I do not own DuckTales.

Originally written for ducktalessecretsanta last year.

The Ornament

A towering pine tree dominated the foyer, the top branches looming just above the second-floor balcony. Cardboard boxes of decorations were stacked near the foot of the tree and Huey held the ladder so Dewey could hang glittery silver baubles on the tips of the branches. After Dewey hung five ornaments, they would switch places. Webby, wearing a Santa hat and covered with tinsel, eagerly ran around the tree and tossed the silver decoration wherever she could reach.

"Even distribution, Webby, even distribution!" called Huey. Turning to Dewey, he then said, "Separate the ornaments! Don't keep them close together!"

Dewey rolled his eyes and complied with Huey's instruction, knowing it did no good to argue with him when it came to decorating the Christmas tree, which Huey was very particular about. Hanging a sparkly glass icicle, Dewey turned to glance below him. "Louie, are you going help us or not?"

His sibling was currently rifling through the boxes, pulling out tissue-wrapped ornaments and inspecting them. Critically eyeing a gold bauble with green gemstones, Louie eventually deemed it of no value and tossed it back in the box. "In a sec," he replied. "I'm looking for my ornament."

"Your ornament?" asked Webby curiously, peeking around the tree.

"Yeah, you know. Everyone has that one ornament that they like more than the rest, and it's their ornament."

"No, she wouldn't know, considering this the first Christmas tree she's decorated," pointed out Huey. "Your decoration is already here. It's in that box."

Webby went over to the box Huey indicated. It was smaller than the rest, and in better condition than the ones Beakley found stashed in the attic. She pried open the top and found a collection of hand-crafted decorations and special occasion ornaments.

"Aw!" she squealed, lifting out a tiny brown bear wearing a green scarf that read Baby's First Christmas. "That's so cute! Is this your ornament?"

"No," scoffed Louie.

"It's the snowflake," added Dewey. "It's the shiniest ornament he has and you know how he likes shiny things."

"It reminds me of treasure," said Louie happily.

Webby carefully removed a silver snowflake, which was covered in jewel stones in varying shades of blue. When she twirled it, it caught the light, reflecting it across the floor in a shimmering wave. She placed it neatly back into the box and looked at the remaining ornaments nestled inside.

"How come you haven't put these ones on the tree?" she asked. "Aren't they your childhood ornaments?"

"Yeah, but we'll put them on when Uncle Scrooge is finished with his work and can help us," replied Huey. "And we like doing ours with Uncle Donald."

"Where is he?"

"He's, uh, probably somewhere thinking," muttered Dewey, the cheerful glint disappearing from his eyes for a moment. "He usually does that whenever the tree goes up."

"Oh," said Webby, folding her wings in front of her. "Duh. Sorry."

"It's okay." Dewey flashed her a smile. "He'll be fine when he starts getting into the Christmas decorating."

"Louie, be careful!" cried Huey, noticing his brother toss aside a plain silver bauble. "Why do you need another ornament anyway?"

"Come on, Uncle Scrooge has to have something valuable in all this stuff," exclaimed Louie.

"I don't think so," piped up Webby. "This is the first time in my whole life Mr. McDuck has ever decorated for Christmas. If he had something valuable in that box, he wouldn't leave it in the attic. The garage, sure, but not the attic."

Louie made a face, knowing that Webby had a point. "Darn."

Dewey made his way down the ladder and Huey collected some ornaments. "Now that there's nothing of value you can pilfer, are you going to help us now?" asked Huey.

"I guess," sighed Louie. He reached into the box he had been rummaging through and grabbed a handful of ornaments. He turned to the tree and frowned when he noticed that only the bottom half was decorated. "Don't you have a taller ladder?"

"Uncle Donald doesn't want us going any higher until he's with us," said Dewey.

"Psh, it's not that high," dismissed Louie.

Huey's eyes widened when Louie started to climb the tree, causing the ornaments to jingle when the branches shook. "Louie, knock it off!"

"Relax," said Louie, pausing when he made it three-quarters of the way up and started to hang his ornaments. "I got this."

"Seriously, just wait until Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are here," said Dewey, eyeing the trembling tree nervously. "You're going to break something!"

Louie rolled his eyes, attaching a silver-and-blue snowman to the tip of a branch. "I'm not going to—"

His words ended with a startled gasp when he suddenly slipped, sending him to a rough landing with the cold, unforgiving floor. His shoulder throbbed with pain and his head spun, and he barely processed the panicked cries of his siblings and Webby.

"Dude!" shouted Dewey, hurrying to his side. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Louie dazedly, sitting up. He glanced down, smiling triumphantly when he noticed the ornament still intact. "See? Didn't break—"

The silver star, made out of entwined wire and gemstones, crumbled apart the second he lifted it up. "…anything," finished Louie.

"Oh no, Mr. McDuck is going to be mad," whispered Webby with wide eyes.

"Way to go," said Huey with a scowl, ire coursing through him now that he knew Louie was all right. "It took forever for us to convince Uncle Scrooge to decorate for Christmas. Now he's probably going to get Beakley to toss the tree right out the front door."

Louie started to gather the pieces together. "I'll just hide it. He'll never—"

"What in blazes is goin' on in here?"

Scrooge appeared in the entrance of the foyer just as Donald stood at the top of the stairs. Louie let out a huff. "Geez, my timing is off today."

Donald's eyes zeroed in on Louie sitting on the floor, the broken ornament in his hand. "Louie!" He rushed down and lifted Louie to his feet, inspecting him anxiously. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine," said Louie with a sigh, letting the threads of wire and gemstones to fall back to the hardwood. "Just slipped."

"Yeah, right out of the tree," muttered Huey.

Eyes narrowing, Donald demanded, "Were you climbing hazardously high places again?"

"Depends on your definition of hazard." When Donald glared warningly at him, Louie crossed his wings and muttered, "Yes, I was."

"What have I told you about doing that?" snapped Donald. "You could've broken your neck!"

"I was just trying to decorate the tree."

"Didn't your brothers tell you I'd be down to help you shortly?"

"Yes," chorused Huey and Dewey.

"I'm fine," said Louie irritably.

"Barely," said Donald with a scowl. "You broke an ornament this time and there's not going to be a next time for you to try and break a bone. You're grounded. Now what do you say?"

Louie followed Donald's pointed look to where Scrooge was staring down at the broken pieces of the ornament. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I'll…uh…buy you a new one," he added, silently hoping that its appearance meant it was as cheap as it seemed.

"Ye cannae just buy me a new one," said Scrooge abruptly. "There is nae another one like this in the whole world."

"Wait, was it priceless or something?" asked Louie in bewilderment. "It looks kinda lousy."

Scrooge spun around and reached out, grabbing Louie by the front of his hoodie as he growled, "How dare ye? It was nae lousy tae me."

Too stunned by the rage in Scrooge's voice to answer, Donald reacted for him. He wrenched his nephew free of Scrooge's grip and said angrily, "He didn't know. It was an accident."

"Of course he did nae know," said Scrooge spitefully. "How could he? Ye do nae tell them anything."

Despite his words being deliberately vague, Donald knew exactly what he meant by it. "Don't start," he hissed. "You don't have the right when it's your fault."

Scrooge straightened and he sent Donald a hard look. "Ye were as clueless as Ah was. Ah will not shoulder the blame alone."

"What the heck are you talking about?" cried Louie.

"Shut up," snapped Dewey, exchanging a quick look with Webby.

But Louie's exclamation broke through the simmering, red haze of the two feuding ducks. "Never ye mind," said Scrooge tensely. "But the matter remains that ye have no respect for my personal property."

"I do," insisted Louie.

"It took ye long enough tae offer an apology."

"Leave him alone," snapped Donald. "He didn't do it on purpose. It's not him you're really angry at, anyway. Don't take it out on him."

"With such little discipline it's a wonder they do nae tear up more of my possessions for fun."

Shoulders hunching forwards, Donald's face flushed puce. "Don't you ever criticize how I raise them."

Scrooge swung his cane up to point accusingly at Donald. "He breaks something of mine, something very important, and tae top it off he calls it lousy. And all ye do is defend him. But why should it matter? It's only me. Ah'm the cause of all your problems, are Ah nae? Hard tae teach respect when ye have none yourself."

"What do you know about respect?"

Scrooge stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowing. As they stared at each other Louie finally understood what the phrase 'silence is deafening' meant. He glanced between them, beak opening and closing helplessly. He wished he had some magic power that would allow him to fix the stupid ornament and make his uncles stop fighting. Huey and Dewey had unconsciously clustered closer together, nervously awaiting what furious outburst would come next. Webby clung the tinsel to her chest and darted her eyes between the occupants of the room.

"Ah never liked Christmas and nao Ah'm remembering why," Scrooge finally said quietly. "It's all just a bunch of bother."

The kids flinched when he slammed his cane into a box, crunching glass sounding like gunshots in the tense atmosphere. Donald's wings trembled slightly by his side. "These kids are getting Christmas. If you refuse that, we're leaving."

Scrooge turned, avoiding the desperate gazes of the kids, for if he met their eyes his heart would only shatter into a thousand pieces. "Then go."

He disappeared through the entryway without a backwards glance. Donald felt his mind whirl, old emotions conflicting with new and he wasn't sure if he should be enraged or heartbroken. Knowing the latter would happen if he looked at his kids, he said softly, "Pack your bags, boys," and moved upstairs as quickly as he could without sprinting.

"I…I…" Louie fumbled his speech, a hundred thoughts rushing through his head and unable to focus on any of them. "I didn't mean…"

He reached down and lifted the top part of the ornament, the wire pieces jagged and gemstones hanging by thin strings of aged glue. He noticed for the first time a tag attached to the string and he flipped it over, reading the clumsy, cursive handwriting.

'Merry Christmas, Uncle Scrooge! Love your favourite niece, Della.'

Louie's blood turned to ice. He didn't have time to truly react, though he probably wouldn't have moved of his own accord for several minutes if Dewey hadn't shoved him hard from behind, sending him sprawling out across the floor.

"Louie!" Webby exclaimed, hurrying to help him up. "Dewey, what was that for?"

"It was from Mom!" Dewey cried, his small body shaking with rage and shock and grief. "The ornament he broke was from Mom to Uncle Scrooge, and you called it lousy!"

"I didn't know!" retorted Louie.

"That's all you ever say! You didn't know, it was an accident, it's not your fault. You knew something might break if you climbed that tree. You knew and you still took the chance anyway, and look what happened! Uncle Scrooge kicked us out and it's all your fault!"

"I'll talk to him, okay?" insisted Louie.

"You're not going to be able to talk your way out of this one." Huey levelled Louie with a disappointed look, his eyes shimmering with tears. "We were finally going to have a nice Christmas. Uncle Donald wasn't going to be overworked and stressed. It was going to be our first one with Uncle Scrooge, Webby and Beakley. But you had to go and pull a Louie."

"I didn't…" Louie started, but his brothers stormed off, disappearing up the stairs.

He looked after them, helplessness crashing down on him. He wanted to talk to Scrooge, to insist he didn't mean any disrespect, that it really was an accident. But his great-uncle's rage was a crystal-clear image in his mind and he feared going against it alone. He wanted to speak with Donald, to be comforted and advised on what to do, but he was ashamed. He had broken a trinket that his mother, that Donald's twin sister, had made, and called it lousy and thought it was stupid.

And what caused a searing, white-hot guilt to cut through his chest was that they were right, and Donald's defense of him was undeserved.

Webby lingered in the foyer, suddenly feeling ridiculous draped with tinsel given the seriousness of the situation. She hastily shook it off and hesitantly approached Louie. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure something out."

"There's nothing to figure out," said Louie hotly. "We're leaving in the morning and we're probably never coming back and it's because I'm an idiot."

"That's not—"

Louie turned and bolted out of the foyer before Webby finish. He blindly shoved his webbed feet into his boots before swinging open the front door. He slammed it shut on Webby's frantic call of his name and started to run, tearing down the salted pathway and bursting through the iron gates. He ran as hard and fast as he could, lungs heaving with every step and tears streaming down his face. The bitter wind slapped at his exposed feathers and he jerked up his hoodie to guard his ears. He didn't register the sting of the cold, ignoring it as he pressed on. He just wanted to get away, to avoid the consequences of his actions.

Avoidance seemed to be one of the few things he was good at.

Wings shoved into his pockets, Louie hunched his shoulders against the wind as he moved briskly down the sidewalk. It was thankfully quiet that afternoon, which meant he didn't have to worry too much about plastering on a smile and hiding his tears.

Eventually he made it to the park and he collapsed onto a bench, shivering as the frigid steel met his uncovered legs. He couldn't handle the cold as well as his siblings, which was why he wore a whole snowsuit as opposed to just a winter coat. He shook violently, arms curling around himself to try and keep some parts of his body warm.

A short, humourless smile crossed his beak. Running off without his winter gear—yet another example of pulling a Louie. Acting without thinking. Making impulse decisions. Not listening and disobeying orders, only to cause trouble by doing exactly what he had been told not to do.

He wasn't sure how long he spent in the cold, curled in on himself and crying into his arms. A shout alerted him to another presence in the park, and when he listened more closely, he realized his name was being called.

"Louie! Louie, where are you?"

"Webby?"

The girl appeared at the end of the path, decked out in her pink and purple jacket, mittens and hat. Her concern evaporated from her expression when she spotted him, but it remained in her voice when she cried, "Louie! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

She handed him his snowsuit, which he gratefully wrestled into, the warmth immediately engulfing him. "Thanks. You didn't have to."

"Don't be silly. Of course I did." She gave him a pointed look. "You can't run out into the snow with just your hoodie. You're going to get pneumonia."

"Sorry. I just had to get out of there. How did you find me?"

"Your boot tracks." When he sent her a quizzical glance, she cheerfully explained, "You're a size six and a half and the tread is unique to the brand of shoe that you have. It was easy to follow."

Louie chuckled. "You never cease to amaze me, Webbs."

"Aw, thanks." Webby took a seat beside him and said, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I messed up big time." Louie kicked at the snow miserably. "I don't even know if I can fix this one."

"Sure you can! There's always a solution to a problem."

"Not this one. I know Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge don't really get along and this just made it worse. I don't really get what they were talking about, but I guess it was about Mom."

"Seemed like it," agreed Webby carefully. "But you didn't know. You just have to explain that to Mr. McDuck."

"It won't matter. Because it shouldn't matter if it was an ornament from Mom or not. I broke something of his and I honestly didn't really care. He has a ton of stuff. Me breaking a few things accidentally didn't seem all that important. I only cared when I saw how much it meant to Uncle Scrooge and why." Louie let out a quiet scoff. "I really am disrespectful."

"You are not," insisted Webby.

Louie looked at her in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"Because I live with you! I hang out with you. You don't disrespect me. You might not listen all the time, but you always acknowledge when I was right and you were wrong. You apologize and you mean it. You have so much respect for Donald, I can see it in your eyes whenever you look at him."

"Some respect," muttered Louie. "After everything he's done for us I still get on his case for being boring and unlucky."

"You used to," corrected Webby. "You stopped after we left the House of the Lucky Gander. You realized the effect your words had and that Donald took them more seriously than as jokes. If you didn't care or respect him, you would have kept doing it."

"Maybe," said Louie, though he was doubtful. "But I'm always pulling a Louie. I never learn enough to stop doing that."

Webby flinched and averted her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said guiltily. "I really shouldn't have said that. It wasn't anything against you. It's just…you have a certain behaviour…and I just sort of called it that. It's not a bad thing! Not always. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

Louie bumped shoulders with her gently, getting her eyes to met his again. "You didn't. You were right. Pulling a Louie sometimes works in my favour, sometimes it doesn't. Today it didn't. I just did what I wanted to do and didn't bother to think about the consequences. I do that a lot."

"It's something you have to work on. Not everyone is perfect. Just because you have flaws doesn't mean you're a terrible person. Today was an honest mistake, Louie. I know you feel bad, but you shouldn't feel bad about yourself. You're pretty great."

Her bright, earnest smile caused Louie's spirits to lift. Rubbing away a few last tears, he said, "Thanks Webby. I still don't know how I'm going to fix this. We're supposed to be gone in the morning."

"We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen," said Webby determinedly. She reached into her pocket and carefully removed a paper bag. When Louie peeked inside, he discovered it contained the pieces of Della's ornament. "We can put it back together and then we'll give it to Mr. McDuck! Maybe then we can get him to talk to Donald."

"It's worth a try," agreed Louie.

He would do whatever it took. He had just found Uncle Scrooge—he didn't want to lose him now.

…

The suitcase had been sitting on Donald's bed for almost two hours. He alternated between staring at it, pacing the tiny length of his houseboat and bustling about, tidying shelves and dusting furniture. He hadn't even begun to pack. He didn't want to.

Della's disappearance (he refused to say death—no one ever found out what truly happened to her) was a soul crushing blow he never recovered from. He pinned the blame on his uncle, who should have known better than to speak to Della about potentially powerful, dangerous artifacts. It was like luring a moth to an open flame.

Della loved mystery. She loved superstitions. She loved myths and legends. The idea that there were things in the world that were undiscovered, forces that could not be explained, thrilled her. He had always been cautious. Wary. Suspicious. He supposed that's why Scrooge always clicked better with Della.

He was against the Spear of Selene from the start. Very little was known about it, other than it held power that was not known to man, harnessed from the cosmos, most of it theorized to come from the moon. Scrooge wanted it. Of course he did. But Della…she had wanted it more. Her curiosity had always gotten the best of her. This time it was too much.

One day she was there and the next she gone, leaving nothing but the note behind. Scrooge and Donald had searched weeks for her, exhausting Scrooge's list of contacts. They couldn't find her. They couldn't find the spear. She was gone. And both of them knew she would never have left behind the triplets—she thought she was coming back, from wherever she had gone.

Donald was suddenly the caretaker of three babies. He was stressed, grieving and destroyed. And from early on, he swore that if it weren't for Scrooge and his insistence to pursue this mythical weapon, Della would still be here. Their relationship was never the same after that.

Anger was still there. Resentment. Bitterness. But above all else, guilt and shame. And perhaps neither of them was able to accept they were both at fault. They had to blame one another, because Donald knew if he dared to acknowledge it was his fault, he would not be able to bear it. He was her twin. He should have known something was off. That her attention, while always distracted, was particularly flighty. That her note-taking was more rapid, frantic, almost desperate. She grew quieter. He attributed it to one of her moods. He didn't bother to inquire if anything was wrong.

Maybe she wouldn't have told him regardless. But the fact he never asked ate at him. The only thing that kept him sane was that Scrooge hadn't paid attention either and it was easier to blame him, the one who dragged them all into the mess in the first place.

Yet, with all of these thoughts broiling in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to pack his loose items and prepare to take his houseboat to another harbour. He had gone so long without Scrooge he thought he was better off without him. But being back in the mansion, back with the duck who taught him so much, brought forth a rush of memories and emotions that were happy and pleasant. No, he and Scrooge hadn't always gotten along. But they did love each other. And as much as he tried, that didn't change.

Raking a wing down his face, Donald let out a sharp sigh. He was always the overthinker. Always the overreactor. He supposed he should have been stricter with Louie, who had a tendency to forget to be careful with another's belongings. But Louie's apology was sincere and Scrooge honestly hadn't really minded all that much when his items had been broken before. It just happened to be Della's ornament, and it just happened to open wounds that had never fully healed.

It was two weeks before Christmas. He couldn't drag the boys out now. Not when he had no money for a tree or presents or a meal. The boys would claim they didn't care, but he knew they did. They deserved a Christmas. And Scrooge deserved to have a reason to celebrate again. So did he.

Closing his eyes and knowing that this wasn't going to be easy, Donald left the houseboat and crossed through the yard. He entered the sliding glass door, dutifully brushed off the snow to the mat under Beakley's watchful gaze as she mopped the kitchen nook floor.

"You're not gearing up for another explosion, are you?"

Donald sent her an unimpressed look. "No. It's not just my fault, you know."

"I do," she replied sincerely. "I only wish you could put aside your differences, especially for the holidays. I'm afraid Webby's never really had a true Christmas, as much I tried to make them special."

"You never once got angry with Uncle Scrooge for refusing to celebrate, even when Webby was here?" asked Donald, slightly bewildered.

Beakley lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "Not really. Webby is an easy to please child and she was happy enough. Christmas isn't about the sparkle and material items, after all. It's about family. I don't think I'd want to celebrate either if I lost my family."

"Yeah," muttered Donald, a pulse of guilt going through him, as it so often did. "I'll see what I can do."

He started through the mansion but before he went to Scrooge's office he decided to check on his boys. He went to their room and swung open the door, where he found Huey reading and Dewey playing a hand-held video game.

"You guys okay?"

"Us?" Immediately attentive, Dewey set his game aside. "We're fine. What about you?"

"I'm good. Not the first time I've gotten into it with your uncle."

"Are we really going to leave?" asked Huey hesitantly.

"No. I'll talk to him, let him know we're staying." He couldn't help but smile when Dewey and Huey cheered and high-fived. The smile slipped and he asked, "Where's Louie?"

"Oh—we haven't seen him for a while." Dewey averted his gaze and tugged on the hem of his shirt. "We kind of got into a fight and we stormed up here. Louie didn't follow."

Donald's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"We blamed him for you wanting us to leave and for getting Uncle Scrooge mad," he replied, growing shame-faced. "It was wrong, I know. But it was going to be an awesome Christmas. You would finally get to relax and be happy instead of worrying."

Donald went over and rubbed Dewey's head, a warm smile on his beak. "It's not your job to worry about me, but I appreciate it. I've always been stressed, probably since the day I was hatched. But I've never not been happy at Christmas. I have you boys. So long as you're happy, I'm happy."

Huey scrambled over and helped Dewey seize Donald in a tight hug. "We are. Very happy."

"You shouldn't blame Louie for this. Go talk to your brother. Fighting isn't worth it. I love you."

"Love you too!" they chorused.

Huey bolted out of the room first, but Dewey lingered. He had a million questions, most of them about his mother and what happened. But he didn't ask, knowing very well it was topic neither Donald or Scrooge wanted to talk about. Instead he ventured hesitantly, "Do you love Uncle Scrooge, Uncle Donald?"

"Yes."

Brightening at this, Dewey grinned and went after Huey. Donald paused for a moment, realizing that he didn't have to think about the answer, and wondered how love could still exist amongst all the grief and angst that existed between them. He supposed it really was the strongest force on earth.

Donald finally entered Scrooge's office. The elderly duck was at his desk, reviewing a file, and didn't look up when he came in. Donald struggled with his words for a moment before finally saying, "We're not leaving."

"Fine. Whatever ye wish."

But Donald did not miss the way his shoulders sagged with relief. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said quietly, "She wouldn't have cared, that it broke."

Scrooge lifted his head, suddenly looking every year of his age and Donald hated it, hated thinking of his uncle as old. "Ah know. Ah do nae know what came over me. Is Louie all right?"

"Huey and Dewey are looking for him now. They got into a fight of their own and separated for some cool down time."

"Nae much of a holiday this is turnin' out tae be," muttered Scrooge.

"It's not really a holiday without some family fights," said Donald with a shrug.

"Ah should nae have said the things Ah did, nor did Ah mean them. Ye did a fine job raising those boys, Donald. Ye did it by yourself. Ye did it far better than Ah ever could have."

Donald could only nod, not trusting that his words would be coherent if he spoke. Before he could collect himself, Huey and Dewey burst in, both of them clearly distressed. "Louie's gone!" cried Huey. "We kept calling his name but we couldn't find him. We checked the closet and his coat is gone!"

"So is Webby's," added Dewey. "She must have gone after him!"

"Curse me kilts, if he has nae been with ye, that means he and Webbigail have been gone for over two hours!"

Everyone turned to stare out the office window, at the steady snowfall and frozen landscape. Heart in his throat, Donald ordered, "Go upstairs!"

"We're coming with you," insisted Dewey. "This is our fault too. We shouldn't have yelled at him."

"It's freezing out there and it's going to be dark soon. You're not coming."

When Huey and Dewey remained defiant, Scrooge set a wing on Donald's shoulder. "I'm afraid you're nae going tae change their minds. Family should be together during Christmas, after all."

When Donald relented, Huey rushed to get Beakley, who had already contacted Launchpad and was preparing the limousine for departure. In less than ten minutes they were off, with both Donald and Scrooge vowing that they would never forgive themselves if something happened to the kids.

…

"Where does this piece go?"

"In that curved part."

"Webby, it's a star. There are a lot of curved parts."

"You're not looking at me! I'm pointing at it!"

Louie and Webby were seated at a table in a corner of a café, using a portable glue gun to reassemble the ornament. They put the gemstones back into place and reattached the wires so that they once again formed a perfect five-point star.

"We did it," said Louie with a grin, cradling the repaired decoration in his wings. "Thanks, Webby. I couldn't have done it without you. Mostly because I don't own a glue gun."

Webby shot him a playful glare. "Very funny."

Louie folded the ornament into several brown paper napkins and slipped it in his pocket. "Let's go home."

Webby accepted the wing he extended towards her. Linked together, they started out of the café and down the sidewalk. They had barely made it down the block when a familiar vehicle pulled up beside them, the horn giving a short, sharp blast.

"Granny!" cheered Webby and rushed at Beakley the second she stepped out of the limo.

"You know very well you cannot leave the mansion without speaking with me first," said Beakley sternly as she embraced Webby.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I was just worried about Louie and didn't really think of anything else."

Louie charged into Donald's waiting wings. "I'm leaving the mansion, I'll be back in a few hours?" he offered with an innocent smile.

"A little late, dontcha think?" Donald asked, trying to scowl and failing. "Children who climb Christmas trees and run off without telling me aren't on track to get presents from Santa."

"That's okay," said Louie honestly. "I probably don't deserve any."

"Don't be silly, of course you do." Expression softening, he ran his wing down Louie's back. "You kids are going to be the death of me one of these days."

"I'm sorry," said Dewey miserably, coming up next to Donald. "I didn't mean anything I said."

"Yeah," agreed Huey, shame-faced. "You didn't ruin anything. We're sorry we made you feel that way."

Louie stepped over to embrace them, grinning when Dewey gave him an affectionate noogie. "Nah, you were right. I was being a jerk and I caused Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge to fight."

"Ye did nae cause anything, lad."

Perking up at Scrooge's voice, Louie looked up as his great-uncle finally approached them. "Uncle Scrooge?"

"Ah'm afraid Ah tend tae be in a horrid mood during this time of year," Scrooge said with a sigh. "Ah took it out on ye and that was wrong. Ah'm sorry, Louie."

"But I did break your ornament. I should have cared, whether I knew it was Mom's or not. I'm sorry for being disrespectful. I'll be more careful with your stuff from now on." Louie reached into his pocket and removed the star. Scrooge's eyes widened in surprise as Louie handed it to him. "Webby helped me fix it."

Touched, Scrooge smiled and opened his wings for a hug. Louie eagerly accepted, embracing Scrooge tightly. "Thank ye, Louie. And ye're nae disrespectful. Ye're a good lad. Ah'm glad tae have ye kids with me." He extended a wing towards Webby and she happily joined the hug. "Though Ah could do without ye running off with nae a word."

"We'll try to be better about that," said Webby sheepishly.

"Key word being try," added Louie cheekily. After a pause he then asked more hesitantly, "Can we stay for Christmas?"

"Of course ye can," said Scrooge immediately, feeling a surge of guilt for implying he did not want them there. "Ah really did nae want ye tae leave."

Louie peeked over at Donald uncertainly, who flinched and rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to leave either. I said it in the heat of the moment and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you think we weren't going to spend Christmas with Uncle Scrooge."

Beakley cast a glance at the horizon, where the sun was rapidly setting and it was getting darker by the second. "If all apologies have been said and accepted, I do believe we should be getting back. We have a Christmas tree to finish decorating, do we not?"

"Yes!" whooped Webby. "Race ya!" She started to charge towards the limo, but her foot struck a patch of ice and she found herself landing hard on the cold cement. Hardly dazed, she sat up and grinned sheepishly as the boys laughed while the adults eyed her in concern, Beakley hoisting her back up. "Never mind."

Chuckling, Louie turned to Donald. "Can I make a quick stop before we head back to the mansion?"

Donald eyed him suspiciously. "Where to?"

"The little antique store on the corner. I saw something in the window when I walked by and I just realized it's the perfect present for someone."

Though a little puzzled, Donald nodded. "You got ten minutes."

"Got it." Louie leaned forwards to give him another hug. "I love you."

"I love you too," returned Donald, tickling Louie's cheek. "More than anything in this world."

…

Christmas music played in the background, a soft melody against cheerful chatter. Beakley manned the ladder, critically watching each child as they scaled the steps to hang ornaments on the top branches. Louie adamantly refused to take his turn, but coaxing from his brothers and Webby eventually caused him to cave. Launchpad was given charge of the tinsel and the wooden ornaments, as Scrooge preferred not to have any more of his decorations broken.

"Ooh, candy canes!" said Webby gleefully, eagerly tearing off the plastic. "Can we hang them now?"

"How about you hang this one first?" offered Louie. He reached into his pocket and removed a small wooden box. Curious, Webby accepted it when he handed it to her. At her confused expression, Louie explained, "You never really got to have your own ornament. When I said I had to grab something at the antique store, it was this."

Webby pried back the lid, a soft gasp escaping her at the sight of the angel ornament nestled in bubble wrap. It was ceramic, with a gold halo and glittery wings and a sweet, painted face. "Louie…this is amazing!"

"I'm glad you like it," said Louie with relief. "I didn't pay much attention to it at first, but when you came after me this afternoon…well, you were my angel today."

Webby's eyes welled with tears and she engulfed Louie in a bear hug. "Thank you," she whispered, hesitating for a brief second before giving him a light peck on the cheek.

Turning red from the unexpected gesture, Louie muttered, "Don't mention it."

"I know exactly where I'm putting it!" Approaching the tree, Webby hung her new ornament right beside Louie's snowflake. "There! Wanna help me with the candy canes?"

"For sure. But before we start hanging them, we have to eat one first."

As the pair began to deck the tree with candy canes, Donald watched Huey hang his last childhood ornament before moving on to Scrooge's collection. Rummaging through a box, he stilled upon spotting a familiar ornament. He slowly lifted it out, a gold star with silver beads glued on.

"Ah, there it is," mused Scrooge, appearing beside his nephew. "Ah wondered where it had gone. Ah thought Ah had put it with Della's."

"I didn't think you kept mine," said Donald at last.

Scrooge glanced at him. "Would nae make much sense tae keep Della's and nae yers. Ye made it for me, did ye nae?"

"Well, yes, but…" Donald trailed off, knowing what he wanted to say but fearing what the answer might be.

But Scrooge was no fool, never had been. "We may have gotten along better, but I appreciated ye as well. When Della found out Ah had no homemade ornaments of me own, Ah did nae expect both of ye tae actually make me some."

"Every tree needs homemade ornaments," said Donald honestly. "And it was fun." The last word came out strangled as his sister's smiling face flashed through his mind and her bubbling laugh echoed through his ears. He let out a cough to try and get past the lump in his throat and he managed a half-smile. "We probably could have avoided the fuss if Louie had just broken mine."

Scrooge shifted his gaze to glance at Louie, who was currently lifting Webby up by the waist so she could hang some candy canes on the middle branches of the Christmas tree. Huey was trying to rearrange the baubles so that the colours were separated instead of clustered together, while Dewey snuck up behind him and reversed his methodical work.

For so many years, Scrooge had spent Christmas alone and in isolation. But now the mansion was filled with warmth, laughter and cheer, and for the first time in a long time, it finally felt like he was home for the holidays.

"Ah suppose," he replied. "Ye are here tae make me a new one, after all." Taking the ornament from Donald, he hung it gently on the branch right beside Della's star. He took a step back and put a wing on Donald's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, nephew."

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Scrooge."