A/N: First off, DuckTales characters/license doesn't at all belong to me.

Now that I've got that out of the way, hmmm...how to explain this little piece of writing (and why writing DuckTales fanfiction itself is so addicting)? I suppose all I can really say is that I love to challenge myself with odd relationship dynamics - or at least relationships that one wouldn't at first think compatible. Also, the more that I think about it, the pairing that I do support (I won't tell you now, you have to read to figure this one out!) is actually really cute. It would totally happen.

Oh yes, I also forgot to mention that I have positively no idea how to spell "Ms. Beakly" so, I apologize if I've spelled it seven different ways.

I also notice that I have a very short attention span with my stories; I can't really stand the whole idea of chapters and fluffy one-shots are really in my comfort zone. Ah well, maybe these short exercises will increase my endurance.

“Ms. Beakely...Ms. Beakely!” Scrooge’s voice searched down the hallway, himself unseen - lending an ethereal detached quality to his calls. He let the last of his echoes falter, then there followed a bit quieter and closely by a sigh; “Oh, where could that woman be?”

His search had proven fruitless - and burst his bagpipes - he’d been at it all day. There were dishes to be done, clothes to be laundered (the overflowing pile an interesting mosaic of red, blue, and green), floors to be swept, and statues - of himself - to be polished. Little did he know, she was much closer than he’d think. However, muffled giggles emanating from one of his many offices persuaded him to think differently. If he were to just to reach out carefully and slowly...s-l-o-w-l-y...turn the knob just so, and...

Yes, his previous assumption was correct; Scrooge did indeed find himself in an office - albeit one scarcely used and fiercely in need of a dusting. Which is what made him quite glad to find the duck who would do it: Ms. Beakely - sitting alone in a room littered with chairs - knitting a sweater, “What ah you doing?” His forwardness surprised himself but the situation was entirely strange.

Ms. Beakely, for her part, continued to knit, humming an airy tune to herself, “Oh, nothing, Mr. McDuck.”

“But I’m not paying you to do nothing.” Scrooge stomped one spacked foot. This woman was infuriating.

She stayed as cheery as ever, “Don’t worry. I’ll get the chores done.”

“Well,” she was offering a deal of sorts to him. And this he knew how to handle, “as long as they’re done,” then fearing that his tone had softened too much he assumed a more regal tone, “-by today!”

He then turned as if readying himself to go but, oddly, paused; a thought had now so suddenly caught him with such profound measure that he found himself asking with a most devious expression on his face, “You didn’t happen to hear any...giggling, did you?”

“Why, no. Who ever would be giggling?”

Oddly relieved, Scrooge thought it best to now find his way out the door and leave the woman to her own devices.

“Have a pleasant day, Mr. McDuck.” Ms. Beakely called sickeningly behind. An indignant harumph greeted her back.

However, despite her light attitude she was feeling anything but. It was only when waiting a few moments more after the sound of a cane could no longer be heard tracing Scrooge’s path, that she slowly relaxed; letting go of the baited breath she hadn’t even realized was there, “It’s okay, now. I believe he’s gone.”

Duckworth now made himself apparent, at least from the vantage where Scrooge has so recently been standing. He, too, was seated in one of the room’s many high-backed chairs but this one was turned away in the obvious hopes that the occupant would remain unseen, “I must say, that was most uncouth. I do believe Master Scrooge is lost without the daily chores being due to remind him on the goodness of life.”

Ms. Beakely smiled nervously, taking the time to forgo the decidedly ugly sweater and scoot it under her seat with one dainty push of her foot, “I think we can just thank our lucky starts that he hasn’t found out yet. I know Mr. McDuck is a kind man, but bless my bill, does he have a temper!”

Though his answer combative, Duckworth’s smile was only all accordance, “I believe, my dear, that it has much less to do with the cosmos than it does with the master’s ignorance.”

Together, they laughed.

Later...

“How long has this been going, now?”

“Four months, twelve days, and - ahem -“ Duckworth motioned towards Scrooge’s wrist.

“Oh, yes - hm...” Scrooge struggled with the clasp of his watch formally concealed and handed it to his servant’s open palm, “I cannae see how I’m trusting you with this if I cannae trust you two to be - be - canoodling right under my very beak!”

“I can assure you, sir,” never did Duckworth drop his air of formality, “a pickpocket I could never be. On the other hand however...”

Ms. Beakely stifled a knowing laugh. The two, as if unconsciously, shifted closer to one another in abutment. Ms. Beakely even went so far as to support herself on his one shoulder - a rare break from the butler’s otherwise perfect posture.

“Ahem.” Scrooge said. As ‘ahem’ was all he could find in himself to say.

The three were currently occupying the high-vaulted room of the left-wing study. The door lay open for the triplets and Webigail were all in school; there was no fear of being overheard. A stony fireplace - large and opposing - backed Scrooge as he shifted in his throne-like seat; just the way he preferred. Ms. Beakely and Duckworth were, in turn, facing him; both preferring to stand.

“Yes, well. It has been four months, ten days, and according to this...twenty-eight minutes and, fourteen - fifteen - sixteen seconds.” Duckworth resumed.

Four Months. The two words turned over in Scrooge’s head. Four months of the garbage seemingly never thrown out, four months of not quite enough groceries for the week, four months of barely-choke-down-your-throat meals, four months of lying about the quality of said meals, four months of tripping over tea parties - the stuffed animals all arrayed, four months of waste, and four months of ignorance on his part (although he was quite sure this was helped along by their part).

“Well, that certainly explains a lot.” Scrooge said aloud more to himself than for the benefit of the group; though they showed no sign of effect, “And just who else, dare I ask, knows about this?”

Ms. Beakely found it her turn to speak, “Well...let’s see,” she began counting on her feathers, “First there’s your nephews - ”

“ - me nephews?”

“Yes, they’re quite the resourceful young ducks. Not much passes by those boys. I believe they take after you, Mr. McDuck.”

“Aye hope that was a compliment, Duckworth.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

“There’s also Webigail,” Ms. Beakely continued, “ - I didn’t feel it fair to keep it from her,” she ignored the look from Scrooge that made it all to obvious he didn’t feel it fair for them to keep it from him, “and then there’s Gizmo, Doofus, and...”

“Don’t tell me - ” Scrooge cut in dramatically, “...Launchpad?”

“Ah yes. Master Launchpad. We took some difficulty in getting him to keep his word. Even then...” Duckworth assumed a look of lofty resignment and left it at that.

“Well spit me spats! You know you’re losing you’re touch when Launchpad is first to figure out before you!”

Ms. Beakely, ever assuming the kindly motherly role, broke from Duckworth’s side to take the beaten McDuck’s arm sympathetically, “Oh don’t be so hard on yourself, sir. These things happen.”

“Aye, you’re right lass,” anger now unapparent in his tone, “But things like this don’t make a duck rich. Your - your - ” he found it difficult to shape together words and so attempted to motion quite intently with his wings; first shooting them out wildly, then bringing them close in.

“Hm?” Duckworth did not attempt to mask his confusion, even bending down so slightly as if believing that Mr. McDuck really was using some form of speech that would make itself heard if only he were to near close enough.

“Your...togetherness.”

“Ah.” Duckworth, now satisfied, resumed his upright position.

“ - is costing me money. And I like money.”

An odd smile overcame Ms. Beakely’s features, “But Mr. McDuck...”

“Yes?”

“ - you don’t pay us a thing. At least not me anyway. Webby and I stay here for free in return for my services.”

“And I, sir, only need the payment of satisfaction for having a job well done. Besides - ” the butler raised one eyebrow mischievously, “with what I have been receiving lately, I might as well offer my services for free.”

“Then lucky for you, from now on you ah.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Well,” he eyed the two with a mixture of frustration, sympathy, the ever-ready businessman stare, and surprisingly enough - longing. They shared in something he only fleetingly had. With the wealth he had now, sure, many a woman certainly took interest but he neither had what they truly wanted nor they for him. What he had once felt and now saw presented before him would always remain just that; fleeting in the backward lens of time, “I certainly cannae separate you two legally. So,” he sighed, leaning deeply on his cane, but the light smile betrayed his true intentions, “I guess I’ll just have to wish you two the best of luck. Bah!” still not able to take the smile off of his face, he turned around, one arm tucked into the small of his back and made his way purposefully towards the door muttering, “love! You’d think the two of them at their age would realize better. I guess you just can’t help people sometimes. They’ve got to learn it on their own. Not that I’d have to; I’ve already learned my lesson,” having sufficiently retained the old man persona, he turned on his heel to now face the pair once more before leaving them to devices of their own, “You two youngins’ have fun. If nothing else - don’t make the break-up too hard. I expect to have this house in top condition no matter what. And Duckworth,” the smile widened, “go easy on the poor gal.”

Duckworth remained unperturbed as the lass in question began blushing furiously - bringing one hand up to conceal a dainty smile, “You can rest assured, sir - I will try my hardest.”

Cackling - devious and practiced - followed the old duck down the hall, punctuated every so often by the rap of a cane on the polished marble floor.

The sky, wind-torn and flagging at the edges with clouds of drafty wisp, was delighted with today. It shone jovially, with a deep blue that only petered as its grasp slipped on the horizon edge. And shine it truly did; the sun seemed to have been caught on its way up that day and left refractions - tiny, thousands of them - like warmed butter poured in the far off atmosphere. Yes, the world was his clamshell - or was it oyster? It didn’t matter. The world was his, he felt, if he were just to climb into that cockpit and take off; like all the heroes he read about as a wide-eyed kid. At least, he would if the plane hadn’t already crashed yesterday and left it in horrible need of repairs. Exasperated, he wiped the grease soiling his head - resulting only in a larger smear where the original had been and a wonderful new one on the back of his sleeve. At least Mr. McDee wasn’t around to see him in this mess.

“Launchpad!”

Launchpad let out a small peep in response before tripping over himself in fright, “Oh hi, Mr. McDee. What a surprise to see you here.”

Scrooge - looking as scroogish as he could - nevertheless helped Launchpad up, extending his cane out helpfully, “Wipe that smile off of your face.”

“Yes, sir.” Launchpad saluted, but that only made him smile wider.

“And while your at it, wipe that dirt off of your face too.”

“I wish I could, Mr. McDee. But you see - ”

“Never mind that, now. I came here, because - well, I...”

Launchpad, unprovoked, burst out unexpectedly, “Ms.BeakelyandDuckwortharedating!” He then clasped his bill together ashamedly, “But I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Of course, with his beak shut, it came off more as a series of incoherent babbles - but the sentiment was meant well enough.

“Ah know already.”

“Mmh dm? I mean,” Launchpad unplugged his beak, “you do? Boy is that a relief! But then why’d I have to swear scout’s honor if you already knew?”

“Because I didn’t,” Scrooge couldn’t his exasperation, “But I did find out.”

“Oh.” Silence, uncomfortable but not unwanted, spread thick. Launchpad’s thoughts turned to aviation as the seconds began to idle.

Scrooge began to tap out his cane rhythmically but then thought better of it, “Launchpad?...You wouldn’t cross me?” he faltered, “for something as silly as love, I mean.”

Torn from his daydreams, Launchpad nevertheless answered cheerily, “Is that what you’re worried about, Mr. McDee?” he laughed, “Course I wouldn’t! This girl’s taken my heart away anyway.” he tapped on the outer shell of the biplane with a low metallic thud.

“Good,” Scrooge returned to a more comfortable, grouchy disposition, “as it should be. I cannae have everyone running around willy-nilly in love! I say its just another excuse for laziness. And they expect to get paid! People these days! They want everything for nothing!”

Doofus, who had been making himself busy with repairs in the plane’s cockpit, now popped into view, “What d’ya think’s got him, Launchpad?”

“I don’t know, little buddy,” Launchpad returned to his work, Scrooge still off in a tangent, “I guess just a crazy thing called love.”

A/N: I hope that wasn't too...adult for the fandom. However, with what I've seen some people write on here, I believe I'll be okay. Cackles So, yes. In writing this I hope that any of you that re-watch the episodes will now see just how compatible this pairing is. But, that still doesn't excuse the many minutes I wasted in class laboring over this piece. :