Flintheart Glomgold never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. If anyone asked, he had no such thing. At present, he sat at another boring meeting of Glomgold Industries and listened to someone drone on and on about a business report. Glomgold didn't care about business intricacies right now-he cared about crushing Scrooge. He hadn't brought Della back for Scrooge because he wanted to make Scrooge happy. Quite the opposite. He was only happy when Scrooge was miserable. He'd dedicated his whole life to ensuring that McDuck suffered.

Tuning out the accountant, he stared at his notes. He wasn't above using Scrooge's family as pawns in his schemes, but he wasn't heartless enough to turn Della into a bomb. He just hadn't figured out a way to turn this into an opportunity for him. Perhaps he should have ransomed Della. Would Scrooge have paid? Considering the expense he went to attempting to retrieve her, possibly.

As business opportunities went, this was a squandered one, but it didn't have to be. If he could lure Della back out to space or kidnap her, Scrooge might pay big money to get her back. He was willing to bet Scrooge had made some grandiose claim about keeping her safe when he couldn't possibly make good on it.

Or he could lure her into an elaborate death trap only for it to close on Scrooge instead. Glomgold grinned. Yes, he liked that idea. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Scrooge died, but he would be the richest living duck in the world. At least, until someone in the McDuck family claimed Scrooge's fortune. He needed Scrooge alive to throw away his funds or fritter them away on meaningless things.

He cut the accountant off mid-sentence and got up abruptly from the table. Ignoring entreaties for him to sit down and that this was important, he headed to review the security tapes. They had hours and hours of logs from Della's time on the moon. Ever since his scientists had figured out how to retrieve the data, they'd been sifting through it. Della hadn't known she was being recorded or she hadn't cared at that point. From what he'd heard so far, she'd been remarkably candid when she thought she was alone.

He drifted past the security room and then headed inside to see whether his team had made any progress. One of the scientists flagged him down and he sat behind a large computer monitor.

"What is it?" Glomgold demanded. "This had better be important."

"We found something you might be interested in," the scientist said and keyed up the video. Della was rambling, as she was wont to do, and he hit play at a particular segment. At first, Glomgold didn't see the significance. After all, Della spoke at length about a lot of things, seeing as no one answered her. At a certain point, she'd started having conversations with herself or pretending to have them with Donald and Scrooge. Once, she'd had a conversation with the triplets. Forced isolation did a lot to a person. Not that Glomgold was sympathetic. It was something he noted but shrugged off.

Besides, if Scrooge actually cared for his family, he wouldn't have left Della on the moon for ten years or shunted his other nephew, Fethry, into an underwater lab.

He was about to tell the scientist that he was wasting his time when Della cut in to discuss the boys' father and how she couldn't tell her uncle Scrooge. Intrigued, Glomgold leaned forward. He hadn't known that the boys' father was a secret. He knew that he wasn't in the picture for whatever reason, but as Scrooge's family affairs didn't normally concern him, he hadn't pursued the matter.

"I know he wouldn't approve," Della whispered and rocked back and forth. She'd also done that a lot too, self-soothing to help alleviate the horrible aloneness. One video had her rocking back and forth for a good hour.

"Who is he, damn you!" Glomgold demanded.

Della brightened slightly, though she continued rocking. "At least it isn't Flintheart Glomgold."

"Hey! I take offense at that! I saved you! Show some respect!"

"It's John D. Rockerduck," Della said and, for a second, Glomgold's mind went blank. Rockerduck hadn't been seen in Duckburg in a long time. He was an oil tycoon who competed with Scrooge; he wasn't as rich as himself or Scrooge and he was a bit older than Della. If he was the boys' father, then it made sense that she wouldn't have told Scrooge. How embarrassing for him, that his niece had dallied with one of his rivals. How scandalous.

"There's more," the scientist said.

"At least, I think he's the father," Della admitted and blushed. "It could be a couple other people too."

Glomgold snorted. It sounded like Della was a bit of a loose woman.

She hugged her knees to her chest. "Even if he wasn't a suitable father, I'd give anything to have him here. To have anyone here. I'm so alone…"

"That's all the pertinent parts," the scientist said. "Did you want us to keep screening?"

"I'll tell you when you're done," Glomgold answered, stepping back. The scientist put his headset back on and resumed watching the video. Even without sound, Glomgold could feel Della's despondency. All of those ships McDuck had launched and none of them had found her crashed on the moon. He almost pitied her. She was crying again, the self-soothing clearly having had no effect.

Wrenching his attention away from her wretched state, he headed back to the meeting. Now that he knew he had something to exploit, he might be able to pay attention. Of course, the chances of that were slim and none, but hey, he'd gotten something accomplished today. Proud of himself, though it was his researchers that had found the clip, not him, he began plotting what to do. His mind drifted back toward Della hugging herself and rocking.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite rid himself of the image. He would torment Scrooge about this...but he would feel a little guilty, nonetheless. After everything Della had been through, he was going to make her life miserable again. But that was her fault for being related to Scrooge.

Or so he told himself. As he sat back down and the accountant resumed, Glomgold wondered whether Della had suffered enough.

Getting a full sentence out of Poe was an exercise in patience. As it turned out, ravens didn't really speak in full sentences, just bits and pieces that Lena had to cobble together. Webby had gone off for her therapist appointment, albeit under protest, and Lena was sitting with the boys while they helped her figure out how Poe had turned into a raven in the first place. It was slow going.

"I bet Magica knows how this happened," Louie said, irritated.

"I'm not looking for her," Lena said, likewise annoyed, but not at Louie. "I don't want anything to do with her, not after what she dislocated both my shoulders and sicced a bunch of pedophiles on me."

"Maybe if we gave him a computer, he could type it out?" Dewey suggested.

"Have you ever seen a raven type?" Huey countered.

"No, but I've also never seen a raven that used to be a duck, either," Dewey pointed out.

They stared at each other and then glanced over at Poe. Lena thought the typing idea had merit, but the only one that she knew had a laptop was Louie, who was not going to lend it for the experiment. Would a touchscreen suffice? She dug into her pocket and offered her phone.

"It should probably be a computer, not a touchscreen," Huey theorized. "It'd be easier for him to type since he doesn't have hands."

"I don't see you volunteering," Louie grumped.

"All right, fine," Huey said and pulled out his laptop which was, to no one's great surprise, covered in JWG stickers. The boy was obsessed. Lena rolled her eyes. It took a minute for the laptop to boot up-Donald probably couldn't afford an expensive model. And Lena would have had a laptop if she'd needed one, but she would have stolen it, which she knew the boys and Webby would've disapproved of, not to mention the grown-ups.

"Think you can type it out?" Huey asked, offering Poe the laptop.

It took far longer than she thought it would, longer than it would have taken any of them, but Poe had written a paragraph down in about five minutes. They crowded around the computer screen to read-it had taken so long because Poe had difficulty maneuvering around the keyboard with his toes.

"Magica was teaching herself how to transform into different animals," Lena read. "She thought that it'd be good if I could do the same thing too so that I could help her steal Scrooge's number one dime. I told her I didn't want any part of it because of Lena, but she insisted.

"Part of the spell worked. Magica can shift her form. But I got stuck because I have no magical powers."

"So we need the dime?" Louie groaned.

"But we can't trust Magica to cast a spell to change him back," Huey objected. "She'll take it and use it for her own gain."

"Who else do we know with magical powers?" Dewey mused and the boys looked at Lena. Lena huffed.

"I couldn't do a big spell like that," she objected. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. The best I can do is lift small objects and make them hit other small objects."

"There's Circe," Huey mentioned. "But she doesn't like men. She tends to turn them into gerbils or hamsters."

Poe huffed and Lena sympathized. Being a raven was hard enough. She didn't think he'd enjoy being a rodent.

It sounded like it was up to her and Lena swallowed hard. Poe cocked his head at her quizzically. She could ask Magica for help, she supposed, although she'd rather slit her wrists. Perhaps if they explained that this was necessary to turn Poe back, Scrooge might let them borrow the dime? Temporarily? Oh, who was she kidding? He wasn't exactly the generous sort.

"Scrooge's number one dime is more than just money. It's a representation of who he is as a person," Poe continued. "It contains unfathomable power; anyone with any skill should be able to tap into it."

"So it's not the dime itself that's important, but the power Uncle Scrooge accidentally put into it?" Huey asked and Poe nodded.

"It's a magical artifact," Poe confirmed.

"Yeah, Uncle Scrooge will definitely let us borrow it after we explain that," Louie said, rolling his eyes.

"Is the dime the only thing that can restore you?" Lena asked. "'Cuz I'm a little sick of trying to steal that thing. And of looking at it. And the idea of it in general."

"There are a few other artifacts that have similar power and attributes," Poe replied. "Including the Stone of Remembrance. However, in the case of those, the item would be destroyed to change me back."

"Wasn't that the stone Webby's obsessed with?" Louie said with a frown.

Lena nodded. She had a feeling that Webby wasn't going to be amenable to this solution. Scrooge wouldn't hand over the dime and Webby might not want to relinquish the stone if it meant losing her grandmother again. Her stomach clenched.

"What other artifacts are there?" Lena asked.

"The other artifacts haven't been seen for millennia, to the best of my knowledge. You'd have to ask Magica if you wanted specifics."

"No, we're good," Louie said. He cut a glance at Lena. "Do you want to tell Webby the bad news when she gets back or should I?"

"Maybe there's a way around this," Huey said, stubborn. "We don't have to give up hope just yet."

"I mean, what if the stone was only partially destroyed and you could use the rest to contact Mrs. Beakley?" Dewey suggested.

"Magic doesn't work like that," Poe replied. He showed signs of flagging and Lena could tell all this hopping around and typing was draining him. He typed out one last sentence before hopping onto her shoulder and leaning against her.

"It's all or nothing."

"Webby's gonna kill us," Louie said, shaking his head.

"We'll figure something out," Huey said, determined. Lena grimaced. Poe was right. Magic didn't work like that. It didn't make allowances for people. She scratched her father absently behind his head and he pecked at her hair in what she assumed he meant to be an affectionate gesture.

"Or she'll totally kill us," Lena said.

Della Duck was not doing as well as she pretended. Right now, she was alone in her room and fighting a panic attack. She'd thought, after being alone for ten years, she would have loved to be surrounded by people, especially those she loved and who loved her back. She would have thought she'd jump at the opportunity to go on another adventure with her beloved Uncle Scrooge and brother Donald.

Instead, she was huddled on her bed and rocking back and forth as she had in the space station. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating. Too many people. Too much conversation. Too many attempts to pretend she was okay, that she'd escaped that ordeal unscathed. Everyone was so loud, too. She understood that kids were supposed to be that way, but in her mind, they'd always been quieter. But then again, everything was quieter in her mind than in real life.

Someone knocked at the door and she jumped out of her skin. She could feel her stomach leaving her body and then settling back down. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point and if it was one of the boys, she'd lose it. She couldn't pretend to be all right in front of her children, not at the moment. It was too much.

"Mom? Are you in there?" one of the boys called and she couldn't for the life of her remember which one. How was she expected to remember this after only being here for so little time? Her panic kicked into overdrive and she cursed. Loudly.

The door opened and Della shrieked. It was the one with the red hat and red shirt. She knew this. She knew which triplet it was. She...had no clue. She cursed again. Her mind had gone completely blank.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She was rocking back and forth on the bed and unable to stop. It was like a compulsion. Or maybe it was a compulsion. She didn't know. But if she stopped, she'd get even more anxious and then it'd be impossible to think about anything but doing the compulsion. Or a different one.

"Mom!" he said and she whimpered.

"I don't know which one you are!" she blurted and hated the crestfallen look on his face. He looked like she'd personally attacked him and perhaps she had. "I can't tell my boys apart…"

"It's Huey, Mom," he said quietly. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. She couldn't articulate it. "Get...Donald…"

She felt wretched. What kind of mother was she? She should know immediately which boy was which. She should at least be able to remember their goddamn color schemes. Or recognize their voices and put the voices with the color schemes. She'd left them for ten years and when she came back, she was still on course for the worst mother in history.

"I can help you," he protested.

"Donald!" she snapped and winced inwardly at how his face crumpled. She just kept hurting him, but she couldn't stop herself. The boys were strangers. And comforting a child right now was impossible. She could barely hold onto her sanity.

"I'll be right back," Huey said, subdued, and left the room. Della hugged her knees tighter and sobbed. She had never wanted her children to see her like this. In her mind, they always saw her as the strong adventurer, the one who had everything together and was confident and charming.

Too soon, Huey returned with her twin. She didn't know why Huey had come back. She didn't want him here. She didn't want any of the triplets here.

"Della!" Donald exclaimed, hurrying to her side and hugging her. "Della, ssh. Ground yourself."

She laughed humorlessly. "I don't know how. And why is Huey still here?"

"Now you remember," Huey said sourly.

"Della…" Donald soothed and stroked her hair. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't!" she cried. "I can't tell my boys apart, I can barely stand to be in the room with all of you without freaking out, and I'm supposed to go on an adventure? I can't! I can't!"

She fought hyperventilating. "I'm supposed to be able to tell which boy is which and I can't even remember which damn color each one is!"

"You've only been here for a little while," he protested.

"I'm their mother!" she objected. "I wasn't there to see them hatch, I can't remember red, green, and blue, and you're more of a parent to them than I am!"

"Huey," Donald said. He didn't seem to need to say the rest; he took the hint and left. Della drew a shaky breath.

"I didn't want them to see me like this…" Della whispered. She clung to her twin.

"You raised them...and I got stuck on the moon…"

She collapsed into sobs.

"I know, I know," he said. "You were selfish. And you paid for it hundreds of times over. The boys don't hold it against you."

"Louie does," she managed through a tight throat. "At least, I think it's Louie. The one who's in love with the girl."

"Webby," Donald said patiently.

"Louie is angry at me for leaving," she breathed. "And I don't blame him. I'm a terrible mother."

"You need time," Donald said.

"I hurt him. They know that I think they're interchangeable."

She shook her head at herself. Donald rubbed her back. It was so odd-her twin had always been prone to freakouts and losing his temper. Now she was the unstable one. She was the wreck and Donald was patching her back up. She shuddered and hugged him back desperately.

"I'll talk to them."

Della laughed shakily. "I think the damage is already done, Donnie."

As soon as Huey came back into their room, he exploded. He kicked a book aside (it wasn't associated with the JWG, so it was safe to punt). Louie, who had been making sure his computer was fine after Poe hopping and tapping at it, looked up. Dewey was waiting near the front door for Webby to come home.

"What's up?" Louie said. "Since when do you attack books?"

"She doesn't know which is which!" he snapped. "She can't tell us apart, Louie!"

His chest heaved and he gasped back a sob. "She can't tell us apart."

"Well, when you abandon your kids for ten years and we're identical, what do you expect?" Louie asked, his voice thick with disgust.

"We're wearing different colored clothes! We sound different! We have different hairstyles! And she still can't tell us apart?"

"Why did you go see her alone?" he countered.

"I was worried about her after she vanished after breakfast," he replied. "And she was freaking out in her room. I tried to help but she insisted she needed Uncle Donald."

He plopped onto the bed and kicked another book aside. "She said Uncle Donald is more of a parent to us than she is."

"She's not wrong," Louie said. His beak twitched toward a weak smile. "Remember when Dewey called him 'Dad' by accident when we were three?"

"This is serious," he said and stared up at the bunk above his. Dewey must've been anxious about their sister.

"And I'm being totally serious," Louie said. "She calls herself our mother, but she hasn't proven it yet. I don't get why you and Dewey don't get that. Just because she laid our clutch doesn't mean she's our mom. I tried to see things your way. I tried to give her a chance. But if she's going to punt your heart around, then I'm not gonna put up with it."

Huey found himself in the strange position where he wanted to defend their mother to his brother but wasn't sure how. He had nothing to say. Louie left his bunk and joined Huey.

"You think Webby's okay?" Huey asked.

"She's good at putting everyone else's problems first," Louie said. "But it's not working right now. She's falling apart."

He got up off the bed. "Let's go watch TV or play video games. I don't wanna think about Mom or Webby right now."

"You're worried about her, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" Louie countered.

"Of course I am!" Huey said and knew he didn't need to clarify who they meant. "She's not supposed to be like this."

"No," Louie said quietly. "She's not."