Chapter Text
Chapter 3: Tough Cookies
"Oh, you're overreacting," Louie said with a dismissive wave of his game controller. "Uncle Donald would never abandon his family. And that's us."
"I'm with Louie on this," Dewey said, his focus more on the video game he and Louie were playing than Huey's mounting anxieties. "If Uncle Donald does marry Daisy, that'll just add one more to the Duck clan! Besides, Daisy's great! And not just because she's a fantastic networking contact."
"Though, that is a definite perk!" Louie jabbed at his controller, launching at least a dozen laser missiles at the looming enemy spaceship on the screen. "Ha ha!" he crowed as the ship exploded. "Yeah! 'Aunt Daisy.' I like the sound of that."
Huey shook his head. "It doesn't bother you that our uncle won't be with us for Christmas?" he pressed. "Either of our uncles? For the first time in our lives?"
"They'll be with us for New Year's," Dewey pointed out, leaning slightly to the left as he swerved his own spaceship around an oncoming asteroid.
"So that's it?" Huey jumped up from the couch, planting his hands on his hips. "You don't care at all that Scrooge'll be in Scotland and Uncle Donald's gonna be up on Bear Mountain with the snow and the sleds and the skating pond, while we have to spend Christmas alone at some air show?"
"What 'alone'?" Dewey said. "We'll be with Mom and Kit!"
"Who'll be up in the AIR," Huey spelled out. "SHOW-ing off!"
"You just don't like it 'cause it's different," Louie said flatly, his eyes fixed on the flashing screen. "You always freak out when there's a change in your routine."
"That's not true!" Huey protested, albeit a little doubtfully. "And even if it is, Christmas isn't a routine. It's a family tradition!"
"And traditions change," Louie said. "Families grow. Someday, it might even be us spending Christmas apart to be with the girls we love."
"You take that back!" Huey gasped, clutching his hat with his hands.
"It's just a day, Hu," Dewey said, blasting an orbiting satellite into cinders. "You're the one making a big deal out of it."
"Just a—!" Huey's beak dropped open, then curled into a snarl. "So, it's me, then," he said angrily. "All I want is to share a warm, happy Christmas with the family I love, and I'm the one overreacting when it all falls apart!"
"Yeah," Louie said.
"Pretty much," Dewey agreed.
"Fine!" Huey snapped, blinking back the sting of sudden tears. "Just play your game! I'll find a way to fix this on my own!"
"Yep, uh huh," Louie said distractedly, ducking his more maneuverable ship under a moon-orbiting minefield while leaving the clunkier enemy ship to ram straight into it. "Hey, since you're up, mind grabbing me a Pep?"
Huey turned away, breathing hard through his nostrils to keep himself from either exploding or breaking down. Leaving his brothers on the couch, he strode stiffly into the hallway, his throat too tight to allow him to speak.
"Aw, don't be mad," Dewey called after him.
But Huey wasn't mad. The sadness welling inside him felt more like abandonment…or betrayal.
*******
Fighting to keep his emotions in check, Huey made his way back toward the kitchen, a last-ditch hope beginning to form in his head.
"No one's left yet," he said to himself. "There might still be time to fix this. If I go around to everyone and offer them one of my homemade Christmas cookies, it might be enough to spark their Christmas spirit! I can tell them how I feel, how much they all mean to me, and—"
He pushed the kitchen door open onto a bright and bustling scene, only to back out in alarm when May whizzed by, brandishing a wooden rolling pin. Stepping in more cautiously, he exclaimed, "What is going on here?"
"Eep!" June squeaked to a sudden stop, only just managing to avoid dusting them both with her open bag of flour. "Sorry, Huey! Didn't see you there!"
"We're baking Christmas cookies for our trip to Bear Mountain! Want to help?" May invited, holding up the cutters Huey had been using only a short time ago. At the kitchen's center island, Daisy was measuring sugar and butter into a bowl while Donald reached high up a shelf for another big bag of flour. All four of them wore festively patterned Christmas aprons and bright, happy smiles.
"Well, I…" Huey hesitated, badly flustered by the unexpected activity all around him.
"Aunt Daisy says we can eat them with hot chocolate and marshmallows," June said excitedly.
May bobbed up and down on her webbed feet, just as excited as her sister. "In front of a roaring fire!"
"After we set up our Christmas tree!" June exclaimed, clasping her hands together.
"You're certainly welcome to join in, Huey," Daisy told him with a smile. "This is the girls' first real Christmas, away from those awful F.O.W.L. labs."
"And as part of our family!" Donald added, merrily mixing the butter and sugar Daisy had measured.
"That's right!" Daisy cheered, giving Donald an affectionate peck on the cheek. "And we're all doing our very best to make it special!"
Donald blushed happily, returning to his mixing with joyous vigor.
Huey stared at his uncle, his own roiling feelings in too much of a whirl to actually be felt.
"Well, uh, great," Huey managed. "I'm glad you're having fun. But really, I only came in to fetch my Christmas cookies. So, if I could just have those…?"
"Oh." May covered her beak with her hands. "Oh, June…"
"Oh my, were those supposed to be saved?" June asked, turning her anxious gaze to a plate of gingerbread scraps and crumbs by the sink.
Huey's beak fell open, even as his heart plummeted toward the subbasement. "My cookies…"
"Honestly, Huey, we didn't know," May told him.
"We'd never had real, home-baked Christmas cookies before," June said.
"And those spicy cinnamon-y ones were so delicious," May added. "We just had to know how they were made!"
"That's why Aunt Daisy and Uncle Donald offered to find us a recipe for their favorite holiday cookies!" June exclaimed.
"And since we'd already tried gingerbread—"
"Well, I guess it was your gingerbread," June said apologetically.
"We decided to make these cut-out sugar cookies!"
"Our first batch of dough is chilling in the freezer." June pointed.
"You can help us roll it out!" May offered, holding the rolling pin out to him as if it were an olive branch.
Huey started to reach for it, but found himself distracted by his uncle Donald's struggle at the kitchen island. The substance in his mixing bowl seemed oddly stretchy – more like silly putty than cookie dough.
"That can't be right," Daisy said, reaching for the bag her boyfriend had pulled off the shelf. "Donald, are you sure that was flour you— Oh no!"
"What?" Donald asked, fighting to pull his mixing spoon from the springy, stretchy gloop. "What is it?"
Daisy squinted at the bag. "My goodness! It's some kind of putty mix. For quick kitchen fixes," she read.
"Uh oh," Donald winced, grunting and straining against the stretchy force of the mixture. "Mrs. B. must keep that stuff on the shelf in case of emergencies."
"Let me try," Daisy said, reaching for the thoroughly engulfed mixing spoon. "Maybe we can still salvage the bowl!"
With the two of them yanking, the rubbery substance lurched from the bowl with an odd, sucking slurp to bounce rapidly between the ceiling and floor like a madly dribbling basketball.
May and June burst into delighted giggles at the sight. Although they were far more startled, and far less pleased, both Donald and Daisy quickly caught on to the humor of the situation. Sharing a bemused look, they joined the girls by the counter, adding to their laughter as they each placed a warm hand on the girls' shoulders.
Only Huey stood alone, the rolling pin clutched in his hand. He turned his eyes from the bouncing putty to his uncle Donald. From the bouncing putty to Daisy, May, and June. From the bouncing putty to the four of them laughing…while his own plate of Christmas cookies sat neglected by the sink, no longer an expression of his love but a sad scattering of bits and crumbles…
THWACK!
Huey's rolling pin connected with the putty like a wooden baseball bat, sending the substance careening wildly around the room. Dishes shattered, pans clattered—!
"DUCK!" Donald shouted, shielding Daisy's head as he pulled the frozen May and June to the floor.
Scrabbling over the polished tiles, Donald grabbed a massive silver serving platter from a lower cabinet and held it up like a shield. Using it to deflect the madly bouncing menace, he seized a fistful of Huey's red shirt and dragged the wide-eyed young duck out of harm's way, following closely as Daisy herded the frightened girls out into the hall.
"Is everyone OK?" Donald asked, his eyes full of concern as he watched Daisy comfort the trembling May and June. From the other side of the kitchen door, the sound of clatters, clanks, and smashes seemed to be gradually slowing.
"We're sorry," May squeaked, her eyes brimming with tears.
"We didn't mean to freeze like that," June added with a sniffle. "It's just…"
"Our cookies…" May choked, the pair of them burying their faces in Daisy's flour-streaked apron.
Donald's worried expression stormed over at the sight. Turning slowly, he fixed his burning glare on Huey.
"You," he pointed dangerously. "Come with me."
*******
Donald marched his sullen nephew to the main foyer, his hands planted angrily on his hips.
"Well?" he demanded. "What's the big idea?"
"I didn't do anything to their stupid cookies!" Huey snapped, kicking at the carpet. "Their dough's still in the freezer, safe and sound. Even if it wasn't, making Christmas cookies was my idea! I got there first, and they—"
"They weren't the ones who turned the kitchen into a putty pinball machine!" Donald retorted. "We all could have been hurt!"
Huey clenched his fists and turned his head away, trembling from top to tail. Donald narrowed his eyes, his irritation with the young duck starting to shift to concern.
"What's the matter, Huey?" he asked, crouching closer to his nephew's eye level. "This kind of behavior isn't like you."
Huey wanted to cry. He wanted to run into his uncle's arms, to feel himself wrapped up in the warmth of Donald's favorite Christmas sweater, and tell the older duck everything he'd been feeling. But, as much as he yearned for that safe, secure hug, another part of him balked at the thought of acting so childish…
…and instead of moving closer, Huey found himself backing away.
"How would you know," he said coldly. "We've barely seen each other, like, this whole year!"
"Aw, we've seen each other plenty! Besides, aren't you excited to spend this Christmas with your mom? Your Uncle Scrooge and I thought—"
"Wait…" Huey tilted his head, just slightly. "Is that why you and Uncle Scrooge are leaving? Because of Mom? What did she say?" he demanded. "What's really going on here?"
Donald raised his hands. "I shouldn't say anything," he said. "I don't want to ruin the surprise! But, Della's been planning a special Christmas for you boys. Just you and her. It's something she's been dreaming about for a long time – pretty much all the time she was stuck on the moon. Uncle Scrooge and I figured it was the least we could do to get out of the way for a few days and let you four have this time together as a family."
Huey shook his head. "But that's all wrong," he exclaimed. "You're our family, Uncle Donald! You and Uncle Scrooge and Launchpad and Webby and Mrs. B. and…and…"
"And Della," Donald said, his rough, rasping voice surprisingly gentle as he knelt down and wrapped a warm arm around his nephew's tense shoulders. "Hey, I know it's a big adjustment, Huey. There's been a lot of changes these past few years. One of the best is your mom's back with us, safe and sound! And she wants a special Christmas with her boys. So, think you can do that for her?"
"I…"
"She just wants a few days with you. Then, we'll all be together again at New Year's!"
"Humph," Huey snorted and pulled away, muttering, "Not if you're moving to a new house."
"Wak!" Donald stood in surprise. "How do you know about that? I didn't tell anyone but Uncle Scrooge!"
"Why does it matter?" Huey shot back. "You're moving away!"
"Not for a long time, yet," Donald told him. "And even then, I'll still be close by. We'll see each other all the time!"
"But it won't be the same!" Huey cried. "Don't you see? It used to be, we were all on the same page. But now you're leaving to be with Daisy and the clones, and Dewey and Louie are doing their own thing and…and I…"
"That's how it is with families. Even triplets – and twins, like me and Della," Donald told him. "You get older, develop interests of your own. You know, pretty soon, you boys will be finding girlfriends, joining after school clubs, and—"
"Stop!" Huey exclaimed. "Stop! I don't want to think about that! I just – I just want Christmas to be the way it used to be. Don't you remember that Christmas on Bear Mountain? When Dewey and Louie and I built you a sled and we all sang carols and…"
"Huey, of course I remember," Donald said. "That was a wonderful Christmas. But you can make this Christmas just as great."
Huey narrowed his eyes. "At an air show?"
Donald narrowed his eyes right back. "The 'where' doesn't matter," he said. "It's the 'who' that counts. Do it for your mother."
"But, Uncle Donald—"
"For your mother," Donald repeated firmly, and held out a hand.
Huey kept his arms crossed, his feelings still sloshing like a slushie on a tilt-o-whirl. But his uncle wasn't a duck to back down.
"Promise me, kiddo," he insisted.
Huey squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, then finally shook his uncle's hand.
"I'll try," Huey allowed. "But—"
"That's a promise," Donald told him, giving his hand a meaningful squeeze. "And I'm trusting you to keep it."
Huey winced, though not from the pressure of the handshake. "OK, OK!" he exclaimed and yanked his hand away. "Man, I hate it when you say stuff like that."
Donald snickered and gave his nephew a proud pat on the back. "Doin' for others," he said. "That's the real Christmas spirit. I know if anyone can rally your brothers to give your mom her perfect Christmas, it's you."
Huey groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Whatever…"
Donald laughed. "Wow. You remind me so much of me sometimes, it's scary!" Lifting his beak, he sniffed the air, smiling broadly when the scent of baking sugar cookies wafted past his nostrils. "Seems Daisy's got things back on track! I gotta get back to the girls." He paused by the doorway and looked his nephew straight in the eye. "I love ya, Huey. Don't forget that."
"…I love you too…" Huey echoed, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched his uncle march away, cheerily whistling "Crazy Over Daisy."
Slowly, Huey turned his gaze to the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights and elegant decorations leaving him empty and cold. Shuffling to the window, he saw Launchpad in the driveway, hauling luggage for Scrooge and Webby's flight to Scotland. Nearby, Donald's little red car sported a playful, glitter-splashed sign on its rear window, probably put there by May and June: Bear Mountain or Bust!
The dam burst before Huey realized he was crying. He sniffled hard, clenching his fists until his fingers cut into his palms, but it didn't stop the tears from falling.
"This isn't right," he croaked. "If you love me, why is everyone leaving me behind?"
"Or, are they...?" A sudden thought sent Huey racing back to the room he shared with his brothers. Reaching under his hat, he pulled the letter he'd written to Santa out from among the pages of his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, then started digging through the drawers of his brothers' desks until he found—
"Ha! I knew it!" he crowed in triumph as he flicked open the envelopes and pulled out the folded papers tucked inside. "They did write letters to Santa this year! Just like I did!"
Hugging the letters to his chest, he breathed a hearty sigh of relief, then unfolded them and flattened them out on the desk. "OK, so maybe things aren't changing as much as I thought. As long as the three of us are still on the same page, Christmas at the air show just might…be…"
He frowned, glancing down at the letters, then peering in more closely. "…OK…? Wait, what is this…? 'Dear Uncle Scrooge," he read. "'Santa's a nice guy, but you have the bucks so, this year, I want a—" Huey gasped and backed away.
"I can't believe this. They both wrote to Uncle Scrooge!"
With great delicacy, Huey lifted his own letter to Santa. But something had changed behind his eyes.
His breathing quickened, his face grew hot. Flinging open the window, Huey tore his and his brothers' letters to shreds, then tossed them into the chilly December wind.
"I don't care!" he shouted after the fluttery bits. "Uncle Scrooge was right to call Christmas a sham! Christmas doesn't happen if we don't make it happen! I was so stupid to believe... To think a few dumb cookies could change things!"
A startling spate of thunder and lightning crackled through the clear, blue sky, making Huey jump and pull the window shut.
"Woah, Huey," Louie's voice joked from behind him, causing the young duck to jump again. "Sounds like someone out there was listening!"
Dewey brushed past his brothers to climb into his middle-bunk, his eyes never leaving his phone. "Sheesh, Hubert, overreacting much?" he said. "So, we wrote to Scrooge instead of Santa. It's not like we're little kids anymore."
"You think I don't know that!" Huey exclaimed, his outburst so unexpectedly raw even Dewey sat up. "I'm the oldest, remember? And you two are not leaving me behind!"
Pushing past Louie, Huey stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Dewey flopped back onto his pillow, already tapping at his phone as he asked, "What do you think he meant by that?"
Louie shrugged, slouching toward the lower bunk while tapping distractedly at his own phone. "I don't know. Just weird Huey stuff," he said. "It'll blow over."
To Be Continued…