A/N: 6,073 words. Four character's POV's. And a whole lot of feels.
—…—…—…— Scrooge McDuck —…—…—…—
Drake, claiming to have skills of a True Outdoorsman — the capital letters very strongly implied — had disappeared into the forest for about an hour with only Launchpad and Gosalyn for company. Scrooge was fairly certain that these "True Outdoorsman" skills were invented rules of survival from the mallard himself, but the group had managed to bring home a healthy sizable tree, so he didn't press the issue. He had certainly seen stranger things; who was he to judge Drake's Wilderness Knowhow?
(The mallard had a way of speaking that allowed you to hear the grammar and punctuation in his sentences; it was impressive, really. Scrooge had never met anyone who was so verbally precise.)
Everyone crowded around the tree as Launchpad righted it in its proper place, some remarking on its high quality — which caused Drake to preen — and others unpacking the decorations from their boxes.
The owners of the cabin had offered to provide a fully decorated tree with all the other included amenities, but Scrooge had declined. And he was grateful for that decision now. Decorating the tree had been a long standing tradition in the McDuck household.
He glanced over to Donald, who was untangling the string lights, muttering under his breath when he encountered a particularly difficult knot in the cable.
Scrooge was not an overly affectionate man. But Christmas seemed to bring out his sentimentality in full force. As he observed his nephew, he had little trouble in imagining Donald as a younger — and much smaller — duckling, decorating a tree with his twin sister.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
"Uncle Scrooge!" came the small distressed voice of Donald from the sitting room where Scrooge had left the children not five minutes ago. He removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his bill before loosing a long sigh.
"I'll call you back, Carl."
"We are closing soon, Mr. McDuck."
"Ten minutes."
He threw the receiver down and scooted back from his desk which was covered in official papers dotted with red pen marks.
How difficult was it to decorate a tree? It was fairly straightforward; why was he being called away from his work again to tend to these children? He hoped Hortence and Quackmore would return from their shopping excursion soon. He'd already wasted far too much time on the Duck family last night when he'd welcomed them to the mansion and they'd all gone to dinner to start their Christmas holiday. Scrooge had important — time sensitive — work to complete. If he couldn't get all his paperwork filed properly by today, he couldn't take out the loan, and he'd have to completely scrap his trip to the Maldives.
'This,' Scrooge thought as he replaced his glasses and stomped down the hallway, 'is why I'm not going to have children.'
"What now, lad?" he snapped as he entered the sitting room. "Time is money, which I do not have enough of."
Donald and Della stood frozen, looking up at their uncle in trepidation. Della was half wrapped in string lights while Donald sat amongst boxes of carefully wrapped ornaments, a pout on his small face.
Della suddenly grinned and continued to untangle the lights. "Of course you have enough money, Uncle Scrooge! You live in this big fancy house. And you have servants!"
"Aye," Scrooge acknowledged, glancing between the twins to ascertain why his presence had been requested. "But money is not just about living costs, lass, it's about investments. I hardly expect a child to understand." He waved away whatever Della was going to say and focused on Donald. "What did you need?"
The boy sniffed and pointed at Della. "She's not letting me help! She says—"
"That is what you called me for?" Scrooge thundered. "I have paperwork that needs filing in," he checked his pocket watch, "thirty minutes and you pull me away because you can't get along with your sister?"
Donald shrank under the force of his uncle's ire, but Della dropped the string lights and put her hands on her hips. "Don't talk to Donald like that!"
"Then let him decorate somethin' on this blasted tree!" With that, Scrooge turned on his heel and returned to his study, slamming the door shut behind him.
After convincing the bank manager to stay for an extra half an hour, Scrooge managed to get all his paperwork approved. Feeling lighter, he emerged from his study to search for Duckworth. He had to be around somewhere; Scrooge needed the car at 8:00am sharp tomorrow morning.
While hunting for his butler, Scrooge passed the sitting room where he'd left the kids. He should probably check on them, make sure they hadn't killed one another or set the place on fire, or whatever other mischief children got themselves into.
The room was intact and the tree fully — though sloppily — decorated. The lights weren't evenly dispersed, the ornaments weren't spaced very well, and the whole top half of the tree was bare. As if that was as high as they could reach. Why didn't they use a ladder or step stool? After a quick glance around the room, he realized there wasn't one.
Something like guilt clawed at him. They had probably been too afraid to ask for anything after he'd yelled. He deserved this sad little tree with it's cluttered decorations; it would serve as a reminder to keep his temper in check.
He turned, desperate to make his escape before anyone wandered back into the room, but was stopped by Donald, who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide, hands fiddling with the star that was supposed to sit at the top of the tree.
Scrooge took a shaky breath before smiling sheepishly. He didn't know why he was so nervous. "Seems yeh figured out who would decorate the tree."
Donald nodded, eyes dropping to the star in hand. "Just need to put the star on top. But I'm not tall enough. Della went to find Mrs. Beakley cause I couldn't find Duckworth."
"I could help ye, lad," Scrooge heard himself say. Donald's eyes snapped up to his face, hesitation written in their depths. It wasn't until then, when the possibility of rejection was before him, that Scrooge desperately hoped for forgiveness. He didn't deserve it, but he wanted it. If only because it would wipe the fear from Donald's face.
"I-I don't wanna bother you," Donald said haltingly, as if choosing his words carefully.
Scrooge kneeled down so the boy wouldn't have to crane his neck back to look at him. Donald clutched the star to his chest as if afraid it would be torn away. Scrooge schooled his expression into what he hoped was a soft one.
"'Tis not a bother. And — I'm sorry fer yelling at you. Sometimes my temper gets the better o' me."
Donald's eyes brightened in understanding. "Mine, too! Mom says I gotta learn to control it, but sometimes I just can't."
Scrooge chuckled. "Yeh come by it honestly, lad. The McDuck temper is legendary."
"Really?"
"Oh, aye. Yer ancestor for whom your named, Donald McDuck, would grow so angry when playing golf that James II outlawed the sport."
Donald's eyes were round, this time in amazement, and he took a step closer to Scrooge. "The whole sport?"
Scrooge nodded. "The whole sport. Yer mother, too, has quite a temper on her."
"Mom?" Donald asked.
"'Tis probably why she wants you to try and control it. But don't let her fool you; she's a spitfire."
Donald smiled and the guilt unclenched around Scrooge's heart, replaced with a warmth.
Glancing down at the star in his hands, Donald sighed then straightened his shoulders, looking up at Scrooge. "Will you help me put the star on the tree, Uncle Scrooge?"
He grinned. "O' course, lad." Scrooge hoisted his nephew up onto his shoulders and walked over to the tree, leaning in close so Donald had less space to stretch across.
Securing the star, Donald watched to make sure it would stay in place as he asked, "What's Mom done when she's angry?"
Scrooge chuckled again. "There was an incident at Killmotor Hill where she chased away the United States Army with just a broom."
Donald leaned forward to look at his uncle in upside down shock, causing Scrooge to burst out laughing.
"I couldn't find Mrs. Beakley— hey!" Della ran into the room. "You got the star on!"
"Uncle Scrooge helped," Donald said, looking back up at the tree.
Studying it again, Scrooge found he didn't mind the haphazard decorating at all. "Yeh did a good job, kids." When he glanced down, he found Della studying him, but after a moment, she smiled and leaned against his side. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and keeping his other hand on Donald's knee, Scrooge admired the tree.
Until Donald looked down at his sister and said, "Uncle Scrooge was telling me stories about Mom's temper."
Della's eyes glittered mischievously as she led Scrooge to a nearby armchair. With a child on each armrest, Scrooge regaled them with his memories until his sister and her husband returned.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
It hadn't been the last time Scrooge had put business before his family, he was ashamed to admit. But he eventually saw the error of his ways and asked for forgiveness, which he'd always been granted. More times than he rightfully deserved.
Setting his cane aside, Scrooge reached for the string lights, saying, "Let me help you, lad."
Donald glanced up, the darkness on his face clearing as Scrooge took up the fight against the decorations. "Thanks," he said.
"Happy to help," Scrooge said with a smile. Donald easily returned it.
'There are worse things than being accused of than sentimentality,' Scrooge thought as he untangled the string lights with his nephew.
—…—…—…— Donald Duck —…—…—…—
Once the string lights had been detangled, Donald had taken one end while Dewey had taken the other, carefully weaving the small colored bulbs through the branches. It was an impressive tree, just the right fullness with no bare spots and standing at the perfect height in their living room. Donald was highly suspect of Drake's methods, but you couldn't argue with his results.
He gave instructions to Dewey as he wrapped the lights around the tree, showing his nephew how best to wind the string within the bowels of the boughs and how to highlight different branches. Donald had become rather protective of his tree decorating process over the years, especially the lights; that had been his job since he'd been young.
But he had to pass his knowledge down, and Dewey was the most receptive, having the same high standards and careful eye for detail as his uncle. Huey was too excitable, too impulsive, and Louie had never been one to take charge. So Huey laid out the ornaments while Louie and Scrooge untangled more lights that they then handed to Dewey and Donald.
Dewey took Donald's instruction well to the point where Donald was able to allow him to complete the top of the tree himself. The other two gave their opinions, which Dewey would accept if they were right, or disregard if it went against his instinct.
Sitting next to Daisy on a nearby loveseat, Donald put an arm around her and she immediately curled into his side. He watched his nephews with pride swelling in his chest, more grateful than he had words for that they were getting to spend another Christmas together.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
Donald stepped out of the cab, the knot in his gut loosening when he saw the mansion standing in front of him, stately with white drifts of snow piled along the facade. Shouldering his bag, Donald bid his driver a merry Christmas before approaching the house. Once he set foot inside, where the warmth enveloped him like a blanket, the smell of gingerbread so strong he could taste the bite of spice on his tongue, Donald released a sigh as his lingering anxiety melted away.
He was home.
Just in time for Christmas.
He'd been told that he would have to spend the holidays at the Duckburg naval base to help with their influx of charity events, but the toy drive had finished early and Donald had been able to convince his superior officer to give him the night and the next day off so he could see his family. He had to report back at 0600 the day after Christmas, but it was worth it to be able to spend the holiday with his boys.
Stashing his coat in the closet, Donald left his bag by the front door and wandered down to the sitting room that had been used for family Christmas festivities for as long as he could remember. The mansion was adorned in its customary garlands, holly berries, wreaths, and numerous Christmas trees.
Donald had probably missed decorating the family's tree, arriving so late on Christmas Eve, but that didn't matter. His boys did.
Having reached the sitting room, Donald poked his head in.
Uncle Scrooge was handing the boys presents, wrapped in gilded papers and ornate bows, the kids eagerly piling them under the tree.
"This weird shaped one's for you, Dewey," Louie said, holding it out for his brother's inspection. Dewey took the long package, studying it before placing it alongside the others.
"Aren't you gonna shake it or anything?" Huey asked, setting down a rectangular present to he could face his brother.
"Ye aren't supposed to shake or peek at your gifts before opening them, lad," Uncle Scrooge berated.
"But that's the fun part!" Huey lamented.
Uncle Scrooge scowled. "I'll station Duckworth at this door all night if I hear any more talk of peeking at the presents. It's tradition to open all the gifts on Christmas morning with the family."
"It's not gonna feel much like Christmas without Uncle Donald," said Dewey, pushing a pile of presents farther under the tree.
"Aye, I know, lad. But he's doing important work that he can't be pulled away from."
"At least his presents for us came!" said Louie, nudging Dewey. "That way he'll still kinda be here with us."
Dewey sighed. "But it's not the same."
Thoroughly warmed by his family's affection, Donald stepped into the doorway. "Good thing I got the day off, then."
The boys whirled around, identical grins on their faces as they cried, "Uncle Donald!" in unison. They scrambled over to the door, all three leaping into his arms. Donald caught them with practiced ease and nuzzled each of them individually.
"Welcome home, lad," Uncle Scrooge said, a smile on his beak. He walked over, patting Donald on the shoulder. "How long will ye be stayin' for?"
"Just for tomorrow," Donald said, grinning down at his boys. "I gotta be back at the base on the 26th."
"But you'll be here for Christmas!" exclaimed Louie.
Donald nodded and the boys cheered, squirming out of his embrace to drag him over to the tree.
"We had to decorate without you, but whaddya think?"
"We got your presents! See? And we have some for you!"
"Wanna help us put out the milk and cookies, Uncle Donald?"
Even as the chaos of three excited boys on Christmas Eve descended around him, Donald couldn't wipe the smile from his beak. It had been months since they'd been together, and he'd missed them all desperately. Even though he knew that they were well looked after by Uncle Scrooge, Donald still felt guilty that he missed so much of their lives. But hearing snippets of it now in between their high emotions of the holiday soothed the ache of separation.
It was sensible Uncle Scrooge that reminded the boys that they needed to be asleep for Santa to come. Donald took them up to their room and tucked each of them in.
Huey and Louie fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows, but Dewey stayed awake, his large eyes reflecting the light filtering in from the hallway.
Smoothing a hand through his feathers, Donald smiled softly. "Go to sleep," he said gently. "I'll see you in the morning."
Dewey smiled and curled onto his side, closing his eyes.
Donald stayed for a few more moments, carding his fingers through Dewey's downy feathers.
He was sure Dewey was asleep when the young duck suddenly whispered, "I love you, Dad."
That happened sometimes. When the boys were sleep deprived, nervous, or sick, they'd slip and call him "dad". He never corrected them, even though it was probably disrespectful to Della. The happiness that surged through him when he was given the honorary title always held his tongue.
Leaning down, Donald pressed a kiss to Dewey's forehead and whispered, "I love you, Dewey." That seemed to be what he needed, because in the next moment, Dewey was fast asleep.
His smile still plastered on his beak, Donald crept out of their room.
When he went down to the kitchen to grab something to eat, Uncle Scrooge was there with a plate already prepared.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
"What do ya think, Uncle D?" Dewey asked, leaning against the back of the loveseat, eyes fixed on the tree. "I do okay?"
Donald studied Dewey's handiwork as Huey and Louie separated the ornaments by color, arguing over whether they should color block the tree or mix them.
The lights were on, the tree glistening against the evening light. They were evenly spaced and wove in and out of the branches expertly, the innermost illuminating the tree from within and the outermost sitting delicately on the branches.
Donald glanced up with a smile. "Looks good."
"Eh," Dewey said with a shrug. "Needs some improvement, but that's what next year's for."
"Next year I'll let you do the whole thing on your own."
"Yeah?" Dewey asked, his eyes wide in excitement.
"Yeah." Donald tousled Dewey's feathers. Dewey half heartedly batted his uncle's hand away, but was grinning as he rejoined his brothers.
Daisy snuggled more securely into Donald's side as the two settled into watching the kids decorate the tree.
Donald may have missed some of his boys' childhood while with the Navy, but he was glad to have spent the majority of their lives with them. He wouldn't have traded it for anything.
—…—…—…— Goofy Goof —…—…—…—
Christmas had always been Goofy's favorite holiday. It was a day instilled with generations of family traditions that his father had passed down to him, and which he, in turn, had passed down to his son.
Max had not been as passionate about tradition when he was younger. Truth be told, it was where many of their arguments had come from. Goofy wanting instill a lesson, and Max wanting nothing to do with it, more concerned with seeing his friends or going to parties or just too afraid of what the Goof name, and all of its history, would do to his image.
Thankfully, Max had outgrown that resistance. For the most part. There were still a few lingering Goof family idiosyncrasies that made him hesitate.
But Christmas wasn't one of them.
Oh, he never matched Goofy's exuberance for the holiday, and he had never been thrilled about all the yard decorations. For the most part, though, Max was on board for all things merry and bright.
Taking stock of the ornaments the Duck triplets were categorizing, Goofy and Max glanced back to the tree every few minutes to gauge how many of them would fit onto the branches. Luckily, it was a large tree, so Goofy didn't anticipate too much trouble.
But he let Maxie take the lead.
He wanted to see what his son had learned over the years, and dealing with foreign ornaments that didn't have any significance to the Goof family was the perfect test.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
Setting down the box of garland, Goofy turned to observe Max's progress with the tree. But he tripped on something mid-turn and tumbled to the ground, coming to rest underneath the pine's low-hanging branches.
As he shook his head to clear it, he felt a small hand curl around his shoulder.
"You okay, Dad?" Max asked.
"Sure am!" Peering up at the tree, Goofy's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why're all the ornaments on the bottom?"
"Do you like it?" Max studied it himself, smiling. "I put the ornaments on in groups. See? All the reindeer are together. And the snowflakes. And all the snowmen."
Goofy righted himself and looked closer. There was logic to it, even if it was overly crowded. But it wasn't, technically, correct.
Tree decorating was one of the Goofy family traditions that had been handed down through the generations. There were measurements for how close ornaments could be in relation to one another, color schemes to follow for the lights and ornaments, and contingencies if tinsel was added. None of which Max had adhered to.
But Goofy didn't want Maxie's enthusiasm crushed for decorating "wrong" when he'd been so careful about how he had wanted the tree to look.
He could live with Max's haphazard methods.
As long as they made it less congested at the bottom. Waffles, their family cat, would destroy all of the low-hanging ornaments if they were in reach.
Grinning, Goofy tousled Max's hair. "Looks mighty fine, son! Yeh even got the flyin' reindeer above the others who ain't flyin'."
Max nodded. "They should be flying higher, but I can't reach."
Goofy climbed to his feet and held up his arms to showcase his height. "I can help with that!"
"Okay!" He plucked the reindeer from its branch and Goofy scooped him up, holding him steady. Max leaned forward, his deft fingers choosing a new branch and hung the ornament carefully.
Goofy took a step back to admire their handiwork, cradling Max to his chest. "Whaddya think?"
"More of the reindeer need to fly higher. And the snowflakes can fall from the top of the tree to the bottom!"
Goofy grinned and squeezed Max briefly. His boy was a natural. "Sounds like we got us some work to do."
Over the next half an hour, Goofy and Max repositioned all of the ornaments, Max deciding where they should go and Goofy holding him up to the height he needed. He'd gently point out the best places for a few of them, eventually getting his son to see the empty patches of green as invitations for more ornaments. Ultimately, Max's decisions were the final ones, and if a few ornaments were a little too close to one another, or if the colors weren't diverse enough, well, new Christmas traditions could be put in place.
"What about them presents at the bottom?" Goofy asked, eyeing the last small clump of ornaments.
"Presents go under the tree, Dad," Max said resolutely.
"O'course." They were still too close to one another. Would Max see that himself? Or would Goofy have to coax him?
"But," Max wriggled out of Goofy's grip, walking up to the tree, "they're more spread out."
Goofy beamed and allowed Max to rearrange them himself. Every now and then, Max would take a step back to decide where to hang the ornaments, just as Goofy had done with him.
When he was satisfied, Max stood next to his father. After a final sweep, he nodded and glanced up, waiting for Goofy's approval.
"Sure is a pretty tree," said Goofy with a smile. Max grinned, his eyes shining.
"Let's make some lunch then we can decorate the mantle."
"Can I hang my own stocking?" Max asked, already halfway to the kitchen.
"Don't see why not."
Max practically bounced the rest of the way to the kitchen, Goofy right behind.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
"No, Gos, the reindeer go near the top," Max said, gently grabbing Gosalyn's hand and guiding it upward. "They fly, after all."
"Okay. And snow falls so that makes sense," she said, tapping the snowflakes Max had already hung around the tree. She picked up another ornament and held it up. "Where does Santa go?"
"Oh, anywhere," Max said, noncommittal. He stepped back to eye the tree then held out his hand to Louie, who supplied him with a glistening red bulb. "It's Santa. He can do whatever he wants."
"Of course," Gosalyn said, smiling at Max fondly. He rearranged two snowflake ornaments before hanging the red one in between them.
Part of Goofy wanted Max to still be small enough that he needed help reaching the top of the tree. For Christmas to be just the two of them, Goofy instilling traditions into his son. To perpetually be living his childhood years over and over so they would always be together.
But another part — which was getting bigger with each passing year — was happy to have this now. To have friends and family they were close enough to to spend their Christmas together. To see Max grown and making his own way through the world. To be excited for new traditions.
"And the presents," said Goofy, stepping forward and handing Gosalyn an ornate group of wrapped packages piled on top of one another, "go along the bottom."
"Because presents go under the tree?" she ventured, smiling at Goofy.
"A-hyuck! They sure do!"
"You're a natural, Gos." Max winked down at her.
"Not to brag, but I have decorated a tree before." She hung the presents on a low branch.
"Well, sure ya have," Goofy said. "But not the Goof way."
"Less a science and more an art form." Max held out his hand and Louie gave him a golden bell.
"Between the Goof ways and lessons in True Outdoorsmanship, I think I'm gonna have my hands full." Gosalyn sat back on her heels.
Then.
Her eyebrows drew together. Her head cocked to one side. Eyes zeroing in on a spot. She extended her hand and Huey gave her another ornament of stacked presents. She weighed it, fingers taking in its shape, then leaned forward, placing the ornament very near the spot Goofy had been eyeing himself.
He grinned down at her when she glanced up for approval. "I ain't too worried."
—…—…—…— Drake Mallard —…—…—…—
Finding and cutting down their Christmas tree had not been the Ordeal™ of years past. Drake might have dragged out the selection process a little, citing bad bark or not enough nettles or too few branches or the shade of green being unsatisfactory ("It needs to be Christmas Tree green, not pale spring frost green. That tree will be an embarrassment if we drag that back to the cabin.").
Selecting the right tree had never been for the feint of heart.
And if he got to spend more time with Gosalyn, well. That was purely coincidental.
Besides, you couldn't argue with their tree of choice. The already majestic pine was glowing from the inside out with the lights woven through the branches. The ornaments broke up the mono hue of the perfect green shade, complimenting it with brilliant crimsons, dazzling golds, and oceanic blues. And this masterpiece of Christmas tree decorating had all been assembled on Drake's flawless canvas.
It looked very good, sitting nestled in its nook in the cabin. Drake couldn't deny that, even though decorating the tree had never been his particular area of expertise. That had fallen more under Launchpad's purview. And Gosalyn's. As she'd gotten older. As a kid, she had been a walking hurricane and much more invested in the gifts.
But as the years had passed, she'd gotten better. Had found ways to direct her chaos and made it into something beautiful. It had been a chaotic ride, and there were years Drake was grateful just to have survived the holiday season. But Gosalyn's passion for it had never wavered, and she'd taken on more and more responsibility as she'd gotten older.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
"Lookin' good, Gos!" said Launchpad before the sound of the front door closed with a reassuring thud. Drake glanced at the roast in the oven before heading out to the hallway.
Where Launchpad was not standing.
Drake eyed the shopping bags abandoned in the hall with a frown then glanced toward the living room.
Launchpad was removing his winter coat and gloves as Gosalyn zoomed around the room at 100mph, grabbing an ornament, running up the ladder, placing it on the tree only to leap down, move the ladder, and do it all over again. How she had so much energy, Drake would never know. She'd been decorating for hours and showed no signs of stopping.
"Uh, LP?" Drake said, putting his hands on his hips. "Did you plan on giving me the groceries before everything defrosted and we all died from food poisoning?"
"Sorry, DW," Launchpad said, having the decency to look ashamed. "I wanted to offer Gos some help in case she needed a boost."
Drake braced for impact.
"I resent that!" snapped Gosalyn as she jumped down from the ladder and wrestled it to a different location. "Just cause I'm short doesn't mean I can't decorate a tree."
Launchpad gripped his gloves. "I just thought—"
"Give it up, LP," Drake said. "She's on an independence kick." Drake didn't bring up that he had also offered to help her and had gotten a very similar response. "You can put the groceries away, though. Before they hit their expiration dates."
"No problemo." Launchpad draped his winter wear over the back of the couch and followed Drake to the kitchen, scooping up the bags as they went.
"Boy, Gos really isn't a little kid anymore," Launchpad said as he handed Drake the refrigerated items.
"Of course she is!" Drake opened the fridge and started making room on the shelves. He was tempted to tell Launchpad that he'd bought too much food — again — but the pilot's appetite was so great that most of it would be gone by the end of the week.
"I mean, sure, she's still a kid," said Launchpad, "but she's growin' up. Won't be too long before she doesn't need to use the ladder to reach the top of the tree at all."
She had gone through a growth spurt lately. In fact, she was quickly approaching Drake's height, which wasn't fair. Was he destined to be the shortest member of the Darkwing team? He never could catch a break.
"Yeah," Drake conceded, "but not for a long time."
Launchpad smiled knowingly. "Not that long. She's gettin' more independent, insisting she can do things on her own. Like decorate the tree."
"That's just because she's too stubborn to ask for help."
"Or she wants to see if she can do it without help."
Having finished putting the food away, Drake snapped the refrigerator door closed and whirled to face Launchpad. "What are you getting at?"
Launchpad shrugged, opening a cabinet door to shelve the cereal. "Nothin' really. Ya always hear that watching a kid grow up goes by fast, but it's even faster than they say." Launchpad gathered the empty grocery bags with a grin. "Guess we should enjoy the moment while it's here." With that, he left the kitchen, heading down to the basement.
Drake remained where he was, trying to piece together the conversation they'd just had.
Sure, Gosalyn was getting older, but she wasn't an adult. She wasn't even a teenager, but the jump to that stage of her life was closer than Drake liked to think about. Yes, she was taller, she was starting to look at high schools to attend within the next year, and recruiters were trying to get her to try out for higher level sports teams. She didn't ask for help with homework as much anymore (when she could be bothered to do it), and had started to adopt better budgeting skills, saving her allowance for larger purchases.
But her room was still a disaster. And she couldn't be bothered with the kitchen at all. Heck, Drake still had to tell her when to go to bed (her time management needed some work. Because it was nonexistent).
Older, yes.
Not grown.
She still needed Drake to guid her into adulthood. And, yeah, it was probably gonna go fast, like Launchpad said.
But at least they had this. Here. Now.
Any time he got with Gosalyn was more than he'd ever expected and far more than he deserved.
Returning to the oven, Drake checked on their dinner as Gosalyn poked her head into the kitchen.
"We got anymore ladders?" she asked.
"What did you do to the one I gave you?" Drake leveled her with a glare.
"Nothing! It's not tall enough to get the stupid star on top."
Drake went to the nearby cupboard and pulled out three plates. "Sounds like you could use the height of a certain pilot."
"But I wanna do it!"
"Gosalyn, it's not a sign of weakness to ask for help."
"That's rich coming from someone who never asks for help."
He spun around, his beak open. "I'm getting better!"
"Yeah, right." Gosalyn shook her head. "You're the most 'I work alone' person I've ever met."
Drake paused, observing his daughter. Hearing the very words he'd professed years ago repeated by her in regard to him….
Yeah, okay, he wasn't getting better. He was obsessive and had a hard time letting things go. Old habits were hard to break. So, sue him.
Didn't mean he should pass that along to the next generation.
"Look," he said. "It's not a question if you can do it on your own. I know you can. Launchpad knows you can. But there's someone willing to help you and it'll make your life a little easier. So, why not take them up on it? Sometimes it's nice to know you're needed, especially when the requester can do something by themselves."
Gosalyn studied him for a moment before saying, "So that's a no on the ladder?"
"Go get Launchpad!" Drake snapped, turning to gather utensils as the timer on the oven went off.
After setting the table, Drake wandered to the living room to gather the others and found them by the tree, Gosalyn perched on one of Launchpad's shoulders and carefully affixing the star to the top.
"Nice job, Gos!" Launchpad said.
"Yeah, well done," Drake said, winking at his daughter when she glanced down at him. "Dinner's on the table."
Launchpad set Gosalyn back on the ground and shot Drake a smile on his way to the kitchen. Drake smoothed Gosalyn's wayward bangs as she passed and she batted his hand away.
Before entering the kitchen, Gosalyn faced Drake, straightening and looking him in the eye. "I still need you, you know. I just… like to know I can do stuff by myself."
Drake smiled. "I know, sweetie. Still nice to hear, though." He tweaked her beak and she rolled her eyes even though she was smiling.
—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—
"Can you help me, Launchpad?" Gosalyn asked. He grinned and walked over to her.
"You could probably reach the top on your own," Huey observed, gauging Gosalyn's height to that of the tree.
"Maybe," Gosalyn conceded, allowing Launchpad to lift her onto one of his shoulders. "But Launchpad's always willing to help."
"Sure am." He stepped close to the tree and Gosalyn easily put the star on top, not even needing to stretch to reach it.
Launchpad had been right, as he usually was. Her childhood had gone by far too fast. At least they would always have Christmas. Their holiday traditions would always be theirs.
When Launchpad set her back on the floor, Gosalyn wrapped one arm around Launchpad's shoulders and the other around Drake's. "I love you guys," she said.
Launchpad squeezed her shoulder before Drake wrapped her in a hug, kissing her cheek.
Yes, he did need to stretch up to reach her cheek. She had outgrown him, but being the shortest on on Team Darkwing had its perks. And he wouldn't change Gosalyn for the world besides.
The tree now complete, a hush fell over the room as everyone admired it.
Donald and Daisy held hands.
Scrooge stood beside Donald, a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
Huey, Dewey, and Louie sat in front of their uncles, leaning back against their legs.
Goofy had an arm around Max's shoulders.
Drake, still holding onto his daughter, glanced at her and she met his eyes.
"I'll always need you, Daddy," she said softly.
Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Drake nodded and ran a hand through her hair. Something within him settled into contentment as he turned to look at the soft glow of the tree.