Author's Note:So, here we are. My chapter of my first piece of work for this site. My first piece of fiction ever, and also my first for TF2. Needless to say, this is a wee bit terrifying. Please, please, please reveiw. It's the only way I can correct mistakes.
As much as I wish I did, I don't own TF2. Come to think of it, I don't own John, Paul, Ringo, or George, either.
Prologue:
The air was cool and smelled like bacon and fresh coffee at this time of day. From the windows, he could see the small town of Little Badwater slowly rise to meet the pinkish-gray of morning. The diner was already starting to get crowded again, filling up with men on their way to the offices and a handful of them on their way home from work. At the counter he spotted a pair of state troopers chatting with the short-order cook. This was a nice little place, perfectly situated and wonderfully open all night long. It was a good place to settle in and while away a few hours of night, nurse a cup of coffee or six, and re-read, for the thousandth time, the letter he was supposed to be writing to his mum. Sniper glanced guiltily at the paper, where it peeked out from under his hat. It shouldn't be this hard, he supposed, leaning forward and resting his chin in one hand. Of course, that was supposing that he had a job that didn't involve shooting people in the head everyday. Or dying everyday himself - sometimes more than once-and waking up with a mild headache and queasiness fifteen minutes later. No, it wouldn't do to tell them more than what they already knew, that their son was picking off poachers and those that would commit thievery against the Reliable Excavation and Demolition Company. That was enough to dissatisfy them already.
"More coffee?" The request startled him out of his reverie, and he blinked up at the familiar woman standing by his table, watching as she blew a curl out of her eyes. Sniper smiled at her and nodded, pushing his cup over to the edge of the table. "Thanks, Miss." Since her first day, nearly a month and a half ago, Sniper had always wound up with her as his waitress. She was, however, much more at home than that first morning.
"Ah, crap, right in ya eggs, too," the girl grumbled, for a moment just staring at the plate of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon that had been liberally doused in coffee. "Sorry. Should'a been watchin' myself," she sighed, setting down the coffee pot to sop up a small puddle of coffee that had landed on the table between Sniper's cup and ruined breakfast. He was too startled to do anything but stare at her from atop his glasses as she swore under her breath and hurried to get the mess up. Her hands were pale and shook a little when she scooped up the plate in one and the coffee pot in the other. "Nah, s'alright, swe-" he trailed off just as soon as he'd started, because she was already turning on her heel and heading for the kitchen.
"Huh," he sighed, glancing at his dining companion with a bemused half-smile.
On the other side of the booth, Engineer grinned at him teasingly and ran a blocky hand over his hair. "Must be she's got all nervous from the sight of such a handsome fella."
Sniper snorted and reached out to slap the other man with a menu. "Hush. Yer married."
The Texan blinked innocently at him. "Me! I was talkin' 'bout you." The remark earned him another harmless slap. "Ha. Very funny, mate."
A few minutes later, their waitress re-appeared with a fresh plate. "Sorry 'bout that, fellahs," she sighed, setting the plate in front of Sniper carefully. "Gotta get used ta doin' this again."
He glanced up at her with a smile, watching her fidget a little. She had a familiar but somehow implacable accent, and was so short it wouldn't have been hard to call her tiny, with pale, freckled skin and dark red hair. Cute, if you were into that petite-and-curvy type.
"S'alroight, missy," he smiled, lifting the coffee cup to his lips. She twitched a little when the bell above the door rang, and Engineer arched a brow, but seemed content to contribute nothing more to the conversation unfolding before him. Finally, Sniper cleared his throat and asked, "First day jitters?"
The girl nodded and shrugged one shoulder tiredly, ducking her head to adjust the pen clipped to her apron. "Yeah…ya could say that…"
Before either of them could say anything more, a shout of "ORDER UP!" rang out, and the waitress straightened up, flipping one hand over her shoulder. "I gotta go get that. Youse fellahs lemme know if ya need somethin' yeah?" she asked, nodding once before scurrying away.
For a moment, both men watched her, before resuming their breakfast. Sniper added a little salt to his eggs and idly noticed that the girl had put extra bacon on his plate.
Engineer was thoughtfully eating his toast, and finally said quietly, "Ya know, I think that girl was blushin'."
"An' Oi think yer cracked in th' head, mate," Sniper growled, glaring half-heartedly at him. He refused to acknowledge the way the tips of his ears felt just slightly warm. The sheila was probably half his age. Yes she was cute, but the only reason he might have been blushing, or noticing her like
that was simply because it had been a long time since any sheila had smiled at him, he told himself.
Engineer had left it at that until they were driving back to the base. In the pause between one conversation and the next, he had said quietly, "Pretty brown eyes, though, huh?" And smirked when almost automatically, Sniper had said, "Nah, her eyes were green, mate."
He nearly rolled the van trying to properly slap the damn Texan for getting him like that.
"Anytime, sweets," she replied as she topped off the heavy porcelain cup. Somewhere in the back, a bell tinged and someone hollered "ORDER UP!"
"Bettah go get that," she sighed, flashing a crooked and warm smile his way before spinning off towards the kitchen. Sniper smiled at her as she left, picking up his coffee and sipping it thoughtfully. She looked tired today, her freckles standing out more on her pale skin and faint bags under her eyes. He wanted to ask her to sit and take a load off, but didn't. He knew better. She was half his age at least and he swore one time he saw a wedding band on her finger. Ah well. No use in pining, he chided himself, sipping his coffee and reluctantly picking up his letters again. He had to write his mum something, dammit.
It was almost an hour later, spent writing about the various off-duty goings-on that he was snagged again, staring out the window and listening to the soft chatter and almost-quiet at the end of the rush. The waitresses were laughing quietly, the troopers had gone home to their wives, and somewhere a radio had been turned on. He grimaced a little, and gulped down the rest of his coffee, and decided to end his letter on a pleasant note. After it was signed- 'Much Love, Lawrence'- sealed in a heavy-duty envelope, and addressed, he glanced around for his waitress, and spotted her reflection in the plate-glass window.
She was behind him, wiping down after a messy group of young men when a few chords struck out on the radio and another waitress called out teasingly, "Oooh, Betsy! It's yer song, honey!" It took a moment for Sniper to recognize the song as one of the Fab Four's, and grimaced a little. He had never seen how a group of pretty boys could make it so big. They were all right, he supposed. If you were a woman.
But his waitress-her name is Betsy, he corrected himself- laughed at the other, flipping the towel up on her shoulder and calling back to her, "An' it makes me so happy ta hear, Deanne!"
With that, she returned to the clean up, piling dishes and cups and carefully balancing them all, half singing along with the Lads from Liverpool as she toted dirty dishes to the kitchen. "I'm so happy when you dance with me..."
He caught her eye when she pushed out of the kitchen again, and she automatically picked up the coffee pot on the way over. "Nothah cup?" she asked, flicking a slightly fuzzy curl from her eyes.
"Nah, just th' check, darlin'," he replied. "Oi best be heddin' out."
She nodded. "Yea, I bet they keep ya busy up thea, right?"
He twitched, tilting his head. "Oh? What makes ya say that?" He was always curious to see what people thought he did for a living. Most people in town had one theory or another about 'those kooks at the old facility', but they were under strict contract not to let anyone know the truth.
She fidgeted a little under his gaze, and shrugged. "Well, you work up at that testin' facility, right? Teufort?" When he didn't say anything to negate this, she pushed on, that one shoulder shrugging again. From under the table, he could hear her shoes squeak as she shifted her weight. "Well, Mann Comp'ny's always got some new thing or anothah, sose they must keep ya busy testin' all that crap out." She glanced at him, tilting her head and half-smiling in a way that was making him fight the urge to fidget a little himself. "Right?"
Huh. She really did not have any idea just how close to the truth she was. Not that she was exactly hitting the nail on the head, but they did ship untested items out for them to play with. What better test than an real fight, after all?
He nodded, smiling in return. "Absolutely, missy."
The answer got a proud little grin from her, and she dug through one apron pocket and pulled out his bill, slapped it face-down on the table, and assured him that he could take his time paying, before she got flagged from another table for coffee.
He didn't take his time in paying, but did so as soon as she left to attend to her other tables. He knew he could linger as long as he wanted, but didn't want to distract her, or give into temptation himself and invite her to sit and chat, never mind that he knew better than to get his hopes up. So he tucked a five-dollar bill under his half-full ashtray, picked up his hat, and ambled out to greet the morning. He wanted to make a stop at the post office before heading back to the base.
He was halfway out of the parking lot when he heard a shout. "Hey! Hey Mista Lawrence Mundy!"
Sniper twitched around, frowning and wondering who in the hell in this town actually knew his name, only to be faced with Betsy the waitress. She was jogging to catch up to him, and by the time she did her hair was hanging stubbornly in her face and she was panting a bit.
The half-smile she wore when she stood up and pushed her hair from her face fell slightly. He wasn't exactly the most exuberant of regulars, no, but was pleasant and polite and even when the mood struck him a little chatty, which was nice because he had a very nice accent and really quite a nice smile. But now he looked positively annoyed that she used-or even knew- his name, and that gave his normally scruffy and serious countenance a darker, almost dour cast. And good Lord, he was tall. Granted, she knew she was short, but he loomed over her in a way that reminded her of a praying mantis. "Ah...sorry. Ya left this on th' table. I know it was really nosy of me, but I didn't intend ta go snoopin'. It was right there an' all. An' then I had ta get yer attention somehow, right?"
Almost timidly, she offered him up the envelope he'd left, and he immediately regretted glaring in her direction before realizing it was her. "Ah...no, it's no worry, darlin," he told her, carefully taking it from her and tucking it safely inside his vest. "An' thanks fer thinkin' ta bring it ta me in th' first place." She seemed to relax a little when he did, and that made him feel a little less awkward. Not much, but a little. Needing something to do, he tugged out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a match. She declined his offer of one with a small smile, and he lit up, happy for at least some small distraction. He really wasn't a people person, and was painfully aware of it now. "An' it's only fair, Oi guess," he mused, thoughtfully exhaling the smoke upward, though he didn't need to. He stood a good foot and a half over her as it was.
"Hmmmm?" she asked, looking up at him.
"That ya know my name now," he told her, patting the place where his letter rested. A small grin appeared on his face as he added, "Miss Betsy."
"Oh..." she made a noise that was equal parts groan and laugh, and rubbed a palm over her face. "That ain't my name, really," the girl laughed. "That's what Deanne calls me because she refuses to use my given name or anythin' close to it. Says it's an' old woman's name."
There was a pause as Sniper digested this, flustered, and then annoyed at himself for being flustered in the first place when the other waitress had clearly called her Betsy and she responded… and…and slowly he realized that he was just staring at her, not saying a damn word and suddenly it dawned upon him that the air around them was incredibly awkward. "Ah…" he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down at his scuffed, dusty boots for a moment. "Ah…sorry 'bout that, then…"
A truck with a bad muffler blew past them, and she waved his apology away easily. "S'fine, really. Deanne's gone an' gotten nearly everyone callin' me that; I'm jus' glad I could get ta ya before 'Betsy' became permanent for ya, too."
Her hand came out. "I'm Agnes, by the way. Loupushanski. "Her grin grew into a giggle when he bowed over her hand instead of just shaking it, and he felt a little rush of pride. Ha. He got the waitress to laugh. "Nioce to meet ya then, Miss Lou—lop—Loupushanski…" Now if only he could say her name without butchering it. Wincing a little, he asked, "Did I say it roight?"
"Yea, but callin' me Aggie's jus' fine. Th' last name's a bit of a mouthful," she grinned.
Her tiny, little hand still rested in his big, rough one, though she hadn't noticed and pulled away, and he didn't call attention to it, either. Sniper had just opened his mouth to ask, perhaps if she didn't mind and had the time to spare, if she might be interested in walking down to the post office with him- his notions of knowing better had temporarily gone forgotten- when a shout from back across the parking lot pulled her attention away. A stout man in a garishly yellow tie leaned out the door. "Ah, crap," she sighed. "That's my manager. I bettah go, before he decides ta lecture me 'bout my responsibilities again, th' idiot."
Agnes grinned at him one last time and he let her hand slip before she had to tug it away. They both looked at each other, not knowing what to really say for a moment. Finally he broke the quiet by nodding towards the diner. "Best git back, 'fore that wanka gits too annoyed."
She snorted, but agreed. "Yea, alright." She turned and stepped towards the building, but paused and glanced back and grinned. "I'll be seeing ya, Mista Mundy."
"Lawrence," he corrected, briefly marveling on just how odd it was to use his given name. But asking her to call him 'Sniper' just wouldn't do. "If I git ta call ya Aggie, s'only fair if ya call me Lawrence."
"Right then," she nodded, smile growing a little. "I'll be seein' ya, Lawrence." One last little wave was given in his direction, and then she turned and hurried back to her post.
Sniper waited until she was through the door before turning and going on his way, humming under his breath without realizing it, a small spring in his step. Perhaps he didn't really know better after all.