"This is pointless, you know," said Della firmly. "I'm not going to tell you anything, especially with him here. And I know him well enough to know that he won't tell you anything with me here."

"Dat's da root of your problem right dere!" said Ludwig. Both Della and Donald, sitting on the couch opposite their uncle, gave him questioning glances. "Your behavior towards each ot'er is infantile at best, and downright hostile at vurst! Dis isn't the vay you vere when I last saw you, Della. And Donald, you're usually a little nicer to ot'ers! I remember back ven you two vere only yay-high, and you got along vonderfully! Vell… you fought a little, but dat's to be expected, you're siblings!"

"Uncle Ludwig," snapped Donald, "while I'm sure this is all psychologically interesting, this isn't what we supposedly need therapy for. My girlfriend dumped me, and Della… well, she's just a skank."

"Oh, is it lunchtime already?" mused Della. "You seem really hungry for a knuckle sandwich, Don-Don."

"Dose are just surface problems," said Ludwig. "Donald, your significant ot'er turns you down and den you just decide to start eating napkin sandwiches? Your uncle told me vat happened, and a nervous breakdown like dat takes years to build up. I t'ink dat da both of you have problems relating to ot'ers."

"I do not," huffed Della.

"Do you even have any friends?" Donald demanded.

"I…" Della stammered. "You don't… I mean…" Her face suddenly became softer. "You never really understood, did you? You were Mom's favorite."

"Of course I was! I was the one who wasn't the delinquent!"

"No, I mean even before that, even before Dad died. Mom always liked you best. I don't know why," she muttered, "but she did. That's why I was so close to Dad, you know…"

"Dad would hate you now," hissed Donald.

"He'd hate you," snapped Della.

Donald made a lunging motion towards his sister, but Della threw up her arms and caught him in air before he could make any further movements. "Don't act like you're not trying to gain his approval. You're pathetic, Donald! He's been dead nearly thirty years and you're still ass-kissing your way through the Navy, so good ol' Dad will like you as much as he liked me! I was Dad's favorite," she growled, "and you were Mom's, but then it was Dad who had to die."

"Are you saying you wished that Mom died instead of Dad?!" cried Donald, aghast.

"No! I wish they were both still alive and then maybe we'd be happy and not here yelling at each other… and maybe I'd actually have a job that I didn't need to accept from my own uncle and be living in my own house and be able to raise my children without anyone questioning my abilities, because they wouldn't need to!"

"Shut up," growled Donald.

"No, don't!" cried Ludwig. Both Donald and Della jerked their heads at him in surprise. They had nearly forgotten he was there. "Keep going! Dis is just the kind of information I vas hoping for!"

"And what exactly are you deducing from all this, Professor Von Drake?" asked Della in a mocking tone.

"Vell, to put it simply, you both have daddy issues."

Della and Donald stared at each other. "Daddy issues?" they both asked in disbelief.

"Uncle Ludwig," said Donald, looking back at him, "you can't possibly get me to believe that my reaction to being dumped by my girlfriend has anything to do with my father, who, as Della rightfully points out, has been dead for nearly thirty years!"

"Your father vas in the Navy, and died in da line of duty," said Ludwig matter-of-factly. "From dere on out, Donald, you've vanted to redeem yourself, and make up for vat I am assuming the lack of attention he gave you as opposed to your sister. You have problem vith your self-esteem!"

"Phooey! I do not!" huffed Donald.

"You sought out your girlfriend's approval as vell, and ven you did not receive it…" Ludwig chuckled. "Vell, I suppose ve don't have to go over dat again."

"Why you… that can't… I mean…" Donald suddenly grabbed the pillow at his elbow and forcefully threw it to the ground, causing Della to jump in shock. "Who cares why it happened? Because I don't! I just want to get back to my life and get over her and feel like myself again!"

Ludwig's smile was gone. "Donald, dese t'ings take time…"

Donald froze, his face slowly easing away from its angry scowl. Well, nuts on that. He had accidentally opened a wound that his mother had always warned him about whenever they'd visit their eccentric uncle Ludwig. "Whatever you do," Hortense had always warned to her two children, "don't mention your aunt Matilda to him."

"Why not?" Della had asked the first time.

"If it weren't for Aunt Matilda, he wouldn't be related to us at all!" Donald had pointed out.

"I know that, and he knows that," Hortense had said, sighing. "But he never speaks of her. In fact, I haven't heard him even mention her since her funeral, and that was years before you two were even born."

"Why doesn't he talk about her?" Della had asked.

"It's this old-fashioned way of thinking… many men in years past, when their wives died, never spoke of them again, out of respect, or perhaps because it was still too painful for them. Do you realize how many autobiographies are out there where the author never once mentions his wife, even if he had children?"

"Phooey, that's silly," Donald had said, with a dismissive wave of his arm. "That can't make handling it any easier."

"Maybe it does for some people," Hortense had said. "Maybe this is the best way for your uncle to deal with it. So respect that, and never, ever bring up your aunt Matilda in his presence, understand?"

Donald hadn't understood. Even now, years later, it made no sense. That first lecture from his mother had been before his father had died, and while Hortense hadn't clammed up from completely mentioning her husband after that, it was rare for her to speak of him without prompting from others.

But how could that help? If you lose someone you love, and never speak of them again, that doesn't make your time with them disappear.

…But the again, what can you do in a situation like that? No matter how you handle it, it doesn't change the fact that that person is dead.

Or, in Donald's case, gone.

Gone. He was single again. Maybe… maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all! True, he still loved Daisy, but what was the point of clinging on to that when she clearly did not want him? Yes, that was the ticket! Exchange his love of Daisy for love of someone else!

It was time to go on a blind date.

"I think I know what I have to do, Uncle Ludwig!" he said, his eyes brightening. "I know exactly what I have to do!"

"Good, good!" exclaimed Ludwig. "Vat is it?"

"I've got to find the newspapers and read the personal ads!"

Both Ludwig and Della stared at him.

"Well, it seems to me you got over her," Della finally muttered cynically.

"How can I get over her if I just mope around here all day? I've got to replace her! Find someone even better! Then I'll feel like myself again!"

"Donald," said Ludwig, with calculated logic, "I'm afraid you might be rushing into t'ings a bit…"

Donald snapped again.

"This is the perfect pace for me!" he shouted, glaring at his uncle. "You have your coping method, and I have mine! Let's see who finds another girl first!" And with that, he stormed out of the room.

"That bastard!" growled Della as soon as Donald was out of earshot. "Don't you worry, Uncle Ludwig, I'll kick his ass—"

"Dat's da kind of behavior ve're trying to correct in you," said Ludwig. He looked a bit taken aback from Donald's outburst, but seemed to be trying to make light of the situation.

"That kind of behavior is what makes me me," snapped Della. "You can't correct the core of my personality! He insulted you, and I—"

"Honorable intentions!" Ludwig interrupted with a laugh. "But you of course realize dat you've insulted him far more than he's insulted me, even in the short time I've been here. And your uncle Scrooge says you've been at each other long before I arrived."

Della glared at the door, each second lessening the likelihood of her charging after her brother.

"You're right, Uncle Ludwig… I do need to change… but I don't know how," she admitted, her face falling.

"Don't know how? You've already started!"

"How do you mean?"

"It's a cliché, but t'ings become cliché for a reason, you know: admitting you have a problem is da first step! And da first step is always the toughest!"

Duckworth suddenly appeared at the doorway. "Telephone, Miss Della."

"Oh… hang on…" Della grabbed the phone that was in the parlor that she and Ludwig were currently inhabiting. "Hello?… Yes… yes… Really? You mean it?… Oh my—thank you! Thank you so much!… A week? Yes, I'll be there. Thanks again, thank you very much! Alright! Good-bye!"

She hung up the phone, her face radiating joy. "I don't believe it!"

"Vat vas all dat about?" asked Ludwig.

"I've got a job—I'll be stocking groceries at a local supermarket… I've got a job!"

Ludwig looked confused. "I t'ought your uncle said you vere verking for him."

"Yes, but I need two jobs," said Della. "This one has flexible hours and I can still work for Uncle Scrooge for awhile. Hopefully not for too much longer… the pay is good," she quickly clarified, "but I don't approve of nepotism. I'm not going to work for my uncle for the rest of my life. I told him I wasn't going to accept his charity, and once I can—even just barely—make it without him, then I will!"

Ludwig smiled and put his hands on Della's shoulders. "My dear, you're going to be just fine."

Della blushed. "Thank you, Uncle."

O.o.O

But two evenings later, the house still did not seem "just fine"… at least not to Huey.

"What am I going tae do with you?" sighed Scrooge, looking more tired than angry. Huey shuffled his feet, but kept his gaze even. Being angry would be rather pointless right now, wouldn't it? He had lost count of how many letters from the principal he had brought to his uncle.

"Really, why? Why do you keep bringing these t'me? I've nigh about given up trying to understand you, Huey!"

"I keep bringing them because the principal keeps writing them up," said Huey, keeping his voice level. "Maybe you should go talk to him and ask him to stop. It's getting old for me, too."

"Huey, just how many of these blasted notes have ye brought me this year?"

"I don't know, okay? I'm sorry I'm disruptive! I'm sorry I can't be like Dewey and Louie! But school bores me, and—"

"Y'never used tae be like this," said Scrooge wearily.

"Of course not," said Huey, almost apologetically. "I've grown up."

"You're becoming just like…" Scrooge stopped himself.

"What?" demanded Huey. "Just like who? Just like Mom?"

"Aye!" Scrooge suddenly shouted. "Ye're just like your mother! She got into just as much trouble as you when she was your age! And do ye want to end up like her?"

"Hell no!" cried Huey. "And I'm not like her! I said I was sorry! What more do you want from me?"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry—you've said you were sorry the last five times, but y'never do anything aboot it!"

"No one ever gives me the chance to change!" shrieked Huey. "You wouldn't have it any other way, though, would you? Louie's the nice one and Dewey's the genius, and Webby, hell, I don't know, she's just your pretty little pet—but you've got to have someone to blow your top at! And all I'm saying is, I'm tired of always being the one who gets the short end of the stick around here!"

And without giving his uncle a second to explode in—justifiable—rage, Huey turned and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

O.o.O

Huey stormed down the hallway, fuming at himself. Well wasn't this all just peachy? Uncle Scrooge was right—he was just like his mother! Whining about his treatment and how no one would give him a chance—entitlement complex much?

But he was justified, at least a little. Huey really didn't have an adult with which to confide. When he was younger, there had been plenty—Uncle Scrooge, for one, but also Launchpad McQuack, Gyro Gearloose, and Mrs. Beakley. But now, all but Uncle Scrooge were gone—Launchpad had moved to St. Canard, and there were rumors he was working for SHUSH; Gyro had taken a research job way off in Tokyo; Mrs. Beakley was in the nursing home. They had been playmates and sources of inspiration to Huey as a child, but now he was on his own.

Well, Scrooge was still there, of course. And Huey, of course, still admired his uncle greatly and held him in high regard, but as he had grown up, and school just became dull to him… well, all those pranks had just been to lighten things up! He never really meant any harm by them! He was merely brightening everyone's dull existence! Uncle Scrooge hadn't seen things his way, though. Soon he regarded Huey a bit differently from the way he treated the other children, with an air of mistrust. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Becoming more and more estranged from his uncle, Huey became more and more troublesome.

He was simply adjusting to his role, that's all. No one else fought theirs, why should he fight his?

Because his sucked, that's why! And now, ironically, even with all the extra family members in the house, Huey felt even more isolated than usual. Louie had Della. Not that Huey thought of her as an ideal confident, but that hardly mattered—Louie did, and Louie was devoted to her. And now Dewey had Ludwig. His knowledge-hungry brother had immediately seen in Ludwig a like mind, and the two had bonded instantly. And Webby had had Scrooge all along.

Where did that leave Huey, then? With Donald? They had a lot in common, but Donald had simply been in no mind to converse with since he had first come. And he wasn't even here right now anyway—in his hare-brained attempt to forget about Daisy, he was on a date at that very moment.

So no, it was Huey all alone, Huey left to sort things out for himself, just Huey—

—and Webby.

Huey had by this time stormed his way into the sitting room, where Webby was curled up in an armchair, reading a book. She looked up and gulped—it would have taken an idiot to not deduce that Huey was riled. "Huey? What's wrong?"

The question had been asked out of concern, but it did nothing to soothe Huey—in fact, it only angered him even more. "What's wrong? What's wrong? How can you ask that? You've never known wrong in your life! You're what's wrong!"

"I don't understand," she said fearfully.

"Of course you don't. Nobody does. I'm the odd duck out here—always have been, always will be!"

"Huey?"

"Oh, just shut up, will you? You can do no wrong! I bet you could be sent to the principal's office twice as many times as I have and Uncle Scrooge still wouldn't be mad at you! He doesn't even care that you're dating before you've reached puberty!"

"Huey, what's wrong?"

"I said, SHUT UP!"

Huey lunged at Webby—

—and that was precisely that moment that Della walked in.

"Huey, what are you doing?" she demanded, yanking Huey away mere seconds before he could hit his surrogate cousin.

"Mom," Huey said, his face still red with fury but his eyes pleading, "you understand better than anyone else in this household what I'm going through. Everyone automatically assumes the worst in me!"

"Can you blame them?" said Della. "You're just like me—losing your temper at the drop of a hat! Why do you think no one in this household trusts me? You've inherited my temper, Huey, and trust me, if you don't work on keeping it under wraps, then—"

"What about Uncle Donald?" demanded Huey. "He's just like us too, and yet he isn't questioned for everything he does! He goes totally berserk in public and yet we all welcome him here with open wings! And she—" he pointed an accusing finger at Webby—"can just sit there and blink, and everyone instantly adores her!"

"I haven't done anything wrong," whispered Webby.

"Some people are just lucky that way," said Della coldly. "They're lucky that they can just live in whatever house they want to."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Webby repeated, looking at her hands, as if assuring herself rather than Della and Huey.

"What's going on in here?" cried a new voice. As you can probably imagine, with all the shouting, the other members of the household were unable to ignore the hot-headed mother and son. Scrooge, Ludwig, Dewey, and Louie were all standing in the doorway.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" cried Webby, her voice growing in hysteria. "Tell them, Dewey! Tell them I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You haven't done anything wrong—and that's what's wrong!" shouted Huey.

"Huey, knock it off!" snapped Della.

"Whose side are you on?" cried Huey.

"Side? I'm here to pick sides? Who to pick? The little porcelain doll who blinks and says 'mama', or the cocky bastard with an entitlement complex?"

"Did you just call me a bastard?"

"Well, you are one!"

"And whose fault is that? Oh, wait a minute, I believe that's YOUR fault, MOTHER!"

"Make them stop!" screamed Webby, jumping off the chair and running to—

—Dewey?

She threw herself in his arms, sobbing, and everyone, even Della and Huey, stared.

"Webby, why are you hugging him like…" Huey started.

"Like he's your boyfriend?" Louie finished.

"I'm inquiring the same thing," said Dewey uncomfortably.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Webby wailed. "Tell them, Dewey! Tell them, Uncle Scrooge! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"No one in this house would give you a second chance if you had!" shouted Huey. "Isn't that right, Mom? Isn't that right, Uncle Scrooge?"

"What is everyone's problem?" Della demanded. "You couldn't all just suddenly lose your marbles just because I arrived! It's like you said, Uncle Ludwig, there's been problems for years with you people! What's going on here, Uncle Scrooge?"

"But you were the catalyst that pushed everyone over the edge!" cried Huey. "Right, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Leave Mom alone!" cried Louie. "What did you want her to do—just ignore her family? What would you have done, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Would everyone just calm down?" shouted Dewey. "How can any of us think with all this drama? Uncle Scrooge, get everyone in line!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"Uncle Scrooge!"

"…Uncle Scrooge?" This was Webby.

For Scrooge hadn't said a word during any of this… what's more, it looked like he couldn't. "I'm not…" he gasped out between wheezing breaths, "your referee…" His hands clutched his heart and he stumbled forward.

Now it was Ludwig's turn to take action.

"Dewey, call an ambulance!" he shouted. "Huey, open a vindow, Louie, loosen his collar, and girls, help me move him to the vindow to get him some air!"

The ducks, in a state of shock, still somehow managed to stumble to their assigned tasks. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…" Della murmured, shaking her head in horror.

"Stay vith us, Scroogie… don't lose consciousness…" Ludwig pleaded.

"Professor Von Drake, is he going to die?" wailed Webby.

"Not if we administer proper treatment while ve vait for the ambulance to arrive. Plus," said Ludwig with a shaky smile in an attempt to reassure the terrified girl, "I don't t'ink your uncle is planning on expiring just yet. Right, Scroogie?"

Scrooge was still having great difficulty breathing, but he managed to choke out, "Not… on… your… life!"

"Oh my God, Donald!" Della suddenly shrieked. "He doesn't know! We have to find Donald!"

"Do you know vere he is?"

"Yes—he said he was at Francois's restaurant downtown—"

"Den go! Da children and I can handle dis until da paramedics get here."

Della rushed out of the room, trying to ignore the look she had seen in Ludwig's eyes. He had spoken optimistically to Scrooge and Webby, but Della had seen his doubt. And that worried look had made her blood run cold.

O.o.O

"So tell me about yourself, Danielle."

Donald's date, a pretty duck about five or seven years younger than he, smiled. "There's not too much to tell about myself… I'm a newspaper editor, I live on the edge of town—"

"Really, an editor?" asked Donald. "Have I seen your name in print before?"

"I doubt it," laughed Danielle. "I don't actually write stories or anything, I just make sure they all fit their columns."

"That sounds…" Donald let it hang, not wanting to say the word "boring".

"It's a very important job," said Danielle firmly, almost reading his mind.

"I'm sure it is!" Donald said quickly. "If you couldn't read the newspaper because the stories are all jumbled, then there would be no point to having it at all! So what are your hobbies?"

Danielle didn't hear Donald. In fact, she hadn't even looking at him, ever since she had heard a female's voice at the front of the restaurant ask, breathlessly, "Is Donald Duck here?"

"Did you hear me?" Donald demanded.

"What? Oh, sorry, no I didn't… I think there's someone looking for you."

"What?"

Danielle pointed behind Donald, and Donald spun around to see his worst nightmare come running towards him. "Donald—"

"Della?! What the hell are you doing here?" Donald exploded. "Why do you always have to ruin every aspect of my life?"

"Donald, you have to come home right away! Uncle—"

"I'm staying right here! You are not ruining my date!"

"You don't understand! This is important!"

"This is important! Don't talk to me about importance!"

To be fair, Della had, up until this point, been handling this crisis rather maturely, which is more than what could be said for Donald. However, she had just as short a fuse as his, and Donald had just struck her snapping point.

"Would you just shut the hell up and listen to me, you prick?!"

This, in turn, was snapping point number two for Donald.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" he roared, grabbing the knife—only a butter knife, thank God—and lunging towards Della. Della quickly grabbed his arm and bent it backwards, stopping the attack—but not to be undone, she forcibly kicked Donald in the stomach.

"Bastard!" she shouted.

"Bitch!"

As you can probably imagine, this barbaric display had attracted the attention of every single patron in the restaurant…

…even the ones who were only just entering.

"Donald Duck!"

Donald dropped the knife upon hearing the familiar voice and spun his head around. "Daisy!" he gasped.

The whole restaurant was filled with an eerie silence.

"You… you're impossible," Daisy finally hissed. "Thought you'd go for two girls at once, huh? Kill one tonight and keep the other one around until you blow your top again? I guess I should be glad I got out of this while I was still alive, huh?"

"No, that's not—She's my sister!" Donald spluttered, pointing at Della, who was sprawled on the floor, completely frozen from shock.

"Sister, aunt, fifth-grade music teacher, I don't care! Whoever she is, better her than me!" Daisy turned on her heal and marched out the door.

"Wait, Daisy! I need you!" Donald blurted out.

Danielle, the innocent bystander for all of this, shakily stood to her feet. "You know, Donald, let's just end this now before things get even crazier. You can have your… 'sister'." She headed for the door as well, at first slowly, but she was running by the time she reached it and barged her way out.

Donald, gasping for breath, glared at Della. "Look what you've done… you've ruined everything!" he growled.

Della stared at Donald, her eyes wide and filling with tears. "Donald, Uncle Scrooge just had a heart attack!"

"What?"

"That's what I came here to tell you," she said, her voice breaking.

Donald stuttered, his eyes growing as wide as Della's. "Are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious in my life!" Della choked out, burying her face in her hands.

And it was at that moment when the police barged in, a pair of handcuffs for Donald and a pair for Della.

O.o.O

(AN: Well, guess what I finally bought. That's right, I finally own The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And look what it did—it revived my inspiration for this story. I thought that my inspiration for this particular tale was permanently dead, but jeez, look how long this chapter is! And I finally got to the climax… took me long enough.

Although, in all honesty, the inspiration couldn't have come at a worse time. I've got a job this summer with twelve-hour work days. Yeah, I'm insane, but it pays good. Anyway, I really doubt that I'll be wanting to write much during my free time. You never know—my inspiration is nothing short of unpredictable—but don't be counting on updates until mid-August at the very earliest. Although I will try to write as much as my body will allow me. I mean, the ideas keep coming, and I know where I want to take this story now! Hallelujah!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you come chapter nine, whenever time and inspiration work hand in hand and let me get it posted!)