"Hellwo, Webra Walters here. And today I am weporting the big scandal wegarding Duckburg's wery own Scwooge McDuck."

The dog woman frowned, walking as the cameraman followed her.

"As you may have alweady heard fwom earwier, we have new evwidence that Scwooge McDuck has been covworting awound with a mystewious new male wover." Webra stopped in her tracks as she held the microphone closer to her face, looking serious into the camera. "That's wight, viewers, Scwooge McDuck- wichest duck and well known phiwlanthwopist… is gay. And today we are hitting the stweets to hear what people like YOU have to say about this devwelopment."

The camera panned to an old fashioned vehicle idling next to a sidewalk. A plump woman sat in the driver's seat. The thin black mask covering her eyes did nothing to disguise from anyone living in Duckburg; Werbra approached Ma Beagle fearlessly. Ma Beagle watched the small news team, warily.

"Ma'am, would you mind sharwing your thoughts on the Scwooge McDuck scandal with our viewers at home?" Webra tipped the microphone in her direction, and an expression of amused relief settled across her face.

"Well sure! Scrooge McDuck, a homosexual this whole time, and right under our noses. Why, I feel so lied to! Robbed! Swindled!"

The camera shot up and zoomed out as an alarm sounded and a door slammed open, to reveal they were filming in front of the local bank. Three burglars, all with a striking resemblance to the woman sitting in the car, hoisted large bags over their shoulders. and bolted down the steps.

"It's a real shame." The camera jerked back and focused on the woman, who had resumed her thoughts on the matter, as if nothing was happening. The only indication that she noticed anything was amiss at all, was the fact she had to almost yell now to be heard over the alarm.

Ma Beagle shook her head sadly. "Scrooge McDuck, of all people, giving our city such a bad name."

"Yeah, that's our job!"

The camera jerked again, and then zoomed out , as the three burglars hopped into the car- bags of stolen cash and all- causing the car to shake. No sooner had they done so, the car's tires squealed and they took off down the street and out of sight.

The scene cut from there, as the camera showed another location altogether. In the shot is a very attractive duck woman- attired in a green wide shouldered suit and red skirt. Her sultry eyes looking off screen, as she crossed her legs and leaned back into her hair.

Webra Walter's voice could be heard, while she wasn't on screen, as she addressed the woman.

"Do you mind telling the viewers at home who you are, and how you know Scwooge McDuck?"

"Why, of course. My name is Millionara Vanderbucks, and I am the head of the Vanderbucks Corporation. I met Scrooge McDuck when he came to my office, trying to buy something or another at the time from me. From there, it wasn't soon before we became entangled romantically and engaged."

"So," Webra began slowly," you would say you knew McDuck quite intimately then. Does this whole affwair of his come as a surpwise for you?"

Vanderbucks scoffed.

"Not really. It explains why he left me at the altar."

"I see. Scwooge McDuck, confirmed homosexual, attempted to wed you. Do you think it was a cwever yet poorwy executed pwoy to get his hands on your fortune?"

Vanderbucks looked directly at the camera now, eyes wide, expression shocked mixed with something unreadable. This only lasted for a split second, before she cast her cold gaze off camera again, and folded her arms tightly across her chest.

"There's no doubt in my mind." she replied, coolly.

The camera turned back to Webra.

"Astonishing. Scwooge McDuck's chawachter grows dawker and dawker. Stay tuned; next we speak to the mother of Mr. McDuck's scandawous wover."

Next shot was that in a darken and small room, the only light given was from a glow off screen. In the frame was the reporter, sitting onto a very poorly cleaned couch, as a M'ma Crackshell sat next to her- slumped and eating a bowl of popcorn as if she was completely alone in her home.

Webra Walters cleared her throat.

"Mrs. Crackshell, is it twue you told Duckburg PubwicWadio that you were the mother of a Fenton Crackshell- accountant and secwet wover of Scwooge McDuck?"

The duck woman, still staring offscreen, answered dully inbetween bites.

"Uh-huh."

Webra blinked, having expected a little more than that. Still, she put back on her game face as she carried on.

"Er, yes. What's your son like? What do you think of your son's affwair and the allegations made against both him and McDuck?"

M'ma shrugged, still not bothering to face the camera.

"I 'unno. Fenton's happy, so I'm happy; it's a mom thing." she continued, in that same bored drawl. "I'm staying out of it. Let me know when they get married and I get to move into Mr. Big Buck's fancy mansion."

Webra jumped on that right away.

"Are you saying that there's marwiage in the pwanning?"

M'ma finally turned toward the woman on the couch, a look of sorrowful desperation on her face.

"Listen, Webra, I've been waiting all week to find out if Laura's long lost half brother is dead, or only pretending to be dead, and living well in Puerto Rico. If I miss this, I don't know what I'll do!"

For once, Webra was silent for a moment. She glanced at the television, and then back to the camera.

"Stay tuned for more."

The camera cut to black for a second. When the picture returned, they were still in the dark, messy trailer. Webra and Mrs. Crackshell sat on the same couch, and most were crying. M'ma handed Webra a box of tissues, which she accepted gratefully, before noticing the camera, and launching herself off of the couch to stop it.

The camera faded to black again.

Cut to outside once more- this time at a fancy eatery, out on the restaurant's deck. In the shot was a latticed metal table, an umbrella in its center, as it shaded the lavished duck sitting under it. The old duck sipped from his tea cup as the name 'John D. Rockerduck: entrepreneur' was highlighted to the right of the screen. The familiar voice of the reporter could be heard over the tweeting of birds.

" , you are a member of the billionaire's club in town, third wichest duck in the world, as well as owning many wivaling corpowations to McDuck Industwies. You would say you have gwown to know Scwooge McDuck pwetty well, wight? "

"Something of the sorts, yes."

"Then were you surpwised to hear about his curwent scandal?"

Rockerduck raised a brow at this, before putting down his cup onto the table- it giving off a tiny clunking noise in the process. The mallard readjusted his large circle-lensed glasses as he looked at the reporter off screen.

"Surprised? I was completely shocked! Why, I can hardly believe it!"

"Because you think they're false accusations?"

"Because no gay man would allow himself to DRESS like that! Have you seen what he wears? I swear he's been wearing that old drabby potato sack he calls 'clothes' since the 40's." The duck sighed, shaking his head sadly. "But I guess those sort of people come in all kinds, huh? One time my personal tailor told me he didn't know what Coquilles Saint-Jacques were. Honestly, almost fired him on the spot! They're supposed to know better!"

There was a pause as Webra tried to figure out to do with all of that information.

"I, um, yes. So… does that mean you think he's heterosexual after all?"

Rockerduck glared.

"Didn't you hear a word I just said? He's the biggest deviant I know! Dating a guy that works for you? Talk about bad business." He sneered, picking up his tea cup once more. "He was filth when he asked my father for help back when he was a penniless gold digger, and he's filth now!"

The camera panned as it followed Webra, until the rich duck was out of the shot. She turned toward the camera, expression calm, but her voice dripped with blame and accusation when she spoke.

"And there you have it. In the eyes of the evewy day citizens of Duckburg, Scwooge McDuck has been weduced to an untwustworthy, gowd digging deviant. This has been the Daiwy News with Webra Walters, tune in at seven to find out how this may be affecting Scwooge McDuck run businesses thwoughout the city."


Scrooge McDuck had dug himself out of many holes in his life- both figuratively and literally- but this pickle was proving to be a bit more difficult. His mind rapidly processed the situation over and over again, thinking up half-baked plans and immediately tossing them out the window, mumbling to himself all the while.

The boys had only ever seen this happen a few times- their Uncle Scrooge pacing so relentlessly that he was quite literally wearing a rut in the floor. They had been watching him, unnoticed from around the corner, for fifteen minutes now. They couldn't remember ever feeling so guilty in their lives, and it was eating at them terribly.

Fenton had been watching the scene unfold from the other side of the room- out of the pacing duck's way. The accountant was a remorse ridden nervous wreck. The phone was ringing nonstop, as if everybody in Duckburg was busy trying to call the mansion. The young duck bit at his fingertips, obsessively counting every time Scrooge would complete a full circle- just to distract himself from the constant ring.

1,367… 1,368… 1,369…

Finally Fenton couldn't take it anymore as he just needed to break the dreaded tension.

" So… phone just keeps ringing, huh? Who knew all it took to get this popular was to get your name in the papers?"

Scrooge turned and glared at him so coldly, he gulped. Scrooge's cane shot out, the end hooking around the back of his neck, and he was yanked forward so suddenly, he almost tripped over his own feet. He was brought face-to-face with the old mallard, and while normally this would not have been a position to complain about, the look he was getting froze his heart.

"Look here, Crackshell; you're the reason I'm in this mess to begin with. You and your stubborn refusal to take 'no' for an answer! So the last thing I wanna hear are your jokes!"

Fenton was released, and Scrooge went back to pacing.

"I need a plan... I need time to think!" Scrooge announced- to Fenton or to himself was unknown.

The old duck's ponderings would have to be put on hold, as the sound of tiny webbed feet running into the room was enough to disturb him from his thoughts.

"P-please don't yell anymore at Fenton, he didn't do it!" Louie was in tears, as his brothers were behind him sobbing just as violently. "It's OUR fault, Uncle Scrooge!"

Scrooge did a double take as he looked at the children with wide eyes, not exactly sure how to handle what was unfolding in front of him.

"WHAT? What in the world are you three goin' on about?"

The triplets sniffled, wiping their noses on their sleeves. It was Duey, while distressed enough that he hiccupped and sputtered, as he tried to explain.

"How… how all the newspapers found out! W-we… We were t-talking with Gizmoduck," he paused as he sobbed some more inbetween breathes. "And… and… and…"

"Somebody must've heard us talking talking 'bout you guys!" Huey exclaimed loudly as he finished his brother's words.

Fenton swooped in with the speed and caring of a well-seasoned mother, wrapping the three ducklings in a comforting hug. While it did momentarily get their minds off of being sad, it was more from the surprise of the sudden intrusion of their space than actual comfort.

"Absolutely not! There's no way that's the case and how it is! I happen to know Gizmoduck personally, and he'd never be so careless as to let someone overhear you guys!"

Even if, Fenton realized, it was possible, there was no reason to go slinging blame now. Especially not at the poor kids!

"Besides! You three are super sneaky and careful, and ya got the 'Capture the Flag Six Times Champion' badges to prove it!"

The kids nodded slowly at this, and even began to smile a little.

"Yeah, we are pretty sneaky..."

"And careful! It couldn't have been us, I guess!"

"...Could it?"

Scrooge looked down at the four pairs of hurt, hopeful eyes he was faced with, and his heart ached. He fell to one knee, and held out his arms, and his nephews were released so they could go to him.

"No, of course not." Scrooge assured them, as they huddled against him like they hadn't done in a few years. "I don't believe you three are to blame for a second!"

Scrooge knew better than anybody that Glomgold played dirty... no, he got his information in ways a lot more underhanded and dastardly than simply overhearing a conversation. It was just figuring out HOW he did it that was currently eluding him.

The old drake pushed those thoughts aside for the moment, as he focused on his nephews instead. He cleared his throat as he let go of his boys, using his cane to get back up.

"I don't want ye lads worrying about a thing. It's not the first time Glomgold has tried to pull the wool over my eyes, and I doubt it'll be the last." Scrooge's reassuring smile turned serious. "I just gotta figure it all out, is all."

"Can we help out?" Louie asked hesitantly, as he pulled out a certain book he always kept on him for emergencies. "Maybe the Junior Woodchucks' guide has something that might help."

"It's a nice thought, Louie, but I doubt your old book can help me from losing me money."

"I don't know about that!" It was Fenton who this time chipped in with his two cents, as he pointed enthusiastically at the book in the child's hands. "I've been helping the boys get badges for two months now, and I swear it knows everything! Why, it even told me the perfect way to get M'ma to start helpin' out around the trailer! And how to finally tie my shoes!"

Scrooge glared.

"You don't WEAR shoes."

"But it taught me how t'do it when I wanna start!"

Scrooge took a deep breath, and let it out, slowly. It was alright, this was fine, keep your temper under control, old boy.

"Alright, tell you what. You boys go ahead and take a look, see what the book has to say. I'll be right here if y'find anything."

Huey, Duey, and Louie were smiling genuinely now, stood side by side, and flashed a Junior Woodchuck salute.

"You got it, Uncle Scrooge! You can count on us!"

Scrooge and Fenton watched them scurry out the door, book in hand. The old mallard walked over to his chair, and slumped into it with a tired sigh.

"Now I need an actual idea."

The younger mallard opened his bill, prepared to say something, when he just as quickly closed it. Fenton did this a few times, before finally clearing his throat as he worked up the courage to speak to the troubled duck in front of him.

"I, well… I got some ideas, if you wanna hear 'em."

"I don't." Scrooge retorted curtly. Fenton chose to ignore this as he carried on anyway, his own stubbornness kicking in.

"What about hiring an image consultant? Ya know, somebody that's paid to twist and rework bad press into good press?"

"And pay MORE money?" McDuck didn't even stop to look at the other duck as he scoffed at the idiocy of the plan. "I'm losing enough as it is; I don't want to HAND my fortune away!"

The fact the older mallard hadn't told him to shut up entirely was enough encouragement for Fenton to continue, as Scrooge walked past him.

"Then what about pressing charges against Glomgold? I mean, something about spying on people HAS to be illegal! Probably!"

Scrooge's frustration, while kept at a slow simmer, boiled over when the phone rang again, only adding to the irritation of Fenton's well intended, but overall pointless, prattling. An idea man, Fenton was not.

Fenton yelped and then was silent, as the phone crashed against a nearby wall. He spun around to see Scrooge hunched over his desk, a stormy expression on his face. Fenton gulped.

"Oh. No, then? Okay, how about we-"

"Fenton, stop. There is no 'we'. I'm the one suffering from this, my image, my businesses, my money! Not you! I'll fix this mess on my own. Now will you please get out so I can hear myself think!" Scrooge punctuated this with a fist slammed on his desk, and Fenton jumped.

Fenton stood in the middle of the room, staring at the back of the much older ducker. Just… leave? Leave when his boss, his paramore, his favorite person in the whole wide world needed help the most?

Crackshell surprised even himself at the next words that came out of his bill.

"No."

"No?!" Scrooge swiveled around in his chair to glare at the defiant duck. "What do ye mean by 'no'?"

"I mean I'm not leaving, Scroogey. Can't you see? This isn't about you, this is about us!" Fenton held his ground as he continued to explain where he was coming from. "It's about our relationship. It's you dating me that gotcha in the spotlight here- and I have every right to help come up with a way to solve the problem as you do!"

Scrooge's hot anger quickly skyrocketed into a bubbling rage; not only had Fenton opposed him, but he was also technically right. He shot up out of his chair, and he looked almost as if he were ready to spring from the desk to attack Fenton.

"I realize that!" the old mallard bellowed. "But what YOU don't seem to realize, is I'M the one who'll be paying for it when YOU screw it all up!"

Fenton stood there, bill agape. Where he had felt defiant and sure a moment ago, now he was hurt, humbled, and heartbroken. Because Scrooge had voiced one of his biggest worries; that despite how much he felt he had grown and learned, he was still- and would always remain- a screw up.

And as surprising as it was for even him, this caused Fenton to glare back. All this time their relationship had been the younger mallard walking on eggshells as he tried to do everything to please his boss- heck, that had even been their PROFESSIONAL relationship since day one! All Fenton had wanted to do was show how much he cared, how happy Scrooge made him. And it was always about what HE wanted, never had the old duck ask HIM about his feelings. Or if he wanted to go out for lunch, or make any real effort at all! And then when a hitch came along, when their relationship was made scrutiny by the rest of the world… Scrooge didn't even think Fenton could be trusted enough to fix the problem. That he wasn't an equal, even in their own relationship.

The thought stung, and it was enough to fuel the accountant's own anger as he yelled back.

"Ya know what, fine! If… If I'm such a screw up to you, maybe I should just leave after all!"

Scrooge crossed his arms, not even phased.

"Aye. That's the best idea you've given yet!"

Fenton started walking backwards towards the door, continuing to yell.

"Here I am, leaving! Goodbye, you cantankerous grump! This is me, ol' Fenton Crackshell, exiting stage right! "

"Good- and don't come back!"

"I WON'T!"

Fenton slammed the door to the room, loud enough for it to leave an echo throughout the mansion. And with it all his passionate rage vanished, as he realized in horror what he had just done.