Scrooge could be many things: a shrewd adventurer, a cunning treasure hunter, the daredevil of curses capable of overcoming them in the blink of an eye, and the greatest trillionaire of Duckburg.

Oh yes, he could be many things. Many more than any average duck could even imagine.

Except being a father.

He was born to discover the most incognito corners in the entire world, not to raise a pair of twins who barely knew him!

It had been a few months since they had both been in his care, but the Scottish duck still felt that change as if it had happened the day before, and he could not proudly exclaim that none had given him an easy job.

Della was hyperactive. Always running in the halls of the mansion, she saw each day as a new adventure. Playing outside, near the pool, Scrooge had to ensure that she did not fall into it for more than she will ensure she knows how to swim. Even so, her eyes gave off a determination he had only appreciated in himself.

And an insatiable curiosity that took her to know the most hidden wings of the mansion.

Maybe he could take her with him on his adventures when she was older. He had common sense, and he did not want to have problems with the authorities for putting the life of a girl at risk.

Donald was another story. Always cautious, always silent, he refused to eat anything unless it was prepared like Grandma did. He was quite shy, and only resigned himself to talking with his sister. Lover of the ocean, always kept by the pool, but with a life jacket. He always closed in on himself, and had never seen him say anything, at least to him.

And he did not want to dare to find out if he also had a word with Elvira.

But when they hurt him, Della, or some object with which he had a strong emotional connection was shattered, the famous anger McDuck woke up; and being close to him in that state was like being close to an active volcano.

He dared to say that it reminded him of Hortense on more than one occasion.

But hey, they were his nephew and niece, nor could he deny them the opportunity to live with their uncle.

Although he was not exactly a family man.

Scrooge sat in his armchair sighing, clearly exhausted after another day, full of work meetings added to his duties as guardian of the twins.

The smell of his nutmeg tea partially invaded the space around him. The fireplace partially illuminated the living room, the sound of the flames against the wood propitiating a relaxed and elegant atmosphere.

In the distance he could see Duckworth doing his last tasks of the day in the manor, foreseeing to make as little noise as possible. After all, both siblings were already sleeping, and waking them up meant staying up late trying to put them back to sleep.

Especially with Della.

The duck allowed himself to sigh, relaxing his body, the soft aroma of his tea added to the slight heat that his cup gave him made him feel satisfied with himself after successfully achieving one more day earning millions per second.

Duckworth's footsteps became more distant within a few seconds, until he momentarily stopped hearing them. And he did not know if it was because his steward had finally gone to rest or was cleaning another area of the mansion.

Silently, he hoped it would be the first. Although his loyalty was undoubted, he recognized that caring not for one but for two ducklings was not an easy job.

But he shook his head, coming out of his thoughts and sensed that the steam emanating from his tea cup was reduced. It was cooling.

And there was nothing that disgusted him more than drinking his tea cold.

However, as soon as he began to bring the cup closer to his beak, footsteps began to be heard. Scrooge blinked, analyzing the sound.

They sounded momentarily, timid, but denied the possibility of a thief. The mansion was strongly insured, and he would have felt a presence other than his nephews or employee even if he was counting how much money he had for the umpteenth time.

But that did not stop him from leaving his cup on the coffee table and taking his cane. It would probably cool completely soon, but it would be worth it if it was to protect the manor.

They were webbed feet, so he discarded Duckworth. Each time they sounded closer, and he soon deduced that they was approaching the stairs, but the absence of light made it impossible to see who was.

And that the chimney was ready to go out did not help either. The duck frowned, growling under his breath, beginning to walk on his cane.

He had approached the staircase when a very small figure began to look fearful, like a small child caught while doing a prank. Scrooge had not hesitated to ask aloud who was there, but he knew in advance that it never worked. And he did not want to lose his perpetrator.

Unconsciously he beat the floor with the cane, and watched the same figure from the corner of his eye.

His expression softened when the moonlight allowed him to see feathers, its light giving it a silver tinge. As if the fact that the little hair feathers did not say anything, the duckling was holding a small toy boat against their chest.

"Lad? Ah tucked ye hours ago, wha' are ye doing awake?" The boy trembled, and kept his eyes down. Even so, he could see his bright eyes.

However, he had not dared to speak, and slowly began to walk before the attentive gaze of the Scottish duck.

His footsteps remained silent despite having been discovered, still shaking to the point of making him question whether it was out of fear or cold even if his blue onesie was warm enough.

Scrooge remained silent until he felt one of Donald's arms hugging his legs, with his forehead against his knee.

It was there that he was able to perceive the sobs that the duckling was trying to hide.

"Ye had a bad dream?" He patted the boy's head, uncomfortable though. As much as it hurt, he was not used to physical contact with Donald. Della was commonly the one who dared to embrace him, with a joy and strength characteristic of her; but her twin had always been reluctant to do so, consistent with his shyness.

But he could not blame him either. Although it was not under the same circumstances, to begin living in a completely new and unknown environment was not easy, and explaining the reasons for this to an innocent child ignorant of the evil and tragedy that surrounded him was not as simple as he thought.

Especially when he was still hurt by those reasons.

"Everythin' is fine, Donald. It was just a bad dream. No one can hurt ye." He tried to reassure the duckling, patting his head clearly unaware of what he should do in those cases; it was the first time that a nightmare woke his nephew and niece, being the fact that it was Donald that made it more difficult.

However, he had not left him in a second, and he thought he felt wetness in his knee, to which he sighed trying not to sound abrupt and he took him from his armpits feeling him startle.

In all his life he had faced various beasts, sorcerers, ghosts and constant curses. He had loaded sacks with more money than he could remember and since he was a child he had accustomed his arms to the weight of his equipment as shoe polisher; in spite of that, his arms were not qualified to carry children.

He was not too heavy to be an infant, but as soon as he lifted him off the ground his legs faltered. Although he played down the sight, in the darkness, the nervous expression of his nephew, the tears visible between the feathers and suppressing sobs.

He put him in one of his arms, taking with his free hand the toy boat from Donald's arms so that he would not hurt himself with the topmast, the lack of reticence of him indicating that he grasped the message.

He would not have hesitated to take him back to his bed and stay by his side waiting for him to fall asleep, but seeing him so fearful and vulnerable had made him hesitate. Somehow, he would not tolerate the duckling like that.

"Donald, m'boy, dinnae worry" with a fatherly sense he did not know he had, he put Donald's head on his shoulder. For someone who was irascible, the child was equally sensitive, with the growing wet spot on his shoulder proving enough.

Holding the little duck carefully, Scrooge grabbed his cane and climbed down the stairs again, appreciating how the fire in the fireplace had just died down.

He sat in the armchair holding his nephew, moving his hand back and forth on his back for gentle caresses, while with the other clumsily caressed his head. Apparently that helped him to calm down, because though his sobs remained mute, his shoulders convulsed less.

"Listen, Ah know that all this is new tae ye and ye are afraid. But as long as ye live under this roof, Ah will not let anything or anyone hurt ye" because even if he were not exactly a family man, he loved his. He gently took Donald's shoulders and separated him by sitting him on his lap, taking him by the chin to force him to see him in the eyes, wiping his tearful face. "Do ye understand?"

Still shaking and partially sobbing, the boy nodded, wiping his cheeks with the sleeves of his pajamas.

"Also, they wouldnae be able tae even get close tae ye, ye're a Duck. And the Ducks don't back down." Giving him a warm smile, he bopped Donald's bill, satisfied with the smile that finally appeared on his face. Though he had not liked his brother-in-law much, he had to confess that he was attracted to his ideology.

After all, not turning back was something shared by both families.

Smiling more relaxed, less altered and without hesitation, Donald approached him hugging him by the belly, hiding his face in his torso.

He had never believed that the strength of the Ducks and the determination of the McDucks could be a good combination.

Until now.

However, they say that some decisions made with the heart could be considered good. And while there were no cameras nearby that would attack his pride and his love for money over all things, the better.

Because he would dare say he did not think when he kissed his nephew's head. It was a slow contact, but he had to accept that it was the first contact of that kind he had with his nephew and niece.

And he knew that Donald thought the same when he startled and looked out at him, stunned.

Scrooge gave a warm smile to his nephew, returning to accommodate him on his shoulder patting his back.

"Ah love ye, Donald," he said without thinking, and when he reacted, he would have thought that someone else spoke for him. He looked over his shoulder at the duckling, which had settled on his shoulder.

And he dared to think that he had already fallen asleep again...

"I love you too, Unca' Scrooge."

...when a raspy voice, and with distinguishable speech problems, sounded in the silent foyer.

He jumped slightly in his armchair and looked over his shoulder at Donald. The duckling had finally yielded to Morpheus and slept more relaxed in the arms of his uncle.

He smiled tenderly and, with great care, placed the toy on the coffee table, perceiving, again, his nutmeg tea.

He knew he would have to do it again, but at that moment, watching Donald sleeping on his shoulder, the Scottish duck smiled daringly to kiss his hair feathers, appreciating the smile that shone on his face, he also knew that it did not matter.

Yes, he had never considered himself a family man. But they always said that there was a first time for everything