Donald drove up the driveway to McDuck Manor and parked his little red car in the tiny, out-of-the-way space that Scrooge left for him. Yet another failed-before-it-started job interview meant he was home earlier than he'd expected. He let himself into the house and started undoing his necktie as he looked for the boys.

"Oh. Hi, Mrs. B.," Donald said, spotting the housekeeper dusting the banister.

"Hello, Donald," she said. "Home early, I see."

Donald stifled a cringe. "Yeah, well, there's always next time. Where are the boys?"

"Louie's watching television, Huey's doing some sort of research in his room, and Dewey's in the houseboat."

"Thanks, Mrs. B.," Donald said, heading toward the back of the mansion. He could say hi to Huey and Louie later. Right now, Donald wanted to be in his own space, and his own space was his houseboat.

"Dewey? Mrs. B. said you were in here!" Donald called, a feeling of warmth and safety settling over his shoulders as he stepped onto the boat.

Dewey came running in, clutching some papers in his hand. "You know Mickey Mouse?" he said.

"What?" Donald asked, putting his things down. He took a closer look at the papers his nephew was holding. "Oh." He took them from his nephew. "I forgot about these."

The first one was a letter.

Dear Donald,

It looks like I'm about to make it big! I just finished filming my first ever role in a short film called Steamboat Willie, where I play a fellow working on a steamboat. It's a fun little movie, and everyone around here's sure it'll be a hit. I've enclosed an autographed photograph of myself. Just think-an autographed picture of Mickey Mouse before he made it big! That's going to be worth something someday.

Walt Disney, the fellow who made the film, sure is a swell guy. He keeps saying he's going to make me a star! I know I should take everything he says with a grain of salt, but it's still so very exciting!

I also met a keen girl on the set! Her name is Minnie, and we've really hit it off. I can't wait for you to meet her. You've gotta get out here sometime soon. If this film does well, I could probably even get you a job with Mr. Disney! Then we'd be together again, just like old times.

Your pal,

Mickey Mouse

And sure enough, the paper underneath the letter was an autographed, black-and-white picture of Mickey Mouse himself. To my friend, Donald. Your pal, Mickey Mouse.

"But you know Mickey Mouse?" Dewey said, practically vibrating with excitement and impatience.

"Yeah. I did," Donald said.

"How come we never got to meet him?" Dewey asked.

Donald shrugged. "I haven't really talked to him in something like," he thought for a moment, "nine years."

"Uncle Donald!" Dewey said. "Seriously? You know the biggest movie star in the world and you just stopped talking to him?"

Donald chuckled. "I thought you said he was doing too many kids' shows these days."

"That's not the point!" Dewey said. "You've been holding out on us!"

"Hey, Dewey, do you want to go-oh, hey, Uncle Donald," Huey said, coming into the houseboat. "The interview didn't go so well, huh?"

"There's always next time," Donald said.

Dewey grabbed the letter from Donald and shoved it in his brother's face. "Uncle Donald knows Mickey Mouse!"

"Wait, what?" Huey said, taking the letter and its attachment from Dewey and reading it over. "Oh my god, Uncle Donald knows Mickey Mouse!"

"Knew. I knew Mickey Mouse," Donald said, taking the papers back. "Dewey, where'd you find these?"

"Stop trying to change the subject!"

"How many times have I told you not to go through other people's stuff?"

"How did you even know him?" Huey asked.

Donald sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to get out of this one.

"We went to the same summer camp when we were kids," he said. "And we were roommates for a little while after we graduated from school."

"You lived with Mickey Mouse?"

"What was he like?"

Donald suddenly got the same look on his face that he did when he was talking about Gladstone. "He was the greatest thing since sliced bread. He was nice, hardworking, helpful, smart, selfless. Everybody loved him without him ever having to try." Then his shoulders slumped. "And boy, do I miss him."

Dewey and Huey exchanged a look. "Then why don't you call him?" Dewey suggested.

"Yeah! Or write to him!" Huey said. "You still have his address, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

But the boys were already pulling Donald to the kitchen table, pressing a pen and paper into his hands.

"Boys, I haven't talked to him in almost ten years," Donald protested. "I can't just-"

"Sure you can!" Huey said. "Just tell him you got busy."

"Yeah, like super busy," Dewey said. "So busy that you couldn't take two minutes to write a few lines to say hi."

"Not helping," Huey said, glaring at his brother.

"What?" Dewey said.

Donald stared at the piece of paper. "I don't even know what to say," he said.

"Start with 'Dear Mickey,'" Dewey said. "Or do you think 'Dear Mr. Mouse' would be better?"

Huey elbowed him in the side. "I don't think that Uncle Donald called him 'Mr. Mouse' if they were roommates."

"What's this about roommates?" Louie said, strolling into the houseboat.

"You'll never guess who Uncle Donald knows!" Dewey said, bounding over to his brother.

"Knew," Donald said.

"Who?" Louie said. "The richest duck in the world? Because we've already established that one."

"No," Dewey said, shoving the papers into his brother's face. "Look!"

Louie took the papers from him so that he could actually read them. "Dear Donald...going to make it big...Steamboat Willie...Mickey Mouse?" Louie looked at his uncle and brothers in astonishment. "No way!"

"Right?" Dewey said. "And look!" He took away the letter to reveal the signed photograph.

Louie's eyes bugged out of his head. "This has got to be worth thousands!"

Donald snatched it back. "We're not selling it!" he snapped.

"Right," Huey said. "Because you're going to write to Mickey Mouse and rekindle your friendship."

"Sweet! Then we can get as many signed pictures as we want!"

"No," said Huey, burying his face in his hand. "We are not exploiting Uncle Donald's friendship for money."

"Yeah, we already have Uncle Scrooge for that," Dewey said.

"No-"

"I'm not writing him," Donald said. "I just can't justify not talking to him for so long."

"Just tell him you got busy. It's not like he's been keeping in touch with you all these years," said Louie.

Donald looked away sadly. "He did," he said. "He kept writing for three years before he finally gave up. I always promised myself I would write back, but something always got in the way."

Huey and Louie were quiet, a feeling of guilt washing over them.

"Leave it to Uncle Donald to stop being friends with the coolest person in the world," Dewey grumbled. He slapped the pen back on the table, pushing it and the paper closer to his uncle. "Fix it."

"Yeah, Uncle Donald. You need more friends," Huey said.

"And we need more behind-the-scenes dirt on Hollywood," Louie said.

Donald stared at the pen and paper for a few moments.

"I don't even know what to say," he said quietly.

"Here, I'll start for you. 'Dear Mickey Mouse…'" Dewey said.

Donald looked at his nephew for a few more moments before finally picking up the pen and writing, "Dear Mickey."

"'I'm sorry that I haven't written in so long, but things have been crazy busy around here.' Uh, did you ever tell him about us?"

"Of course," Donald said.

"Then write, 'Raising my three nephews has been the best thing ever, but it hasn't left a whole lot of time for things like writing letters and making phone calls.'"

Donald chuckled and swiped at his suddenly-wet eyes, writing down what Dewey had said.

"'How have you been? I've been following your career pretty closely. We always make sure to go see your movies at the movie theater, even though my boys only just found out that you are my personal friend.'"

"Wait, that makes so much sense now," Huey said.

"'One of my boys, Dewey, the cleverest and handsomest one-'"

A chorus of "Hey!"'s interjected, but Dewey kept going.

"'-says that you should quit doing so many kids' TV shows and go back to movies. His favorite is Mickey's Polo Team. Did you really get to meet all those old-timey actors?'"

"It wasn't that long ago," Donald grumbled, but he still copied down what Dewey said.

"'How's Minnie doing?' Uh…"

"'What's it like to be married to the tabloids' most untouchable actress?'" Huey added.

"Yeah. Add that," Dewey said, watching as his uncle did before continuing. "New paragraph. 'My life's gotten a whole lot more exciting lately. I've moved into my Uncle Scrooge's swimming pool-'"

Donald snorted.

"What? It's true!" Dewey said. "You can add that you live in the houseboat in the swimming pool, though. Um, let's see. 'I've started adventuring with him again, along with my nephews. And also his housekeeper's granddaughter, Webby. She's kind of weird, but super cool.' Then tell him about that thing that happened with Uncle Gladstone."

Dewey watched as his uncle wrote "insert story about Gladstone and the luck vampire" in brackets on the page.

"Perfect. Now-"

"Add in some stuff about us," Louie said.

"Yeah!" Huey said. "Like what kind of stuff we like, what our favorite Mickey Mouse movies are-"

"I was thinking more like how great we'd be in the movie industry, but that works, too," Louie said. "But also put in some stuff about the movie business. Dewey would make a great stuntman, Huey could probably be an editor, and I would be an amazing producer."

"Stuntman? With this face? I belong right in front of the camera, baby."

"None of you are going to be stuntmen," Donald said. He thought for a minute and wrote down some things about his nephews as they watched over his shoulder.

"There. Now throw in some old inside-jokes and references to things you've done together, and you've got yourself a letter!" Dewey said.

"You do realize I'm going to have to edit it quite a bit more than that, don't you?" Donald said.

"Whatever. At least you have a rough draft, which is a whole lot more than you had fifteen minutes ago."

A series of buzzes sounded, along with some honking from Donald's pocket. Louie pulled out his phone to check the message.

"Webby says dinner's ready," he said.

"I'll be there in a minute," Donald said. "Tell Mrs. B. not to wait for me."

"Ok," said Huey, and the three nephews left for the Manor, closing the door behind them.

Donald looked at the letter. Dewey was right. This rough draft was the closest Donald had been to writing a letter to his best friend (well...former best friend) than he had been in almost ten years. Still, guilt gnawed at him. He should have been writing letters to Mickey for the last nine years. Heck, there were a lot of people Donald should have been writing letters to for the last nine years.

Donald got a clean piece of paper and started to rewrite his letter.

Dear Mickey,

I'm sorry that I haven't written in so long. I don't have much of an excuse. My boys found an old letter you wrote to me back when you were first starting out and insisted that I rekindle try to rekindle our friendship. They're right. I should have done this years ago.

How have you been? I never really got around to telling the boys that I knew you-there didn't seem to be much of a point, since I'd already lost touch with you by the time they were old enough to understand-but we've always made sure to see all of your films. Dewey in particular has been complaining about how you've switched from movies to children's television shows. I will admit, I miss taking my boys out to see the latest Mickey Mouse movie, but I've gotta say, as far as kids' shows go, yours are really good. Too bad my boys have outgrown shows aimed at preschoolers.

Speaking of the boys, they've asked me to tell you a little about them. They're all Junior Woodchucks, though Huey is the most involved. He has 85 merit badges and is constantly earning more. His favorite of your movies is Fantasia. Dewey prefers Mickey's Polo Team and wants to know if you got to meet all those "old-timey" actors. He's a really nice kid; of course, they all are, but Dewey's always been really good at making friends. Louie's a smart kid, though his grades don't really show it. His favorite Mickey Mouse movie is The Brave Little Tailor.

How's Minnie doing? Huey wants to know what it's like to be married to the tabloids' most untouchable actress. He used to have the biggest crush on her when he was younger (but don't tell him I know). I'm pretty sure it was because her signature color, red, happens to be his favorite.

My life has actually gotten a whole lot more exciting lately. Through a series of crazy events, we reconnected with my Uncle Scrooge, and Dewey managed to set the houseboat on fire (thankfully, no one was hurt), so we moved the boat to the swimming pool in Scrooge's backyard and moved in with him. Well, the boys moved in with him; I still prefer to sleep in the boat, especially now that I've gotten it cleaned up. It still needs a lot of work, though.

It looks like I'm running out of space, and I've already said an awful lot to someone I'm not even sure wants to hear from me, so I'll stop there. My address is on the envelope, if you want to write back, and my phone number's the same as it was ten years ago, if you still have it.

Oh, and happy birthday!

Your friend,

Donald Duck

Donald looked at the letter. He'd write the final draft later, and he could send it tomorrow, as long as he didn't lose his nerve. But now it was time for dinner.

It had been a week since Donald had sent the letter, and a tight ball of anxiety had sat at the bottom of his stomach ever since. The worst that could happen was that Mickey didn't respond. No big deal. There was no way he'd write him back a nasty letter to criticize him for his years of silence-Donald knew Mickey better than that-but that thought did little to ease the feeling. And that feeling only grew every day when Mrs. Beakley brought in the mail.

Donald was sure the feeling would go away eventually. Mickey would never get back to him, he'd move on with his life, and he'd stop thinking about the letter every waking moment.

Hopefully.

"Mail!" Mrs. Beakley called, bringing a pile of envelopes and catalogs into the kitchen.

But not today.

Donald made his way to the kitchen, where Mrs. B. was sorting the mail.

"Here," she said, handing him a pile. Donald thanked her and went through the pile, his heart rate rising only a little (which was already an improvement from a few days ago).

Bill, bill, bill, bill-oh.

Donald would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

He felt a cold chill over his skin, and his heart began to race.

"I'll be in the houseboat," he said, his mouth suddenly dry, as he left through the back door.

Once inside the quiet privacy of the boat, Donald carefully tore open the envelope with shaking hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reading the paper inside.

Dear Donald,

It's so good to hear from you! It's been a long time, hasn't it? I've missed you an awful lot. Those nephews of yours sound smart.

I've been doing good. Thanks for going out to see my movies-I really appreciate it! It's true that I've been focusing on children's television lately. It's a lot easier than making movies because of the routine. But you can tell Dewey that I might be filming another movie soon. Nothing's set in stone yet, though, so do not let the word get out.

Minnie's doing great! She sends her love. You can tell Huey that being married to "the tabloids' most untouchable actress' is swell. It's great that we get to work on so many projects together.

I'm so happy to hear that you've reconnected with your uncle! I hope it's going well. And I'm even happier to hear that no one was hurt in that fire on your houseboat. It must be a little strange living in a boat in a swimming pool in someone else's backyard. Maybe I could come up some time and help you fix up the boat, if that's all right with you. It would be great to see you again, and I'd love to meet your nephews. They sound like great kids.

Gosh, it feels so good to talk to you again. I can't wait to hear back from you!

Oh, and thank you for the birthday wishes!

Your pal,

Mickey Mouse

Donald found was smiling even as tears formed in his eyes. He pressed the letter to his chest as the ball of anxiety in his stomach unwound to be replaced by something he didn't feel very often-happiness.

Donald took out a new piece of paper, picked up his pen, and started writing.

Dear Mickey...

Author's Note: Originally, Donald's letter to Mickey had a bit more to it that Donald crossed out as he wrote. Since you can't have strikethroughs on Fan Fiction, I opted to delete them; you can still see them on the versions of this fic posted AO3 and Tumblr (my username for both is RadarsTeddyBear).

Also, we're just going to pretend that Mickey's Polo Team doesn't have Donald in it in this universe.

Please review!