This is my submission for tf2chan's 2012 secret santa. I will be the first to admit, it needs some work. Who knows, maybe I'll give it another edit when I have time. Anyway, I hope you still enjoy it!
Scout pressed the phone receiver to his ear, listening with anticipation as each ring rang into the next. Around him partygoers jostled past, laughing and chatting. There were sounds of breaking glass and the incessant thrum of revelry. Alcohol muted his senses, but he still aware. Aware enough know he wanted them gone. To be left alone in this lavish apartment, which, somehow, didn't feel quite like home.
Someone pushed past, bumping straight into Scout. He staggered forward, grabbing velvet curtains to steady his balance, tearing a long large rip in the process. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the sounds coming through that phone. He pressed the receiver closer to his ear, straining to hear the tone over the clamour.
There was a click, and then a pause long enough to make Scout wonder if he'd been disconnected. To his relief a familiar voice joined the line; the southern drawl unmistakable.
"Howdy?"
Scout exhaled in relief, he pressed the phone closer, desperate not to miss a word. "Engie! Engie, that you?"
There was an extended silence and then, "Scout... We'll I'll de darned. Never thought we hear from you again. How you doin', boy?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Great actually. Couldn't be bettah." Scout slurred. He shook his head, trying to stay sober enough to follow the conversation.
"Well. That's good to hear. You know, me and the fellahs here were a little worried about ya. Y'know, after the accident…"
"Yeah…" Scout swallowed. "Don't worry 'bout that. I can handle myself. I ain't broken."
"That's good to know. You've always been a tough kid."
An awkward silence hung between them. Scout twirled the phone cord around his fingers nervously, summoning the courage to ask the next question.
His abrupt departure from the Builders League United had not been a decorous one. Bitter words and violent blows had been exchanged, with his closest colleagues bearing the brunt of his vitriol. Regret lingered. Drinking only seemed to intensify his remorse. He clutched at the phone handle so hard he could hear the plastic casing crack. "Hey listen, I was kinda wondering. Is Spy around? Could I talk to him for a minute."
Another pause. "Ah, sorry to disappoint you, son. He's been gone for a few days now. On leave as far as I know."
Scout sagged against the wall. "Oh…"
"But hey, maybe I could take a message for ya? I'm sure he'd be happy to know you called."
Scout ran fingers though his hair, mulling Engie's words over. "Yeah, okay. Could you tell him… " Scout hesitated. His mind overflowed with memories, feelings, but nothing he could properly articulate. He was momentarily distracted by a sudden crash of a chandelier. By now the party had descended into a chaotic frenzy. Fueled by a near bottomless supply of liquor, his guests were making short work of his apartment. It was only a matter of time before the authorities showed up.
"Sounds like you're keeping busy," the Engineer chuckled.
Scout managed an empty laugh. "Yeah, I just have a few pals over."
"A few?" Engineer asked incredulously.
Scout suddenly felt very tired. What else was there to say? He had a new life now. Maybe it was better that the past stayed far behind him. Time had a nasty habit of moving forward, with or without him.
"Listen, don't worry about Spy. I guess I'll call another time. Catch you later."
"Well okay then…"
Scout thought he caught Engineer begin to say something before he carelessly hung up, dropping the receiver back on the phone. It bounced and fell off the table, dangling by the cord and humming the tinny sound of a dial tone.
Scout fumbled as he retrieved his crutches, making sure not to stumble on the scattered shards of broken glass littering his carpet. With a heavy sigh he limped forward and back into the crowd.
Morning came. Blinding light filtered through Scout's windows, distorted only by the hairline cracks radiating through the glass from an unfortunate baseball incident. It was winter and white frost tinged the edges of the glass. It was an oddly tranquil vision.
The light exposed the night's wreckage. Debris littered the floor, furniture was tipped over, and his bespoke jukebox crackled as damaged record skipped on an endless loop.
Scout cracked his eyes open, unprepared for the wave of nausea that washed over him. He lay sprawled on the couch, his sore limbs spread awkwardly across its lumpy contours. He groaned and placed a cushion on his face, trying to avoid the searing light that was assaulting his retinas.
He was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. How many times had he awoken to this same scene? His nights of partying and days of recovery were blurring into one continuous moment. He wasn't sure how much longer it could continue.
It was mornings like this when he missed his team the most. He missed the rustic architecture of their ever-changing bases. He missed the thin military-issue pillows which were surprisingly comfortable after a hard day on the battlefield. Despite their hefty pack-packages, there were few luxury provided for the men on site. It was only basic amenities and longs nights discussing strategy over a game of poker. He especially missed his eclectic group of teammates. Each unhinged with their own eccentricities, and yet perfectly complimentary, not only as a combat unit, but also as friends.
Most of all, he missed one insufferable Frenchman…
Scout attempted to suppress the tide of melancholy rising up in him. It was time to move on. That part of his life was over.
He gingerly sat upright, getting a proper look at the devastation. To his relief the party guests had left. Their interest screeched to a halt as soon as the music had stopped and the booze ran dry. Scout couldn't say they were friends of his. Most he barely recognized. They were simply gatecrashers that had caught wind of a house party in uptown Boston. It had now had become a regular event, much to the ire of his pretentious neighbors.
The consequences of his wild nights were catching up with him. Scout was desperately in need of a glass of water. He moved to leave the couch only to discover his crutches were halfway across the room. He glanced down at his legs with irritation. The pant leg of his left calf was tied in a knot, just below the knee, hanging uselessly in the space where his leg used to be.
It was his fault. A hard fact that Scout had yet to fully accept. At the time Scout had only a vague understanding of Mann Co's respawn system. Dimly he could appreciate the profundity of an invention that allowed a man to be shot, stabbed, eviscerated, incinerated, even blown apart down to the molecular level and yet still recover in time for the next battle. But, like most things in his life, Scout had taken it for granted. If it kept him alive, and they continued to pay him for his services, who was he to question it?
Scout was never much of a thinker. He didn't stop to think where the boundaries were. He never thought to wonder how far the protective radius of this technology extended. In hindsight he should have pestered Engineer on the details, but of course it was too late now.
Scout was never a thinker, but he did know how to take risks.
By chance Scout had discovered that if he snuck through the wire fencing that surrounded the compound he could make a clean break for the opposing base, thus avoiding enemy fire. He didn't think of it as cheating. It was more like 'strategic warfare'. At first it worked. He was able to run around the perimeter and re-enter from the back, giving him a clear shot for the intel, all the while remaining undetected. However, it wasn't long before the enemy cottoned on. For some reason they didn't appreciate his underhanded tactics.
Scout had the ability to elude the boundaries. It turns out, so could stickybombs.
It wasn't until the ringing in his ears had stopped did he realize that something was terribly wrong. He hadn't awoken in respawn with a scattergun in his hands as he had so many times before. The smoke was clearing and pain unlike any other took the breath from him. A hastily made tourniquet had saved his life, but the damage had been done. No respawn, no medigun, no technology of Mann Co could restore him to his former self.
Now he couldn't stand to look at his disfigurement. The consequences were permanent and it remained an eternal memento to his hubris.
Scout wasn't keen to crawl through broken glass, so he flopped back on the couch in defeat, annoyed at the world and its many injustices.
He closed his eyes, ready to succumb to his weariness. A shallow sleep tugged at his consciousness, pulling him from reality.
Three loud knocks thudded against his door. Scout's eyes shot open; the sound rattled his brain.
He lifted the cushion from his face and wearily craned his neck to look at the door. He froze, hoping that his silence would discourage the stranger. Often opportunistic party guests would return, either hoping to continue the celebration, or looking for lost property. This morning Scout had no energy for it.
Another knock echoed through the room, more persistent than the first. After a short pause the door handle began to rattle.
Scout was mildly alarmed by this attempted break-and-enter. "Get lost!" He shouted, his voice hoarse. "The party's over. Jeeze! Can't a guy get some peace around here?"
He was confident enough that the locks were sturdy enough to keep the intruder out, which only doubled his surprise when the latch clicked and the door swung open. He scrambled to right himself and in his haste toppled off the couch.
From the floor he had the perfect view of the stranger's polished Italian leather shoes. He blinked once before his eyes traveled further. His heart began to pound when he recognized the cut of a very familiar pinstripe suit. Leather gloves straightened cufflinks, and a face shrouded in a thick woolen scarf and balaclava took time to look around the room in interest. The man plucked a cigarette from his lips and exhaled. A plume of smoke enveloped him like a shroud.
"So, this is where you have been where you have been hiding all this time. How quaint."
Scout sat up, jaw open in astonishment. "Spy!?"
"It was far too easy to find you. I would advise you to be more careful not to advertise whereabouts. Anyone with unfinished business could come looking for you."
Scout's shock was fast turning to anger. A headache had settled in his brain, gripping his skull with a splitting pressure. He balled his hands into fists, unprepared for the flood of emotion Spy's presence brought. "So, what? You came all this way to tell me how to live my life? Fuck off. I already have a mother."
Spy smirked, untroubled by Scout's cold welcome. Always a man of composure, the older man carried himself with ease, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He took care to step over broken glass and properly examined Scout's odd assortment of furnishings. He took particular interest Scout's extensive collection of rare sporting memorabilia – an extravagant purchase for a young man with such a humble upbringing. He ran a gloved finger down the glass casing of an autographed baseball bat, tapping it in thought.
"I can see you have spent your money wisely."
Scout climbed back onto the couch, pressing a palm to his throbbing temple. He watched Spy's movements warily. "Am I hearing this right? You're gonna lecture me on money? You don't see me buying fifty pairs identical suits. I never though a guy could have more shoes than my Ma."
Spy only smiled. "Never underestimate the power of a well-tailored suit."
He turned to face Scout. He gaze travelled downwards and to Scout's discomfort lingered on his missing leg. The young man turned away, self-consciously crossing his legs to hide his injury. "Why are you here?" He muttered.
"It is so unusual for an old associate to pay a visit? You have not been forgotten."
Scout laughed wryly. "Like I'm gonna believe that. I bet you've already replaced me with some wannabe track athlete."
Spy was courteous enough to collect Scout's crutches and hand them back to the man. Their hands briefly touched as Scout took hold of them, causing a peculiar fluttering sensation to jolt through him. As hard as he tried not to let it, Spy always had a way of getting under Scout's skin.
He sat next to Scout and lit up another cigarette, observing him in thought. "There is still a position for you at BLU."
Scout thought about that for a minute before he snorted. "So this what this is all about? You're gonna let me answer phones or something because you feel sorry for me? Well fuck you! I don't need your pity." In his indignation, Scout attempted to stand from the couch. It wasn't quite as dramatic as he hoped. He awkwardly leaned his weight on the crutches and limped away from Spy, who remained seated, smoking his cigarette in nonchalance.
"No. That is not what I mean. Your old job is still waiting for you, if you choose to accept it."
Scout stopped in his tracks, not believing what he was hearing. He jabbed a finger in his ear and wiggle it around, as if to dislodge the stupidity of the suggestion. "Um, okay, are you blind?" He made a wild gesture towards his feet, wobbling with the movement. "I'm missing a freaking leg! And forget whatever Medic told you, it ain't growing back. I'm a fucking cripple! Do you expect me cap points by hopping on them? Am I going to crawl to the intel? Jesus Christ."
Scout turned away. He couldn't let Spy see him lose it. He retreated to the bathroom, fighting back tears. "I may be a cripple, but I'm not a moron. Don't fuck with me."
He slammed the door shut behind him and buried his face in his hands.
Scout sank into the bath, his mind running a mile a minute. Spy hadn't followed after him with any explanation, which was only added insult to injury. He was acutely aware that the older man was still waiting in his apartment for god knows what reason, and he was still fuming at Spy's absurd suggestion that Scout had any chance of returning to the team.
Scout had played plenty of cruel jokes in his time, but not even he would have done something so low.
Spy. Scout didn't understand that man. Where did they stand with each other? He'd never known such a double-dealing, arrogant, sophisticated and utterly magnetic person.
When he had first been introduced to this strange, well-spoken Frenchman, Scout was perplexed. He'd never met anyone quite like him. Of course it didn't take long for Scout to resort to childish teasing (what kind of queer wears a suit into a battlefield?). Spy was impervious to Scout's taunts, and could always counter the harsher insults with a witty retort, often leaving Scout the butt of the joke. What surprised Scout the most was how well he handled himself. Despite his odd tactics, Spy was a surprisingly effective mercenary. Scout had to admit a begrudging respect to him.
Their friendship had grown, and with it an odd sense of longing for something more. Scout ignored it, and was quick to suppress any of the more uncomfortable urges he felt. He always feared that someone would question his fixation, but it never stopped him from seeking Spy's company. Somehow he always felt secure in his presence.
Spy's unexpected appearance had only dredged up those odd feelings, stirring them back into his mind. He sunk deeper into the bath, letting the water slosh over the sides and form puddles of the tiled floor.
The warmth had taken the edge off his hangover. He wasn't feeling quite so wretched now. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, feeling the tension ease from his muscles.
There was a light tap on the door, before Spy ducked his head in. He had removed his jacket, looking unusually casual in his button vest and rolled-up sleeves.
"Whoa!" Scout quickly moved to cover himself. "You ever heard of privacy? Or don't they have that in France?"
Spy stood in the doorway, clearly not bothered by Scout's state of undress. "I apologise if I upset you. It was not my intention."
"This is how you apologise?! How about waiting until I have some pants on?"
Spy leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets. A sly smile tugged at his lips. "We are both men here. There is no reason to be embarrassed. When you are ready I have something to show you."
"Uh…" Scout blinked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He looked away, unable to meet Spy's gaze.
"I can see I have once again overstepped the boundaries. Pardon my intrusion." Spy lingered a moment longer than necessary before the door snapped shut, leaving Scout alone in the room once again.
Scout exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath. "Jeeze…" he murmured before leaning backwards, submerging his head under the water.
When Scout finally emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and a towel draped on his shoulders, he had to stop and double-take. For a second he wondered if he had walked into the wrong apartment.
Furniture had been turned upright and neatly pushed back to their original positions. There was no longer litter strewn across the floor and every surface gleamed with a freshly polished sheen. Heck, someone had even bothered to wipe the windows. It was spotless. Scout couldn't remember the last time he had seen it this clean.
A heavenly aroma wafted from the kitchen. Entranced by the smell of home-cooked food, Scout followed his nose to find Spy pouring batter into a hot buttered pan. This made only slightly more ridiculous by the fact that he was wearing the floral apron Scout's mother had left behind.
"You cleaned my apartment?"
Spy shrugged, flipping a crepe with a practiced flick of the wrist. "It was filthy."
"C'mon man, you're not my freakin' maid." He hobbled over to a bar stool, rested his crutches against the table and seated himself at the counter just as Spy slid his freshly made crepe on a plate to join the pile. He pushed it towards Scout and gestured towards an assortment of condiments.
"Bon appétit."
"What kind of guy breaks into someone's house and starts cooking for him?" Scout poked the thin pancakes suspiciously before he gabbed a bottle of maple syrup and slathered it in the viscous liquid. He took one bite and his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. He began to shovel mouthfuls in, barely pausing for a breath.
"They are good, non?"
"Goddamn," said Scout, mouth stuffed. "Break into my house more often, okay?"
Spy looked pleased with himself. He cleared the bench and hung up the apron while Scout ate, content to watch the boy. The silence was comfortable between them. When it was apparent that Scout was suitably fed, Spy produced a nondescript brown package, placing it on the table between them.
"What's that?" Asked Scout, wiping his chin
"An item that might interest you."
Scout raised an eyebrow at Spy's cryptic response. He lifted it up, getting a sense of its weight. "Is this supposed to be some kind of Christmas present?"
"Perhaps."
"If it's socks I'm gonna kick your ass." He ripped off the tape and opened the box, pulling out packing foam to get a proper look at this mystery item. At first he was confused. It just appeared to be machine parts. They gleamed in metallic gold, catching the light when he tilted his head. Removing more foam revealed it in its entirety. He paused and slowly looked back at Spy.
"Is this…"
Spy nodded. "Built by none other than our Engineer. Good craftsmanship takes time, so he apologises for the delay."
Scout lifted the contraption from the box, his chest tight with emotion. The design was unusual, that was for sure, but Scout recognized a prosthetic limb when he saw one. It had a flexible metal shin, with a curved blade extending outward, flaring at the base. It was the perfect size and height for Scout's stature and was deceptively light to hold.
Scout turned it over in awe. "What the hell is this made from?"
"Australium."
Scout nearly dropped it in surprise. "Aus… Australi… you can't be serious! This would cost-"
"An arm and a leg?" Spy suggested.
Scout stopped for a beat before glowering at Spy. "You're an asshole."
"So I have been told. Perhaps we should see if this fits? I would hate to find out that we have wasted our money."
The found themselves back at the couch. Spy kneeled at Scout's feet, taking on the strangely intimate task of attaching the false limb. Initially Scout was hesitant at exposing his stump, but Spy had assured him that he has seen far more graphic injuries in his time.
Scout rolled up his pant leg, allowing Spy access to tighten the straps around this thigh. Raised white scars crisscrossed along the wound mottled with burn marks, a souvenir of the impact trauma. Scout sucked in a shallow breath as Spy's fingers glided across his skin, looping leather though gold buckles, securing the prosthesis.
"Is this comfortable?" He asked.
"Yeah, I think so." Scout has lost some sensation around that area so it was hard to judge. He flexed his knee and to his amazement the leg followed suit.
Scout straightened in his seat, stunned by this development. "Holy shit, I think it's working!" He laughed, unable to contain his elation.
Spy smiled, cradling the valuable limb in his hands. "I am glad."
The crouching man glanced up and their eyes connected. Something electric rippled through Scout. He watched, wordless as Spy pressed a kiss against the cool metal of his prosthetic and slowly worked his way upwards. Soon he was trailing kisses along his thigh, then chest. Long arms reached around to pull Scout closer. Scout closed his eyes and tilted his neck as Spy placed his lips against his throat, shivering as warm breath ghosted across his skin.
Taking initiative, Scout found Spy's necktie, tugging him forward. Spy's eyes widened in surprise before their lips pressed together. The sensation of Spy's mouth against his unlocked something inside of Scout. He melted into the embrace, forgetting for a moment that they were two grown men. Forgetting they ever worked together and really trying not to think about what his mother might say if she saw this. He held on to the man like his life depended on it, the kiss imbuing new strength into him.
Their kiss grew increasingly impassioned. The fabric of Spy's balaclava rubbed against his face, and the older man took the liberty of running a hand up Scout's shirt, exploring the form of the young man's body. Scout bucked against Spy, relieved to finally have the chance.
They parted for air and Scout was taken aback by the desire he saw reflected in Spy's face.
"Let me please you." Said Spy, his voice deep and heavily accented.
Who could refuse a request like that? Scout swallowed and nodded, his hands gripping the leather of the couch as Spy slid down his body, tugging at the elastic of his knickerbockers.
"Oh shit." Scout sucked in a sharp breath, trying to control himself as Spy pulled Scout's pants and underwear down past his hips, exposing him to the cool air and revealing just how eager the young man was.
Scout watched, transfixed as Spy kissed the head of his erection. He gave the boy a smoldering stare. "You are beautiful," he said, before taking Scout in his mouth.
Scout's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He arched his spine, choking back a gasp. He had played this scene so often in his imagination, but the reality was far more overwhelming than he dared to believe. He dug his fingernails into the couch, knuckles white and his heart thumping in his chest. Spy's eyes were closed, taking his time to savor the young man. How long had Spy wanted this? He licked a slow trail up Scout's cock, teasing him and chuckling softly.
"Oh fuck man, oh shit." Scout's lexicon contained little more than obscenities now.
Spy increased his pressure, switching from his languid pace into one with purpose.
Scout couldn't last long with Spy's velvet soft mouth wrapped around him like that. The man pulled back, sensing Scout was reaching his limit. He muttered filthy foreign words, finishing Scout off with his hand. "Look at me" he commanded.
Scout met Spy's gaze, his eyes half lidded and face flushed. The intensity in Spy's expression pushed Scout over the limit. He came in spasms, his muscles tensing and his mouth open in bliss.
Scout leaned his head back as he caught his breath. He stared at the ceiling in a daze while he allowed Spy to pull his pants back up over his hips. Spy stood and wiped his hands with a handkerchief, only leaning back down to place a kiss against Scout's temple. "Thank you," he said.
Scout couldn't move. "Uuuhhh."
Spy sat beside Scout, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he waited for the man to gain his bearings. He took one of Scouts hands, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Perhaps I am being hasty here, but I am curious to see how well you move with your new leg."
Scout's heart slowed to a normal pace. It took a moment before he realized Spy was talking to him. "Huh? Oh, yeah…"
Scout was struck with an enormous sense of relief. The crushing weight that had been pressed against him for so long had now lifted. He wasn't sure what the appropriate course of action was now, but thankfully Spy didn't seem to have any expectations.
"Go on," Spy encouraged. "Stand for me."
Scout look down at his legs, one flesh and the other machine. He thought about Engineer's own prosthetic hand, affectionately named the Gunslinger. It was alien to look at and cold to touch, yet it was just as dexterous and twice as durable as any flesh and bone could be. It was reassuring that the same man was responsible for the equipment now strapped to Scout's thigh.
Scout took a deep breath and looked back at Spy, still a little embarrassed about recent events. With a slight wobble he rose to his feet.
He stood tall and unassisted for the first time in months. It was exhilarating. Scout took a shaky step forward, the prosthesis clicked against the ground, finding purchase on the carpet. Spy beamed at him, looking just as euphoric as Scout was feeling.
It was peculiar walking on this thing. It certainly wasn't the same as standing on his own two feet. The straps held the leg securely in place, and the curved blade had a spring to it, which Scout would need time to adjust to, but otherwise it was functional. The impulse to break out in a jog was strong, but he knew he needed a lot more practice with this thing before he was ready to attempt it.
"Are you seeing this?" Scout tapped his false leg against the floor. "I'm fuckin' walking over here!"
"It is a miracle," said Spy as he approached Scout, pulling him into another kiss.
Scout had his suitcase packed and ready beside him. He took one last look at the apartment before closing the door shut, glad to be leaving it behind. It hadn't taken long for him to adapt to his new leg. In a way it was advantageous. It was light, resilient and most importantly, bullet and fireproof.
Spy's visit had been brief, but Scout knew he would see him again when he returned to the base. He still wasn't entirely sure where they stood with each other, but he knew he had plenty of time now to figure it out. For the first time in a long time he was content.
He flipped the key in the air, grinning as he made his way to the elevator. Scout was ready for duty.