Scott shoved his keyboard sideways. It slammed into a pile of paperwork that crumpled uselessly under its weight. 

There were so many important emails he had to write, now that he was boss of an entire business. Emails to suppliers to make sure they delivered on time. Emails to animatronic suppliers who all wanted nothing to do with Freddy Fazbear's. Countless of unsent emails, too. His drafts box was almost overflowing with emails, and all of them to Linda. All of them filled with the things he couldn't force himself to say at their meetings. 

He went through a cycle: get depressed, write an email to Linda, read it over and decide he was whinging, save it in his drafts and try to forget about it. 

Of course, every time he went through one of those weak stages, he had to take an hour out of his day. His emails to Linda were usually long and lengthy, and didn't make a lot of sense. It was only when you lost half the functionality of your left hand that you realised how much you relied on it to type. Sometimes he'd get frustrated, and smash at the keyboard. But even taking out your anger was harder with only half your hand to hit the keys. 

His whole life had changed. The first two weeks had been the worst, after he'd gotten out of hospital. He'd felt sorry for himself and he'd become weak and soft. After the third week, Vincent walked in one day and told him there was to be no more alcohol in the house. Ever. 

Scott had been angry. He'd told Vincent that he didn't really care about Scott. He'd told Vincent that it was his fault he was like this, with only seven fingers left. 

That was one of the things he always put into his emails to Linda. 

But Vincent wasn't swayed by threats and hate. He never had been. Scott was so thankful for that, above anything. Because after that, after Scott had nothing to turn to to erase his memory, he'd been forced to confront it full on.  He'd been forced to accept where he was, and he'd been forced to mature, and he had. 

Scott pushed himself up out of his chair. He looked down at his desk. It was neat and tidy apart from the debris from his latest outburst, and he could see the mahogany surface of it, covered in scratches and scars. He let the tips of his fingers trace over them. Boss - his Boss - never would have let anything damage his desk like this. He always kept his possessions pristine, in mint condition.

Scott sucked in a deep breath, and walked around his desk to the office door. His hand rested on the doorknob for a full ten seconds before he twisted it, and pushed the door open. 

"Vincent," he said tersely, nodding in Vincent's direction as a way of acknowledging his presence but not inviting any further conversation. 

Vincent ignored the nod entirely, "Hey, I was just coming to talk to you. Jeremy wants to know if it's possible you could allow him to leave and get more paint to finish the walls. He... still insists on paying for the whole thing himself, even though the budget allows for us to pay for him." 

A smile uncharacteristic of Scott's new self flitted across his face. Vincent had been asking questions like this for every few hours for the past week. Scott had already told Jeremy that he was free to come and go to buy supplies whenever he liked, and he knew Vincent knew that. "Just checking I'm still stable then, huh?" 

Vincent shrugged, "What do you want me to say? That I'm not worried about you? Scott, the only conversations we have anymore are business related. You won't let me talk to you otherwise. Mike's starting to ask questions, I know everyone thinks it's me that's ignoring you-" 

Scott shut him up with a look, "Let's not air our personal lives at work for anyone to hear, alright?"

Vincent scoffed, "And how else am I supposed to talk to you? You're doing this on purpose, Scott. You're shutting me out." 

Scott felt the three fingers in his left hand twitch. The three fingers weren't there. "Be patient with me, Vincent, please." 

Vincent laughed, not because he found anything funny, but because it was taking so much effort for him to keep up with Scott emotionally, and he was exhausted, "I think you underestimate how much I already am." 

Scott glanced over Vincent's shoulder at the walls of the Dining Hall. The blue wallpaper had long been torn away and re-painted with a white coat, and then Jeremy had taken up the job of painting an entire mural on the wall. At the current moment it depicted Freddy Fazbear holding out a whole pizza, with different colours and little images of children's toys and other Fazbear related things floating around it. It was cute, modern, uplifting. The start of the new era of Freddy Fazbear's. 

Scott smiled slightly and looked back at Vincent, "The place is really coming along, don't you think? It looks much better than it ever used to."

"Well, that's what happens when it has a great manager," Vincent smiled back at him.

Scott breathed in again slowly through his nose and out, "Thank you," he said. "I hope everyone else thinks so, too. You ready to get this place up and running by September?"

"More than ready," Vincent said, "As long as you promise you'll stay by my side." 

"Then I think we'll make it," Scott nodded, and then he gave Vincent a look that was three parts stern but also, finally, one part playful. "Now, get back to work."