#teamuncleweek2020

He made a cup of tea for Beakley, too wound up to sleep, then helped his uncle up the stairs, where Scrooge retired to his bedroom for the night, clutching an ice pack to his aching back. Once that was settled he got Webby off to sleep in the corner of the couch, bundled up in a comfy blanket. He turned the triplets’ TV down low, and tucked each of them under a blanket too, knowing they’d pass out sooner than later.

It was Black Heron, Beakley revealed as he rejoined her in the dining room. A kidnapping and revenge plot that endangered them all. Especially little Webby, whether she realized it or not.

Donald didn’t say that he thinks Beakley was the one in most danger here.

He just sat up with her until the adrenaline and worries wore off enough for rest, and promised her that he’d take care of the kids come sunrise. He’d been doing it for years on the houseboat, after all, what’s one more kid to set a place for at the table?

It’s this that leads him to sweeping up glass at five am, quietly pouring a dustpan of shiny shards into the trash can. He only knows some of the Black Heron and FOWL story, and he’s long since decided it’s best not to ask. He doesn’t need to get tangled up in plots of espionage or larceny. He has plenty to keep him busy.

Like cleaning up the post-kidnapping mess, and then making something for the kids to eat.

The window’s almost completely gone. Someone—Scrooge, he assumes—has pulled the curtains over the hole where it used to be, and they’re dancing in the early morning breeze. The room is quite cold, but when the sun rises it’ll get warmer, he assumes. He ignores it in favor of tending to the aspects of this crisis that he can control, like cleaning out the sink.

There’s a fair amount of broken glass among the dishes, and he carefully picks it out and tosses it away. The metal framing that once separated the window into neat, even diamonds is also shattered and scattered here, and he clears that away too. He refuses to think about the level of strength it took to smash through all of that.

The dishwasher was left open, and though the dishes are pre-washed, the load hasn’t been run, so he fills the few spaces left in it and starts it up. The sink is still piled full, betraying Beakley’s absence, and he knows there’s a fair number more left in the living room with the kids. He quietly vows to have them done before she gets up, lest she feels like she’s got to catch up or anything. He thinks of the weariness and worry in her eyes and knows that whether she wants to or not, she needs to take a break and re-center herself.

Donald was rarely given a break raising the triplets, up until the day Scrooge took them in. It’s only fair he take care of Webby and the housekeeping for a day or two, in a sort of exchange. And, though they’ve never truly admitted it aloud, Webby and Beakley are family as much as he and the boys are.

So he gets to work.

There’s dish soap and a broken plate by the fridge, a broken bowl on the counter, and across the room there’s a small table that’s been overturned, tablecloth discarded beside it. He neatens those up and pauses for a moment to look out the window, where he spots a silver dish lying in the grass. It’s hardly light enough to see, but with the help of his phone’s flashlight, he retrieves it, half-heartedly wondering how it ended up out there.

He dries the dishes in the dishwasher, then reloads it, and pauses for a moment to check in on the kids. They’re all resting now, curled up together happily resting. It’s heartwarming, seeing them so at peace. Donald silently wishes that things could stay this way for a long while.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, and gazes over the ingredients in the fridge and pantry. Not much—they'll need to get groceries pretty soon—but there’s enough to make eggs and pancakes. He can work with that.

He starts setting out ingredients and empty dishes, and turns on the stove as the sun begins to rise. He sprays some cooking spray into a frying pan, reaching for the eggs, and Uncle Scrooge comes in, cane clicking against the floor with every step.

“Oh—er, good morning, Donald,” he murmurs, pulling a counter stool out to take a seat. “Up a bit early this morning, aren’t ye?”

“Never went to bed,” he answers truthfully, not willing to meet his eyes. “Mrs. B needs a break, so I’m helping out.”

“That she does,” he laughs a little. “Stubborn woman. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it, though.”

He just shrugs. The air between them is still tense with… well. With everything. Repairing their relationship has been a slow process, despite the time they’ve spent trying. It’s just hard for both of them to bring up the real issue, for Donald that Scrooge lost his sister to the stars and for Scrooge that Donald took the triplets away for the first decade of their lives as a result.

“Pass me the salt please, Unca Scrooge.”

Scrooge passes it over, gesturing to the tea kettle. “Don’t suppose ye would be willing to boil me some water for my morning tea while you’re at it?”

“Sure,” he replies, and adds a little salt to the pan full of eggs. He fills the kettle and turns the burner on, then reaches for an empty bowl.

“Pass me the flour, I’m making pancakes too—that’s sugar. Thank you,” he huffs a little with suppressed laughter. Scrooge messes up things like that on purpose, or at least he used to, and it warms Donald’s heart a little to know that energy isn’t totally gone these days.

They can still mess with each other after everything. They’re okay, or at least they’re gonna be.

Donald leans against the counter, adding milk before stirring the bowl of batter. “How’s your back?”

“Ach, it’s been better,” he laments. “Nothing I can’t handle, though. Price of an adventure these days.”

“Sounds like you had fun.”

“We did, we did.”

A calm silence fills the room. The usual tension is faded, and for once Donald relishes Scrooge’s company. Knowing he went out and almost got himself killed, while Donald was stuck in the pantry… it stings. Stings to know he could’ve helped. Stings to know he could’ve been there, at least, and he wasn’t. Stings to know he could’ve supported them in some way or another and didn’t.

Just like with Della.

He pours the pancake batter into another frying pan, and stirs the scrambled eggs a bit. With his hands busy he dwells less on the negatives and instead focuses on having something warm to put on the table.

Scrooge’s tea finishes, and he pours the old man a cup before the eggs are done.

“Thank you,” he says as he takes the warm teacup. “I, ah… I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Unca.” Donald replies, knowing what Scrooge wants to say.

I appreciate you.

Later, the kids will come stumbling into the dining room with blurry eyes, yawning and stretching. He and Scrooge will sit with them to eat, and the old man will help them wake up with talk of their next exciting adventure. Then he and the kids will leave Donald to the day’s work of cleaning and chores, and the house will grow quiet with loneliness.

It seemed like yesterday that he cradled Donnie and Della in his arms, cradling them in a frugal attempt to reassure two terrified toddlers; or witnessed their glowing eyes, staring in amazement when he told them tales of space pirates and aliens that they themselves requested.

But those memories faded like sand between his hands, leaving nothing but a few measly pimples that tickled his fingers.

"See you after school, Unca Scrooge," Donnie would exclaim before hurrying through the porch. It was like seeing him in a rejuvenating mirror! One who looked much more cheerful since their combat boots were gifted to them and they were allowed to cut their hair.

"See you tomorrow, Uncle Scrooge," Della said goodbye with a duffel bag in hand, before going out to a sleepover with her friends.

In a second, those wee ones had grown and their heads brushed his shoulders. "It's expectant" he tried to tell himself, lie to himself, convince himself that he did not feel moodiness when he saw his niblings - and children - grow up and become adults little by little, "we all grow up, it is part of life, even Ah do."

And he wasn't lying: his back pain was getting more constant even if he wasn't able to age the way they did.

When he least knew they were both in their late 40s, and under his wing, he had children again, triplets no less. And it was like having babies back in his care – even if they were barely in their teens, even though he couldn't help wondering what might have happened if the family wasn't been ripped apart for ten years.

But that gap had been repaired, and Della was under his roof once again and refused to lose her again. And most importantly, his nephew had forgiven him, and allowed him to be part of the most important stages of his life. Stages that coincidentally had not occurred even after Donald walked through the gateway of the manor with three eggs in tow but could not be happier that it happened with him being present.

And Scrooge didn't know if it was an uncle's instinct or that part of his brain that told him when one of his kids needed him was still as strong as he remembered even after a decade of disuse, because now he found himself leaving his room at three in the morning, nightgown lazily tied around his waist.

The contrast in the house while his family slept was surprising, but somehow the life they gave to the household was perceptible.

A smile crept across his features at the thought. A part of him reminded him that, before long, that spark would reignite.

"But Ah seemed nae the only one thinking aboot it." His footsteps stopped him when he noticed a light under one of the doors, and his expression softened when he recognized the room.

The nursery. Scrooge only knew of one or two people who would be in nursery late at night, and he clicked his tongue as he knocked on the door.

Any conversation that could have been going on inside was gone, and it wasn't long before it opened up, Daisy Duck grinning with weariness evident in her gaze.

"Uncle Scrooge? What are you doing awake at this hour?" Inside the room though, Donald looked questioningly at his uncle, despite his attention was mostly on the egg in his hands.

"Ah shoold be th' one ta' ask th't, lad." Daisy stepped aside, giving way to her father-in-law before closing the door again with a small yawn.

But instead, his nephew smiled, his eyes twinkling as he gently rested his cheek against the egg.

Something told him that he was already doing that prior to his arrival.

"We couldn't sleep," he murmured warmly, his finger tracing small circles on the shell before planting a small kiss and cautiously placing them on their nest.

"The doctor said they could hatch these days, I guess it's the emotion that keeps us awake." On the other hand, her daughter-in-law's smile was smaller but just as loving as she helped her partner wrap the egg between the sheets, one hand imitating her husband's gesture.

There were dark circles peeking out from under their eyes, and Scrooge's heart pounded. Would it happen in a few hours? In such a short time he would become an uncle once more?

It seemed like yesterday when Donald was a flushed mess, cheering his family that he got engaged to Daisy. It seemed like yesterday when he introduced the future designer as his girlfriend with a nervous smile. It seemed like yesterday when the sparkle in his gaze was due to the name change document in his hands that he had given him for his eighteenth birthday.

In what blink of an eye did he find his nephew about to become a father?

"Ye coold at least take turns, lass; so one of teh two can be rested when teh time comes,” he commented sitting in the reclining chair, though his attention was equally focused on the egg.

"We thought about that for a moment…" She paused when Donald yawned, and Daisy smiled sweetly as she put her hand on her spouse's before giggling nervously. "But none were found capable of doing so."

Yes, it was not the first time that he found himself discovering one of the twins awake accompanying the nest, but it was a new sensation to see said twin waiting for the moment accompanied by someone other than their uncle.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"By teh way, 've ye already thoug' of a name?" He questioned with a knowing smile, remembering the family's expectation when the couple went to the doctor to find out the sex of the duckling, only to be answered with a couple of mischievous smiles and the promise that they would find out later.

Maybe that might be the right time.

Thought that faded when both ducks looked at each other, a different glow in their eyes and his shoulders sagged again.

Bless his bagpipes, when had Daisy been influenced by his nephew's mischief?

"We already know." Donald smiled, though the tone of his voice told Scrooge everything he needed to know. The gleam in his gaze reminded him a lot of Hortense's for a second though, “but we'd rather keep it a surprise. Not just for the kids or Della, but for you too."

However, it seemed that this surprise would not take long to be discovered when the egg moved, immediately tensing the three adults.

In the first minute, the egg shook again, the first crack occurring. In less than a second, the Duck couple had their eyes focused on the egg.

In the second minute, Scrooge had gone out to call the rest of the manor's residents. It had not been difficult, the family appeared in the nursery the instant they heard that the shell was already breaking.

By the third minute, Dewey and Louie were recording the moment on their cellphones, Donald and Daisy's voices faltering as they repeated words of encouragement; and even Della and Webby were holding their breath, though the pilot's hands trembled at the edge of the nest. For their part Webby, Huey, and even Beakley and Duckworth watched expectantly, the little pink-clad duckling on the verge of screaming in anticipation.

At the fourth minute, webbed feet and a small pink beak peeked out of the shell. Daisy was already on the verge of tears, and Donald was clinging shakily to Scrooge, the Scotsduck patting the younger duck gently on the back.