quick drabble - scrooge and magica

[blackmagicduck]

 

Scrooge hadn't realized what happened until it was too late to really stop it. Initially he mentally defended himself – whenever he got his business reports, he was always so invested in them he ignored the outside world. Surely Magica should know that by now, amnesia or not.

 

Yet there she lay on his shoulder, eyes closed, her chest rising and settling as the sleeping tend to do. It had been a long day for both of them, and Magica had shown a surprising amount of strength and energy for someone as rail-thin as she was. Was it the magic in her blood, or had she always been this way? He knew so little of her past that it was hard to tell. Every day she kept throwing surprises at him, and it was hard to tell who this woman was anymore.

 

All right. What now? Logically he'd have to get up and move eventually, and she'd raise a fuss about being woken up so abruptly – her pettiness, unfortunately, hadn't left with her memories. But what did he care?

 

… Oh, hell, he did care.

 

Scrooge grumbled deep in his throat, upset about a great number of things. This was one of his many sworn enemies, and there was always that niggling sensation in the far reaches of his mind that this could still be an act. But. But. But! What if this had been the real Magica De Spell, once upon a time? Before something or someone corrupted her? This Magica was thoughtful, creative, funny, and, dare he think it, even nice sometimes. Comparing her to the wicked sorceress who had tortured his family was like comparing apples and oranges. (Although at least preferring an apple over an orange wouldn't mean his family erupting into understandable anger.)

 

She sighed in her sleep. Maybe she was dreaming. Did magic affect dreams? Scrooge looked at her, at her delicate body with all the right curves, at her hair which she had decided to let grow out since “joining” up with him. Before he knew it, he was stroking some bits of hair out of her face. She was soft. Magica De Spell, of all people, soft. He was in a world of trouble. He stroked her hair again.

 

Magica sighed again. It sounded like actual words this time. After a moment, he was sure they were. After another moment, he decided to lean in, just a bit, to hear it.

 

“... Scroogie.”

 

Scrooge's cheeks reddened – maybe just a gentle clearing of his throat would wake her up. He was still stroking her.

 

“... Pet me more, Scroogie.”

 

Goddamn her to the furthest pits of hell.

 

“How long have you been awake?”

 

“The entire time.”

 

The amnesia argument was, once again, put up to debate.