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Chapter Text

"Uncle Donald!" a voice called as Donald rushed around his room, gathering clothing pieces. He'd stripped off his uniform and had put on a suit. He was debating on whether or not a tie would be too much.

"What?" Donald called back. He was a bit startled that Huey was on the houseboat. The boys seemed to be trying to avoid it. It hurt a bit.

"What are you doing?" asked Huey as he walked into the bedroom to see Donald's drawers pulled open and clothing all over the floor.

"Ah, trying to decide what to wear for my interview," Donald answered.

"You got an interview? You didn't tell us!" Huey said, sounding hurt. Donald looked up and pursed his beak. 

"I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up," Donald finally said. It was a half-truth. He hadn't told the family. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. He'd tried to inform them, but they'd just been so busy he'd never actually gotten the words out.

It was hard enough to get people to understand when they were  actually  listening. It was nearly impossible when they weren't even paying attention.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he continued, which was the truth. He'd never hurt his boys on purpose. Huey accepted this pretty readily though he still looked annoyed.

"I didn't make you your interview breakfast," he complained. He looked at the two ties in Donald's hand critically. "Let me help with this, at least." His red-clad nephew walked over to one of the piles of clothes. "What's the job you're interviewing for?"

"It's as an accountant with a school," Donald informed him.

"Ah-ha!" Huey pulled out a dark blue tie and held it out to his uncle. "This will be good for that." Donald's beak quirked up, and he took it.

"Thanks, Huey," he said softly. He began to tie it around his neck. He did it looser than someone else might have. A bit of paranoia from all his years as an adventurer. It just seemed like a bad idea to put an easily accessible noose around his neck. "So, what did you need?" he asked, trying to get that image out of his head.

Huey gave him a nervous laugh. "What makes you think I needed anything?"

"None of you, come over here unless you need something or I've set up something new," Donald bluntly said, raising an eye ridge at the duckling. Huey winced.

"Ah, it's not that we dislike the houseboat," the triplet started to say.

Donald snorted and gave him a slight smile. "It's just that you're staying in a mansion, and that's a lot more fun." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You aren't getting out of the question."

Huey fidgeted. "I- have you noticed something weird about Dewey?"

"Like...?" Donald prompted turning his attention fully onto Huey. His face was earnest. He had a pretty good idea of what Huey was going to say.

"Like... he's trying to change, so mom will like him more," Huey blurted out. And there it was. "I mean, it was understandable at the beginning, right? But I thought he'd gotten over it! Then recently..." He trailed off in a frustrated huff.

Donald didn't disagree. He hadn't been there in the beginning, a small bitter feeling still formed in his chest at that. However, since he'd gotten back, it had undoubtedly seemed to be escalating.

The sailor opened his beak then shut it. He tilted his head and finally asked, "Is there a reason you're worried about it?"

Huey shot Donald an annoyed glance. "That means you've seen it too," he accused his uncle. The triplet folded his arms. "You weren't there, but on the last adventure, he did a lot more dangerous stunts. I mean, even Webby was hesitant about some of them!"

"And, Della?" Donald asked.

Huey tilted his head. "I mean, she seemed to egg him on at first, but she actually stopped him with the last one." Donald relaxed at that confirmation. At least Della had been responsible. Not that he thought she wasn't... only she- she... well she wasn't.

"But it was a lot later than when you or Uncle Scrooge would have prevented him," Huey complained. "I thought, adventuring with Uncle Scrooge had stopped him from doing stuff without thinking, but..."

"But it's gotten worse," Donald agreed, and they both sighed.

"You have to come on the next adventure Uncle Donald," Huey demanded.

"What?" Donald quacked. "I mean, I will if I can. But I'm trying to get this job-"

"But Uncle Scrooge can pay for you," Huey insisted. Donald winced. He'd known his family didn't understand his independence. But it still hurt that they called out his attempts. "He'd be  happy  to pay for y- well, not  happy . But he  would.  And you always say family comes first!"

"I'm not sure why you think I'll be able to help," Donald tried to placate his nephew.

"Because Uncle Scrooge won't do anything!" Huey said in almost a shout. His frustration was higher than usual, and Donald hesitated. Huey instantly picked up on it. "I'm not sure why, but he won't step in to help mom with- with this parenting stuff."

Actually, that was understandable to Donald. Uncle Scrooge probably didn't want to drive Della away. She'd been gone for so long. He was apparently hesitant to put any sort of strain on their relationship. It was a problem.

And Huey had a point. Donald didn't want to drive away Della either, but the twins were never afraid to confront each other. Even their decade long reunion had been a fight.

"Alright, alright," Donald agreed. "I'll come on the next adventure." Huey gave him a bright smile, and Donald felt his heart melt. His boys always made him such a pushover.

Huey hugged his uncle around the waist. "Thanks, Uncle Donald," he said and pulled back. "When is your interview anyway?" Donald jolted and looked at his phone.

"Oh, no, I'm late!" he quacked in fear and dashed out of the room. He turned around and raced back. "Can you lock up?" he asked.

"Sure," Huey smirked. And then Donald was gone again.

----

Huey was frowning as he made his way back into the mansion.

"Ye alright, lad?" asked a voice from the top of the stairs. The Junior Woodchuck looked up and observed his Uncle Scrooge there, sipping what looked like tea.

"Hey, Uncle Scrooge," Huey said, suddenly perking up. "You like Uncle Donald, right?"

"O'course I do," Scrooge easily said. The answer made Huey relax because when they'd first come to the mansion, he knew that he would have never gotten the response in such a simple way.

"Did you know he was still doing interviews?"

Scrooge shifted in a way that Huey had come to know meant he was uncomfortable with the question. And debating telling the truth.

"Don't lie," the red-clad triplet warned. His uncle deflated.

"Aye," he said. "Yer uncle insisted on it. He still pays for his part of the water bill and electricity."

"But you pay for moms-" Huey began.

"I'd pay if he'd let me," Scrooge interrupted with a scowl. "He doesnae want that. He won't even move into the mansion." The scot sighed. "Yer uncle has always been very independent. We have to accept that and support him." 

"But nobody appreciates him at his jobs," Huey retorted. Scrooge raised an eye-ridge at his nephew and moved a hand, asking for elaboration. Huey's shoulders sagged. He hadn't thought about it in a while. "They'd be frustrated with his voice or- or something bad would happen, and he'd be blamed."

Sometimes it was Donald's fault. Huey knew his uncle overreacted to things. But a lot of the time, it wasn't. Scrooge's hand tightened on his cane in some emotion Huey couldn't place. He came down the stairs and placed a hand on Huey's shoulder.

"Uncle Donald works hard," the triplet complained. "He deserves better."

"Aye," Scrooge agreed thoughtfully. "He does."

"You aren't going to argue that normal people can't handle bad luck?" Huey hesitantly asked.

"Nay," Scrooge answered in a scowl. "What does that matter? Their lack of knowledge doesnae excuse them from being malicious arse pieces."

"Scrooge McDuck!" a booming voice said from the side room. Nephew and uncle spun around with wide eyes to face Mrs. Beakley. "Do not swear in front of the children."

"I dinnae!" Scrooge instantly protested and then thought for a moment. He gave Beakley a sheepish grin. "Eh, it was just a wee swear. Not like-"

"And that is quite enough," Beakley interrupted with a huff. "What possessed you to suddenly blurt that out?"

"Uncle Donald's gone in for an interview," Huey said quickly, not wanting to get the housekeeper involved in the discussion of Donald's bad luck. Mr.s Beakley actually smiled.

"Good for him," she hummed. "I hope it goes well."

"Could we make a party?" Huey suggested. "Dewey, Louie, and I usually had something waiting for him. Uh, usually two things. One with a 'you tried your best' and the other with 'congratulations.'"

"I believe that's an excellent idea," Mrs. Beakley agreed. "What would you suggest doing?" Huey went off with the housekeeper to start setting up, and neither of them saw the thoughtful frown on Scrooge's beak as he watched them.

"A way to support him," Scrooge repeated. "Without getting rid of his independence. Now there's an idea."

------

Donald hated interviewing. It was so challenging to have strangers understand him and not sound like a child. Even his family of so many years had trouble. Unkie Scrooge was better than most, but he still asked Donald to repeat himself sometimes.

He really had to prepare for interviews so that he had answers that were easy to understand. He hated it when they had questions that weren't normal.

This interview didn't go too badly. He'd needed to repeat himself on a few such as the 'If you were a box of cereal, what would you be and why?'... seriously what kind of question was that? What was that supposed to tell them?

But the principal was smiling at the end of it, which was a better sign than say... the water pipes exploding. Or papers being scattered everywhere... or Donald getting his beak tangled in the interviewer's hair.

"Well, Mr. Duck, I'd like to welcome you aboard," she said as they stood, and she offered a hand. Donald shook it gingerly.

"Thanks, Mrs. Boyden," he replied sincerely. "This'll help a lot." She nodded as she handed him a packet.

"You'll need to start in two days, but your paperwork said that was alright?" Donald nodded. He always agreed to start as soon as possible, people were more likely to hire him if they were desperate.

"I will see you then," she said with a pleasant smile. The duck made his way out of the office. Before he shut the door, he heard the Principal speaking with her receptionist.

"...at least he won't have to talk to the kids. They'd never be able-" The door shut. Donald's pleased smile turned down. He knew the rest of that sentence. He shook his head and straightened his back in determination.

At least he'd gotten the job.

Now he just had to keep it.

------

He had a text from Huey on his way home, asking how it went. His smile returned, and he told his oldest that he'd gotten the job. He parked by the garage and started to head to his houseboat when Louie suddenly appeared in front of him.

Donald raised an eye ridge at the triplet. "Dewey needs your help with math homework," Louie said, not taking his eyes off his phone. His uncle nodded and made his way into the mansion.

He yelped in pain when a spray of confetti hit his head as soon as he opened the door. "Congratulations, Uncle Donald!" Everyone shouted at him. He looked up and was extremely touched to see his family had gotten a banner and decorated the entrance hall with balloons.

"Aw, guys," Donald said with a smile. "Thanks." Louie nudged his uncle so that he'd have to go further into the room. Mrs. Beakley handed the sailor a glass of champagne and patted him on the back.

"Congrats, Mr. Dee!" Launchpad cheered from where he was standing next to Dewey and Della.

Della stomped over to her twin and smacked his back. "Idiot, why didn't you tell me you were trying for a job? I could have helped." Donald snorted.

"Sure, Dumbella," he said, but smiled self-consciously. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Ye aren't a bother, lad," Scrooge said as he came up to them. He was carrying a champagne flute as well. Though Donald thought the liquid in it was a bit too dark to be the same type that he was sipping.

"Yeah, what he said," Della agreed. She was frowning. It made Donald fidget a bit. He was awkward with his twin, though it was better now that she knew about his and Scrooge's decade long fight. There were fewer secrets. But he still couldn't read her as well as he used to be able to.

Before she left.

Della gave him a friendly smile and smacked his back again. "Don't worry so much," she added in a softer voice. Donald nodded. He wasn't really sure how to not worry so much. Not when all of this, he glanced at his family, could disappear so quickly. And now he had more people to worry about. Webbigail, Mrs. Beakley, and Launchpad.

"Why are you all so quiet?" Dewey complained as he walked up to the three of them. "Let's get this party started!" he shouted with a grin. The ducklings cheered and started up some music. Donald felt his beak twitch back up into a smile as he watched them break out into a dance.

"Move over chumps!" Della called, Donald quacked in surprise as she grabbed his wrist and tugged him over. "We'll show you how it's done." She gave her twin a fiery grin, and Donald felt himself giving her one in return.

"You still know how to salsa?"

"You'll have to lead," Donald agreed as the music changed, and the two of them got into position. It came back to him quickly. Though Della wasn't his usual partner in this. His heart ached for a brief moment remembering red and green. But it didn't last long as he was swept up in the music.

Della and Donald spun and danced across the floor. She lifted him effortlessly, and he sprung from her shoulder with a flip, landing he spun until Della grabbed his hand and tossed him up into the air again.

He heard a gasp, but simply let his partner catch him and bend him until his head almost touched the ground. The music ended, and there was a sudden cheer.

"Holy crap!" Webby gasped, running up to the twins who were getting back up to their feet. "I had no idea you could dance like that!"

"Yeah, since when could you do that, Uncle Donald?" Louie asked a little flabbergasted. Donald laughed a tad nervously.

"José taught us," Della answered. "Though Donald did a lot more tricks with him or Panchito."

"Panchito's taller," Donald agreed, a soft smile coming to his beak. "It's easier to flip with him. And José had uh- well- he could throw me a lot higher."  Do not mention magic around Uncle Scrooge , he reminded himself. He'd never told his Unkie about his bandmate's predilection to 'black magic.'

"Teach me!" demanded Webby.

"I could get my Latin dance badge," Huey muttered with interest. Della laughed and nodded.

The rest of the party was Della and Donald teaching the ducklings and Launchpad to dance. Surprisingly the broad-shouldered pilot ended up being pretty good at it. It was enough to tire everyone out.

Donald's smile had only grown throughout the evening. It was nice to have a moment with the family that didn't include any imminent disasters.

He went to bed, clutching the hope that everything was turning for the better.

-------

Two days later, that hope proved to be unfounded. Donald stared with growing horror at the fiasco that the school's office had become. He wasn't really sure how the monkeys had gotten there. Or how they'd multiplied from one annoying monkey outside the window to five shredding papers and wasting staples.

He found himself desperately grabbing the papers that were still intact, he'd actually been able to get quite a few of them. However, they were piled so high in his arms now that he couldn't see.

"What the d-" said a voice behind him. Donald looked back and saw the receptionist staring in dumbfounded disbelief at the scene before her.

"Here!" Donald called and threw the papers through the open door. He turned and growled at the monkeys, the troublemakers froze at the sound. He gave a quack of anger and dove for the nearest one. It hooted with laughter breaking the fear that had come over them and darted away.

Donald followed them, grabbing as many of the breakable and essential things that were flung at him as he could. But he got no nearer to catching the bothersome primates.

"Mr. Duck!" said an authoritative voice just as Donald took a leap off the desk at one of the monkeys on the ceiling. Everyone in the office froze, which of course, meant that Donald went crashing to the ground. "What have you done?" asked the principal. The sailor felt his heart fall.

"Mrs. Boyden," the receptionist spoke up. "It's really not his fault-"

"I don't see how it isn't!" the other snapped. She glowered down at the duck on the floor, causing Donald to shrink in on himself from the glare. The tense silence was broken by a cellphone ringing.

The sailor gave a sheepish grin and pulled out his phone.

"Uncle Donald!" Huey's panicked voice came through. "Scrooge just found a lead on a lost artifact. And we're leaving right now! You said you'd come."

Donald looked up at Mrs. Boyden and the receptionist, who were arguing. His quiet hesitance must have tipped Huey off because the oldest triplet continued.

"Please, Uncle Donald. You promised." He let out a breath, and his shoulders fell.

"I'll be right there," he agreed.

"I-I'm sorry," Huey started. Because of course, his smart boy realized that if he was leaving work, he'd lose his job. And he'd still called, which made it all the more critical that Donald did this.

"It's ok, Huey, I don't have a job right now anyway," because there was no way Donald was going to let Huey think he'd gotten him fired when he hadn't.

"Oh, good," said Huey in relief. Donald flinched at that but didn't comment on it. It hurt a bit that his family always dismissed his hard work for ordinary things in life. But... he thought of the party two days ago. They were supportive in their own way.

The duck stood up, and the principal turned to him. Her eyes were still stone cold. "I'm leaving," he said calmly, having already accepted the inevitable.

"You bet you are," said Mrs. Boyden.

Donald smiled in feigned politeness. "Good luck with the monkeys," he chirped with a wave as he walked out of the office.

"What? No! Take your pets with you!"

"They aren't mine!" Donald called back maliciously. Before the door shut behind him, he heard the receptionist saying,

"I  told you."

------

Donald barely made it before Della took off in the Sunchaser. Scrooge looked at Donald with a sympathetic yet knowing look. He hated it. But neither of them said anything about the nephew's sudden appearance on the trip.

Besides Huey and Scrooge, no one else seemed to have noticed that Donald being there meant he didn't have a job anymore. Well, it wasn't the shortest amount of time that he'd held one. But still...

He let out a breath and turned his attention on Uncle Scrooge. "-the Club of Dagda," he was saying. "It was said to have power over life and death."

"Also crops and time," Huey chimed in.

"Yeah, because growing plants is so much more interesting than life and death," Louie added with an eye roll.

"It was in the past," Huey lectured. "Not having crops would mean death."

"I like that it's a club," Webby chirped as she tilted her head to get a better look at the picture Scrooge was holding up.

"Where is it?" Dewey excitedly asked.

"We're headed to Northern Ireland," Della said as the plane took off. Donald snorted with laughter when his uncle began to mutter some very unkind things under his breath. Scrooge glanced at his nephew and perked up when he saw the smile.

He moved over and sat next to Donald after the plane leveled off. "Glad to have ye with us, lad."

"I couldn't let you guys go off alone, Unkie," Donald answered. Scrooge placed a hand on Donald's shoulder. An effort to be comforting. The sailor leaned into the warmth, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the ducklings throughout the flight.

The landing wasn't too bad by their standards. Which was nice. The weather in Ireland was... damp. But at least it wasn't pouring rain. Or at least it wasn't until Donald stepped out of the plane. As soon as his foot hit the ground, the sky opened up and poured.

Donald felt his eye begin to twitch as the family turned back and looked at him. "I'm sure it's a coincidence?" Webby said, trying to comfort the sailor. He glanced at Scrooge, who looked knowingly at his nephew.

"Aye, well, we don't have to go far."

Donald was almost grateful when they finally stepped into the spooky old ruins of a long-gone era. He wrung his hat out and plopped it back on his head. Going by that rain... his shoulders squared up, and he prepared himself for the likelihood of more bad luck.

Scrooge and Huey had pulled out the journal and were making remarks about the right way to go now that they'd found the place. Donald blinked when there was a sudden light next to him. He glanced down and saw that Webby had pulled out a lantern and lit it.

"Thanks," he told her. She gave him a thumbs up.

"No problem, Mr. Donald."

The family moved deeper into the ruins. Della and Dewey took the lead early on, and Donald could feel Huey's eyes on the back of his head. He almost wanted to sigh in agitation. Surely the eldest triplet knew that Donald was already paranoid about their safety. He did  not  need any prompting.

The sailor let the first two incidents of Dewey running ahead too far go. Della  was  right behind them, and there hadn't been any truly terrible traps that he could see.

Though, he tilted his head as he watched Dewey escape from a simple one. He could see why Huey was starting to get worried. That should have been easy for Dewey, but he'd done it in the flashiest way possible instead of the simplest way.

Donald glanced at Uncle Scrooge. The trillionaire was frowning as he watched Della and Dewey high five, but he didn't step in. The sailor sighed. They were all still regaining their footing as a family, but the boys and Webby shouldn't be bearing the brunt of that.

The third time was the final straw. Dewey stepped up to an obvious trip trap and looked like he was about to do a flip over it. Donald stepped in and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"Hey- what?" Dewey complained and thrashed in his uncle's hold. "Uncle Donald!"

"That's too dangerous," Donald said, putting Dewey down behind him and out of harm's way. He crossed his arms.

"But-" Dewey glanced behind him, where Della was watching with a furrowed expression. "But, I've done stuff like that before. I can do it."

Donald nodded slowly. "Yeah, but were you going to do it the easiest way?"

Dewey kicked at the floor. "No," he admitted. "But the easy way isn't as fun."

"He has a point, Donnie," Della piped up. "It's not that hard to do." She winked at Dewey, who had perked up. Donald rounded on Della.

"That's not the point!" he said through a gritted beak. "Just because he  can  do something doesn't mean he  should.  Flashy has its place, but it shouldn't take the place of safety."

"I want him to be safe," Della objected her spine stiffening.

"I never said you didn't," Donald replied, softening his tone. "You're just bad at measuring danger." Dewey winced, and Della rolled her eyes. She placed a hand on the blue-clad triplet's shoulder.

"You've become such a fuddy-duddy in the last decade," she said. "Just watch." She slapped Donald on the back and stepped up to the trap.

"Della wait-" Donald started, and he heard Uncle Scrooge speak up as well.

"Lass-" She did a flip over the tripwire and landed point-blank in the second trap that he'd seen on the other side.

"Della!" Donald screeched as rocks tumbled from the ceiling. He felt his heart stop as his sister's wide-eyed face was covered up by an avalanche.

"Mom!" screamed the triplets. Donald was already moving up to the wall, quickly tossing rocks out to get to his twin.

"I'm alright!" said a voice behind the wall. "Hang on, I'll get to you." Donald continued to dig through the wall. He was joined by Scrooge and the rest of the family. Within minutes they and Della had made a hole in the fallen rocks.

Della came out, and Dewey instantly enfolded her in a hug. "That was so cool," he said, trying to sound cheerful, but there was palpable heartache in his tone. "I- I could have done that too."

Della's eyes widened, and she looked up at Donald, who nodded slowly. She winced and hugged Dewey a bit tighter. They'd need to have a talk away from the boys. But at least now, Della seemed aware that there was still a problem. Both with Dewey's apparent need for her validation and her example to the kids.

The rest of the adventure went reasonably smoothly. Scrooge ended up with the Club of Dagda to add to his collection, and the rain stopped before they had to take off again. All in all, Donald counted it as a win.

They got back home quite late, and he and Della hurried the kids off to bed.

"Donald," Della started to say, and Donald held up a hand.

"We can talk about it later," he said with a frown. "When we're not so exhausted." His twin nodded.

"Get some rest, Donnie."

"You too, Dells," Donald replied.

The sailor headed out to his houseboat and got ready for bed. A few hours later, he found himself staring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he got up and grabbed his laptop, and headed into the mansion. If he was going to have insomnia all night, he might as well get some job hunting done.

He made a pot of coffee and began searching. He had to toss most jobs out the window pretty quickly. They wouldn't hire him again. He wondered with a wince if there  were  any reasonable jobs left in Duckberg he hadn't tried.

"Lad...?" said a voice from the kitchen entrance. Donald squawked and moved to catch his cup of coffee that he'd been holding. He missed, and it crashed onto the floor.

"Aw, phooey," Donald muttered as he started to get up to clean the mess.

"I've got it," Scrooge said, grabbing a handcloth and wiping up the coffee. "Though I'd like to know what yer doing up at-" He glanced at the clock, "two in the morning drinking coffee."

"Ah," Donald fidgeted and tried to close the laptop's lid discreetly. "I just couldn't sleep." Scrooge's cane caught the cover before it could shut all the way. The sailor winced as his uncle stepped up behind him and read over his shoulder. He could still make Donald feel like a wayward teen.

"Yer looking for another job," Scrooge corrected softly. He moved and sat in front of Donald. He finished closing the laptop and stared at his nephew.

"Yeah," Donald agreed with a swallow. "I need to pay the bills somehow."

"Ye could always move back in," Uncle Scrooge prodded. Donald eyed him with a frown.

"I'm not moving back in," he insisted. Scrooge snorted.

"Aye, I thought ye'd say that," he agreed with a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and looked at his nephew. "Do ye have something lined up?"

"No," Donald admitted. "There aren't very many I haven't tried at this point."

Scrooge hummed. "Well, if ye won't move in," he said slowly. "Why don't ye just become me secretary, instead?"

"What?" Donald quack in surprise. He stared at his uncle as if he'd gone insane. He probably had.

"I'm offering ye the job of being me secretary."

"Why would  you  want me as your secretary?" Donald blurted out. "You  know  how bad my luck is." Scrooge waved a hand in dismissal.

"That's never mattered to me," he pointed at Donald. "Yer stubborn. Something like bad luck won't keep ye from doing what needs to be done. Which is more than I can say for me past secretaries. Bunch of empty-headed yes men."

"Won't your board complain about nepotism?"

Scrooge tsked. "Not likely. They've been complaining that I haven't kept a secretary for longer than a week in decades. I mean, even Beakley's been having to act as it recently.

"I think they'll just be happy I found someone. Unless ye don't want the job?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I didn't say that," Donald said quickly. Scrooge leaned back again. His eyes still focused on the flustered Donald.

"Well?" he asked confidently. "I'll still treat ye like any other employee."

"You knew I'd say yes," Donald accused him. Scrooge grinned.

"I knew ye wouldn't be able to resist," he agreed shamelessly. "Now, ye start tomorrow. So, get some rest. Alright,  mo doineann ?" Scrooge gave his nephew a side hug. Donald sighed and leaned into it.

"Yeah, alright, Unkie."

"Good. Love ye lad, have a goodnight." With that, his uncle walked away from the kitchen, whistling happily. Donald sat there, staring after him. He felt pleased with himself for some reason. Even though he hadn't  done anything . Just having his uncle hug him and say, 'I love you.'

"What just happened?" he asked.

Chapter Text

Donald nervously played with the hem of his suit as he and Uncle Scrooge drove to the money bin. He'd been told that he didn't need to dress up, but it felt like pushing his luck to wear his typical uniform on his first day. He glanced back at Scrooge for the third time, and the trillionaire let out a sigh. 

Donald flinched. However, instead of the lecture he was half expecting Scrooge moved over to his side of the limo. The trillionaire draped an arm over his shoulder. "It'll be fine, lad. I wouldnae have hired ye if I didnae think ye could do the job."

The sailor gave a squeak of acceptance and looked out the window again. "Thanks, Unkie," he whispered. Scrooge gave his shoulder a squeeze before the limo came to crashing stop, and the two of them got out. Launchpad grinned at them and gave a thumbs up.

"Good luck Mr. Dee!"

"Thanks," Donald mumbled.

They didn't pass by anyone before reaching the elevator, which put Donald more at ease. He was glad they were starting off this job at the money bin; there were fewer employees, and the ones that were here all had specific floors they usually stuck to.

Unfortunately, the elevator stopped halfway up. A young goose stepped into the lift. She then froze, having spotted Scrooge and backpedaled. But too late to get out of the elevator with her boss as the door had closed.

"What floor?" Donald asked kindly. She looked over at him.

"Uhm, what?" she asked.

"What floor?" the sailor asked again a bit slower. The goose gave him the floor, and the elevator started up again. Uncle Scrooge hadn't bothered to even look over at the poor employee. He just huffed in exasperation at his phone.

"Donald," he said, startling the goose. "Tell the board I don't have time for sudden meetings today if they call."

"Do you ever have time for meetings?" Donald asked sarcastically. He ignored the sudden wide-eyed look he was getting from the other employee.

"Not pointless ones," Scrooge snorted. "We've already had our weekly meeting. If they needed to say more about it, they should have done it then." Just then, his phone rang, and the two ducks looked down at it. Smirking Scrooge tossed it over the goose's head, and Donald caught it.

He flipped it open. "Scrooge McDuck's phone," he said formally. The voice on the other end had been gearing up to yell, but Donald swore he could hear the splutter as the air exited someone's lungs.

"Who is this?" demanded the person on the other end. The sailor recognized it as one of the vultures that his uncle had hired when he was a duckling.

"This is Mr. McDuck's new personal assistant," Donald said as professionally as he could. He saw Scrooge's pout out of the corner of his eye, but there was no way he was going to call him 'Unkie' while working for him. No matter how much the other might want him to.

"...what?" asked the vulture. Donald's eye twitched in annoyance at the second ask to repeat in ten minutes.

"Mr. Scrooge isn't going to be coming to your meeting if that's why you're calling," he said instead of repeating himself. There was a put upon sigh on the other end, and Donald's hand tightened on the phone.

"Just hand the phone back to Scrooge if you can't speak like a normal sapient being."

"Or maybe you should learn to listen better," Donald shouted and clicked the phone shut. He ignored Scrooge chuckling in the corner and pocketed the phone.

The goose between the two ducks ducked out of the elevator as quickly as possible. A thoughtful look had come over her face as she glanced back at Donald. He wondered if  she'd  understood anything in that conversation.

They didn't have any more interruptions on their way to the top floor. Donald stepped off the elevator, and Scrooge pointed to a small desk and cabinet on the side of the very grandiose doorway to his office in the money bin.

"That's what me last few secretaries used," the trillionaire said. Donald made his way over. He brushed a finger over the top of the desk and made a small 'tsking' sound. A fine layer of dust was there.

"How long ago was that?" he asked a bit aghast. "And why hasn't anyone cleaned it?"

"Eh, about half a year. And no one was using it. Waste of money to clean it," Scrooge dismissed. Donald let out a massive sigh at his uncle's penny-pinching ways. Scrooge clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll have the files sent to ye that ye'll need. And a computer," he added with a thought. "I'm sure there's one that isn't being used by the accounting department."

"Yeah, yeah," Donald muttered and pulled out Scrooge's phone. He waved it in the trillionaire's face. "I'll need a desk phone, too, unless you want me to keep this all day." Scrooge's face scrunched.

"Aye, fine," he agreed disgruntled. "Just keep people out of me office unless it's important." With that, his uncle went through the doors, and they clicked shut.

Donald glanced around before spotting a doorway down the corridor. The first one he went to was the bathroom; the second was a cleaning closet. He grabbed some rags and water as well as a duster. He began to dust his new work area and then began to scrub it clean.

He noticed the footsteps as he scrubbed an annoying stain on the desk, but didn't look up until he heard someone clear their throat.

Donald blinked in surprise when he realized he recognized the light brown duck in front of him. If only vaguely, as one of the people that hung around his nephews. "You're... Fenton, right?" he asked.

The duck smiled at him, so genuinely, it took Donald aback. "That's right, Mr. Duck! I'm here to help you set up your computer," he chirped. He set the big computer down, and Donald looked at it dubiously.

"Please tell that isn't going to be a DOS computer," he muttered. Fenton laughed.

"Nope, I know it looks old, but we've actually updated it quite a bit. We just had to recycle some of it. You learn to do that when Mr. Scrooge doesn't let you buy new things."

"I thought you were," Donald waved a hand, trying to remember what Huey had told him. "A scientist? Not IT."

"Oh, I'm not," Fenton agreed quickly as he snapped some wires into the computer. "But uh," he looked down sadly. "Most of the IT department was fired."

"What?" Donald asked, his eyes narrowing. "Uncle Scrooge fired them?"

"No, no, no," Fenton reassured. "It was that board of his. They said they needed to cut back on personnel." Donald felt a boiling rage in the pit of his stomach. "And Mr. Scrooge wouldn't let them fire any of the 'bin' employees, so the ones who work mostly in the office downtown got the cut instead." 

Donald frowned. "They can do that?" he asked.

"Apparently," Fenton answered. The other duck finished plugging in some of the cords and sat up. "Let's see if this works." It did. Which helped Donald's anxiety a bit. He had been fully prepared for the computer to overheat like it did a few jobs ago.

"Now let's get the phone working. Do you want it hooked up to your cell?" Donald's face scrunched up, but he nodded.

"Probably should," he admitted. "Uncle Scrooge will be out most of the time." And he'd probably cheerfully drag Donald on more adventures than usual. The sailor wasn't sure how he felt about that. It made his heart warm to know that his family  wanted  him.

It made him terrified to remember what those adventures could do to him.

He watched Fenton work and opened his beak to ask a question when the elevator dinged, and a vulture stepped out. Both ducks tensed as he headed to Scrooge's office door. Donald slid in front of the director before he could get any closer.

"Mr. McDuck isn't accepting visitors," he said firmly.

"What? Who are you?" the vulture demanded.

"I'm his new personal assistant." The vulture stared blankly at Donald for a moment and then gave an annoyed sigh.

"Out of the way. Mr. McDuck is late to a board meeting." The vulture attempted to sidestep the duck, but Donald just put a firm hand on his chest and said as slowly and condescendingly as possible.

"No." Fenton was gaping right along with the vulture.

"I can get you fired," the vulture hissed. "Do you even work here?"

"I'm Mr. McDuck's personal assistant. And I highly doubt you could," Donald replied. Fenton gave a disbelieving laugh, and the vulture rounded on him.

"What did he say?" he demanded of the scientist.

"Uh, well," Fenton glanced at Donald, who shrugged. "He said he's Mr. McDuck's new personal assistant." The vulture rounded back on Donald.

"You will let me into this office. The board demands Mr. McDuck's presence."

"Nope. Why should I bother listening to your demands when you can't even understand mine?" Donald asked in an undeniably, sarcastic tone. At the very least, apparently, the vulture knew the word 'no,' even if he didn't accept it. He fumed and glared. The sailor just glared back.

There was something in those eyes. A threat. Donald could feel the feathers on the back of his neck stick up. This bird-

But the thought was interrupted by the elevator opening again. Gyro Gearloose, carrying multiple boxes, stumbled out. He glanced around, his eyes going right over the confrontational duck and vulture and landed on Fenton.

"You! Help me with these. I need to show Mr. McDuck my newest changes to the uh- suit, and I guess you need to know too," the last bit was added as an afterthought. Fenton put the phone down onto the desk. Then jogged over to quickly grab a couple of the boxes out of Gyro's hands.

"Sure thing Dr. Gearloose," Fenton chirped. Gyro turned and was met by two looks of annoyance from the others in the room.

"Well? Move out of the way," he demanded.

"Uncle Scrooge said not to bother him unless it's an emergency," Donald declared.

"Well, this could potentially be an emergency," Gyro answered dismissively. The sailor tilted his head and then glanced down at the vulture.

"Yeah, okay," he sighed and moved so that Gyro could get by, but the vulture could not. 

"What?" snapped the vulture.

"It's your fault if he's grumpy," Donald continued talking over the director as if he wasn't there.

"Of course, of course," Gyro muttered, already dismissing the other two as he opened the office doors. Fenton gave Donald an apologetic smile as he followed the other scientist.

Donald looked back at the vulture and nearly took a step back from the venomous look shot his way. "You- why?" the vulture demanded, unable to form full sentences.

"Because you have no patience. And I'm tired of having to repeat myself," Donald answered with a smirk, knowing that the director wouldn't be able to understand it. He folded his arms and stood in front of the door.

He matched the vulture's glare for a full two minutes before the bird snapped around and stomped to the elevator.

"You won't get away with this," the vulture hissed at him before the doors closed. Donald's brow furrowed.

Something strange was going on here. He wondered if Uncle Scrooge knew how many liberties his board of directors was taking. He looked back at the desk, and his eyes narrowed.

Maybe he should find out exactly how many they  had  been taking.

----

He'd started organizing the old files and searching through the computer network when a loud boom and the doors rattled on Scrooge's office. He was out of his seat and throwing open the doors before he could even think about it.

He quickly closed them when he realized that the people inside were his uncle, the scientist, and Duckberg's favorite hero. Gizmoduck. Well, part of Gizmoduck. It looked like his armor on the arm had somehow flown off and exploded next to a wall. The neckline up that shoulder had been somewhat dented as well.

"You couldn't have found a better place to test that?" Donald asked in disbelief.

"I was given to understand it  had  been tested," Scrooge muttered in annoyance.

"It worked without someone in it," Gyro insisted.

"But I have to  be in it , Dr. Gearloose," Fenton said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "And also, now I have to add another person to the list." He glanced over at Donald sadly.

"List?" Donald asked.

"Of people who know who he is," Scrooge dismissed with a wave of a hand.

"There's a list?" Donald asked in disbelief. "There's so many you had to make a list?" He tried to repress the hint of professional annoyance at that. Fenton looked miserable enough, and it wasn't like the other duck would know why Donald was berating him.

Gearloose was muttering as he looked over his blueprints again. Donald met his uncle's eyes, and the other duck tilted his head. The sailor rolled his eyes but moved forward to direct Gyro out the office door.

"Get Gizmoduck out of the costume," he demanded of his uncle.

"What, why do I have to?" Scrooge asked as he watched Fenton attempt to crawl out of the dented armor.

"Just do it!" Donald called back.

"Fine," Scrooge muttered. The last Donald saw he was attempting to both pull and stuff Fenton back in the armor so they could find the right angle.

The sailor saw Gearloose off down the elevator. His little light bulb robot riding on his shoulder. He heard another crash from inside the office, but just rolled his eyes and went back to his own desk.

He made a note to have Dr. Gearloose meet with Uncle Scrooge down in his lab from now on.

Fenton did stumble out with the boxes and armor about fifteen minutes later. "Let me finish setting up your phone now," he said, sounding a bit winded.

"Thanks," Donald muttered and handed over his cell. "Oh, I was thinking. Can you make it, so the kids' calls go directly to Uncle Scrooge's phone?"

"Not a problem," Fenton agreed. "But why?" Donald scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't want them to think I'm trying to be overprotective again," he muttered. Fenton's semi-frustrated smile softened. He handed the phone back over to the new personal assistant.

"You should be good to go," he told Donald. "Just push the button on the desk phone to transfer all calls to that while you're here."

"Thanks," Donald awkwardly said. Fenton picked up the boxes again and left.

-----

Donald slapped a folder on Scrooge's desk, knocking over the piles of coins the trillionaire was counting. His uncle glared at it as if it had personally offended him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"What you need to know for your next meeting," Donald answered. "I found your schedule. You're supposed to be meeting up with some representatives of your movie studio."

"Since when?" Scrooge asked, flipping open the folder.

"Since months ago, apparently," Donald replied. Scrooge's face scrunched up in disgust.

"I'm not going. They'll just ask for more of me money," he declared, tossing the folder back onto the desk.

"You're going," Donald pointed to the folder. "They've been trying to get a meeting with you since-" He looked at his notes again. "The last movie  exploded ?" Scrooge grunted. "Apparently, there still needs to be repairs done."

"I already gave them-"

"I'm not saying you have to pay them more," Donald interrupted. He folded his arms and looked down at a suddenly shrinking Scrooge. "But you owe them a meeting. You. Are. Going."

"Stubborn," Scrooge muttered. His beak turned up in a proud smile. "Fine. But only because ye asked nephew."

Donald nodded. "Good."

"And only if ye eat," his uncle added with a knowing look. Donald spluttered.

"I'll eat!"

"At noon. A normal time. There's a cafeteria down near the first floor. Ye can just tell them-"

"I'm not accepting any handouts," Donald rebuked. His hands tightened on his notes. "You've already given me this job. I-" His voice broke off. The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

"Alright," Scrooge agreed finally. "I'll go to this meeting. And ye'll eat." Donald nodded. "Send them to me meeting room when they get here."

The sailor went out of the office. An hour later, a group of already defeated looking people came up the elevator. They were astonished to be led into a room with Scrooge McDuck, and Donald had to wonder exactly how many times they'd tried to get this meeting.

He decided he might as well head down to the cafeteria while Uncle Scrooge was in the meeting and made his way to the elevator. He double-checked that he had his wallet.

Donald began to tap his foot nervously as the elevator got closer to the cafeteria. As he stepped out and headed down the corridor, he was surprised there weren't many people heading there. Then again... this was the money bin. Most of Scrooge's employees worked in downtown offices.

He halted when he saw that everyone in the small cafeteria turned to look at him. Swallowing his nerves, he made his way to the serving station. It was a bad sign that the eyes were staying on him.

Surely, everyone hadn't already found out-

"You're Mr. McDuck's nephew, aren't you?" the cafeteria worker asked as Donald came up to him. The duck sagged. He'd hoped that bit of information would take at least a week to get around.

"That's me," he agreed warily. The cafeteria worker blinked in confusion for a moment but then grinned.

"Huh, I didn't know that Scrooge McDuck had  any  family until you guys were on TV," he commented.

"That's..." Donald trailed off. What was he supposed to say to that? He certainly wasn't about to spill the family drama of the past decade to a complete stranger. A hand plopped down on his shoulder, causing the duck to tense. The sailor looked up sharply at a taller duck standing behind him.

It wasn't someone he recognized, but he knew the look on the man's face.

"You're an idiot, then Gerald," said the taller duck. "McDuck's nephew was all over the news a decade or so ago." He looked down at Donald and grinned. "You'll have to excuse Gerald Mr. McDuck-"

"It's Duck," Donald interrupted, causing the other to falter.

"Sorry?"

"It's Mr. Duck," Donald stated, moving away so that the hand on his shoulder dropped off. "I'm related through my mother."

"Mr. Duck then. I'm Brad," he said, stepping quickly back into a smooth voice.

"Hi," Donald grunted and then turned back to Gerald, the cafeteria worker. "Can I just get a ham and cheese sandwich?" he asked, annoyance starting to come into his tone. Gerald flashed him a nervous smile and nodded.

"Sure, thing," he said and handed the small sandwich over. Because of course, Uncle Scrooge wouldn't bother to pay for regular-sized sandwiches, Donald thought in fond amusement. He pulled out his wallet when a hand with a card suddenly shot in front of his face.

"Let me pay for you," Brad said gallantly. Donald gritted his teeth.

"No. Thank you, but I can pay," he insisted as politely as he could. He pulled out the few bucks the ham and cheese sandwich cost.

"Well,  of course , you can. That doesn't mean you should," the taller duck insisted. Donald twitched at the assumption.

"Do you understand what 'no' means?" he demanded. It didn't even cause Brad's supercilious smile to drop. Donald pushed the other duck's arm away and tried to thrust the money at Gerald.

"Don't be silly," Brad commented as if Donald's refusal were ridiculous. "Just let me pay." And the hand came thrusting up again a few inches from Donald's face.

The sailor could feel his tempter starting to boil. He shoved the arm out of the way again with more force this time. "No, I don't want you to pay," he said, his voice quite a bit louder.

Brad's smile had finally dropped, and his eyes were narrowed. "I'm paying," Brad insisted in just as loud of a voice. His gaze turned to Gerald, and he thrust the card under the poor worker's nose.

Donald's hand flicked out and propelled the card away from Gerald. "No," he spat. But his hand had hit it at a strange angle, and the card went flying. The two ducks and goose watched it spin until it hit one of the cafeteria's machine.

"Oh, phooey," Donald muttered right before the machine toppled over and crashed into another next to it. 

The entire cafeteria went silent as the kitchen became a giant game of dominoes. Everyone winced as the last snack machine standing teetered and then fell to its side with a dramatic 'boom' that echoed around the area.

Brad looked incredulous and annoyed. "I just wanted to pay for y- where'd he go?" he'd turned around to berate the smaller duck, but Donald had escaped in the chaos. All he left behind was the money for the sandwich.

He'd escaped off the entire floor. Because as soon as the sailor had seen the first machine tilt, he'd known what would happen. He tapped his foot impatiently as he stared at the elevator wall. He didn't want to bother Uncle Scrooge just now. Not when he'd had to argue with him about this meeting.

"That stupid palooka," the sailor grunted in annoyance. "Couldn't he see that I didn't want-" Donald sighed. It was just annoying because the only reason 'Brad' had wanted to pay for him was that he was Scrooge McDuck's nephew. It used to happen all the time. 

At least until people got to know Donald. Then they just considered him Scrooge McDuck's  incompetent temperamental bad luck  nephew. Then the jeering behind his back would start.

Donald tore into the ham and cheese in anger. Who forced money on someone anyway?! And how'd they found out so fast anyway? It was the first day! He'd need to start bringing his own food. If he could find a microwave...

He perked up when the elevator dinged. He stepped off into the bluish corridor. He wasn't even sure which floor he'd pushed, he'd just been so furious.

He looked out a window and gave a small quack of surprise. He was underwater! His eyes widened in wonderment. Donald sat there, watching the fish swim by and felt his heart rate begin to slow.

He'd always loved the ocean. His hand pressed against the glass, and his beak turned up into a sad smile.

"Oh, Mr. Duck!" Donald spun around. Fenton was standing there, a clipboard in his hand a lab coat on. "What are you doing down here?"

"Uh..." Donald said ineloquently. He glanced around and, for the first time, noticed the lab equipment all around him. "You can call me Donald if you want to." Fenton perked up, and he came forward to shake the sailor's hand ecstatically.

"I'd be delighted!" he gushed. Fenton glanced down at Donald's hand that still held the half-eaten sandwich. "Oh! Were you just coming down here to eat? It is quite beautiful, I don't blame you."

"Sure, let's go with that," Donald agreed.

"I was just about to take my own lunch. Would you like to join me? I have some tea or coffee?"

"Coffee would be great," Donald said in relief. Fenton moved further back into the lab. Donald's eyes kept straying to the large windows all around. He was quite happy when the scientist parked them near a large one that was facing toward Duckberg's bay.

"So, this is Dr. Gearloose's lab?" Donald asked.

"Oh, yes," Fenton answered from the counter he was standing at. Donald turned to face him and watched as the scientist pointed some sort of ray gun at a container. It flashed, and steam rose, and a yummy smell hit Donald's nostrils.

Fenton came over and sat down with the container. "Empanadillas?" Donald asked, taking a deep breath with a sigh.

"Yup, mi mamá made them!" Fenton replied. He looked up and blinked in surprise when he saw that Donald's eyes were zeroed in on his food. "Do you want one?" he offered. The sailor's head snapped up, and he blushed at getting caught staring.

"Ah, no, I was just thinking that it had been a long time since I'd had them."

"I don't mind," Fenton replied, tilting his head. "I won't force you, but I can tell ya they're outstanding." The last few words were said in a sing-song voice. Donald's beak twitched up.

"Well, if they're that good," he finally agreed. Fenton grinned. He slid an empanadilla over. Donald blew on it and then took a big bite. His eyes widened.

"See?" Fenton exclaimed.

"These are amazing! Your mom must be a great cook." Donald chowed down on the rest of it. It was gone within a few minutes.

"Thanks, Fenton," Donald murmured. "I needed that."

"It is just your first day," Fenton commented. Donald jumped in surprise. "Ah, it just seemed like you were having a hard time." The sailor winced.

"I just don't do great with... jobs," he muttered. But when his eyes met Fenton's, they were determined. "I'll do my best." The scientist grinned and opened his beak to say something, but Donald suddenly stood up as his cell phone rang. "Speaking of which," he said apologetically.

Fenton waved him off.

As he stepped into the elevator, Donald found himself fending off a slew of calls from multiple news stations. Another from the board of directors, and only one that he considered worth his uncle's time. After all, meeting with accounting to look over paychecks affected him too.

He hung up on the last call and stepped into Scrooge's office. His uncle was staring down at an array of papers in a thoughtful way.

"I ate, so I hope you stayed for the whole meeting," Donald commented as he stepped up to the desk. Scrooge snorted.

"Aye, and a good thing too," he replied. "Ye were right. The estimates I originally got were wrong. There was a lot more damage." Donald frowned. Scrooge shook his head and smiled. "It was a good call."

Donald felt a flutter of pleasure at the pride in Scrooge's voice. "Ah," he cleared his throat. "I put another meeting on your schedule for a couple days from now. I knew you wanted to go with the kids to find the what's it of whozit."

"The Scroll of Kali," Scrooge snorted. "Ye'll be coming with us, of course." Donald gave his uncle a knowing look.

"I thought it'd be better if I stayed here." Scrooge leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Nonsense, I can't very well go without my personal assistant, now can I?" Donald sighed dramatically. His hands went to his hips.

"I knew you were going to use this as an excuse to make me go adventuring more." Scrooge grinned.

"Think ye can handle it, lad?" The trillionaire was pleased to see the burning determination in Donald's eyes.

"I can handle anything," the duck snapped. "But, I better get some downtime this weekend," he added in a more wistful tone.

"Oh, aye," Scrooge agreed. "I was planning on going-" Donald held up a hand.

"Downtime at  home  Unkie Scrooge," he insisted. The trillionaire stumbled over his next word at the sudden use of that endearment.

"Fine," he relented, not sounding all that upset about it. "If ye  insist ." Donald smiled warmly.

"I do. Now, here's your schedule for the rest of the day."

Scrooge groaned. But Donald continued to smile, because even with what happened in the cafeteria... this was still going reasonably well.

He didn't need his co-workers' approval if he had his uncles. He might even be able to convince himself of that someday.

He could do this. Besides, he thought as he sat back down at his desk. There was the mystery that Fenton had unknowingly handed him this morning. The sailor's eyes narrowed. He'd need to be careful, but there was something strange about Uncle Scrooge's board members. The way that vulture had looked...

He hadn't seen a look that outside of his uncle's adventures in over a decade. It caused a part of himself he thought he'd buried to stir. Donald opened the old files he'd found in the dusty cabinet and began to read.

It couldn't hurt just to take a look. It's not like he was putting the mask back on, after all.