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"Why me?" Scrooge asked, perplexed. "I thought ye hated me?"
Glomgold tugged at his beard in frustration. "I dinnae know! I thought I did! But..." He took a steadying breath and turned his gaze on the fireplace. The low flames shone in his eyes, and he lost himself in their dance for a few moments as he tried to organize his thoughts. "... Ye don't act like anyone I ever met before. Ye don't act like ye hate me. I know I annoy ye; I do it on purpose most'a the time! But even when we're fightin', ye don't go outta yer way to hurt me. And when we're not fightin', sometimes..." Glomgold shifted uncomfortably. "... Sometimes ye almost seem... nice to me? Y-ye talk to me, an' tell me things, and sometimes ye... t-touch my shoulder, or something, and--!"
He closed his eyes for a moment before finally looking up at Scrooge with eyes that begged for a scrap of understanding. Scrooge looked gobsmacked. Glomgold took double handfuls of his false beard and shook his head. "It does'nae make any sense to me, Scrooge. I dinnae know how to... I get it when people hate me! I dinnae get along with people, I never have, so people hate me and I hate them! It's easy! It makes sense! You don't make sense! I know ye dinnae like me, so why do ye act like--?" Glomgold trailed off.
Scrooge took a tentative step forward, then another, until he was within touching distance of his rival. One hand reached for Glomgold's shoulder, but stopped at the last second, pulling back. Glomgold stared with wide eyes as Scrooge looked away, seeming almost nervous. (When has McDuck ever been nervous around me?)
"I... never said I dinnae like ye."