January 10th, 2028

Beep.

What the fuck?

Beep.

Scorp groaned under his covers, pulling the sheets over his head. His eyes were still firmly shut, his consciousness desperately grasping at the dream he'd been having. It involved a lot of flying and batting and Bludgers whistling and…

Beep.

What was that stupid sound?

Beep.

And why in Merlin's name was it happening in the middle of the night?

Beep.

Gritting his teeth, Scorp buried himself further and further into his warm cocoon and desperately tried to ignore the beeping, which was only growing louder and sounding more and more like honking with each passing second. A vice of anxiety and annoyance squeezed at his chest as the ringing persisted, ever louder, ever closer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Just when he was about to completely lose it, Scorp heard the door to his bedroom clicking open. There was the sound of rushed steps coming into the room and, after a few moments of pacing and a few colorful expletives, the ringing stopped.

Sweet Circe, silence.

Finally .

He felt his bed sinking and cursed under his breath as he felt what was undoubtedly someone sitting on the bed next to his curled body, pressing lightly against his back.

"Scorp…?"

Rose's voice. Of course it had to be her, why wouldn't it be?

This had to be some sort of cruel joke.

"Go away," he groaned, turning under the sheets to give her back a half-hearted shove. She didn't budge. "Can't this wait 'til morning?"

"It is morning," she quipped from outside his fortress of blankets. She sounded amused . "You're late."

The very concept was absurd. He'd never been late in his entire life.

Every single day since he was six, Scorp had woken up about five minutes before his alarm went off. He would then shower, get dressed, fix himself a cup of tea, pick up his paper and dive into his crosswords. Granted the crosswords and the tea were a more recent acquisition, but still, we were talking about a habit that had run his mornings for fifteen years.

Like bloody clockwork.

"I'm not late," he snorted disdainfully, before resuming his listless pushing of what he could only presume was Rose Weasley's ass. "Now go away."

The bed shifted as she got up and Scorp breathed a sigh of relief: she was leaving. Now if he could only fall back asleep, he was guessing he might get one or two more hours-

Without warning, the top of his sheets were pulled down and Scorp found himself glaring into a pair of laughing blue eyes.

"Unless Puddlemere abides by a different time zone than the rest of England, you're definitely late."

She was wearing her blue scrubs under the customary white Healer robes. More than that, she was grinning in a way that was both bewitching and more than a little terrifying.

If there was one thing Rose Weasley was not, it was a morning person. She was not the sort to walk around with a smile on her face when she woke up. Even on a good day, the best you would get from her was an ill-tempered grunt and a great deal of scowling.

Today, however? She looked happy.

And for some reason, the sight of her grinning face first thing in the morning was doing all sorts of horrible things to him. She was still leaning over him with her grin and her slightly wet curls, smelling of familiar lavender and vanilla and-

Him. She smelled of him.

Was that his shampoo? Had she pinched his champoo? The same stuff that cost a billion galleons on the market because it had dragon scales and fernberry root and a series of other unspeakable ingredients designed to make sure his hairline didn't budge?

"I can't be late," he scoffed, snagging his blankets from her grasp and half-covering his face again, trying to focus on… anything else really. "I'm never late."

Unfortunately, hiding under the covers didn't make the scent go away and he was still terribly aware of the fact that Rose did in fact smell like him.

"New experiences are said to broaden the mind and yours sure could use some broadening," was the dry retort. "Your alarm was kicking up a storm and driving us mental. I'd never heard it before, it's horrible. Like a goose being choked."

The reason she hadn't heard it before was because, every single day, five minutes before the Damned Thing had a chance to ring, Scorp was already up and going about his life. Heck he'd had it for years and this was the first time he'd heard it.

"After a while we figured we should check if you were dead."

"If only," Scorp replied, groaning and burying his face in his pillow.

"From the looks of you, we weren't entirely off-base," came Al's voice from the door. Scorp shifted slightly to look at his best friend, who was leaning against the doorframe, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a thoroughly amused look on his face. "You look like you've been run over by a herd of Thestrals."

"Are you alright?" Rose looked over at him and Scorp self-consciously brushed his fingers through his blonde hair in an attempt to smooth it over.

"I'm-"

"He's dandy," Al interrupted, sipping his tea with a nonplussed air. "He's just delaying the inevitable because he's a wuss."

"Oh!" Rose looked over at Al and frowned. "Is today the day?"

"Yep."

It was Monday.

Shit, it was Monday!

Monday was the fateful day he was supposed to walk into his current place of employment and somehow turn it into his former place of employment. The details of exactly how that was going to happen were still a bit fuzzy in his mind. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning as he tried to justify to himself dumping his team, the one he'd cherished for all of of his natural life, for the Magpies.

The mere thought of it still made him nauseated.

A heavy dose of rationality was required for this and Scorp had always had that in spades. The only problem now was smothering and murdering the pesky, sentimental bit of him that was still so firmly attached to the idea of him playing for Puddlemere.

The carefully constructed order in his life was being blown asunder... and he was the maniac casting the Confringo.

Scorp sat up on the bed and brushed a frantic hand through his hair which did nothing to soothe his fraying nerves.

Oversleeping, Merlin, how did people do it? What was wrong with them? Why would they submit themselves to this nausea willingly? His mouth tasted like sandpaper and he was pretty sure… yep, his back hurt.

He glared at the pair of idiots chatting amicably on the other side of his room, unaware of the maelstrom of confusion going through him.

"Is that tea?" Rose walked over to Al and threw his cup an envious look. "I'd sell my own mum for a cup."

"Kitchen. I made one for you and another for Sleeping Beauty over there," Al replied, wrapping his free arm around her for a brief second and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "Though by the time he gets to it, a newly evolved species may be swimming in it."

"Have I mentioned you're my favourite cousin?"

"Considering the competition, it's hardly surprising."

Rose brushed past Al, cheerfully scurrying off to go fetch the promised cup and Al stood hesitatingly under the door frame for a few seconds before stepping inside and closing the door behind himself.

"I've known you for ten years and you've never overslept. Not once," he started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Not even that time we got so narked we spent half the night looking for the flat because we couldn't remember where we lived."

At this point, Scorp had gotten up to his feet and was standing very still, a hand still buried in his hair as he tried to sort himself out.

What now?

Shower? Was it worth showering? Should he just get dressed?

Al sighed and laid down his cup on a nearby cabinet. He placed a hand on Scorp's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "You done beating around the proverbial shrubbery?"

The single point of contact had a grounding effect on him and Scorp schooled his features into a small smile. "I still can't believe I'm doing it. I know it's right but it feels so stupid."

"It'll be fine." Al's voice was smooth and steady. "You only need to go in, say you quit and walk out."

Al said it like it was simple, a three step roadmap.

Unfortunately that was not how life worked, you couldn't just Floo in, scream 'I quit' and then Floo the hell out - well fine, technically you could, but that wasn't how he wanted to deal with this.

Contacts were everything in the Quidditch World and he desperately needed to keep his close.

Urgh. Networking.

There were going to be questions, possibly some pleading. There were papers to sign, settlements to discuss. Conversations with his coach about what an utterly stupid decision this was, while they both tried to ignore that Scorp's career was dead in the water.

The terrifying bit was that, with enough cajoling, he suspected they might be able to talk him out of it. He had let himself become so beggared in terms of approval that if they threw a raise at his head, empty promises and a few kind words, he might just completely crack.

This was what came out of being completely and utterly unprepared. He had come up with very little in the name of arguments other than 'the pay is better' and 'the owner doesn't hate me', and he had no intention of using the latter. And he still didn't know what to say if people pointed out the fact that the Magpies were stationed in fucking Scotland or, better yet, the fact that they were shit.

Because it was true.

"What do I wear?" The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His disrupted routine was like a knife twisting into his insides. "What on earth does one wear to quit one's job?! Is there a standard?"

"Anything but those stupid pajamas." Al looked him over and shook his head. "Merlin, you can be such a girl sometimes."

"What do I say?"

"Two words: 'I' and 'quit'." A smile grew on Al's face. "I'd go with you and hold your hand, but I have a meeting in half an hour."

"What do I do when-"

"Mate, you need to snap out of it," Al groaned, letting go of Scorp's arm and opening his wardrobe. "I know it's killing you that you don't have a plan and a fucking color-coded binder detailing every single possible course of action, but sometimes you just need to face things head on and roll with the punches."

What a stupidly Gryffindor thing to say.

Al went on opening and closing drawers, pulling a pair of boxer shorts here, some socks there and all in all running through his clothes like a hungry dragon rampaging through a helpless village.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting you dressed, since apparently you don't remember how."Al tossed a shirt at his head and started fumbling at his pants hangers. Scorp swallowed and tried his best to ignore the fact that Al was crumpling everything he touched inside. "On the off chance you locate your balls and actually quit, you can come over to Gringotts." He threw him a pair of pants, which Scorp managed to intercept before they hit him in the face. "We'll grab lunch, jump scare some goblins… It'll be like it never happened."

Great, so now he had plans for after he quit, but still no plans for the actual quittance.

"But it will have happened." Scorp shook his head. "I'll be unemployed."

The very word was terrifying beyond belief.

"Yes, for all of five minutes," Al sniggered, picking up his cup of tea and sipping it with a grin. "Then you'll call Gwen and you'll employed again. Profitably so."

Shit, Gwen.

In his dogged attempt at sorting his frazzled mind he hadn't even returned her calls, putting the matter off until he was sure he would have the gumption to actually quit. The last thing he needed was her frankly Machiavellian rhetoric worming its way into what was possibly the first real problem of his life.

She was going to skin him alive and have his hide turned into a pair of those extremely uncomfortable shoes she wore.

There was a small knock on the door. "Are you decent?"

Scorp rolled his eyes. Surprisingly polite for someone who'd seen him buck naked a week back.

"Yeah, come in!"

The door opened the slightest bit and Rose tentatively peered in. When it became apparent to her that there were no naked hijinks happening, she swung the door open.

"I need to rush off." There was a St. Mungo's ID hanging from her neck and she was shuffling nervously, obviously itching to go back to her work and suicidal lifestyle. "I just wanted to say good luck. I know it's shit but..."

She fell silent for a few seconds, chewing her bottom lip and eyeing him as if trying to figure out something.

"Put us out of our misery and go already, ginger." Scorp scoffed as he looked her over. "You've talked about nothing else for days and I for one can't wait until-"

Shit, she was walking over. Deliberately so.

"- you're out of this place..."

His voice trailed off. Before he knew what was happening, Rose had crossed the distance between them and carefully snaked her arms around his torso. The smile he'd been wearing was wiped clean off his face: she was hugging him.

Holy Quaffle, Rose was hugging him.

His arms hovered over her shoulders for a few seconds and he threw a panicked look at Al, mouthing a silent 'what the fuck'. The brunette boy, who was watching the exchange with a combination of interest and amusement, merely shrugged as if to say 'you're on your own, mate'.

Scorp took that as a sign that he was in fact allowed, maybe even supposed to hug her back.

How exactly was he supposed to do that?

Gingerly, he allowed himself to wrap his arms around her, praying to every deity that she wouldn't break or explode or something along those lines.

Instead, she seemed to relax under his touch and Scorp was finally able to breathe again. A rogue hand tugged ever-so-slightly at the back of his pajama shirt and he grinned, daring to rest his chin on top of her head and closing his eyes. She still smelled like his shampoo and Scorp could feel his heart doing a small Scottish jig at the thought.

It was like she belonged.

Shit.

"Chin up, Malfoy," she said, tilting her head to look up at him and giving him a small smile, apparently oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking in his chest. "It's a bright day out and it'll only get better."

When she said it, Scorp almost believed it.

Just as his mind had finally wrapped itself around the idea that Rose Weasley was in fact hugging him, she stiffened against him and Scorp's breath caught in his throat again, worried he'd done something wrong.

"Fuck, I need to leave," she cursed under her breath, her gaze affixed to his alarm clock. "Good luck!"

And, like a tornado, she was gone, leaving only wreckage in her wake. Scorp was left gaping at the door she'd just stormed out of.

What the hell had just happened?

"You have the stupidest look on your face right now," Al pointed out, giving Scorp a pat on his shoulder. "I wish I had a camera to mark the event for posterity, Yards would've loved to see it. So would my dad, your dad, my cousins, my uncles… though we'd have to gloss over the fact that you actually touched her or they'd have your stupid looking face on a spike."

"What…" Scorp shook his head, still dumbstruck. "What was that?"

"Rose's personal brand of moral support." Al said it as if it were something normal. "Congratulations, even my trainwreck of a cousin thinks you're pathetic."

"What does that even mean?"

"Exactly what I said. It's her thing, y'know?" Scorp was sure he didn't know. Al sighed. "You offer unrequested advice and try to find solutions for people's problems. She hugs people."

"What?"

For some reason he felt like he was repeating himself.

"She's worried about you, you git," Al enunciated slowly. "It's something she does."

"This is something she does," Scorp repeated drily. "She randomly hugs people and tells them they'll be alright?!"

"She doesn't hug everyone," Al corrected, looking almost offended for his crazy cousin, as if the fact that she was particular about whom she hugged made any difference. "Just people she likes."

Correction: it made a difference.

She liked him.

They'd spent a week at each other's throats. After Lily had come by - he'd had to call for backup and if there was anyone capable of dealing with Rose, that person was Lily Potter - things had been better. Still, he hadn't been exactly trying to be likeable, what with threatening her to wring her neck if she didn't take her potions and everything.

And yet... she liked him. She liked him enough to bestow upon him her weird and surprisingly comforting hugs.

"Stop mooning about my cousin and get dressed, you ponce," Al scolded, walking over to him with renewed energy and pinching both his cheeks in a way that was both painful and heartwarming. "Merlin, you're slow today. Try not to get lost on your way to the fireplace, for goodness' sake."

"You're a git, you know that?"

"Speaking of gits," Al said, letting go of his cheeks and chuckling darkly, "Yards has ten galleons riding on you being a flaking arsehole."

Of course he did.

"Yards is a wanker," Scorp replied with a small smile.

"I, on the other hand, am the blooming idiot that bet him you wouldn't." Al walked to the door and, just before stepping out, turned back to glower at him. "And I swear, if you chicken out, I'm tracking your pasty arse down and making coq au vin."


Despite Al's repeated assurances that everything would be fine, it wasn't fine.

From the moment he had stepped into the Floo, things had become a bit better on his end. He'd finally slipped out of his small bout of Analysis paralysis and finally faced the music. The sight of his locker, with its nicked corner had smacked him into decisive action and he had firmly, if not even pointedly, quit the job he'd been dreaming of having since he'd been made aware of jobs were.

The rush of his assertiveness was short lived.

Four hours later Scorp was still sitting on a chair as people screamed all around him.


They were sitting in a small cafe in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, which was where Gwen had told him to meet her after describing in excruciating detail how she was going to shove one of her incredibly pointy shoes up his rear.

When he'd gone up to the Intersection and spent half an hour waiting for a portkey, he'd been a bit peeved, thinking life would become incredibly shittier from this point on.

He would have gladly put up with endless commutes and feeling like his stomach was being held in a chokehold twice a day every day for the rest of his life if it had spared him from the alternative, which was apparently... not having to put up with it at all.

"What do you mean the position has been filled?!"

"It means it took you more than a month to get back to me," Gwen shrieked back, her face flushed with anger. "I called you a million times over Christmas and you never picked up!"

Scorp was only half-listening. The sense of dread that had just gripped him was infinitely worse than anything he'd felt this morning. He'd been scared, sure, but it paled in comparison to whatever it was that he was feeling now.

"I don't…" His lips quivered ever-so-slightly. "Do you mean…?"

His muscles tensed and a wave of cold sweat whipped him across the back, leaving him breathless as it finally hit him: he was unemployed.

That was why she'd insisted they meet.

Not because she had papers for him to sign so he could start his brilliant career and win a billion Cups, not because she had missed him and wanted to catch up, not because she wanted to tear him a new one for not answering her calls… because he was now jobless.

"It's all very hush hush, but two days ago Erin Bailey suddenly became available and Brandon Dixon jumped at the opportunity to bat with her," Gwen spat, hands still shaking from her previous outburst. "You remember Brandon, he was the fucker who batted with you on that friendly match."

Right now he wouldn't be able to tell you his own name, much less drum up enough mental capacity to remember Brandon Whatever-The-Hell-His-Name-Was.

The new ten year plan that he'd spent all morning carefully constructing from the cluttered debris of his life was now burning to ashes in front of his very eyes. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he would be able to smell the smoke coming from his scorched dreams.

Scorpius nodded mechanically as he continued to face the anger that was exuding from Gwen's every pore.

"He's a mediocre wanker at best, yes, and I promise you I did everything in my power to stop them, but two players beats one and the team gelled with them and..." She paused, shaking her head and then snapped again, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Fuck, Scorp, I had them eating off the palm of my hand and then you stop answering your fucking MagiTech and it all goes to fucking shit. I swear to Merlin, if I had known you were going to flake on me-"

He buried his face in his hands and stared blankly at the table, droplets of cold sweat dripping from his brows.

"- I have better things to do with my life than calling you a million times because you can't be arsed to answer a single call and-"

He closed his eyes, tuning Gwen's voice out.

Unemployed.

Without warning and like a manticore had stumbled teeth first into him, the first wave of nausea hit.

Unemployed.

"Scorp?"

It was like he was being smothered, like the room was suddenly a bit too hot and his shirt was a bit too tight and-

Shit.

Now he couldn't breathe.

Lovely, just lovely.

"Scorp!"

He really couldn't breathe.

This was ridiculous, absurd really. One didn't just stop breathing but holy fuck, he really couldn't .

Why couldn't he breathe?!

His hand instinctively searched for his wand and he grasped it tightly, his eyes still firmly shut. He needed to be gone, anywhere but here.

Anywhere else would be fine.

"Scorp." A warm hand grasped his own and gently removed the wand from his grip. "Look at me and breathe."

Two hands now, cupped around his face.

"Look. At. Me."

He tried to smack them away and the hands only gripped tighter, forcing his eyes open to look into hers.

"Breathe," she ordered, her voice smooth like melted butter. "Come on, Malfoy, in and out, in… and out… that's it. In… and out… A few more times."

Out of the corner of his eye, Scorp could see someone approaching the table and his chest tightened. Gwen's eyes were fixed on his face and she scowled as she followed his gaze, turning to face the newcomer.

"No, sir, kindly fuck off, don't you dare come any closer," she growled. "In fact if you can all stop gaping like fucking idiots…"

And then she was back on him, her voice his only tether to sanity.

"Ignore those tossers, breathe… in… and out..."


Fifteen minutes later he was glaring at the cup of tea that she'd laid in front of him and feeling like a complete dolt. A few people sitting at other tables were still throwing them curious looks, clearly hoping for an encore, and Scorp kept his gaze firmly affixed to his cup.

"Happens to the best of us, mate." She said it matter-of-factly and Scorp for one was glad they weren't making a big deal out of it. "I've lost count of the number of times some green player nearly wet themselves on their first big game."

"I didn't wet myself," he snapped back.

"No, you just forgot how to breathe, like the massive boob you are."

"Are we done here or do you want to continue pointing out what a wuss I am?"

"I don't think you're a wuss," she replied slowly , twirling the glass of firewhiskey she was holding in her hand. "I get it, I've been there myself."

"Yes, I'm sure you have," Scorp scowled. "What with the great house, that darling girlfriend of yours and the dream job, I really don't know how you hold yourself together every day."

"Merlin, you're prickly as a porcupine today."

"An unemployed porcupine," Scorp corrected. "I wonder why that is…?

"I've been jobless too, y'know?" Gwen scowled back. "I remember how terrifying it is."

"Ah, but you quit!"

"So did you. Very daringly, I must say."

Like the crazy fearless person she was, Gwen had quit with no prospects and no plans. Reckless and wild was fine for people like Gwen, who enjoyed living by the seat of their pants.

It wasn't fine for people like him.

"That's only because I thought there was another job waiting for me!"

"Yes, I know, and I am sorry."

She didn't add 'though it's all your fucking fault you ninny', which he appreciated, since he still felt a little green around the gills whenever he thought about it.

"I'll try to keep that in mind when I'm living out of a cardboard box, I'm sure it'll be very comforting."

"It's not ideal and I know it's a shitty feeling, not knowing what you're going to do…" Gwen seemed to be struggling for the words. "And honestly, it only gets worse with time."

"I sincerely doubt it."

How much worse could it get really?

"Stop being a self-pitying wanker and hear me out: find something else to do while I sort this out. Anything else. If you just stay home scratching your balls, you'll end up feeling all sorts of worthless."

'Worthless' was a bit of a strong word. He didn't think he'd ever feel 'worthless', thank you very much. He was a Malfoy and, despite his parents' best efforts, his ego was still uncommonly inflated for his age group.

"You mean another team?"

If he were being completely honest, any team would do right about now. He'd even join the bloody Chudley Cannons, which was something a player only did if they were keen on committing career suicide.

Not that what he'd done was much better.

"I mean washing dishes if that's what it takes," Gwen replied fiercely. "I did for a while and it kept me from going batty."

Gwen didn't often talk about what it had been like for her after she'd quit Puddlemere. He knew she'd been adrift for a couple of months before being scooped up by the Magpies, but she didn't talk about it.

Which was odd, because Gwen talked a lot.

"I promise I'll find you something else, something equally good…" Gwen stopped mid-sentence and and frowned for a second before a slow grin curled up her mouth. "In fact, you know what? I'll find you something better."

"Nepotism at its finest." Scorp picked up his cup of tea and toasted her. "Did you have anything in mind?"

It was rather obvious that she did. Her grin had sharpened into something ferocious, the war face she put on whenever she came in close contact with a broom. There was something a little insane about her eyes.

"I do, it's just… complicated." She hesitated before practically purring the word. "I'll have to figure a few things out first. Pull some strings, kiss a few wrinkly arses, move one or two mountains..."

Scorp rolled his eyes. Incredible how so many words could hold so little meaning. "How long?" he asked, hoping at least this way he'd get something concrete.

He needed a plan or at least some vague simulacrum of one.

"A month or two at best." Gwen scowled, as if remembering something. "Maybe a couple if things get… problematic. How's your emergency fund?"

Ah, yes, his 'emergency fund'. His 'emergency fund' was essentially the three months Rose had forced him to save 5%, a.k.a, a pittance.

"Remember that cardboard box I was talking about...?" Scorp's lips pressed together humorlessly. "Maybe I can go back to Puddlemere, beg them to rip the papers. I literally just signed them, I mean-"

" No ." Gwen stood up in her seat and glowered at him. "I swear, if you go back I'll never speak to you again, you spineless wanker. Get a job waiting tables, move back with your parents, whatever you do… just… trust me."

That was all good and well for her to say, but waiting tables sounded horrible and moving back with his parents?

Out of the question.

"Do I look for other batting jobs while you're off pursuing this unlikely miracle of yours?" he drawled, sounding a lot like… shit his dad. Which in turn reminded him of his dad's receding hairline, which in turn reminded him...

Holy hell, he was going to have to start using subpar shampoo. Not only would he sound like his dad, he'd start looking like him too.

The horror.

He was fucked, wasn't he? He was going to end up a bitter, balding fifty year old barman talking about how, back when he was young, he had almost made it as a Quidditch player.

"Obviously you start looking for jobs," she sniggered. "And if a team you fancy offers you a position, you snag it with both hands."

"But then why wouldn't I try to get my job back?"

He knew why, he just needed to hear it said out loud by someone else.

"Scorp, you quit Puddlemere because you weren't happy," Gwen retaliated. "And the reason you weren't happy hasn't changed just because you bloody quit. You'd still be benched and making less money than you would if you were cleaning fucking owl droppings."

He could go back but then he'd spend the next ten years of his life bitterly wishing he could set Andrew Bell on fire.

He'd never win the Cup.

"But I could still fly." The words caught in his throat and Scorp gritted his teeth. "How can I quit flying?"

"Get a job as a Flight Instructor, fly on weekends, call me up and use me as a Bludger target…" Gwen's voice trailed off and she grabbed hold of both his hands, squeezing them with excitement. "Look, if my intuition is right, this could work. It could really, really work!"

"How vague."

Her enthusiasm was almost contagious. Unfortunately, she wasn't giving him nearly enough to go on.

He needed something tangible and right now the only thing tangible about this conversation was the cup of tea he was holding.

It wasn't even good tea.

"I'm not promising anything, especially on such short notice… which is why you should still look around. If you find a team you like, I'll be thrilled." The fierce glint in her eyes returned and she grinned wildly. "But if this works out… fuck, I'll tell you right now, if this works out, I'm quitting."

"You." Scorp quirked an eyebrow at her, disbelief evident, his grip tightening around the cup. "You'll quit your job."

"Yep."

"You love your job."

"I do. But-"

Scorp rolled his eyes. From what she'd said it was easy to make at least some basic deductions.

"Are you planning on starting a new team?"

"Not… exactly." She hesitated for a second and Scorp scowled. "But it's something along those lines."

Several new teams had been birthed over the past few years, each and every one dying a premature death after only a year or two. They didn't have the funds, they didn't have the name, they didn't have the fans.

And here was Gwen Vane, thinking she could pull it off. Foolhardy and ill-advised, of course she'd be all over it… and she was asking him to trust her? It was all sorts of crazy.

It was also a lifeline.

"Who else would you hire?"

"Not telling."

"Who would coach it?"

"Not telling."

"Where will you find the money to bank it?"

"Definitely not telling you."

There was an infuriating and slightly manic grin on her face and Scorp's frayed nerves finally snapped.

"What will you tell me?!"

"At this point in time?" There was a tinge of insanity to her laugh. "Fuck all."


Well, here we are. -_-; Sorry it took me so long to have the gumption to actually post this. While it's slightly different from what I'd written two months ago, it's only SLIGHTLY different, which means I spent sixty days putting this off.

Scorp reaching the inevitable conclusion that he needed to quit his job, no matter where his loyalties lay, was hard to write. Harder even to write was the shock of him realising that the structured life he has been building for a while had gone up in flames. Honestly, I was kind of scared of how you guys would react because for most of you, this is probably not what you signed up for. Hell, it's not what I signed up for. If I re-read the first two chapters, it feels like a completely different fanfic but they all grew so much in my head that I couldn't just keep on... idk, playing the fluff. So now we're playing the angst a bit, see how that goes for Witch Slap.

I've been planning this for a while now, and I've been putting it off, but there's a series of future chapters already written which are fun and light-hearted and all that goodness... but we can't get there if we don't take this pit stop of vague anxiety and stress.

Tell me what you think! Review, subscribe, favourite, follow, bookmark, kudo, whatever floats your fanfic loving boat!