Disclaimer: I don't own Ducktales!

Title: Pulling a Louie

Summary: After Louie gets hurt in an attempt to nab more cash, Scrooge forces him to shadow him at work, and the two begin to realize they're a lot more alike then they might prefer.

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Donald takes him to the doctor, and the doctor pronounces his leg all better; which, honestly, Louie could've told him. Donald acts like he's just been told he's gonna live after a cancer scare, pulling him to his chest and blubbering into his feathers. Louie struggles a bit, mostly just for show, then relaxes, pressing his beak to his sailor suit, smelling the salty sea air. It's not half bad.

"You know, I'm thinking of keeping the cane." Louie tapped it along the ground all the way to the car. "It makes me look dapper."

Donald chuckled. "You look like Scrooge."

He whipped the back door open, chucking it inside with a sour look. He climbed into the front and belted up, crossing his arms. "Whelp, never mind all that."

They pull out and hit a red light a block later. Donald sighed and tapped the top of the steering wheel.

"Louie," he prompted. "Did you and Scrooge have a fight?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you look ready to burn your cane."

"I mean, I can't deny that." Louie slid down in his seat. "He's mad at me because I don't care about mom."

Uncle Donald winced. "Oh. That."

He groaned. "Not you, too."

"I'm not mad." He reached over to ruffle his feathers fondly. "I just... wish you'd give her a chance."

"Hmm," Louie said. "I wish she'd be a decent mom and not have left us without even a goodbye, but we can't always get what we want."

Donald sighed, scowling, and Louie hated how much his mean words to mom hurt him. But Louie had tried to apologize before, and that had only made it worse. Uncle Donald hated pity more than most anything else, and no matter how much he could try to convince him otherwise, that's how he always saw it.

"Huey? Dewey?" Louie called as he moseyed his way into the mansion, hands in his pockets. "Man, it's been so long since I've experienced the joys of no work. I don't even know where all the other not-working people hang out anymore. What tomfoolery have I missed? How many things has Dewey gotten himself stuck in? What new drama show has Huey sewn his heart and soul into, only to realize it was canceled three seasons in? How many new ways has Webby learned to kill an adult? I need answers, people."

"Speaking of answers; I got a question," a voice said wryly, almost making Louie fall flat on his face. "Why're you talking to yourself?"

Louie looked up to find Lena looked down at him from the top of the main stairwell, her back leaned against the railing. "Oh. Hey, Lena."

"Sup."

"I'm a newly freed man, I'll have you know," he said as he climbed the steps to meet her. "I've yet to tether myself to this new reality. Why're you here, anyway?"

"I'm having a tea party with Webby. Duh."

"And you're out here... why?"

Lena shrugged. "I can't find the bathroom."

"We have more than one of those."

"Is that so? They seem to be hiding from me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure you can't use those supposed 'magic powers' of yours to locate one?"

The girl snorted, shoving his shoulder. "And risk setting off all the sigils and junk that old man has around the place? No thanks."

Louie paused, glancing around for anyone incoming. He wasn't sure how long Lena had been gone from Webby's tea party, but it was safe to assume she would soon come looking for her. He had to make this quick.

"Oooh, I know that look. That's the 'I want to talk about business' look."

"I don't do business anymore, actually. I got out of that evil work junk."

"What a survivor." Lena whistled as she she propped herself up on the railing. "Alright, celery stick, spill it."

"You know how you said I was planning trouble?"

"When I read your mind? Sure."

"You didn't read anything. It's like Huey said: I've always got trouble planned." Louie bent his head in. "How serious were you about being up for it?"

"Dude," Lena said. "I joke about many things. I joke about magic. I joke about my apparent lack of parental guardianship. I even joke about the clear warning signs I've displayed pertaining to depression. But I don't joke about trouble."

"What about trouble that's..." He searched for the right word. "Dangerous?"

"Dangerous as in deadly?"

"Dangerous as in illegal."

"Well, shoot. Laws haven't stopped me from having fun before. I don't see why they should now." Lena held up a finger. "I demand fifty-fifty of whatever trouble we're starting, be it graffiti to money."

"It's money. A lot of money. And I'm only willing to give forty-sixty."

"So help me Louis is you skimp me on cash I will dye your feathers neon green and leave you to the cops."

"Okay, okay!" He raised his hands for peace. "Fifty-fifty. Just... don't do any of those things."

"Deal."

They shook on it.

Author's Note: Next chapter'll have a lot more meat to it, I believe. =)

-Mandaree1