Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Rain Check

Summary: Donald doesn't think he'll ever get used to the past tense of her.

...

Donald slipped out the back to get a breath of salty sea air, refusing to admit that the houseboat feels confined. It was the best his funds could pay for, after all, and anything was better than trying to keep up with Gladstone.

(Well, not really. He could be having to crawl back to him.)

It'd been nice of his cousin to offer sanctuary after walking out on Scrooge McDuck, but they'd gotten on each others nerves really quickly. Still, that doesn't stop Donald from calling him up, if only to hear another voice. "Hey. Just thought I'd tell you I'm all unpacked."

"D-money?" Gladstone slurs his words. There's a shuffling that indicates him sitting up. "Dude, it's like two in the morning. Go to bed."

"Couldn't sleep."

"I've seen enough movies with new parents in them to know that's bull manure. You'll fall asleep on random benches before you'll avoid it."

Donald sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. His feathers snagged on an old crack in his bill- a souvenir from the time he'd had a bit too much of the cider and punched out an orc- then moved on. "I just can't stop thinkin', I guess."

"Sounds lame," Gladstone said, but didn't tell him to hang up, so Donald figured it was a decently nice gesture that he responded at all.

"Do you think she was in pain?" Donald asked. The idea picks at him worse than her just being dead. "We both know she wouldn't give up no matter what."

He grunted agreeably. "If there's one duck in the world that could somehow make it back from outer space without a ship, it was Della."

Was. Donald doesn't think he'll ever get used to the past tense of her.

"But," Gladstone went on gently. "She didn't."

"She didn't," Donald repeated grimly. "Who was that one guy- the guy who flew way too high?"

"Icarus. The dude thought it'd be grand to fly wax wings toward the sun- and if you're trying to imply Della pulled an Icarus, than you're probably right, cuz," he said. "She was pretty epic like that."

"But now she's gone."

"She's gone."

Donald rubbed at his eyelid. It wasn't wet- he'd cried himself out a couple days ago. Now it was just itchy. "I wish we had a body to bury. I keep hoping she'll come back in a blaze of glory, but I know she's not. She can't survive what she went through. But I also know that if anyone could, it would have been her."

"I still can't go into Grandma's kitchen," Gladstone offered. "I tried once and I broke down crying. We're moving on from Grandma, though, and we'll move on from Della."

"Yeah, I know."

"Good. So, uh, not to be rude, but I'm beat. Can I put a rain check on the rest of this conversation?"

A crying erupted from inside the houseboat- and once one boy woke, the others joined in posthaste. "Yeah, that's cool. Love ya."

"Love you too."

Donald hit end call.

The houseboat didn't feel so confined as he went inside, gathering the newly hatched ducklings in his arms. Louie squirmed until he was as close as physically possible, while Dewey just kept right on crying; and Huey, ever curious, reaching out to touch his bill, feeling a crack he'd never know the story to. If anything, it felt too big.

It felt lonely.

Author's Note: Idk, I just had this thought of 'hey, duck bills can get hurt, right? Can they scar?' and this came out. Have some angst.

-Mandaree1