I would’ve been grounded for a month, and he doesn’t get it, and he’s being a- a-”

“Jerk?” Goldie offered.

“Yeah!” Webby kicked a gas can. “It’s not my fault he’s stupid.”

Goldie chuckled. “No, it’s not.”

“And Louie still won’t talk to anyone, especially Huey, so when I hang out with Huey, he gets mad at me, and then Huey gets weird and won’t hang out with me,” Webby slumped to the ground. “They’re all stupid.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

Webby looked up. “Yeah?”

“All boys are stupid. And they stay stupid. Forever.”

“Even Uncle Scrooge?” Webby giggled.

“Especially him.”

They shared a commiserating smile, and Goldie decided to go out on a limb and see if she couldn’t make the day a little better. “How does a girls-only excursion sound to you, Pink?”

Webby’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure,” Goldie shrugged. “Today sucked and yesterday sucked worse. You know any good ice cream spots around here?”

And so, after a very tense dinner during which the boys had to be seated away from one another and kept under careful adult scrutiny, and with Beakley’s permission, Goldie and Webby hopped into her newly realigned jeep and sped off to the boardwalk by Rockerduck estates. According to her niece, the rich people kept the best ice cream to themselves.

By the time they returned home, sugar walked off and ready for sleep at a safe 9 pm, the house was quiet and the tension in the air had been laid to rest. Webby hugged her goodnight, and Goldie reciprocated happily. She was still smarting from Louie’s baneful quips; it was nice to be hugged by a kid who wasn’t taking out their stress on her.

Scrooge was already fast asleep when Goldie crept into their room, and she smothered her disappointment. They hadn’t seen much of each other this week, business and family keeping them busy. She undressed and coasted through her night routine, snuggling into their bed within minutes. Goldie ran her fingers through the tufts on Scrooge’s cheek, smiling when he hummed delightedly in his sleep. She cuddled closer to him, and fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart beat.

The next day began on the same wrong foot as its predecessors. She’d woken up alone, which made her cranky. It was Friday, though, so at least she’d be able to see Scrooge tomorrow. Probably. She rose, dressed in green streamlined slacks and a black keyhole top, high necked and sleeveless. She grabbed a blazer just in case. Leaving the room, she was immediately struck by a foam dart. She yelped and stumbled back against the door, yanking the thing off her forehead with a pop.

Dewey careened around the corner, but froze. “Er, sorry Aunt G.”

“Aren’t you grounded?” She groused, tossing the toy back to him. He waffled a hand, and took off back down the hall. Goldie continued on down the stairs, determined to stay out of it-

Until she nearly died halfway down the flight. A stray rollerblade had been left unattended, and as her heel collided with it her long, long life flashed before her eyes. Before she could break every bone in her body, though, a strong grip seized her upper arm. Goldie was yanked upright, and the hand didn’t let go until she had her feet back under her.

Goldie opened her eyes to see Beakley of all people staring at her with undisguised concern. “Are you quite alright?”

“Uh huh,” the adrenaline faded quickly, and she took stock of herself. “Could’ve been a lot worse. Erm, thank you 22.”

The other woman nodded curtly. Goldie was shocked at the lack of hostility. Honestly, it was a miracle Beakley didn’t let her die and be done with it. Instead, the housekeeper closed her eyes in clear exhaustion, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them, honestly. This week has been, well…”

“Hell?” Goldie snorted when Beakley nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Had my first snit with Sharpie, that was fun. Taking your granddaughter for ice cream was the only decent part of my week.”

“Ah,” Beakley scrutinized her more closely now. “Yes, thank you for entertaining her.”

Goldie blinked. “Entertaining her? Please, that kid doesn’t need any extra enrichment. I took her because I wanted to, understand?”

They made their way down the stairs. Goldie saw now it was pouring rain and still somewhat dark. The days were getting shorter and drearier, fall truly setting in. Beakley hummed. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons,” she shrugged. “But mostly because I like her. You raised a real good kid, even if she is a very emphatic hugger.”

“My, you are out of sorts,” Beakley blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a genuine compliment come out of your beak.”

“That’s because I don’t compliment Brits. But thanks.”

Beakley scowled, but the heat behind it was much faded from its usual searing disdain. “I am sorry you had it out with Louie. I heard about it from Della, and if its any consolation, I agree with your decision.”

“You do?” It was Goldie’s turn to be shocked. The floor wasn’t cold, but it would be soon if she and Bentina were seeing eye to eye.

“I do, yes. What he said was out of line. It’s our job to raise children to be the best they can be, and that was never accomplished by letting ourselves be their punching bags. They need to understand that they can’t take their emotions out on other people, no matter how they’re feeling or why. The children know that they can always talk to any of us, as long as they do it respectfully.”

Goldie hummed to herself. “Dunno when this became my job, as you say-”

“When you decided to stick around.”

She mulled that over, listening to the thunder of feet above their heads. That was fair, and Goldie knew, really knew, that this was what she’d agreed to when she told Scrooge she would consider moving in.

“Fair enough. And you’re right. They can’t look up to us if we let them drag us down to their level.”

Beakley looked momentarily surprised, and then she smiled to herself. “You certainly got that faster than Della.”

“I’ll keep that between us.”

The grandfather clock clanged then, marking half past seven am. The stampede down the stairs came swiftly and efficiently. Goldie was content to stand back and let Beakley do her thing. She would do hers.

“Right then, backpacks open,” Beakley examined their pouches. She nodded. “Water bottles? Lunchbags? Homework and permission slips?

The kids nodded in unison. Louie and Dewey both stared at the ground on opposite ends of the lineup. Louie was closer to Goldie, and he looked up briefly at her. When he realized he was being watched, he dropped his gaze immediately.

That wasn’t suspicious at all.

He had both hands stuffed in his pocket, and was staring into the carpet with almost manic focus.

“Louie,” Goldie pushed off the wall. “Whatcha got in your pocket, kid?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh, then turn it out.”

He glared up at her, caught. And in such a poor lie too. Beakley had refocused on him as well. Louie flushed, glancing around. The housekeeper took notice.

“The rest of you, Launchpad is waiting. Off you go so he can bring you to the bus stop.”

The other three trundled out. Beakley glanced at her, and Goldie sighed. She should’ve left when she had the opening. Or let the rollerblade take her out.

She knelt down in front of Louie. “C’mon, Sharpie.”

With a huff, he pulled out a tiny, engraved cube. Sumerian symbols dotted it, but as she looked, they changed themselves before her very eyes. Ever shifting, she soon saw they hid a small mirrored stone in their core, one that flashed seemingly random numbers.

“It’s a seeing or scrying stone or whatever. Lena said they tell you the answers to numerical questions.”

Goldie sighed. “And you were going to use it to cheat on your next test.”

He shrugged. Beakley pinched the bridge of her beak. “Louie, you know cheating is wrong-”

“Aunt Goldie does it.”

“Not on math tests. Which is to say, not on things that are important,” Goldie scrubbed a hand down her face. “Kid, I can’t be your scapegoat every time you mess up. You can see how bad that would make things, right?”

Louie flushed, and scruffed his toe on the carpet. Goldie grit her teeth. “Look, fine, yes, I do sometimes manipulate a situation to my advantage. But that’s because I’m old as dirt, and I’ve made enough mistakes for the both of us. What have I told you about risk-reward assessment?”

“That it’s a ratio, and a sliding scale, and that sometimes it’s bullsh- stupid,” he looked fervently at Beakley. “But how come the same rules that apply to you don’t apply to anyone else? That’s dumb.”

Goldie groaned. “Because, I’m an adult. I’ve made my mistakes, and I’ve earned my right to make my own rules when it applies,” Beakley scoffed slightly. “Louie, you’re 12. You’re gonna make a lot of mistakes in life, it happens. But cheating, in any way, shouldn’t be one of them when there are other means to your goal. It’s a last resort, and a delicate art. Math tests don’t count. And neither do relationships, ever.”

Louie scowled, but she could see his eyes blinking rapidly. She placed a hand under his chin, and pushed his eyes up to meet hers.

“I don’t like being the bad guy, kid. I’m supposed to be the cool, fun, no strings attached aunt who rolls up for a fun time. But your behavior hasn’t been acceptable lately, and I know you know better than that. I want to be able to help you with whatever you’re going through, but that doesn’t mean I have to take all the shit you throw at me because you feel like it. Right?”

“Right,” Louie sniffed. His beak wobbled, and he looked down. “I’m sorry.”

Beakley cleared her throat. “What are you sorry for?”

“For my mean comment the other day, and for ignoring you, and calling you unfair, and for trying to cheat, and for being mean to Webby. Oh, and for changing the IPN on Dewey’s phone so he can’t connect to the internet.”

“We didn’t hear that,” Goldie smirked. “Right, Bentina?”

“There’s enough going on this week.”

Goldie smoothed her other hand over Louie’s downy soft head. “I can’t say the trip is back on for you. And I’m not in charge of your grounding in any way shape or form. But thank you for apologizing, Lou. And you can apologize to everyone else on the way to school.”

He nodded, and squeezed her hand in his before letting go. He was still obviously unhappy, but now he seemed more unhappy with himself. He waved them goodbye before grabbing his umbrella and trundling out the door.

Goldie sighed explosively once it was shut. “How is only 8 am and I need a drink?”

Beakley clapped her bracingly on the shoulder. “The joys of child rearing.”

The rest of the day was as messy as its beginning. Goldie ended up having to fire half the staff of her Duckburg hotel, which meant opening up positions, which meant an endless stream of resumes. She had all resumes forwarded to her assistant in Dawson, so he could sieve them and send her only the hundreds that would actually work. What fun.

She finished her inspections, pleased to find the rest of the hotel in tip-top shape. The rest of her day was spent in a meeting with Glomgold Industries’ CEO, Flintheart himself. She was toying with the idea of putting his vending machines in the lobby of her building, but the meeting quickly assured her that was a bad idea. Sexist, sleazy, and unprofessional on the whole was perhaps the kindest way she could describe the nearly two hour meeting. By the time she left, she was seething with rage.

The clouds pouring on her mood, though, quickly parted when she saw a very familiar and very welcome face waiting for her in the lobby.

“Scrooge?”

He turned away from examining some ugly painting, flashing her the smile she knew was hers and only hers. The one that looked like home, and lit her up from within. He opened his arms as she approached, and Goldie’s day was bad enough that she didn’t spare professional conduct a single thought as she fell into him.

“Hi, dear,” he squeezed her waist and buried his face in her hair. “A little bird told me you were here, and I figured I would try to play white knight.”

“Because you’ve always been so good at that,” Goldie teased, even as she gripped him tighter. “Nevertheless, get me the hell out of here.”

“As you wish, love.” He pulled away from her, but offered his arm. She looped hers around it, feeling quite old school. He brought her outside, where it had stopped raining. The sun was dappling the ground as clouds burned away, and a fresh breeze floated through the autumn air. The sun was just beginning to set. Scrooge turned to her and gave her a once over.

“Like what you see, handsome?” She waggled her brows at him.

He snorted. “Ach, always. That’s a nice outfit you’ve got on there, but I do feel like it’s missing something.”

She frowned. “Says the man in spats and a top hat. Scroogey, I wouldn’t exactly call you a fashion guru.”

“What- I- No!” He spluttered. “I’m trying to give you something, you vexatious vixen!”

“A migraine?”

“Och,” he groaned, and reached into the deep pocket of his great coat. He produced a flat, oblong box, and offered it to her. “Here.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow, but took it nonetheless. Before she could open it though, Scrooge ushered her into his limousine. He leaned forward to talk to his oafish driver.

“Launchpad, you know what to do.”

“You got it Mr. McD. And hello, Mrs. McD!”

“Er, hi.”

The divider was quickly brought up, sparing Goldie from any more conversation with Launchpad. Scrooge brought her to his side again with an arm around her shoulders.

“Open it, darling.”

Goldie skewed him with a glance. “Who are you and what have you done with Scrooge?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, fine, if you don’t want it-”

“I didn’t say that,” Goldie popped open the gold clasp on the velvet box, and nearly dropped it when she lifted the lid. A gasp caught in her throat. “Scrooge, what on earth-”

Inside was a necklace. It was gold, handcrafted, and clearly very, very expensive. It was fairly simple in design, a series of tiny gold drops hanging on gossamer thin spun gold strands, studded every so often by diamonds and emeralds, equally small. It was strong, fragile, simple, extravagant, and a hundred other beautiful contradictions.

Goldie didn’t often find herself speechless, but she had never been thrown for quite such a loop. And from the smug, albeit nervous, smirk on his face, Scrooge knew it, too.

“Scrooge, I- what- why?”

He smiled sheepishly, motioning for her to turn. She did so numbly, handing him the box. “It’s been six months since Florida. Since things, well, you know. I figured that on the actual anniversary, we’ll be off on some adventure with the family. So I wanted to do this now, for you. For us.”

Goldie blinked rapidly. “I’ve had just about the shittiest week ever-”

“Ah, yes. I know.”

“-And now this?” She turned back once she heard the necklace click. “I can’t tell if you want me to run for the hills or not, right now.”

His gaze was infuriatingly understanding. “You know I don’t. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

She grabbed the lapels of his coat and hauled his mouth to hers to mutter against his lips, “Kiss me before I change my mind about it.”

“Yes, my dear.”

Goldie kissed him desperately, and he met her bewildered, aggressive passion with empathy, giving it a home, a hearth to burn itself out in, and welcomed the smoldering remains. He tugged her hair from its low bun, letting it unfurl over his fingers like a stream of sweet honey. She surged forward into his mouth, and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. He pulled away after a handful of heady moments.

“Goldie girl, as fun as this is, we do have a destination.”

“Let Leappad head inside, the kids won’t miss us for a while. An hour. Two, tops, promise.”

Scrooge chuckled lowly into her mouth. “We’re not going home just yet, love.”

“Hm?” Her kisses were lazy, but hadn’t stopped. She wasn’t sure if she could at this point. “Where are we headed then?”

“Dinner. A fairly nice dinner, and we’re nearly there. So I think you had better, ahem, resituate yourself. If ye dinnae mind.”

Goldie huffed, but slid off her partner’s lap. She pulled a brush out of her bottomless bag and began running it through her hair to distract herself. “So where are we headed?”

Scrooge was adjusting his great coat- no, he was taking it off. He had a simple sport jacket and button up on, nothing wildly fancy but nicer than his usual outfit. His top hat was left to the side, though his spats were ever present. He complimented her nicely. Her forest green slacks were still pressed to perfection, despite a day of tribulation. Her top was deep black, high on her neck but sleeveless, perfect for the warm autumn breeze that lingered. There was a teardrop keyhole in the center of the top, which she had come to regret in her meeting with Glomgold. Flats, simple gold earrings, and now her stunning necklace pushed the outfit from business casual to casual elegance. She threw her hair back up in a respectable bun.

The car slowed to a calm stop, for once, and his driver came around to open the doors.

Goldie smiled when she saw the destination Scrooge had picked. One of Duckburg’s largest skyscrapers, Le Grande View, stretched heavenward before them. It was notably not streamlined, instead studded with terraces, balconies, and completely open floored. It was modern, but in a bohemian and earthy way that was rare to find in a city. The balcony that belonged to her favorite Duckburg restaurant, Pianissimo, was overflowing with late blooming plants, ivy running in rivulets across and over the railings.

Scrooge came up beside her. He was looking smug again, but she didn’t care. She pressed a smiling kiss to his temple, and he blushed.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

They brushed past security, courtesy of being Scrooge McDuck, and took the elevator to the 54th floor. It was a two minute ride well spent, if her slightly disheveled hair and his permanent blush had anything to say for it. Goldie refused to take any blame; he surprised her with more romance than he’d ever shown her their entire lives together, and yet expected her to keep her hands and lips to herself? Fat chance.

They waited patiently at the hosts’ lectern. It was Friday night, and though the establishment was exclusive, it was pretty packed. The restaurant’s price point reserved it for Duckburg’s elite, but the atmosphere was fairly casual. There was a dance floor, being used thoroughly at the moment, a live string quartet, but the tables weren’t white cloth. The bar was plain wood, chewed with use. The lighting wasn’t chandeliers, but instead contemporary “Tesla” bulbs hung in a relaxed pendant style. There was live greenery, and water fixtures throughout the space; not fountains but waterfalls burbling over plain stone.

Elegant, but genial. It was like a breath of fresh air in the heart of the city.

“Mr. McDuck,” the host came over, slightly out of breath but trying to hide it. “Absolutely wonderful to see you again. You and your wife can follow me to your usual table.”

Scrooge made no move to correct the man, Goldie noted. She tucked that away for later, after they’d had a bit to eat and a bit more to drink. Their table was out on the terrace, tucked a bit behind one of the waterfalls, but not so close they had any issue hearing on another. The skyline stretched before them, darkening slowly. The air up here was fresh, thanks to the hard working plants. They were seated, given tastefully small menus that Goldie knew changed daily, and left alone to decide.

She relaxed into her chair, plusher than the average restaurant’s, and mulled over the drink menu. She knew what she would get, but she also knew she had to decide for Scrooge. He never ordered a drink for himself, claiming it made him look unrefined. Goldie begged to differ, but instead of fighting over it, she learned ages ago that he would steal sips of whatever she got.

The waiter came back and took their drink orders (“I’ll have a glass of the Screaming Eagle Cabernet, and he’ll take a Macallan single malt, thank you.”)

They mulled over the food selections together.

“What’s ah-hai?” Scrooge frowned.

“Ahi, it’s japanese. Half cooked fish, you’d like it.”

“Hm.”

“Should I do the fraise salad?”

Scrooge hummed. “I thought you did that last time?”

“Yeah, but it was good.”

“What about the summer bries sandwich?”

“Where- oh, that does look good. Smarter than smarties once again.”

He rolled his eyes and tapped her foot under the table. Goldie smiled, putting the menu aside. Not a moment later, the waiter came back with their drinks, took their orders, and vanished again.

Scrooge reclined, sipping at his whisky. “So, how did the meeting with Glomgold go?”

“Ugh!” Goldie snorted. “That man is a blight on society. I don’t think he heard a word I said, he was too preoccupied with my chest.”

He frowned mightily. “He’s a chauvinistic cad. How his business is still floating is a mystery.”

“His executives aren’t half bad,” Goldie mused. “I’m thinking about buying a couple of them out for my own use. Maybe that’ll solve two problems in one?”

“What’s the other problem?”

“Oh, right, I haven’t seen you,” she sipped her wine. “Apparently my Duckburg property felt that having a boss in Canada meant slacking off was acceptable when she wasn’t around, so they failed their surprise inspection spectacularly, and now I need to find about 12 new staff members.”

“Ach, what! I hope you gave them hell and highwater.”

“Scroogey, please, you know me.” Goldie smirked at him over her glass.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “I most certainly do.”

They chatted about the changes to her business, his search for a new and improved CEO, flirting and laughing all the while. For the first time in a week, Goldie felt relaxed, settled in a way that had nothing to do with the wine. After denying herself the pleasure of his company for eons, being with Scrooge in any capacity went to her head like a drug. And she’d bet money he felt the same with the way his eyes sparkled.

No one made her laugh like Scrooge, or made her think like he did. She could talk with him about anything, everything, for hours on end and never be bored. He truly was a brilliant man, her equal match in conversational whit. He met her snark with a bite of his own, challenging her like no other. They moved from work, to life at home with the kids, to Dawson’s ever changing skyline, to the new cryptocurrency market neither could seem to understand.

The evening itself felt suspended in time, a moment stolen between heartbeats, a pause to catch their breath in their absurdly busy lives.

Goldie reached out and laid her hand over his, playing with his fingers when the conversation lulled comfortably. “Scrooge?”

“Yes, love?”

She played idly with his fingers. “You didn’t correct the host when he called me your wife.”

“No,” Scrooge furrowed his brow. “I didn’t. Why would I?”

She shrugged. “Last time you did.”

“Aye, true. But last time we were here was after you took Louie to that party.”

“So? Legally, we were still married then.”

Scrooge snorted. “Sure, legally. But you had never called yourself that before, and it seemed a precarious time to presume.”

“Hm, that’s fair. So,” she took a sip of wine. “Do you presume now?”

“Is it really a presumption?” He asked dryly. “You have the ring, even if you don’t wear it.”

She could hear the undercurrent of wounded pride in his voice, and rolled her eyes. “Scroogey, you know in our line of work that its dangerous to wear them. Plenty of people would jump at a chance to get to us through one another.”

“It’s already all over the bloody news,” he scowled. “Which, I assure you, was not my intention-”

“I know it wasn’t, sourdough,” she soothed. “It was a matter of time, and besides, they still don’t have my name, and the shots they do have of my face are blurry. And just because I don’t wear the ring, doesn’t mean I don’t keep it on me.”

Scrooge paused. “Wh- really?”

Goldie frowned. “What, did you think I tossed it in a drawer somewhere and forgot about it?”

“Well, you never brought it up after the gala...I just thought-”

“Hm, don’t think you were doing much thinking, hon,” Goldie pulled open her purse. “Besides, you're throwing a lot of stones in a glass house. You don’t wear yours.”

“Well, no, but I have it on me. Always.”

Goldie looked up at that. “You do?”

Scrooge reached into the breast pocket of his sport coat, and produced the gold band of the hour. “Aye. I don’t keep it on a necklace, not with so many lunatics after me damn dime. And this way it’s, well, you know.”

She placed her chin in her hand, smiling like a cat that found a canary. “No, I don’t know. Go on.”

Scrooge flushed to the tip of his beak. “It’s always by my heart. Right where it should be.”

Her smile softened. “You hopeless old romantic, you.” Goldie brought his hand to her lips, and pressed a kiss to his palm. She glanced around out of habit, before pulling out a small sachet from the lining of her purse. “I keep mine in this bit of fabric. It’s charmed and invulnerable, all but invisible as well. I keep it tethered to the lining, so it's always in reach. I…”

She paused. Vulnerability, particularly with Scrooge, was a newer concept to her. But he had shared his overly romantic reasoning with her. Maybe she could find it in her to return the favor.

“I like to hold it when I’m anxious. Or when I miss you. So I keep it close to hand.”

Heat was flooding her face, but Scrooge’s eyes were wide and loving, if a bit shocked. She couldn’t really blame him. He opened his mouth, probably to spew more romantic crap at her, but they were interrupted by their food being delivered to the table. She’d pushed her hunger aside for the day, and adrenaline had taken over her senses when she saw Scrooge, but now it returned sevenfold, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day.

They tucked in with fervor, Scrooge humming in surprised delight at the seared ahi on his plate. Goldie smirked, and tried to sneak a piece of it, only to have her fork batted away by his. She pouted. “Scroogey…”

“Eat yer own food, ye common thief.”

“Oh, love,” she purred. “There is nothing common about me.”

He blinked owlishly, and Goldie nabbed a slice of tuna. He spluttered while she licked her lips. “You-!”

“Oh, that’s lovely. Here, try mine.” She held out her sandwich to him, chuckling when he gave up all pretenses and took a bite. He chewed carefully.

“Tha’s no’ bad,” he covered his mouth with a fist as he chewed. “Not bad at all!”

“High praise from you.”

She winked at him, and went back to her meal. After a while, Scrooge cleared his throat. “So, you don’t mind then?”

“Hm? Don’t mind what?”

“If I call you my wife.”

Goldie had completely forgotten their earlier conversation. She thought to herself while she chewed, sipped her wine, and chewed some more. “No, I don’t mind. So long as you never use it when Goldie O’Gilt would work better.”

Scrooge studied her. “How do you mean?”

“I’m my own person, Scrooge. With my own businesses, successes, and even my own mistakes. I’m more than just an extension of you, and happily so. And before you get all uppity,” she interrupted his opening mouth. “That says more about me, than you. I don’t want to be an extension of you because I’m not proud of our relationship. I just like being me. And I’m Goldie O’Gilt before I’m Mrs. McDuck, okay?”

He was frowning, but Goldie didn’t react. She just went back to her side salad, and speared another piece of his tuna while he thought. Scrooge loved her, and she knew it well. Very well. But his love for himself and all that that encompassed was legendary. If he couldn’t meet her halfway on this, then he didn’t get to reap the benefits.

At length, he deflated. “Yes, well. Ah suppose that’s fair. I don’t want everything to be about me, you know.”

Goldie rolled her eyes, but softly. She patted his hand. “I do know. But you certainly make it hard to know sometimes, moneybags.”

Scrooge scoffed. “You know, if anyone else said that to me, I’d have them escorted out.”

“Oh, handsome,” she batted her eyelashes and leaned in. “If you want to take me home all you have to do is ask.”

He swallowed, and she relished in her ability to make him blush like a schoolboy even after all these years. Scrooge went back to his food, and she to hers, but not before he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

An hour later, the food was gone, the wine and whiskey finished, and they’d been swaying in each other's arms on the dancefloor for a long and happy while. All good things, though. Goldie found herself all but falling asleep in Scrooge’s arms, exhausted from the day- no, the week on the whole.

“Goldie-e…,” Scrooge hummed in her ear in turn with the music. “Stay for dessert? Or head home?”

She grunted. “Depends. Are the hellions around? Because I’m very relaxed and I’d like to stay that way.”

Her husband (she thrilled internally at the thought, at referring to him as that even in her head) chuckled. “Nae, they’re at a woodchuck slumber jamboree thing on the beach. Della took the boys and Webby, and Beakley went to support the lass at her first woodchuck event.”

Her eyes popped open. “The house is empty?”

“Aye.” Scrooge’s eyes were alight with smug mischief.

“Then what on earth are we still doing here?” She tugged him off the dancefloor so they could collect their accoutrements. She leaned in and kissed him softly, leaving him somewhat dazed when she murmured in his ear. “Take me home, Scroogey.”

-- - -- - - - - -- - -- - -- -

If their driver (Lunchpail? No, not that either.) was at all perturbed by their frantically roaming hands, locked lips, and inelegant fumble into the limo, he hid it well behind a genial, if empty, expression.

An hour later found them boneless, satisfied, and reclined in a bath with lavender scented bubbles up to their necks. Goldie found herself still somewhat out of breath, but she sunk deeper into the hot water to hide it from Scrooge; she’d fed his ego enough for the day.

Not that he would have noticed. His neck reclined on a plush cushion fastened to the lip of the claw foot tub, and his eyes were closed in blissful peace. It was an odd look on him, but then again, any look that wasn’t vexation or anger was still foreign to see on his face.

Goldie thought she could get used to it.

She was drifting off into soothing, aromatic sleep when her pillow shifted. She grunted, wordlessly conveying her annoyance at being disturbed, but Scrooge only chuckled. He moved around out of her field of vision (none, at the moment), and then warm soapy water was being poured over her scalp.

A moment later, shockingly cold soap attacked her hair, and her eyes shot open. “Scrooge, what-”

“Haud yer wheest, or ah’ll get soap in yer eye.”

“Haud- what- ow!”

“Stop fidgeting, too.”

Goldie closed her eyes again, disoriented and confused. But when Scrooge’s hands both wound into her thick hair, and began massaging her head back and forth, she relaxed, and felt a bit silly for her reaction. It had been a long time since someone had washed her hair, in her defense.

She relaxed into the thorough ministrations of his nimble fingers. His hands were worn, calloused, chewed to bits really. But they were strong and unwavering, no matter what task they undertook. If Goldie were being honest with herself, his hands were the third thing she’d ever noticed about him. The first being his eyes (smouldering with rage and annoyance) and the second being his hair (disheveled, thick, flopping in his eyes a bit). He had been, and remained to her, a very handsome duck.

But he was not as sneaky as he thought he was.

“Scrooge…?” she hummed.

“Yes, dear?”

“What’s on your left hand?” Goldie already knew the answer. She was just curious as to what he would come up with; if he’d splutter, or blush, or try to force walls up.

“Hm? Oh,” he reached for the decanter on the floor to rinse her hair. “My ring. Why?”

Goldie frowned to herself. “Why do you have it on?”

“Because I want to.”

His answer was infuriatingly simple. Sensical to him, but not enough for her. She scowled. “I thought we said it was too dangerous to wear them.”

“Aye, it was brought up- tilt back-,” she did so, letting him pour water through her hair. “But I figure that, with it being all over the tabloids like you said, that anyone who wanted to know would know by now. So there’s not point in not wearing them, er, unless- that is- I mean-”

“So articulate.”

He sighed, and flicked some water at her. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you. But I want to wear mine, so ah’m going to.”

Goldie regarded him- upside down from where her head lay- thoughtfully. “Well, I certainly won’t tell you not to,” she righted herself to look him in the eye properly. “You really want to do this? Really be...this?”

Scrooge smiled, and pushed a strand of dripping hair back from her face. “We’ve always been this. I’m just too old, too tired, and too stupidly in love with you to pretend otherwise anymore,” he surged forward, and kissed her deeply. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut, leaning into him. When he pulled away, it was by a scarce inch. “I want the world to know you’re my wife. Not because I want to erase who you are, who you’ve been, but because I love who you are.”

“Scrooge…” her whisper was thick with the pressure building in her eyes.

“I know you think I want this because of my image, or my ego. But I don’t,” he pecked her lips again. “I want this because I love you, my swindling, thieving, conniving-” his punctuated each epitaph with a kiss to her face, neck, body. “Sharp, radiant, gorgeously intelligent, loving, soft-ow!”

She tugged his whiskers sharply. “Now, now, that’s no way for you to talk about your wife, Scroogey.”

He grumbled and flicked more water at her. “Tha’s no way for you to treat your husband, either, you minx.”

Goldie grinned, but it faltered sharply. “So are you...do we…you’re my husband, then? In earnest? Like, I can drop your name at the Kingfisher Country Club?”

Scrooge rolled his eyes, but then he smirked. “Only if I can drop yours at the Spice-A-Torium in Istanboar.”

“Tch, fine, but that’s your decision. Remember that when they rob you blind.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Goldie leaned back against his chest. Scrooge tucked his chin into her shoulder. “So it’s awrigh’?”

“What?”

“That I call you my wife?”

Goldie sighed. No more running or slipping through the loopholes, then. She leaned her own head back along his shoulder, and turned her head to preen the messy tufts on his cheeks.

At length, she nodded. “Yes, it’s alright. More than alright.”

Scrooge hugged her around the waist suddenly, sloshing water over the tub. She huffed, but couldn’t even feign annoyance. Not when he was this happy, and it was all because of her.

She didn’t need to feign annoyance, though, when she was losing oxygen. “Oy, moneybags, you're crushing my ribs.”

“Poppycock, I’m not even near your ribs-”

“Okay, well, they’re my ribs in my body so I think I would know-”

“So dramatic,” he teased, laughing into her shoulder. “Are you going to faint? Do you need a fan, my lady?”

“You absolute ass,” Goldie didn’t want to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. She tried pulling away but couldn’t get a grip in the tub. “Let me go, Scrooge, I swear-”

“But I jes’ got ye!”

“I want a divorce, this is terrible.”

“Ah!” He gasped. “Harsh words from the hounding harpy-”

“Okay, small note, don’t call your wife a harpy. Just some constructive criticism-”

“Well you’re squalling like one-”

“You know what-”

Goldie thrashed harder, sloshing more water, under she wiggled an arm free and shoved it into her husband’s armpit. Scrooge yelped, and let go immediately while Goldie cackled at his discomfort.

“Aw, what’s wrong,” she stuck her tongue out. “Is Scroogey-poo ticklish? That’s so- ack!”

She found herself unable to finish her sentence as Scrooge splashed a large wave of water into her face. She spluttered and wiped water from her eyes to see him chortling at her expense.

“Oh, you’re on.”

She heaved an armload of water back at him, slicing her hand through the water viciously. The wave hit Scrooge in the face and then some, sloshing over the back of the clawfoot. Scrooge yelped while Goldie scooted as far away as she could, giggling all the while.

He shook the water from his feathers rapidly, clearing his eyes enough to glower at her. She stuck her tongue out again, grinning. They stayed locked in a staring contest, Scrooge fighting to keep a straight face; the corners of his mouth fought to turn upwards, and spite his furrowed brow.

And then, like a switch had been flipped within them, they were splashing each other with violent abandon. Within seconds, they were soaked head to toe, laughing and shouting and hollering at one another. Goldie was fairly certain she had at least a cup of water up her nose, and more in her lungs from being unable to shut her mouth for laughing.

When the floor contained as much water as the tub, Goldie jumped out, tearing across the room for the towels. Luck was not her lady tonight, though, as Scrooge caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. She shrieked and giggled and kicked half-heartedly as she wrestled with him. She felt like a child, carefree and making a mess and having the time of her life.

She was deposited back on her feet once they were out of the puddle, out of breath from laughter and exertion. Goldie turned in her captor’s arms, and wound her own around his neck.

The love and joy shining in Scrooge’s eyes could bowl her over, and bring her heart to its knees. It was so rare to see him carefree; even on adventures with thrilling stakes, he was concentrated on the prize, the kids, and her.

Goldie leaned in, and hugged him tightly. “I love you.”

She was off her feet again, being twirled in a tight circle while he whooped and laughed. She was helpless to join him, holding him tighter still. He placed her down again, and caught her in a searing kiss. Goldie felt her knees start to give out from the kiss, his grip, his love. It didn’t matter though, when he picked her up a third time, and carried her out of the wrecked bathroom. He didn’t let her go until the stars had come out to dance in the sky, joining the ones that burst in their own eyes.

Later, after hours more of exertion, and a short nap that only furthered their exhaustion, they tugged on their robes and padded down to the kitchen. It was a bit past midnight, and the house remained blissfully quiet. Goldie, though she would never admit it in so many words, had grown to love the kids dearly. But a night without video games beeping, dart guns firing, manhunt screeching, pool splashing, or whatever else the four of them and their gaggle of friends cooked up? Paradise.

They pilfered tea, chocolate, and a carton of fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market and returned to the dim, quiet haven of their bedroom. Since she’d been coming around more (Scrooge would say moved in. She would say not quite yet), she’d convinced him to get a wall-mounted TV installed in the bedroom so they could be left alone to watch their “old people shows” without comment from the pint-sized peanut gallery.

They settled into bed, Goldie’s back to Scrooge’s front, TV turned to some home renovation show they both loved to make fun of, yet were oddly hooked on. Goldie tucked her hair up into a bun, and relaxed. She was felt clean, happy, and more loved than she’d felt all week.

A strawberry was run along her beak, and she opened her mouth to take a bite.

“Really? They’re gonna go with a subway tile backsplash? That’s a hot take.”

Scrooge popped a piece of chocolate in his mouth. “Well, they’re already 17k over budget, they’re probably trying to cut cost.”

“Then take out the second jacuzzi tub. Or that stupid ugly fountain. Don’t compromise on the kitchen tile, life’s too short.”

Her husband (‘Husband!’ her heart did a funny somersault) chuckled behind her. “Ye tell em, lass.”

“I will, thanks.”

He pecked her cheek, and she turned her head to catch his lips. They kissed lazily, like they had all the time in the world. And, at least until the sun rose, they did. Neither had anywhere to be other than in this bed, holding one another impossibly close. And tomorrow morning, they would wake up there, too.

The feeling of falling asleep in her husband’s arms, loved, and knowing she’d wake up the same way? It was incomparable. She could wallow for hours over not letting herself have this sooner, and she knew that in her low moments she would. But even though the road had been long, and filled with trials on both sides, they’d walked it together. And now, finally, they had come home.

Chapter Text

It was an unspoken, yet universally understood rule of the household. Webby learned it before she could walk, and the boys learned it within two days of living there. Said rule being, unless there was an emergency, Scrooge was never ever ever to be woken up by the children. And emergencies were relegated to magical, mystical, or physical bodily harm, or the threat thereof.

Nightmares did not count. 

Usually, when nightmares did plague the kids, they handled them fine on their own. The boys had each other, or, if they didn’t mind the walk, Donald on the houseboat. Webby had her Granny, and about 15 knives tucked in and around her bed. They managed.

The adults had the comfort of after-hours solitude, and the liquor cabinet if they needed. Occasionally they’d find one another roaming the vast halls, staring out of large windows, or sulking by a stray fireplace. 

That was before.

Before FOWL had nearly killed them all. Before Della had watched her brother about to be thrown to his death. Before Webby had lost all trust in the adults who raised her, only to regain it, and then deal with its day-in day-out wavering as she grew. Before the boys almost lost everyone who’d ever cared about them, called them family. Before everything they had ever known to be true and safe was tossed in a lidless blender, and they were left to deal with the mess.

Everything was different now, including the nightmares. And new nightmares tended to require new coping mechanisms. 

Lightning streaked the sky, throwing the whipping branches and flying detritus into brief, sharp contrast. It wasn’t a timephoon, but it was still a tropical storm. According to his JWG, it was only 30 miles per hour away from being a hurricane in terms of wind speed. Granted, tropical storms tended to involve a lot more wind, and less rain, but the effects could still be devastating-

CRASH!

Huey sat bolt upright in his bed, red comforter huddled up to his neck. It was just a thunderstorm, and some wind. Just a common, seasonal depression caused by shifting warm and cold front-

BOOM!

No, it wasn’t. It was red. The sky was red, the room was red, and the lightning was neon pink. The clouds were swirling in, pivoting toward the eye of the storm- the Solego Rift-

Plink!  

His nightlight winked out, as did the hall light and the white noise plug in Huey kept by his bed. It was eerily silent, save for the creaking and groaning of the house. The storm seemed to hold its breath, only the rain whispering against the glass of the window letting him know this wasn’t all a dream-

SLAM! A massive tree branch crashed against the window of their bedroom, sending Huey scurrying down the ladder and into the center of the room before he could think. He tugged his nightcap over his ears, but the storm was too loud. He was out in the open- exposed- alone-

He was all alone. 

It was just him and Bradford. He had no brothers to help him look at the angles, try something new. He had no sister to tell him that bad guys were manipulators, and he was being used. He was going to fail. He was going to make a mistake.

He was going to hurt them all.

Huey was running out of the room and into the dark hallway before he really understood what was happening. Blindly, by muscle memory, he made his way to his Mom’s room, only to find it empty.

‘No, no, no, no’ his brain chanted. Bradford had thrown her into the rift. Her and his dad- their uncle Donald. They were gone. Panic overtook him, and he began trying doorknobs at random. Most were locked, and those that weren’t didn’t lead him to anyone helpful. Tears pressed against Huey’s eyes, and the ringing in his ears grew louder. 

This must be the dimension he was thrown into. All alone, doomed to be here forever. After all, he had done this to them. He had let Bradford trick him. It was all his fault, all his fault-

The last door knobs, two of them right alongside each other, gave way, and he tumbled through into a dark, warm room. It smelled familiar, like home. Like he knew this exact scent from something- no, from someone. From someone he hugged. 

Red greatcoat. Shining tophat. A cane that thumped along like a steady drumbeat, leading them into the unknown. Teakwood. Wood smoke from campfires. Fine perfume. Cold snow on the top of a lonely mountain. Sweat and gunpowder from a scrap in the amazon. Engine fuel from a trusty plane. And copper, nickel, and the scentless slip against the nostrils that was gold.

Uncle Scrooge. Aunt Goldie. 

He pushed himself up from where he’d face planted into the carpet, and made his way unsteadily to the large four-poster king sized bed resting against the east wall. He had to be sure, he had to know he hadn’t doomed them all-

He drew even with the side of the bed nearest the doors, his uncle’s side. Sure enough, there was a lump there, breathing steadily and deeply in slumber. Spectacles rested on the bedside table next to him, and a cane leaned against the headboard, tucked out of the way. 

Hands that looked and felt too small, too stiff and incapable to be his own reached out, and patted the lump gently. It shifted, snorted, and carried on sleeping. 

Huey frowned, patting harder and shaking the lump a bit. “Uncle Scrooge? Uncle Scrooge, please…”

What if this was a trick? What if the lump wasn’t real, or worse, what if it was Bradford? Or Steelbeak? Or Magica de Spell? Or-

“Huey?”

He reoriented his vision from where he’d been staring at the comforter, blinking and feeling tears dribble down his face. The lump shifted, the comforter moved, and there was his Uncle Scrooge, looking very grumpy and very confused. 

“Hubert Duck, what on earth are you-”

“Scout?”

A blonde head peeked over his Uncle’s shoulders. Goldie squinted at him in the low light. Scrooge struggled to his elbow to give him some leverage. 

“Lad, what is it? Is everything alright?”

He wanted to just nod, and be on his way. He opened his mouth to say yes. But he couldn’t. Some force grabbed voicebox and squeezed, while keeping his head in place. The best he could muster was a pathetic and strangled squeak, and some more tears. 

“Huey?” A hand was in his peripheral, palm up. Asking permission to touch. Right, touch. Touch could be his friend. But it could also hurt him. Hurt him like Steelbeak. 

But it could also help. Like when Louie needed a hug. Or Dewey tussled with him. Or when Webby corrected his stance, or his Mom hugged him so so tight and it didn’t hurt like it should. Like when his Aunt Goldie tapped his hat, or put a hand on his shoulder. Or when Scrooge clapped him on the back, and told him he was good, so good- such a bright kid.

He grabbed the hand tight, tighter than he knew he should have, and brought it to his face. Huey didn’t have the words to ask for help, but he knew Scrooge would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

Sure enough, when he felt the dampness on his nephew’s face, Scrooge woke up more. “Huey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you feel sick?”

He shook his head, jerky side to side. Goldie sat up too, rubbing her eyes. “Is someone else hurt or sick? Or maybe a home invasion?”

Again, no. He reached up and patted his own head, trying to convey the crushing, cramping feeling building behind his eyes. 

“Headache?”

“Nightmare?”

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He probably had a migraine, a type of headache categorized by intense pain on either side of his head. He would be more sensitive to light, sound, and fast movement, and he could feel tingling in his limbs. The proper treatment was painkiller and rest-

When had he gotten into the bed? 

His aunt’s side of the bed was empty- no it wasn’t. Goldie was there like she’d never left, holding out two pills and a glass of water. Aspirin. That would reduce his symptoms. He took them and swallowed down the water, barely registering his uncle’s bracing arm around his shoulders, even while he leaned into them.

He handed the water glass off to Scrooge, who placed it on the nightstand before he scooted back down into bed and pulled the covers up. Huey let himself be guided down onto his back- the proper sleeping position as it was best for spine and neck alignment, optimal breathing, and best REM and deep sleep hours. 

His face was still wet, which only occurred to him when he was handed a tissue. Why hadn’t he stopped crying? Everything was fine- wasn’t it? Or was this all still a hallucination? 

The storm raged on outside, lightning illuminating the room and throwing menacing shadows up the wall. The light made his head scream and his vision go blurry. Huey whimpered and sank down under the covers. He curled into a ball, clamping his hands back over his ears while his eyes squeezed shut. He began to recite the periodic table, the atomic numbers and weights, grouping them by matter.

By the time he reached Cobalt, his brain wasn’t trying to break out of his skull, and his breathing wasn’t tripping and hiccupping. He was still crying, a bit, but it wasn’t so bad now. Dimly, he became aware of a hand rubbing his back with feather-light pressure, and a rhythm being tapped on his foot below the covers. 

1-2-1-2-1-2-1-2-3

Huey breathed in time to the tapping, drawing in deep lungfuls and trying to relax his muscles. He pushed back against the hand rubbing his back, and the pressure became sturdier. Eventually, he opened his eyes, and the room wasn’t swimming anymore. His ears weren’t ringing, either. 

The vice around his throat relaxed, and he worked his jaw, unclenching it as best he could. 

“Huey?”

Scrooge. Uncle Scrooge was here. He was concerned, almost alarmed. Why?

Oh, right. 

“Hi, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Y’awrigh’?”

“Um,” Huey sniffled, and curled up some more. “I had a nightmare. And then, I think, I had a panic attack,” he paused. Took stock of his faculties. Of his anger and fear in the dark hallway, the hallucination in the bedroom. “No, I definitely had a panic attack.”

“That’s alright, Scout.”

Aunt Goldie. She was behind him, rubbing his back still. It was nice. Lighter than a hug, but reminding him he wasn’t alone. That this was real.

She shifted a bit behind him. Huey kept his eyes fixated on the carved bed post. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He pondered that. Did he? Talking about emotions was the logical way to get through them when they were too big to handle on your own. But, if he voiced these nightmares he’d been having, they would become real. And then he’d have to confront why he was having them in the first place. Which didn’t exactly sound fun. 

‘Easy solutions can lead to hard problems’ his own voice chided him from the past. Gah, he was right. He was almost always right. Except when he wasn’t…

“The storm.” Start simple. 

“Aye, it was a corker.”

Huey swallowed. “I thought it was the Solego portal. I thought I was alone.”

“Kid…” Goldie’s eyes were heavy with sympathy. Huey wondered how often the rest of his family had nightmares, all because he’d almost trusted Bradford. 

Words tumbled out of him like so many pebbles down a hill, gaining speed with each one that fell. “I tried to find Mom, but her room was empty. And then all the other doors in the hall were locked, or empty, and then I thought that Bradford had won. I thought I was in another dimension, trapped and alone forever and that everyone else was gone, and if they were it was all because of me.”

His chest heaved with unshed tears, and panic, even as Scrooge balked at his words.

“Yer fault? How could any of that mess have possibly been your fault, lad?”

He shrugged. “I trusted him. I let him convince me that his cause was good. That he was doing the right thing, even if it meant hurting people.”

Goldie frowned, and flicked his nightcap. “He manipulated you, kid. He knew exactly how to win you over, and he played all the right cards. It’s not your fault that he was a lunatic with an agenda.”

“But I let him trick me.”

“I think maybe you need to rephrase that,” Goldie settled down into her pillow as she spoke. “You didn’t let him do anything. It’s never the fault of the victim that they were taken advantage of. Rather, it’s the fault of the manipulator for betraying any trust they were given.”

Huey blinked at her. 

“Right, so, think of it like this,” she hiked the blankets up to shoulder. “Say you told Louie that you were getting a secret woodchuck badge. And then Louie told Webby. And Webby got upset that you didn’t tell her. Is it your fault? Or Louie’s fault for betraying your trust?”

“Oh…” Huey frowned. “Well, I guess it would be Louie’s fault, because I trusted him, and then he- oh. I see.”

“There you go, lad,” Scrooge settled down on his other side. “It can be easy to understand these things when they apply to others. It is natural to be harder on yourself, but you have to remember to give yourself the same margin of error you give others, right? It’s only fair.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Huey picked at the feathers on the back of his hand, agitated. “But, still...I almost killed everyone-”

“No, hon,” Goldie gently extricated his right hand from his own grip, holding it in her own. “Bradford and Heron and all those other freaks almost killed us. Not you. You helped save us.”

“It doesn’t feel like I did,” he whispered. “It feels like everyone is lying to make me feel better.”

Goldie ran her fingers over the soft feathers of his palm, and the sensory input distracted him from his own misery long enough to look at her, then his uncle.

“Lad, havnae I always done my best to be straight with ye?”

Huey nodded. The spear of Selene was an outlier, and not worth mentioning at the moment. It came up often enough in their bi-montly counseling sessions. 

“Then trust me when I say, no one blames you. Not even a bit. You’re no imposter, Huey. You’re just as smart, just as reliable as you were before Bradford got in your head. Don’t even think on it.”

“But-”

“Huey,” Goldie murmured. He turned to her, still running light fingers over his hand. “We’re all safe. Everyone’s alive, and home. I can promise you that there is no need to doubt that. There’s nothing that worrying will accomplish, not tonight.”

He knew she was right, logically. He nodded, even through his doubts. He opened his mouth to say so, but was cut off by a monstrous, jaw cracking yawn. Aunt Goldie chuckled. “See? It’s time to let your mind rest. Everything will look better in the morning.”

Scrooge doffed his cap with affection, and Huey smiled. He should get up, go back to his room. But he was so comfortable, and warm. He wasn’t alone here, not that he was in his room with his brothers, but this was different. 

Sleep was washing over him quickly, dark waves pulling him down, but not before he breathed out ‘love you’ and heard it reciprocated did he let himself float away. His sleep was blissfully dreamless. 

Chapter Text

It had been an average day for Goldie O’Gilt, which was not something she could say often these days. Since taking up a more permanent residence in Scrooge’s Duckburg estate, her days were spent pursuing her own treasure-hunting goals, helping her family track down remaining FOWL members, minding four hellions she’d come to love dearly, or facing down a ravenous boardroom by Scrooge’s- her husband’s- side.

But for now, she was in Dawson, tending to her flagship resort and getting it ready for the end of the fiscal year. Thankfully, all was smooth sailing. Her team here was competent, proactive, and well trained like none of her other resorts’ teams were. Her personal assistant was in charge when she wasn’t around, and he ran an even tighter ship than she did.

Hooty- that is, Walter Hootston II- had been in her employ since he was 18, and she trusted him like no other when it came to the Blackjack. All day he’d been by her side, handing her forms, reviews, papers that needed signatures, coffee; whatever she needed, he’d had it there before she could ask. He was due for another raise. They’d finished their night pretty early, around 8 pm, and she had retired to her ever-ready penthouse apartment on the premises, content in a good day’s work and ready to unwind.

Once in her apartment, Goldie laid out flannel pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt she’d nicked from Scrooge almost a decade ago. She revelled in the luxury of a scalding shower in her pristine, sleek bathroom. Once she felt suitably refreshed, she poured herself a half-glass of merlot and turned on the speaker system. A soft piano and string ensemble, set to a reasonably low background volume, accompanied her to the kitchen.

The cabinets and fridge, which were mostly stocked with non-perishables when she was away, but she’d called ahead to Hooty and had him run to the local market in Dawson’s boho district. Goldie avoided the kitchen at the manor- that was Bentina’s domain, and she was a damn good cook. But Goldie had been on her own for far too long to not have picked up a few- well, several dozen- tricks. Not that anyone at home needed to know that just yet.

She was setting out white wine, mushrooms, garlic, onion, pasta, chicken, and basil when her private intercom buzzed. Goldie frowned, wiping her hands on her pants on her way out of the kitchen and over to the front door. She pressed the button.

“Hooty?”

“Evening, Ms. O’Gilt,” his New England accent crackled over the speaker, as did his ever-present gum chewing. “Ah, small situation here.”

“Ugh, Walter, I just put on my comfies. Can it wait?”

“Um, no. Definitely not.”

“Fine. What.”

“There’s a little girl here at the front desk. Says she knows you, that you told her to come by anytime. Or some shit like that. I dunno. What I do know is she’s dripping water and tears all over my carpet runners, and she won’t take no for an answer.”

Goldie’s blood froze in her veins. “Webby?”

“Wha- uh, hang on,” he moved away from the speaker. “Hey kid, c’mere”

There was a scuffling noise, and more crackling static before a very small voice came through. “Aunt Goldie?”

“Hooty, bring her up here. Now.”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by a very confused. “Um, yes, Ms. O’Gilt.”

The intercom cut off. In a matter of seconds, she’d gone from at ease to concerned, and a good bit frazzled. Webby was here. Why on earth was Webby here? And crying?

She ran a shaking hand through her hair and hurried back to the kitchen. She set the chicken back in the refrigerator, but left the other ingredients out. She looked around, thinking. Dripping...had it rained today? She glanced out of the floor to ceiling windows that encompassed the dining area and extended to the bedrooms. Yes, there were dark clouds receding into the distance, being chased by the dying embers of a sunset and the navy paints of night.

Goldie ducked into the bedroom again, and laid out a pair of soft cotton shorts and a hoodie. The hoodie was large and grey- hers- but the shorts were a deep emerald. Louie had left them behind after their last trip abroad when they’d stopped over here for the night. They’d serve Webby well enough. Lastly, she set out fluffy fresh towels in the bathroom. She could imagine the girl would want to shower.

Right on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door. Goldie hurried out of the bedroom to answer it. She took a breath to calm her nerves before undoing the chain and opening up. Hooty stood there, professional as ever. His slacks and vest were as cleanly creased as they were when she left him an hour ago, his large and fashionable glasses resting on a downturned beak. His hand rested on the shoulder of a much less put-together Webbigail Vanderquack.

Goldie’s heart lurched at the sight of the usually vivacious young firecracker looking like the scraggly orphans that used to trawl Dawson’s streets. Her bow was crumpled, her clothes soaked through. The pack on her back was overstuffed. Webby’s arms were wrapped around herself, head bowed toward the ground. Goldie knelt down to her level.

“Hey, Pink,” she said softly. “What brings you to Dawson?”

Webby looked up, and the ice around Goldie’s heart splintered painfully. Tear tracks mussed the soft, fine feathers of her face. Her beak wobbled, and she hiccuped painfully when she tried to speak.

“Oh, sweetheart, c’mere.” Goldie opened her arms just in time to catch Webby as she threw herself at her. Sobs wracked her tiny (gods, why were these kids so small?) body with haggard force. She grimaced, and got to her feet with Webby still in her arms. She nodded her thanks to Hooty, who was looking quite pale and frightened, and shut the door softly with her foot.

Webby was inconsolable, her deceptively strong arms clamped tight around Goldie’s neck. Goldie had absolutely no idea what to do. She had seen the kids through just about every mood imaginable at this point, and had comforted many sad pipsqueak. But this transcended sadness. Webby almost seemed...guilty.

At a loss for anything better to do. Goldie shifted the girl’s weight to one hip and returned to the kitchen to work on dinner, humming gently all the while. She couldn’t necessarily chop up veggies and sautee them one-handed, but she could throw together a mean salad while she waited for Webby to calm. And she did, eventually. The sobs receded to soft cries, which faded to hiccups, until eventually the girl was fairly silent, and exhaustedly slumped against her.

Goldie placed her on the counter, and stepped away to grab a tissue box and wet a cloth. She offered the box of tissues first. “Here, blow,” Webby did so, very politely. Next game the wet cloth, which goldie gently pressed to her tear-swollen eyes. “Now, before we get into anything, does 22 know where you are? Or Scrooge? Della? Anyone?”

Webby was tellingly silent, swinging her legs against white cabinet doors. She shook her head, guilty.

Goldie sighed. “Okay. Is it because they’re compromised? Or because you ran away?”

“I ran away.” She whispered.

She nodded. “Alright. I’m going to call your uncle and grandmother. I laid out some towels for you, and a set of comfies. Go wash, and change, while I chat. And then we can eat and talk. That is, if you’re hungry?”

“I am,” Webby sniffled. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Except some crackers on the train.”

“Then go wash up,” Goldie helped her down from the counter, setting her on shaky feet. “The last thing we need is you collapsing.”

“Yes, Aunt Goldie.”

“Head into my bedroom. It’s the open door attached to the main room. It’s got the nicer bath.”

“Okay.”

It was bizarre to see Webby this downtrodden. She was misery incarnate as she plodded off to shower. Surely no one had died, right? Best to make sure. Goldie grabbed her phone from the coffee table, clocking the missed calls- Scrooge, Sharpie, and an untraceable number that was probably Bentina.

She tapped over to Scrooge’s name, and hooked the phone up to the bluetooth system she had hanging over the counter. While it rang, she grabbed the chicken back out of the fridge and several sharp knives. He picked up as she was setting blade to onion.

“Goldie!”

“Hey, hon.”

“Dear, I dinnae really know how to say this but-well-”

“Webby’s missing?”

“Yes, and- wait, what?”

His confusion was always cute, being as rare as it was. “She just showed up on my doorstep, poor thing. Never seen her so miserable.”

“Oh, bless me bagpipes,” he sounded ready to cry in relief. “Oh, thank e’er star in the highlands- hang on, love, don’t go anywhere. Beakley-!”

His voice faded off, presumably to go tell 22 her granddaughter had been located. The shower had only turned on a moment ago. They had time to talk yet. Voices drew near to the line again.

“O’Gilt!”

“Bentina.”

“Webby’s there? With you? In Dawson?”

“Yep. Showed up on my lavish, busy doorstep soaking wet and with a backpack. What gives?”

There was silence, and then a very clipped Beakley answered, “This is a personal, family matter. It doesn’t concern you.”

Her temper flared, and she sliced through the last of the onion harsher than necessary. “See, I kind of think it does concern me when it brings itself to my doorstep, y’know?”

“See here-”

“Goldie-”

“Mm-mm, no, you two see here,” she slid the onion into the pan and drizzled them in oil before grabbing a garlic clove. “I’m going to find out either way, because Webby and I are going to have a conversation about whatever brought her here. So, the least you could do is give me some sort of warning beforehand. Or don’t. Like I said, doesn’t matter to me.

“Look, whether you like it or not, Webby brought herself here. She sought me out. That means something to me, something I intend to take very seriously, because isn’t that my job? As a guardian? It sure seems like it, from what 22 keeps hounding me about.”

Beakley interjected. “She is my grandaughter, O’Gilt, it’s my job to keep her safe-”

“Then why is she here?” Goldie snapped.

No answer came. She took her time with the garlic, making sure it was cut and distributed properly before turning her attention to the mushrooms. “Bentina, look. I get it. I get why you hate that she’s here, with me, of all places. I’m not going to pretend I don’t. But I care about these kids, and you damn well know it.”

“I know, alright?” Beakley grit out. “I know. But this is- it’s...temperamental.”

Goldie nodded. “So, it’s about clone stuff, then?” Scrooge sucked in a very telling breath. “Right, so, what happened now?”

“Well, erm,” Scrooge sighed. “Donald and Daisy are coming back within the month.”

“Really?” Goldie smiled. “That’s great- oh. Right. The two, uh, stowaways.”

“Yes,” Beakley sounded exhausted. “Them. May and June will be staying at the mansion along with Daisy and Donald indefinitely while they house hunt.”

“Ah, shit.”

“Indeed.”

“Webby didn’t take it well, when we told the bairns.”

“In what way?” Goldie slid the mushrooms into the pan and added more oil. The shower was still going in the background.

“She shut down,” Beakley took over. “For a while, anyway. Then she got into a fight with Dewey-”

“Turbo?” Goldie’s eyebrows flew up. “They’re thick as thieves.”

“Yes, it was very concerning. I sent Webbigail to her room, but when I went to check on her, she was gone. But she left the window open a crack and disturbed the greenery on the trellis she used. Sloppy work, so she was emotionally compromised.”

“Hm,” Goldie eyed the onions, decided they were translucent, and lowered the heat. She tossed the chicken into the pan, along with a dash of the cream. “So May and June coming back is obviously very distressing to her. Does anyone have any idea why?”

Scrooge sighed. “No, we don’t. When the girls left, everything was fine as it could be.”

“Well, there have been some adjustments and growing pains since,” Goldie pondered. “Maybe the problem isn’t the girls, but Webby.”

“Just what are you implying-”

“Relax, Benny. I’m not implying anything about the princess,” Goldie scoffed. “I’m just saying that this may be more of an inward issue than an outward one.”

There was more grumbling and hushed discussion on the other end of the line. She focused on making sure her chicken didn’t dry out, adding a splash of white wine. The pasta was just about done cooking as well. As if on cue, the shower shut off. Goldie cleared her throat to interrupt the escalating bickering.

“Alright, well, since neither of you have been particularly helpful, I’m going to go talk to the only person who seems to know what’s going on. But first we’re going to have dinner. Ciao, love, all that jazz.”

“Goldie, wait-”

She flicked the overhead speaker off, effectively ending the call. Her jazz piano resumed playing and she set about draining the pasta, mixing it into the sauce and veg, and plating it while she sipped at her wine. She had the food on the table, just as Webby padded out of the bedroom.

Her eyes were still red, but the steam had done wonders for her hair and feathers. The pajamas were a bit big for her, not that it seemed to bother Webby any. She hopped up onto the dining room chair with ease.

“You’re looking much better.” Goldie placed a glass of water in front of her ward and sat down next to her.

“I’m feeling much better,” she mumbled, almost shy. “Thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for looking out for you, kiddo. Now eat up. The talking can wait.”

They tucked in, Webby with a fervor that belied a day without food. She offered her compliments on Goldie’s cooking between large mouthfuls and gulps of water, and happily accepted a second helping. They ate mostly in silence, though Goldie did ask the customary gambit of questions; how was school, how was Lena, how was her grandmother. She did notice that Webby offered polite answers, happily so, but managed to say a lot without offering any details.

Bentina had certainly trained her well.

When the food was gone, she shooed Webby in to sit on the couch while she cleaned up, despite the girl's protestations that she should help. As thankful as she was for the offer, Goldie knew the girl was probably dead on her feet. She rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, and tossed the rest of the food in a tupperware to send with Webby on the train home tomorrow. The sun had set well below the skyline, so Goldie turned off the fluorescent lights of the dining room and kitchen, and thumbed the small, wall-mounted screen that controlled the windows tint.

Goldie headed into the living room, turning on the fireplace as she did. She could hear Scrooge in the back of her mind, scoffing at the contraption, calling it a waste of money and utterly pointless.

‘Ye can make a perfectly good fire by hand! Why d’ye need a remote control doo-hickey to do something that yer more than capable of doing?’

Old coot.

Webby was curled up on the couch with a book from the coffee table; her original copy of Arsene Lupin. It was worn, dog-eared, chewed. One of her most well-loved books.

She looked up from the pages. “I only ever read the english copy. The french has much more nuance in it that didn’t translate over.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Goldie sat down next to Webby’s feet. “I take it you’re fluent?”

“Yeah,” Webby rubbed the back of her head bashfully. “It was the third or fourth language I picked up.”

“You’re a real amazing kid, you know that?” Goldie kept her tone mild, but inquisitive. She hoped Webby was still young enough to not realize a lead-in when she heard one.

Sure enough, the younger girl scowled, and turned her gaze back to the page. “Yeah, okay.” She snorted derisively.

Goldie quirked a brow. “Would this sarcastic tone have anything to do with the waterworks when you arrived?”

Webby looked up, glaring, but it faded quickly into resignation. She sighed, and put the book aside with great care. Goldie felt very touched by the gesture. Webby right herself into more of a sitting position, bringing her legs to cross in front of her, facing Goldie’s side.

“I ran away.”

“Got that.”

“We got a letter from Uncle Donald, saying they’d be back by early November. And then Uncle Scrooge started talking about them moving in here, and setting up the rooms. And then one of the boys asked about another triple bunk, so we could all match,” Webby started to look nauseous, disgusted with the idea. Her hands fisted in her hoodie. “And, and schools. And enrollment. And I just- I don’t- I...” The words seemed to stick in her throat.

Goldie turned to face her on the couch drawing her own legs up to tuck into her. “Webby, I want you to know that you can tell me anything,” she placed a gentle hand on the girl’s own, still clenched into fists. “And I mean that. Truly. No tricks, no lies. Whatever you say, I will not judge you for it, or tell your uncle or grandmother.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

Webby scrutinized her, and offered a pinky. “Pinky promise?”

Goldie rolled her eyes, but looped her pinky through. “Yes, fine, pinky promise.” As silly as it felt, hearing Webby’s giggle was worth the stupidity.

She sombered quickly. “I don’t want May and June to come back.”

“Mhm,” Goldie nodded. “Can I ask why?”

Webby shrugged, jerky. “I just...don’t. When they’re gone it’s easier.”

“What’s easier?”

“Forgetting.”

Goldie furrowed her brow. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. “What do you want to forget, Pink? Saving the world?”

“No, we do that all the time,” Webby snorted. “When they’re not around, it’s easier to forget that I’m…”

She trailed off, and Goldie gently picked up the thread. “A clone?”

Webby nodded, but her eyes were hard and her jaw was set. She looked years older in that moment, in a way that made Goldie’s heart ache. “A clone. An obsolete, failed, test-tube lab experiment that never should have existed in the first place-”

“Webby-”

“An abomination-”

“Webby!”

“A freak, copy-and-paste, meaningless blob of nothing!”

“Webbigail, that’s enough!”

Both of their chests heaved, and they wondered when they’d escalated to yelling. Webby had gotten to her feet on the couch, eye level with Goldie so she could scream her pain better. But a fire sparked by internal resentment was not a long-burning thing, and soon enough, the rage left her. Hollowed her eyes momentarily, only to fill them with a deep and profound sadness that no child should feel, in Goldie’s opinion. The girl crumpled, falling to her knees on the couch, and allowed her aunt to gather her into her arms.

“Webby, honey…”

Goldie trailed off. What could she possibly say to comfort this girl? She knew none of it, not one word of it was true. But she also knew Webby truly believed it all in that moment.

“Pink, what on earth is making you feel this way?”

Webby laid her head listlessly on her shoulder. “Me, I guess.”

“For how long?”

“Since the summer, kind of. Maybe a month after FOWL and the papyrus.”

“Honey, I don’t understand your reasoning here,” Goldie looked down at her, curled up into a ball of self-resentment. “You’re an amazing, capable, brilliant young woman with a bright future ahead of you. Why all this self-loathing? And what do May and June have to do with it.”

“It’s simple, really,” Webby’s voice was quiet, hollow with defeat. “I was made to retrieve a piece of paper from a magical ether. I did that. I was made to be Scrooge’s heir. So everything I ever did, to get close to him, to learn about him, be a part of the family, it was all...written for me. I didn’t really do anything except exactly what I was supposed to do. And now I’ve served the purpose I was made more. I’m obsolete.

“I feel like, no matter what I do, it won’t matter. I feel like there’s this massive, Scrooge-shaped shadow looming over me. And it’s not even his fault,” her eyes welled up. “He’s been the most understanding, and patient guy. When I stopped calling him dad, he didn’t even react. When I started pulling away, he let me. And instead of being grateful, it’s just made me resent him more.

“It’s like, every thought and emotion I have, every goal I ever pursued, all feels...pointless. Because it was never really mine. It was all his. Because that’s all I am. Just a carbon copy of him. I’m not even me, because there is no me. I am him. And I hate it. I hate me. And so, I’m starting to hate him,” her shoulders began to shake, and she looked up at Goldie with pleading eyes, filled with anger and sorrow. “I don’t want to hate him. I want to love him. And I want to love me. But I don’t know how.”

Goldie’s heart was splintering down the middle, great big fissures erupting in its core. She held Webby closer, rubbing her back, but before she could say anything, she was off like a rocket again. Months of pent up anger poured out of her like a monsoon, and Goldie let herself be swept away in it. Webby needed someone to feel with her, to know she wasn’t alone in the dark.

“And, when I see them, May and June, I get so angry, deep inside. Because they remind me of who I used to be, of everything that I don’t have anymore. They love being alive, and everything is so new to them, and fun. They love to learn, and explore, and discover. And I used to be just the same as them. But instead of being happy for them, I just get upset.

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie love being triplets, because they all get to be different people. They mesh. May, June, and I are all exactly the same. There’s nothing there of substance, because they’re brand new people, and I’m just,” Webby sniffled, her tears slowing. “An empty shell. I feel used-up, and worn out. Everything just feels...pointless.”

Goldie exhaled. “Sweetheart, you have been alone with this for far, far too long.”

“I know,” Webby sighed. “I just...didn’t know how to say it. Or who to say it to. Granny does her best, and I love her so much, but I think she’s still not sure how to handle me being Scrooge’s clone. None of us know where the boundaries are, and part of that’s my fault-”

“No.”

Webby looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“I said, no,” Goldie frowned. “Webby, you’re 12. It’s not your responsibility to lead the grown ups. They need to be initiating these conversations with you, and following your cues, but it’s not your fault that they’re too awkward and proud to sit down and talk about this.”

“But-”

“Webby, how long have I known your uncle?”

“Um, 130 years, give or take a decade’s margin of error with interdimensional travel.”

“Right. So, can I ask you to trust me when I tell you he’s being a stubborn, awkward old fool who has never been good at emotional communication?”

“This feels a bit pot and kettle…”

Goldie rolled her eyes. “Well, takes one to know one and all that, right?”

Webby nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Now, for the rest of it,” Goldie gently pushed the young duck’s hair out of her face. Her bow was out, and silky ribbons of white blonde hair kept tumbling into her eyes. “I am in no way a therapist. But, if I may, I really do recommend you talk to your grandmother about seeing one.”

Webby scowled. “What’s the point? No therapist would believe me, even if I could tell them the whole story. It’s confidential, under the most extreme lock and key SHUSH has.”

“Well, yeah, that’s certainly a good point,” Goldie sighed. “But the thing about therapy is, they don’t need to know every single little detail of your specific situation to help you. They just need to know how you feel, so they can help you through that. You can tell them as much or as little as you want.”

“Hm,” Webby narrowed her eyes at her. “That’s some very specific advice.”

“Listen, kid, that’s just how it is,” Goldie muttered evasively. “And while we’re on the topic of talking it out, maybe talking to the boys wouldn’t be a bad idea. You consider them your brothers, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Webby sighed. “It’s just...complicated.”

Goldie tilted her head, waiting patiently for the girl to sort out her words. Webby wrung her hands in the hoodie.

“The boys, and Lena and Violet...they aren’t mad like I am. About May and June. They’re all neutral. Or supportive. And that’s fine, because they should be, I guess. I just…”

“Wish they weren’t?” Goldie nodded. “Even though it makes you feel guilty and horrible?”

Webby wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, I hope you know that none of us think you’re horrible, Webby,” Goldie ran her hand up and down the girl’s back. “And you know me, when have I ever said anything just to be nice?”

She smiled a bit. “Never.”

“Exactly.”

They relapsed into deep, contemplative silence. Webby relaxed against her collarbone, fiddling with the worn woven bracelet on her wrist. Goldie tapped an idle rhythm against Webby’s back, waiting patiently for her to continue the conversation. Or to let it drop. She wasn’t going to push this time.

“Do you believe in destiny?”

Webby’s question startled her, and she answered instinctively. “Hell, no.”

“How come?”

Goldie leaned her head back against the couch. Webby leaned with her. “That’s a very long, complicated discussion, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Webby scowled. “Can you give me a brief overview?”

Goldie snorted. “You sound like Purple.”

“Thank you! Violet’s very smart.”

“Sure, Pink,” she gnawed on her lip, trying to figure out how to summarize her feelings. “I see it like this. When you pop out of your egg, you have no say in where you land. You’re dealt a handful of cards, and then I believe that you can play whatever game you want with them.”

Webby pondered this. “But, other people have a say in where you pop out. What you’re born into. They hand you the cards. Don’t they set the game?”

“Sure. You can be born in lavish wealth, and never trade in your hand. Or you can be born into abject poverty, and routine; and then the risk of dropping your hand is so great, you think there’s no choice but what’s on the table in front of you. But no matter who you are, or what the circumstances are, there’s one thing we all have in common.”

Webby’s eyes burned with a need to know. “What?”

“A choice, kid,” Goldie righted her posture to look her in the eyes. “We all have a choice. We can stay at the table, play the game with the cards we’re given. Or we can walk away. Find another game, hell, find a whole new casino, since this seems to be the metaphor we’re going with.”

Webby frowned. “Doesn’t walking away from a table cost money?”

“Sweetheart,” she was so young, so very small in a world that just got so much wider and colder for her. “It costs you everything.”

“Oh…”

“It’s up to us to determine if it’s worth the risk.”

Webby swallowed. “But, it doesn’t always feel like there’s a choice, Aunt Goldie. It feels like, no matter what, you have to do what people want you to. It feels like you have to act like they expect, or…”

“Or what?”

Webby shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never taken the chance and found out.”

“That’s understandable,” Goldie sighed. “It’s a very hard decision to come to. Learning to live for yourself, and make choices simply because it’s what you want, is the hardest lesson I’ve found. Some people never learn it.”

Webby sniffled. “What happens? When you fold your hand? Or walk away?” She looked up at her with shining eyes. “Do they hate you?”

“Kid,” Goldie closed her eyes. “I’ve never stuck around long enough to find out. That’s not the point. Because if they do get upset, it makes you want to stay, and just keep taking the same shitty cards. When I walked away-”

She clamped her mouth shut, but it was too late. That spark, formerly omnipresent in Webby’s eyes, flickered behind her tears. The thirst for knowledge, a mystery uncovered. “From Uncle Scrooge?”

“Tch, no,” Goldie snorted. “Despite all appearances, your uncle and I have never been able to walk away. And I suppose, in the end, that was for the better,” she smoothed a hand over Webby’s hair. “No, I walked away from the game I was born into.”

“Oh,” Webby picked at the hem of her hoodie. “Was it hard?”

“It almost killed me.”

“Did you regret it?”

“Never.” Goldie spoke with a ferocity that implored Webby to look back up.

“Why?”

“Kid…,” it was her turn to look away. “That’s a very long, sad, upsetting story. And it was well over 100 years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Webby knew when to drop a subject, if only for politeness’ sake. They both knew she wasn’t going to let it go. But she would for tonight, and that was enough.

When she spoke again, her voice was broken with pain and hesitancy. “I feel like...if I walk away...or ask for a different hand...everyone will hate me.”

“What?” Goldie balked. “Webby-”

“If I were to be honest with everyone, Uncle Scrooge and the boys, it would tear us apart. Scrooge would call me ungrateful again. The boys would think I don’t like their Uncle Donald because he took the girls’ in, and then Della would hate me, and I’d be alone again-”

“Webby, Webby, please,” Goldie soothed. “You’re hyperventilating. Take a deep breath, easy… there you go-”

“They’ll walk away from me,” Webby hiccuped. “All of them. And Violet, because I’m not being logical. And- and Lena. Because I don’t appreciate my family, and-”

“Webby.”

Her head snapped up. Goldie’ gaze was serious, and unwavering. She almost felt like she was in trouble, panic creeping in, before she saw the edges of her aunt’s eyes soften. “Webby, honey, no one on this planet in their right mind could ever hate you. Let alone your entire family, especially Lena.”

Webby blushed, despite herself. “But-”

“No buts, kid,” Goldie shook her head. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were Della’s kid.”

“Huh?” Webby cocked her head in sheer confusion.

“I’m serious,” Goldie chuckled. “Even when you were trying to kick my ass, you were so chipper and full of life. No one had ever introduced themselves to me while I had them in a headlock. Especially an eleven year old in a pink skirt. I would never have suspected that Bentina raised you. Well, not until you kicked my ribs in. Then it made sense.”

Webby giggled, shy. “Aw, gee, that was nothing-”

“Nothing my ass,” she snorted. “I was hiding a limp from Scrooge all the way through those damn caves. You were the real deal, shortie. And you still are.

“Webby, you have this amazing spark in you. This impossibly bright magnetism that makes hating you impossible. You are the most genuine, caring, and terrifying kid I have ever met. To be honest with you, I have no idea how you came from Scrooge.”

“...what?” Her beak wobbled with uncertainty.

Goldie sighed. “Unfortunately, everyone in that mansion knows how much I love your Uncle. He and I, well, we’re a match set. So I don’t say any of this at his expense, or from a place of anger, or just to get a rise out of him. But Webby, you are absolutely nothing like him, in all the best ways.”

“You put everyone else first, even at the expense of yourself. Your care for their wellbeing, emotional or physical, is incredibly admirable. Even now, with this, you chose to run away instead of, in your mind, burden your family with your concerns.”

“Yeah, but- I mean…”

Webby looked conflicted. Goldie pressed on. “C’mon. Girl to girl. How many times has Scrooge made his problems everyone else’s problems? He lets his emotions control him, he’s prone to outbursts, and he’s pushed his family away more times than he really has any right to. Hm?”

The younger girl was frowning in concentration. “That’s all...true.”

“Webby,” she tilted her chin up to meet her eyes head on. “In no conceivable way are you Scrooge. You’re not even close. And whatever that old windbag thinks, you don’t ever have to be.”

“You know,” Webby murmured. “A year ago, I would have given anything to be exactly like him. Now…”

Her eyes dimmed. Goldie nodded in understanding. “Growing up means realizing that all our heroes are just...people. At the end of the day, we all make our choices. How could our fates be absolute when everyone on earth has been making mistakes and dealing with the fallout since we evolved enough to reason?”

“Yeah...I guess that does make sense,” Webby rubbed at her eyes. “I just...I wish everything was different. I wish it could all go back, be simpler. And knowing it never can just makes it worse.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, curling in on herself. Goldie tucked her closer. “I know, kid. I know. And I wish I had a solution to that. But I don’t. All I know is that, whatever happens next, it’s your choice. Things can’t go back, but they will go forward, and you have all the say in how they do.”

“That just makes me feel like I’m gonna screw it up.”

Goldie shrugged. “Again, I have no counsel. I’ve screwed up more in my life than you’d ever believe.”

Webby looked up at her at that, seeming to ponder her words. “Would you go back? Would you change it all so you could be exactly where you want to be right now?”

“Aw, kid,” Goldie pressed a kiss to her mussed hair. “I’m right where I want to be, make no mistake.”

She smiled, then frowned. “But you said you messed up.”

“Sure, plenty.”

“So you messed up, a lot, and everything worked out?”

Goldie blinked. “Huh. Yeah, I guess it did.”

“So wouldn’t that be fate?”

“Ugh, this is getting very philosophical,” Goldie rolled her eyes. “Listen, all I know is that I’m here and now because of the choices I made. If it were up to fate, then, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of Ireland.”

Webby giggled. “Okay, I can be happy with that,” she sobered quickly, though. “What if, even though I make all the choices I want and only for myself, I turn out to be just like him anyway.”

“Well, if you live like that, then you will turn into him,” Goldie scowled. Webby turned to look at her. “Webby, Scrooge is maybe the most selfish person on earth. Next to me-”

“I don’t think you’re selfish.”

Goldie turned and regarded her carefully. “...thank you, hon.”

“You’re welcome.” She chirped with a smile.

“Regardless, Scrooge was dealt a hand that made him...less than magnanimous at a very early age. He learned fast that no one but him was going to look out for his wellbeing, and he’s never been able to fully shake it. He’s come leaps and bounds with you kids, and the older kids, around, but deep down, he’s selfish.”

Webby didn’t leap to her uncle’s defense. “Yeah...I didn’t want to notice it, for a while. But now, it’s like I can’t help but see it.”

“He’s still a good uncle, sweetheart,” Goldie said. “He loves you all so much, it shakes him to his core. He doesn’t always mean it, but…”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Rest assured, either way, you won’t be him.”

“But how do you know?” Webby frowned.

“Well, do you have an interest in business or economics?”

“No-”

“Is your every waking thought about money?”

“Of course not-”

“Then you’re not Scrooge.”

“He thinks about other stuff, too,” Webby scowled. “He thinks about his family, and you.”

Goldie blushed. “Yes, well, it took him a very, very long time to get there. Almost two centuries.”

“When will I get there?”

“Get where?”

“I dunno, to being who I am,” Webby shuffled around, getting comfier on her lap. “When will I know who I am? I thought I knew...but now I feel like I never really knew at all.”

“Well, there is no one right answer,” Goldie shifted so Webby could tuck her head against her neck. “Who we are isn’t just an identity handed out at birth. It’s a choice, like everything else. We get to choose who we are, every day, through our words, actions, whatever. Our identities are piece by piece sort of deal. The lives we lead, the stories we play a part in, and the people we connect with; that’s who are.”

Webby huffed. “So I don’t know yet?”

“Nope, and that’s normal.”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

Goldie laughed despite herself. “Can’t argue with you there. But, sadly, it’s the only one I’ve got.”

Webby’s breathing was evening out, growing deep with sleep. “Aunt Goldie?”

“Hm?”

“Do I have to go home tomorrow?”

Goldie shrugged with her unoccupied shoulder. “Dunno. I suppose that’s between you and your grandmother.”

“I don’t want to go back yet.”

“I can understand that,” Goldie sighed. “Well, you’re welcome to crash here for as long as you need. I told you this could be your escape, and that stands. But you will need to talk to Beakley tomorrow when you wake up.”

“Kay,” she mumbled. “Is she mad?”

“No, honey,” Goldie murmured. “She was just worried. I spoke to her, and I’ll call again tonight after you’re in bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“That’s fine, kid,” she smiled. “We can just relax here for a while.”

“Mm’kay…” Webby yawned. “Sounds good.”

She was asleep within the following five minutes, snoring softly into Goldie’s feathers. Carefully, she stood up, and carried Webby into the guest room. She always had it ready, just in case she decided to borrow Louie for a trip last minute. She gently placed the exhausted duckling underneath the covers, and tucked her in loosely.

She pressed another kiss to her forehead, and smoothed the girl’s bangs back gently. “G’night, Pink.”

Goldie crossed to the door, but paused when she heard Webby’s sleepy voice follow her. “Night Aunt Goldie,” she mumbled. “Love you.”

Damn this kid and her impossibly big, even if bruised, heart. “Love you too, kid,” she whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”

She hesitated another moment, waiting to close the door until she was certain Webby was snoring.

Now to deal with Scrooge and Beakley.

Chapter Text

“What more could you possibly want, you daft, pretentious, fool of a man?!”

The evening had been going so well, too. Though, as Scrooge stared apathetically at the shrieking harpy before him, he wondered if that was maybe a pretty lie he was telling himself for cosmetic reasons. 

Two weeks ago, he’d been sent an invite to Owlson’s second inaugural gala in St. Canard. He’d been unable to get ahold of his usual plus one, and there were no children permitted, so Scrooge had been content to go stag. Until an all too...perfect meeting in the grand entry of the money bin. Yasmine Sinclair had literally stumbled into his life four days ago, and they’d hit it off right away. In a strictly professional sense, mind you. The woman couldn’t have been older than thirty. That was practically Della and Donald’s age. 

Yasmine had careened into him, spilling his nutmeg tea down his coat. Upset, and embarrassed, she had charmed him into accepting a replacement cup at the cafe down town. Coincidentally, the honey-blonde duck had been meant to interview with him that afternoon for a secretarial position. 

She was absolutely, well, Perfect. Smart, but demure. She let him prattle on about himself in a way few in his life did. She laughed at his jokes. She had enough business sense to answer his questions correctly, but deferred to his experience. When the subject of magic came up, as it always did, she wrinkled her nose politely. 

“Awfully sorry, sir,” she spoke softly. “But I’m afraid magic just turns my stomach. I’ve no patience for it.”

“Oh?” Scrooge hummed. “And why’s that?”

“It’s messy, and just an excuse to use a cheap and flashy shortcut where good old fashioned hard work will do just as well.”

“You’re hired.”

Yasime was perfect for the job. He was certain of it. So when she made a mention of needing a night off for the upcoming inaugural gala in St. Canard, Scrooge smiled. 

“Ach, I’ll see ye there, lass.”

She batted her voluminous eyelashes. “You will?”

“Aye, Owlson invited me herself.”

“Well, then,” Yasmine giggled in that way women often did when Scrooge was ignoring them. “Save me a dance.”

“Right, yes, sure,” Scrooge had busied himself collecting his paperwork and tea. “Whatever suits ye.”

By the time the gala came around, he’d had several more unnervingly perfect encounters with Yasmine. She had rescued one of his manilla envelopes from a shredder thanks to a Fenton Incident, had brought him tea multiple times (which was odd, as her office would have been at least 16 floors below his own), and had managed to catch him on every lunch break and strike up a friendly chat with him. Normally such frivolities irked him, but she was a persistently charming young woman, and Scrooge saw no need to bite off the head of his newest employee. 

He paid absolutely no notice of the stares and whispers that had started up, and spread through the building and to his employees like a wildfire. 

If he had, he wouldn’t be in the situation he was in now. Socially stranded on a dancefloor, face to face with an enraged and scorned young woman. 

“Yasmine,” he sighed. He’d been through this speech...more times than he could count. He was the richest duck in the world after all. Gold diggers were nothing new. “I’m sorry I led you on, though, really, I had no idea I was.”

Her formally pretty face was twisted in a snarl. “I don’t understand you, McDuck-”

“Oy, watch yer tone-”

She advanced on him, jabbing her finger into her chest with each sentence. “I have the brains. The body. The looks,” people were staring now as her voice rose in octaves. Scrooge found himself backpedaling desperately to keep her away from his face (and heart, jugular, spine, etcetera…). “I hate magic. I loathe shortcuts. I work hard and fair.”

“Yes, you’re a lovely girl-”

“Shut UP!” 

Something familiarly malevolent flashed in her eyes, and Scrooge felt himself growing suspicious. Her voice, carefully non accented, began deepening. “I let you yammer on and on and ON about the gold flush, and-and the Klonpike, and your stupid stupid sickly DISGUSTING FAMILY -”

She heaved for breath, and Scrooge wished desperately he’d brought his cane to the dancefloor with him. People were giving them a wide berth- understandable, as it looked like a millennial was having a mental breakdown at the expense of Scrooge McDuck - but he’d need some sort of defense or back up before long, if his hunch was right. 

“I was the perfect woman for you! I even made myself blonde ,” ‘Yasmine’ scoffed in revulsion. Something slippery and insidious crept into her tone. “But it’s not enough for you, is it? You don’t want this,” she gestured down her body. “Even though this is exactly what you should want! Demure, not vapid. Unchallenging. Perfect. ”

The door behind “Yasmine” slammed open, and several people rushed into the room. Scrooge couldn’t see them, though, as the duck before him’s eyes shuttered closed, and convulsed briefly, before reopening to reveal triangle slitted pools of acid yellow. 

Of course.

“I was perfect, Scrooge McDuck,” Magica hissed. “And we both know it. What more could you have possibly wanted?!”

Scrooge smirked, and flicked his eyes behind the witch to confirm what he already knew in his heart to be true. He gestured behind Magica with his beak. 

“Her.”

The threat registered. Magica turned to defend herself, only to be met with a combat boot to the jaw. She cried out in pain, and crumpled to the ground momentarily, clutching her wounded beak as the morph fell apart. Black replaced blonde, green replaced eggshell, and a cloak like night fell around her shoulders. 

Goldie O’Gilt landed gracefully before him, recovering beautifully from her roundhouse, and didn’t give Magica a second to recover before delivering another vicious kick, this time to her ribs. The air left her in a wheeze as she sailed across the abandoned dance floor, and Scrooge nearly, almost, but not really, winced in sympathy. 

Satisfied, Goldie turned to level him with a look that said a thousand things they never needed to voice.

‘You’reanidiot, Iloveyou, Ican’tbelievehowstupidyouare, you’reluckyIshowed up, youoweme, Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou-’ Her eyes said. 

‘ I know ’ his replied.

She nodded imperceptibly, and grabbed him by his lapels. Despite knowing what came next, he felt his stomach swoop in the same anticipation it always did. Always had, always will. Always everything, when it came to Goldie. 

She kissed him soundly, and the world melted away. Magica, Owlson, the shocked guests, the children that he knew lurked just outside the door, because who else would have told Goldie? All of it, gone. His senses were under attack, and he had never minded losing this battle. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him, and smiled when she hummed into his beak. Her fingers gentled on his poor tuxedo, and found their way to his feathered tufts. Their favorite place to be, the worst kept secret between them. She tasted like rainwater, damp earth, and lit dynamite. And underneath her recent adventure, he could smell her . Strong coffee, ink from fountain pens, old paper ledgers, vinyl from records, sage. It was all her, everything was her. 

His eyes had never strayed to “Yasmine”, not truly. How could they when Goldie was his? Or, more importantly, when he was hers. When their histories began in each other's eyes, and ended in their arms? When the world looked and saw an adventuring billionaire, and she saw a Glaswegian miner without a penny to his name, even now. When he trusted her not with his money, his jewels, his profits, his gold, but with himself, and his family, and everything he locked in his heart. 

He pulled away, breathless, and thoroughly chastised. Goldie’s eyes, emerald weapons they were, searched his as only she could. She was happy with what he found there, his anger and mild embarrassment at being so foolish and blind, and kissed him again. 

When they pulled away for the final time, Magica was gone. Scrooge barely had time to find Owlson, shrug helplessly and wordlessly promise to pay her for any damages, before he was being yanked away by his lapels again. 

“Goldie-what-”

“Really, moneybags,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I take a trip to the Heironyian Dimension for two weeks and you go find some pretty young thing to start making eyes at?”

“You know that’s not what happened!” he spluttered. 

“Do I?” The look she gave him could sink ships, stop wars, and light fires. He gulped. Hard. “I don’t think I do.”

Scrooge’s brain caught up with him, and he surged forward to wrap his arms around her. “Then let me show you.”

He could worry about Magica tomorrow.