Chapter Text
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know!?” The thin, plastic device flew against the wall. It fell to the floor with a soundless clink. Della ran her fingers through her hair, pacing in the cramped bathroom, “I mean...oh no,” she laughed uneasily, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. That’s why I called you.”
“Called me?” Donald threw his hands in the air. “What am I going to do? I’ve never been pregnant!”
“I don’t know!” She slapped her forehead. “I panicked. I didn’t know who to call. The most reasonable person after Grandma, who I was not going to call, was you.” She worried her thumb, digging her teeth into fragile skin, “And now you’re here, and now the test has come out positive.” She gasped, covering her mouth, “Donald, what am I going to do?”
Donald blinked. He shook his head a little. Pregnant. He’d seen the early response. Two, dark pink lines appeared on the white slab. It was in that moment their stomachs dropped, and their shared terrified stares. “Oh, phooey.” He didn’t know what to do now; now that it was confirmed, now that the unfertilized egg she usually deposited every month was fertilized.
“You’re gonna have to tell Scrooge,” was all he could think to say. He raised his head carefully at her and winced under her bleach paled look.
She shook her head weakly. “No.” An outrageous laugh shuddered on the walls, “I cannot. I can’t. No. Absolutely impossible,” she sat on the toilet seat. Hunched back. Fist pushed under her beak in terrified contemplation.
“What do you want to do?” Donald asked gently, “You want to keep it?”
“I...I...I could.” She rubbed her forehead, “I could keep it. I could...there are options, Donald, but it may be too late. There’s a certain period after where you can’t, and it’s just induced, and I don’t know if I can deal with that, and oh shit, I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.” She gasped, choking on ferocious sobs clawing a path to the surface.
Donald moved off the tub’s edge and gripped her shoulders. “Della.” He said through gritted teeth, “Della, I need you to listen to me.” Her shallow breaths strangled her. She waved her hands wildly, shaking her head with her eyes closed, and Donald sighed.
“Della.”
“I cannot.”
“I need you to breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Slowly. Calmly.” He rubbed her shoulders, teasing his thumb into the inner circles. “There we go. You’re okay. You’re soft. This is a slight bump.”
“It isn’t the end of the world.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’m gonna have to tell Scrooge.”
“Do you want to keep it?”
Della stared at Donald. She never asked her mom, though she never had the chance to ask her, if she had ever doubted she’d be a mother. Hortense had always seemed sure about her place of life, from what Della’s memories told her. But had Hortense lived (or been around) she would’ve asked her that question. “Were you afraid?” or “Did you really want this?” Her mother wasn’t here. Her mother wasn’t the one answer or asking the question.
She stared at her stomach. Still flat. Still perfectly, painlessly flat. In a few weeks a bulge would take shape; round and smooth. By time she went for her laying, she shivered. She didn’t want to imagine what she’d look like, but yet, for some unfathomable reason, a small glimmer of hope took flame inside.
“I want this,” she said, returning Donald’s stare with fierce determination. “I want to be a mom.”
“Good.” Donald said. He patted her arms, “That’s a good development. You want to be a mom, but we need to figure out how you’re going to go about doing that.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” He said flatly. A faint blush rose to his cheeks at the thought of children - his sister’s children, and he stood, crossing his arms. “You’re going to have to grow up, Della. We’ll look into OB/GYNs, prenatal vitamins, clothes, diapers. We can visit the public library.” His rambled on; his list growing longer by the second.
Della sat on the toilet seat, blank faced, mouth agape. She barely uttered a word through his extensive list, amazed at how easily he accepted this newfound reality.
“Donny?” She said.
“And we need to find a highly reviewed pediatrician -,”
“Donny.”
“And we’ll need to set up for the baby -,” he stopped abruptly, blinking humorlessly at her. “What?”
Della inhaled sharply. “Grandma or Scrooge?” She crossed her arms, deliberating, “Or you can take Grandma.”
“Grandma? Alone? No.”
“You’re her favorite.” Della pressed helplessly, “She isn’t going to be mad with you.” A tremor passed up her spine, and her feathers ruffled under her grandma’s imaginary stare. “I don’t want to think of what she’ll say.”
Donald stared. “Scrooge first? Together?”
Della propelled into him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he felt the air fly out of his lungs. “Oh thank, Selene,” she murmured into his neck, tears prickling at his eyes. “And you too,” she laughed. “Thank you, Donald.”
“Be straightforward with him.” Donald advised, “It’ll be over quicker.”
“Uncle Scrooge.” She exhaled tightly, “I may be a little pregnant.”
Donald choked. “What the duck, Della?” But she only appeared slightly abashed, slightly nervous, and all confident under a layer of trepidation.
Scrooge seized. “Wot?” His pen fell on his desk. A look of confusion, bewilderment, denial washed over him, and his brow tilted forward, forming a perfect V for them to quiver under. “Ye’ cannae be a little pregnant,” he scowled. “Either ye are or ye’ not. Trust me, Ae should knae.”
“Yeah, you should. ” Donald winced when Della’s elbow jabbed him sharply on his side. He glared at her, meeting hers head on.
Della cleared her throat, taking five tentative steps to his desk. “I may be a bit more than a little pregnant,” she drawled on, “more like I just had my first doctor’s appointment, and am totally, positively, without a doubt will be laying an egg in about 2.5 months.”
Scrooge stared, unspeaking, eyes wide, fingers still curled in a writing position. Della readied for the blow; for that impossibly loud, scathing blow she was certain was coming her way. But then, he surprised her. He slumped back in his chair, grip surprisingly lax. Water teetered in his eyes, though no tears fell, and he huffed lightly. A great puff of air blew from his mouth.
“Bless me bagpipes,” he said. “It’s Hortense all over again.”
Donald started. “Wait, what?” He was ignored once Scrooge stood from his chair, arms wide and enveloping Della in a reassuring hug. He walked to them, finger pointed, “What did you say about Ma’?”
Della froze in his embrace. Strange. Confused. Not at all what she expected. She returned the hug, nonetheless, and let out a tiny, “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” He laughed, “Why would Ae be mad?”
“Well. I’m pregnant.”
“Eh. Not the first time.” His grin waved off her befuddled concern, “And certainly won’t be the last, not in this family.”
“What about our adventures,” Donald asked. “You can’t possibly think she’s gonna travel when pregnant.”
“Never stopped Goldie,” Scrooge replied easily. He went to his bookshelf, thumbing through the spines. “Which may explain some things, at least,” he mumbled bitterly before finding the thick, green leather album he searched for. He placed it on the desk, flipping to the middle, and pointed proudly for their benefit.
“Whoa.” Della gazed. “Wow, she was...huge.” She glanced at Scrooge, disbelief scrawled messily in her face. “You’re telling me she got that big? I can’t believe it.” She gasped at the later pages, revealing Goldie’s pregnancy progress. “You got captured by pirates again?”
“Actually, yer cousin hatched on Foghorn’s ship.” Scrooge shrugged, “He cried more than Ae did. Apparently, ruthless, blood thirsty, treasure hungry pirates have soft hearts fer children.”
“Sounds dangerous to me.” Donald peered between them. He flipped the pages back and forth; his frown deepened worriedly. “And she climbed the Himalaya’s in that condition? Wait.” He peered closely, tapping the photograph, “No, she had the egg in a nappy.” Donald glared.
“Wot? Opal was perfectly fine in there.” Scrooge defended, “And like Ae said, she hatched in a warm climate.”
“Surrounded by pirates.”
“Pirates who adored her. Foghorn sobbed when we decided on Prudence for a middle name.”
“You won the bet didn’t you?”
“Ae did say Ae preferred a girl. Opal was our compromise.” Scrooge returned to the album, “But as ye’ can see, impending motherhood didnae stop Goldie.”
Della held the album. “No, it didn’t.” A dreamy sigh aired her bright eyes, twinkling with endless possibilities. “What a world we’ll show them,” she smiled. Donald gulped, a queasy uneasiness started to rumble in his stomach. He knew that smile. That was a smile of promise, of belief in the unknown, of danger untold.
“After they’re hatched.” He interjected swiftly, “Let them grow a bit before we get any bright ideas.”
Della groaned, “Donald.”
“No, no, he’s right.” Scrooge said.
“I am?”
“Indeed.” Scrooge folded his arms behind his back, “There’s much planning to be done for when the children are laid and eventually hatched. Treasure hunting. Child friendly globe trotting. Mount Neverrest, anyone? Goldie never attempted that with Opal, and it’ll kindle her embers if she knew we made it before her.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds fun,” Della said.
Scrooge nodded. “Now, Ae’ll get back to work.” He returned to his chair, clutching his pen, “But Ae must ask,” light reflected on his bifocals, “what of the wee bairn’s father? Is he around. Do Ae need ta’ rough around.”
There was a pause, not that Scrooge noticed. Della stared straight ahead, expression not exactly blank but ruminating its next response. Was there trepidation? Or was Donald imagining it? Whatever it was, it lied flatly behind a screen of cheerful indifference. “Oh. Right. Their father.”
She shrugged, “They don’t have a father. We won’t worry about a father coming around.”
“Ae, that’s relieving. Ae donnae like ta’ share anyways,” he mused over his paperwork. Already finished with the conversation, more focused on his annual reports his executive board demanded him to complete, Scrooge nodded them off. His celebratory smile curved downward into its typical scowl, and they darted off, eagerly, relived.
“Thanks, Uncle Scrooge,” Della sighed beyond the door. Donald’s glare chased her. Like a red dot on its target resting on her back’s center, he marched beside her, hands clenched. This didn’t make any sense. None at all. He wasn’t going to bring it up. He wasn’t going to fall into her trap.
She winked at him. You can ask you know. Donald sighed, defeated. Arms crossed, he huffed, “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That?”
“Oh?” She said, “You mean with Scrooge? Oh yeah, they don’t have a father.”
“Della, do you know who the father is?” Not the question he was aiming for. His beak wrinkled in revulsion, and she chuckled at his puzzlement. This was what Della did. She eased along, giving you permission to confuse and embarrass yourself.
“Oh, I’m sure I know who it is, and don’t worry, he won’t be coming around any time soon.” She punched him softly on the arm. She smiled reassuringly at him; the same smile she reserved to ease his clanging nerves. This was the smile he depended on, and though his scowl fought it, he fell victim to it. Her false assurances had that quality.
“So?”
“So, what?” She patted his arm. Nervous laughter rang in their ears, “Get ready for parenthood, Dad.”
“Not likely.” They knew it was a lie, even as he reiterated the words in his mind, his heart told another story.
Della snorted. “Sure, Uncle Donald. Are we going baby clothes shopping tomorrow?”
“We still have to tell Grandma.”
“Oh," she said, flatly. "Telling Grandma."
“And I called her. She knows we’re coming.”
“You didn’t.”
Donald smirked, “I did.”