Donald felt this could be one of the most uncomfortable rides of his life as an adventurer. Curled up in the seat and wrapped in seat belts, his gaze wandered around the plane.

Della was piloting and chatting with Launchpad, who sat in the adjacent seat — since when had the two of them become so close? — while Scrooge stood between them, serving as the lookout that clearly both pilots were failing.

Goofy was more discreet in the seats across from him. The children were huddled around the dog, bright eyes filled with curiosity as he told them the story behind each photo in his wallet. He could actually perceive the way they waited for a photo that included him to know the memory — possibly shameful — that it possessed.

But if he knew his friend like the back of his wing, Donald knew that those images, as well as Mickey's, were in the oldest part of his cellphone gallery, far below many photos of Max. It was not something that particularly offended the duck, he understood very well what it was like to be gushing over the photos of their respective proteges.

(Feeling watched, Goofy looked up for a moment as the four ducklings admired the photos he had taken during the Powerline's concert years ago, appreciating the soft gaze his old friend had on the children, the same loving gaze that not only seen when he looks at his.

If he hadn't known Donald since they were both younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to think of him as the biological father of the kids. He could be the uncle, it's true, but having triplets under his care for ten years was worthy of admiration, especially when counting and accepting without hesitation one more girl.)

"You are pretty quiet."

But a British accent snapped both parents out of their reverie, causing Donald to discover Goofy's gaze on him for a second before continuing to tell stories, this time about a prom.

"Oh hello Mrs. B." Donald greeted the housekeeper as she sat next to him, surreptitiously glancing at the four children. Needless to say, he did it in a very strange way by being with the belts around him. A sad smile decorated his face.

On the other hand, Beakley's expression remained neutral, with a glint in her gaze that Donald didn't quite know how to describe; preferring to focus again on the kids to perceive the way her features softened.

"You know they're not upset, right?"

Donald looked up; he hadn't noticed the moment when he lowered it and, ignoring the damp burning that was beginning to appear in his eyes, he looked back at the housekeeper. Despite the severity that was commonly woven into her face, the sailor managed to perceive the small, almost ghostly smile on her face.

It was almost hilarious that they initially got along as well as oil and water. And look at them now, bonding like a pair of confidants.

"If I was them, I would be," he confessed feeling himself shrink in his seat, his feathers clinging to the seat's leather as if he might rip it apart.

Actually, he could; that is, he had faced greater threats for a fifth of his life, an airplane seat would be a piece of cake.

"After all, I took away from them a part of their life that currently makes them happy," and it was not the same to give it up on your own free will than to have it disappear like sand between your fingers, he knows. And it was better to think about that than the anger that tickled through his veins, all against himself "just because I was looking for an idealization of normality worthy of a sitcom."

Involuntarily, Donald grunted the last word. Even if it had been fun to feel on a TV show, he knew that sooner or later his trick would end up being discovered because those kids were smarter than he liked; he also did not feel happy to lie to his family — and to know that it was not the only lie he has made, the house of cards that he created with so much effort would collapse. Maybe it was better to keep the low budget and the recorded laughs on a show.

Even if he kept thinking about the life he left behind, it didn't mean that they were calm leaving theirs because what he was doing was more dangerous and it was certainly hypocritical and—

"Even if the method you used was unorthodox, I can see why you used it." Beakley's voice was the light that Donald's darkness needed, and he clung to it like a lifeline. "You love your family and you just want to see them safe and sound. I can say that I share the sentiment."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the gleam of amazement in Webby's eyes, leaning her elbows on an armrest as she listened to Goofy. He had never bothered to get to know the housekeeper better even if he lived on the pool at her house, and the fact that this was their longest talk planted something in his heart.

"And even if that fantasy were possible, I think we both know that they would not be happy with it" yes, leave the fantastic situations to cartoons and other kinds of programs for children to see "and it's incredible that I say this, but it seems like Scrooge knows what he does to keep them protected."

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, and the sailor stifled his laughter. To tell the truth, even he was surprised; in the adventures he engages in, he has not seen any of his nephews being pushed into a portal, shrunken, or into a block of magical ice.

It didn't hurt as much as it seemed.

"You're right."

"Of course, I'm always right," and they both laughed, like a couple of old friends who haven't seen each other in years.

How things changed in just a few months.

"By the way," of course, they couldn't stay on the same topic of conversation, Donald himself didn't feel so comfortable talking about him, "what did you ask the genius for?"

"Oh," a smile crept in, and the duck wondered if the spy had noticed the instant his feathers turned scarlet, "I just asked for a small, big detail. You will see it arriving at the mansion."

And oh, Donald won't be able to forget the happiness on Beakley's face at the sight of the family photograph. The photograph that included her.

One more lie.

The young duck's footsteps echoed across the silent 151st floor, one hand on his chin as he narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful and distant expression.

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mark on the ground, Old Cape," being pulled out of his thoughts by a small orb that appeared beside him, his reverberated voice playing with the superhero's nerves in an almost impossible way, "you've been like this since you returned from your mission in the 21st century, do you want to talk?"

But Uno was so worried, so nervous that Donald forgot that he was not a biological being but a machine. A machine that acted, thought, and spoke in such a human way that it burned, that Donald wonders at what moment hearing that voice had become the most important part of his day-to-day life, prompting him to keep putting on his kevlar suit to go out on a new adventure from which he does not know if he will be able to return alive.

When had he been so lucky to meet Uno that the mere thought of something happening to him in the 21st century terrified him?

"I saw myself there," he murmured after a few seconds of silence, listening to the buzz of a chair appearing behind him and feeling a pair of hands supporting his shoulders with such care that it made him uneasy, sighing heavily as he removed his mask and his fingers fiddled with the texture, "apparently I'll be a secret agent in the future."

"Sorry to interrupt you PK, but…" Sure, Uno was concerned. He had foreseen temporal paradoxes before leaving with Lyla.

"It's all I know, he— I didn't agree to tell more. You know, the current of space-time and all that paraphernalia" but his voice gave away his anguish, and a dull sound gave away the way he let his back hit the back of the chair "but…"

But. There was always a but.

"The Ducklair Tower wasn't there." No, his voice hadn't cracked, and Donald fought the urge to rip the cowl with the voice modulator off because it was the only thing that kept his identity secret when he's Paperinik.

Silently, Uno made his companion's sailor suit appear, letting another buzz roar in the newly silent secret floor.

"Something is going to happen, Uno, something is going to happen to you and I don't know what it is." He squeezed his hands, applying so much force that his trembling knuckles paled more.

"It's probably not that bad, Hero." But even if Uno was an AI, he managed to hear the uncertainty in his own modulated voice. Odin Eidolon peered into the recess of his database.

Donald dropped the mask onto his lap, slowly rubbing his temples. He looked exasperated, he felt terrified.

Paperinik had never been terrified, but under that mask, he was still Donald Duck, and Donald Duck had to act on his fear more than once if he wanted to continue his life.

"He said he missed you," and maybe that's what dismayed the superhero since his return to the 20th century, staring at the ceiling and feeling smaller than usual.

He knew that the seconds were scarce before they found themselves back home, the skyscraper that was the Ducklair Tower would cease to be a non-existent point to remain the base of Channel 00 as well as the defender of the city's; but even so… he— Donald from the future— Double Duck had used them to dedicate a few words to the artificial intelligence, even if he had been very specific in that he would not shut up facts.

Perhaps that was what kept Donald uncertain, not Paperinik, and it is that the very idea that something was happening with Uno unsettles him.

For the first time, Uno does not know what to say to lift the spirits of his partner, not even a one-liner. But it was impossible, the artificial intelligences did not waver, not even one as advanced as he — modesty aside. That did little to reassure Donald.

It could be the first time that something had alerted both the hero and the civilian.

"Do you really think something will happen, PK?" The AI questioned empathetically as a pair of hands helped the superhero remove his suit. His system did not allow him to believe, Uno was logical; and while the Pangea project proved that even he could be wrong, it was further proof of the influence that the biological duck has had on him.

But Uno didn't believe, he knew something had to happen for Odin to emerge, especially considering Donald couldn't connect the dots and figure out what took him a few minutes.

"I don't know," Donald growled, pulling on his sailor shirt with the help of Uno's arms — changing in front of the AI was already absolutely normal for Donald after months of doing it, often too hasty to even notice.

Still, that only demonstrated the confidence both partners had. So why did Uno feel he was lying to the sailor by hiding the truth about the billionaire businessman of the XXIII century? Why couldn't he tell him that he would never leave him alone — or how impossible it would be to get rid of him, even though clearly neither of them wanted that?

Why did the thought of losing Uno, and not by aging, terrify Donald so much?

That conversation felt very distant to the retired hero. But now that he was aware of the reason for his doubts, he wanted nothing more than to have a hint of tachyon that would allow him to travel to the moment when Uno was deactivated to avoid it.

And maybe hit Everett, who knows. He would literally have all the time in the world at his complete disposal.

But Uno was there, face to face. And Donald couldn't believe it, he barely could do it, but the last thing he wanted was to blink and have the intelligence— android in front of him disappear into thin air.

"H-How?" He whispered, feeling his voice harsher than usual. He was supposed to go to the abandoned Ducklair Tower to see the result of his wish. Instead, a robot perfectly built to match the appearance of an ordinary mallard stood in the middle of his door.

At this, Uno laughed. Donald didn't know how to feel; his voice did not have those reverberations that made it robotic, but one that could be heard in any duck that no one could suspect, the absence of walls causing no echoes that were familiar to the sailor to be heard.

It generated a strange feeling in his chest, but he didn't want it to fade away.

"The first piece of information that comes to my system is to be reactivated in the Tower "Uno confesses, and for some reason, he does not dare to say that among these are Donald's memories, those that he had managed to record and save in his database because well, those were personal "but this body had been in the planning for… a long time."

His voice becomes distant as well as his gaze, and the sailor does not dare to inquire; the mere idea that his best friend had this project planned without him even knowing since before he was deactivated, left a knot in the pit of his stomach. And he prefers to focus on the lump that rested rather in his throat and left him shaking.

"It's still a bit unstable, but what else could I do? I've missed you, Old Cape…" And hearing that old nickname again felt like a lunge, and Donald couldn't help but laugh sadly as he felt moisture running down his cheeks and the edges of his beak, rushing into the android's arms before he could even prepare himself, backing out of reflex.

As Donald cradled his face against the opposite chest, concentrating on the hum that was so familiar and strange at the same time, Uno couldn't help but smile wistfully as his arms wrapped around the smaller duck's body. The AI was already aware of the size of his old companion, but now that he could see it directly, he looked much more fragile than he might have thought.

The plumage felt soft, and though he could perceive the knots and some messy feathers, the delicacy of those that grew again could not be missed. Uno was no stranger to the ducks' molting, he had witnessed some from his partner back in the tower, but he had never realized how silky they could be.

Donald's sailor suit was now a gloomy black, had the occasional wrinkle, and exuded a faint stench of sea salt, sand, and dirt. He wasn't sure how he could identify the smells, but it must be his vast knowledge.

But the duck was trembling, sobbing in a shaky, broken voice. Or a voice more broken than usual. Not that he was critical.

"I missed you too," he confessed after a few seconds of silence, tentatively breaking the hug as he wiped his eyes. Only then could he notice that the eye bags had intensified, looking darker than he could remember "more than you think, old friend."

And even though One couldn't age, he recognized the symbolism behind the Peking duck's words and was beyond grateful for it.

—

"So… this is the new Donald Duck?" His wing scanned one of the framed photographs on the boathouse's stairs, and being able to feel was a feeling he didn't want to lose now.

And he was not able to stop smiling — not that he wanted to — when he appreciated the affectionate happiness on his partner's face when he kept the nephews he had heard so much about tucked in, detecting a newspaper that read blizzard in its headline.

It seemed like yesterday that Donald walked into the secret story, with a smile more radiant than he could remember, shouting from the rooftops that he would be an uncle. What he would give to go back to those times when everything was simpler and their only concern was facing Evronians and time pirates.

"It's true that a lot has changed since you left." Rubbing his arm in a nervous habit, Donald refused to leave his partner's side. Occasionally he could be heard sobbing bitterly, betraying that he had cried previously, "I would have been fascinated you were here, you would have experienced as much as I have."

However, the android had years of knowing the sailor to know that, despite the nuance that had colored his voice, no signals or double meanings were detected that directly blamed him. Donald was better than that, and they both knew it was neither their fault that he found himself disconnected and cut off from his side when he had no say in the matter.

But the would doesn't exist. The damage had already been done and the wounds were already scarred, and with the presence of Uno Donald felt as if those scars were being treated despite being carved into his skin for ten years. It was as if the android was able to heal them almost automatically, and he was more than grateful for that little detail.

The bond between them was that strong.

"But I'm here now," he murmured, hugging his partner by the shoulder. And the sensation was so new that it was surprising to both of them, yet it didn't bother either of them, Uno's hand settling as if it had been made to be there — and maybe it was. After all, the body was built by Uno himself. "And I have no intention of leaving again…"

And it's not that the smallest duck wanted to, chuckling softly as he leaned his body against Uno's, an almost comical sight given the difference in height.

"I am glad to hear that."

Uno's gaze continued to roam the photos, realizing that neither Scrooge nor Della was in them — except for a framed photo, prior to the hatching of his friend's nephews.

"He's Huey," Donald spoke suddenly, pointing to the red-clad triplet, and in an instant, the android had already registered that data, "he's Dewey, and he's Louie. Is more like their nicknames, but it is how they usually identify themselves."

The intelligence said nothing, but he knew he didn't need words to show how grateful he was that he took the trouble to help him identify the triplets. It was easier and faster to search the system for them, but it was not as detailed as hearing it from his best friend and taking into account the way his voice softened when talking about them.

"And it seems that the family has grown," he added, pointing to the new family photo, seeing that in addition to Donald, the children, Scrooge and Della — who now had a leg made entirely of metal, were a girl and two ducks, the latter stout.

When the other duck followed his sight he made an affirming sound, gently taking his arm to lead him in front of the photo.

"Yes, she is my honorary niece Webby." He pointed to the duckling, and of course, Uno smirked. The hero had always had a soft spot for children, he could leave him one on his care and it wouldn't take him long to spoil them "and they are Launchpad and Mrs. B. She may look a bit strict, but she's nice; something tells me you two will get along very well."

Of course, it hadn't taken long for his tone to turn to mock, and though the android didn't fully understand what he meant, he couldn't help but laugh with him. Like the old inside jokes they both used to have, and the fact that they will escalate now that they were together again filled him with satisfaction in an inexplicable way.

"In that case, I'm looking forward to meeting them, Old Cape."