Author's Note: This made me cry, in public, writing it. I hope you guys enjoy it. :P

"So, who do you think that kid was?" Della asked in a conversational tone. They were seated in front of the fire and drinking hot cocoa. They had exchanged gifts and were now basking in the warmth of Christmas. Della had her scarf wrapped firmly about her neck and Donald could tell she was stifling a laugh at how big that Christmas sweater was on her brother. He'd wear it anyway, no matter how stupid he looked in it.

"You thought he was some weird future relative," Donald reminded her.

"Yeah, but who?" she said and poked at her twin. "He hugged me. What the hell. You don't do that with a distant relative. So who do you think he was?"

Scrooge was nowhere to be seen; they hadn't told him about their encounter with "Blue-y" yet. The name was laughable-clearly, that was a terrible attempt at lying. But why hadn't he told them his real name? What was he hiding?

"I don't know," he said and then grinned impishly. "Your future boyfriend?"

She scoffed, elbowing him. "Gross. No. He's way too young."

"Your future son?" he asked and she shivered.

"No way," she said and elbowed him again hard. Man, she needed to be careful with those things. She could hurt him when she wanted to. In response, he elbowed her back and she spilled her cocoa. He snickered and she put the cup down and jostled him so hard that he spilled his.

"That's what you get for being stupid," she informed him. "And how do I know it's not your future son?"

"Because I'd never name a kid 'Blue-y'," he countered.

"Neither would I," she said. They paused and then said in unison, "Uncle Scrooge and Goldie-no way! Gross!"

"'Sides," Donald said. "He looked like you."

"He did not," she said, scandalized. "I'm never going to get married and settle down. I'm going to pilot among the stars and fly to the moon. I'm never having kids."

"That's what you say now," he said and then blew her a raspberry. "Just wait until you're old, like thirty, and you've got three kids!"

"Never gonna happen!" she retorted, nudging him playfully. They had reached an age where it was unacceptable to tackle each other, but he could see she wanted to. It was in her eyes.

"Then I guess we'll never know," he said. He sighed dramatically. "You know, that Wendigo broke my guitar."

"Good," Della said. "Because you're a terrible musician."

"I'm glad I used your toothbrush to clean my combat boots," he shot back.

Della suddenly grinned impishly and he feared what he'd just unleashed.

"In twenty years, we'll look back at this and I'll remind you how stupid you are," she told him.

He scoffed. "That's what you think."

"That's what I know."

Twenty years from then, Donald Duck sits on his bed in his houseboat alone. It's not the first Christmas he's spent without his sister and it won't be the last. He has long since given up hope of seeing her again. Realizing Dewey met Della in the past stirred up painful memories for him, but he's glad that Dewey met his mother in some form. And he got to hug her, which had to be something he'd been longing to do for years.

That doesn't make the moment any less bittersweet, though. For years, he took Della's presence for granted until it was gone. And while he's glad he's reconciled with Scrooge and has the boys, he misses his sister too. It was part of the reason he was so desperate to have festive cheer around. It's a distraction.

The kids have gone to sleep and he stiffens when he hears footsteps on his boarding plank. Jumping to his feet, he opens the door to find his uncle on the other side.

"Do you wanna come into the manor?" his uncle Scrooge asks, looking so horribly awkward and uncomfortable being on the houseboat that Donald almost laughs.

"We can miss her together," he adds and this is the last proverbial straw. Donald, who has been trying so desperately to hold back tears, bursts into them and Scrooge hugs him. It hasn't been the first time that Scrooge has hugged a crying family member and it won't be the last, he suspects, for tonight.

"It's gotta be better than staying here," Scrooge adds, looking at the houseboat with such disdain that Donald laughs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he says. "Keep your shirt on."

"Besides," Scrooge adds. "You shouldnae be spending Christmas alone. You know that."

"Yeah…" Donald agrees and casts one last look upward at the sky. Della had so wanted to see the stars…

"Yeah, I do."

Without another word, he follows Scrooge into McDuck Manor.