L'espion Rogue
Disclaimer: I do not own the Team Fortress characters that will be mentioned much later on in this fanfiction. Too bad, right?
A/N (Skip if you want): Well, hello new and possibly returning readers. First, some information: I have been up to the gills in college work and other related crap, and I haven't written a fanfiction in almost half a year. So I decided, what the hell, I might as well shelve something out and see if anyone cares or likes it. Then again, I'm not expecting warm embraces and overwhelming attention after my long absence. Anyway, I had developed this strange desire to write my own spin on the Spy(from Team Fortress; you already know this)'s history and past. A man of mystery and intrigue, non? I had actually started to play some Team Fortress 2 myself and I enjoy it a lot. I figure if this story is successful as a fanfiction, then, possibly, somehow, I'll make it a novel and see how it goes. So you readers let me know what you think, possibly what you suggest could happen in the story etc. I already have a rough outline for the first seven chapters, but this story won't be updated very quickly due to me being in college and undergoing major studying for Psychology and the like. To make this long author's note short, I've updated to express that I'm still living. Now stop reading this and read the real story. (As the title suggests, it's about the Red Spy)
One last thing: All French words translations are provided at the end of the chapter.
Chapter One
Dark Beginnings
Snow spiraled in lazy arcs and twists outside, the howling wind pounding on the hospital window, as if desperate to enter and feel the warmth of the fireplace and the heat lamps. The spindly trees swayed, their branches heavy and lined with white. The dark, ominous sky seemed to glare as the storm's fury lashed the world, determined to encase it in ice, snow, and cold. However, beneath that frigid blanket, life still sustained itself.
Inside the hospital, a woman grunted, her fists clenched, her face screwed, as she lay supine on a bed. Her husband stood close by, his gaunt, handsome face filled with intrigue, concern, and anticipation. He put a hand on her shoulder, and his wife gaze at him for a moment before a spasm of pain made her grit her teeth.
"The baby is coming. Keep pushing, Liliane. Everything is going well," the doctor said, his spectacles sitting lopsidedly on his nose. He moved closer as Liliane tensed her body, a small yelp exiting her. "That's it. Keep going," he said as the baby's head emerged. "You're almost done."
Liliane's husband grasped her hand and he winced as she squeezed it with white knuckles, giving him a pained smile. One more birth ripple possessed her and she panted as she felt her baby slip out, wailing in the hands of the doctor as he cut the umbilical cord. For a moment, shock filled her and she could do nothing but stare, her pupils dilated, paralyzed.
"It's a boy!" the nurse said, looking relieved and joyful, but the baby's screeches drowned her voice. The doctor placed the baby on Liliane, and the feel of her newborn son revived her. She gazed at him, bringing him to her breast to feed, love shining in her eyes.
"He's beautiful," she whispered, her voice raw and pain-filled as she looked at nothing else but her son. She marveled at his fingers and toes, seeing no deformities, wrapping the blanket and her hospital robe around him to keep him warm. Exhaustion filled her, making her eyes flutter. She and her son barely flinched as the wind roared furiously and made the window rattle again.
Faintly, she heard her husband ask, "What shall we call him?" but she felt everything fade away as sleep and peace took her.
Jean, as the baby came to be called, giggled as he raced through the house, Liliane in close tow. His feet pounded the floor, and he squealed as his mother swept him into her arms, affectionately nuzzling and kissing him. He wriggled, laughing and waving his arms until she let him go, to chase him once again. Down the hallway and into his bedroom he ran until his mother caught him once more, showering him with more love before letting him go.
"Maman, play hide and seek," Jean said, bouncing up and down on the floor. "Pwease?"
"Okay, Jean. Go hide," Liliane said with a soft laugh, turning her back and closing her eyes.
Jean giggled and dashed out of the room, heading for the nearby closet, his favorite place to hide. He scooted into the corner, waiting for Liliane to find him, and giggled again, hearing her say, "Okay, Jean, I'm coming to get you."
He peeked out from the closet to see Liliane gazing about the bedroom, looking under the ornate bed. She loitered for a bit more, moving the family chest and the ottoman, before she exited the bedroom, heading to the bathroom. As she passed by the closet, Jean slipped from the cover of the darkness and tip-toed behind his mother, careful not to make any noise. This was the best part of the game to him.
Just as she opened the bathroom door, Jean poked Liliane in the leg and called out, in a gleeful tone, "I'm right behind you!"
Liliane jumped, a small yelp exiting her, then she laughed, her hand on her bosom. "Jean, you scared me! How did you creep up on me like that?" She bent down and began to tickle Jean, making him squeal and laugh. "Don't scare mommy like that. Okay?" However, they both knew it would happen again; Liliane refused to put a damper on her son's spirits, and she hated to scold him for anything. His little twist on the game made it more fun to her.
"Could you two quiet down out here? Some people can't get a decent nap with all this noise going on," said a disgruntled voice as an older woman, Jean's grandmother, shuffled into view, her gray hair askew. Her blue eyes shone with a coldness that would freeze fire. Her stooped posture revealed more about her age, and she fixed those cold eyes onto Jean, glaring. "Why must kids always be so noisy? Liliane, you must teach Jean to be more respectful."
Jean wilted as he saw her, his smile fading. However, Liliane stood to his defense. "He's only young once, Mère. When he's older he'll learn respect. For now, let him play and be happy." Liliane's expression darkened as sadness warped it. "In these times, happiness is the one thing that will keep us alive."
"Pah! What will keep us alive is a decent meal and a stable house. Happiness means nothing for survival, and being happy all the time won't make this Depression go away, Liliane." Jean's grandmother waved a hand in disdain. "Happiness is only for the aristocracy. Now, let me sleep." She turned and entered the guest room, slamming the door behind her.
Jean trembled until Liliane picked him up, kissing his cheek. At once, his fear subsided and he snuggled into his mother's shoulder as she carried him to his bedroom. He smiled and felt exhaustion fill him. It had been a very productive day for him, and now he readied himself for his nap as Liliane placed him in his bed. With his thumb in his mouth, he let sleep come, feeling everything fade.
He woke later on to see Liliane enter the room and say in a soft voice, "Jean, time for dinner."
Jean leaped up from his bed, hearing his stomach growl on cue. His mother laughed and scooped him into her arms, bringing him to the kitchen. He gazed about and his vision alighted on a peeling strip of wallpaper next to a picture of his family. For some reason, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange sight. Not even when Liliane sat him at the table did he look at her or the two slices of bread placed in front of him.
The kitchen had one rickety table situated in the middle of the room, with a gas oven that had a fine layer of dust on it. A vase of wilted flowers sat on the window ledge, the overcast sky casting a faint luminance on the petals. The walls, colored a light beige, had food and dirt stains splattered here and there. The tiled floor, cracked in some areas and dirty in others, signified the lifestyle of the family. The old wooden dining chairs were the only spiffy-looking objects in the room. Here, at the table, Jean's attention finally focused as his stomach growled again. He stuffed the bread slices in his mouth, chewing, some pieces of dough slipping from his mouth to land on the table.
Liliane filled a cup with water and handed it to Jean, a grimace on her face. She held her stomach as it growled, but she did nothing about it. Merely, she watched as Jean drank the water in hearty gulps, beginning to splutter.
"Don't drink it too fast, Jean. You'll get a tummy ache," Liliane said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. She paused as a man stepped into the room, and, at once, her eyes lit as she rushed towards the person.
"Mon mari!" Liliane embraced him, looking relieved and joyful.
The man, Jean's father, kissed her on the cheek, a tired smile curling his lips. His blue eyes seemed to shine with life in the dismal kitchen. His short black hair made his eyes stand out, and he stood with an almost authoritative air. His tan uniform barely showed any wrinkles after Liliane drew back from him, and his powerful chest and shoulders filled his military outfit well. After scanning the kitchen, his gaze alighted onto Jean, who leaped from his seat and dashed to his side.
"Papa!" Jean hugged his father's leg and grinned as he felt a hand ruffled his smooth black hair.
"How's my boy?" his father asked, his grin widening. "Each time I see you, you've grown another few inches. If only I could..." Suddenly his smile faded, and Jean cocked his head, not understanding.
"Pierre, mon amour, you're trying as hard as you can." Liliane took his hand and squeezed it, shooting him a smile and a pointed look. "Come sit. You look exhausted."
Getting the hint, Pierre looked at Jean and smiled again, sitting into a chair with a sigh. "God, it feels so good to sit and stretch my legs. I've been on the run all day, quite literally. Sit on your Papa's lap, son."
Jean didn't waste any time climbing onto his father, sitting and looking as though he owned the world. Such glee filled him, and he giggled as he straddled his father's leg, earning another smile from Pierre.
"Training was hard again?" Liliane asked, filling a glass with water and giving it to Pierre.
"Yeah. Those Germans are planning something. Ever since Hitler took back the Rhineland a few days ago, I have a feeling he's like a ticking time bomb. We have nonstop watches all along the borders we share with Germany." Pierre took a drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued, "If Hilter was to amass an army and attack us now...we wouldn't be able to fight back, not with this Depression weighing us down."
"Darling, this isn't something our son should hear," Liliane said, sitting at the table herself.
"Let him hear it, Liliane," came Jean's grandmother's voice. "Let him hear about our grim reality. Our poverty. He deserves to hear about what his fate will be, provided he grows up to be a man and not like the swindling filth that loiters about France."
"That's enough, Èvelyne," Pierre said, his voice growing tight. "I will not have you talk like that around my son. He may understand more than you think. I don't want the world to corrupt him."
"Pah, from the way I see it, he's already corrupted," Èvelyne said with a sneer. "Always running about the house like a madman. Popping up behind our backs and scaring the daylights out of us. He thinks it's all a game now, but he'll learn soon enough." Her gnarled fingers tapped the wooden table.
Pierre rolled his eyes. "When he learns, he'll learn. It's 1936. He doesn't know he's growing up in...tough times." He glanced at Jean, then turned to Èvelyne. "What do you want, anyway?"
"Your conversation simply drew me in here, nothing more." Innocence shone in the crone's eyes, and she bared her teeth as a cough-like laugh erupted from her.
Liliane sighed and stood, going over to Jean. "Jean, let's go to your room. Mommy, Papa, and Grandma won't be talking about nice things."
"Non. I want to stay," Jean said, surprising Liliane with its firmness, and Èvelyne hacked out another laugh.
"See, Liliane, he's been corrupted already. Let the boy hear our talk. At least we'll enlighten him early on in life," she said, and her face screwed up into itself as she continued to spew her humor. Her expression flattened when Liliane brought her two slices of bread with a glass of water. "What is this?"
"Dinner, Mère," Liliane said, her tone sounding defeated.
"Bread." Èvelyne's eyes narrowed. "Again?" She grabbed the slices and inspected them, as if she had never seen bread in her life. "How can you expect any of us to survive on just dough and water, Liliane?"
"That's all that's left in the cupboard. That's it. We are officially out of food, and our little farm outside is dead." Liliane threw her arms out in a flourish. "What, you were expecting a grand meal with three courses? You know all we can eat nowadays is bread, and that's the only thing I can buy with the amount of money we still have. Don't you dare blame me for not supplying for the family!" Anger shone in her normally placid eyes, and Jean sat rigid on his father's lap, his own eyes wide. He flinched as Liliane began to cough, doubling over with the effort.
"Look what you've done, Èvelyne," Pierre said, shooting a glare at the older woman. "You know you can't work Liliane up like that. She's still recovering."
"Oh, please!" Èvelyne snorted. "She's been "recovering" for five years already. You can't tell me Jean's birth damaged her that much." She gave Jean a thoughtful, almost menacing, look then. "Possibly that means he shouldn't have been born."
"That's enough!" Ire formed in Pierre's expression as he stood, placing Jean on the floor. "You've said plenty. Now keep your peace and get out, Èvelyne."
Èvelyne chortled, her lips half-parted, making her look feral. "Oh, you can't make me, "Commander". Merde, an old woman can't even make conversation with the young folk anymore without being shunned." She stood and shuffled from the kitchen, then she stopped and threw them a look over her shoulder. "You three won't survive long in this lifetime, should you always assume a positive outlook. France is doomed. She's rotting from the inside out because her people are ignoring what's really there. I'm your only saving grace." She laughed again and disappeared, heading back to the guest room.
Jean glanced at his parents, confused by the events that had transpired, but they didn't provide an explanation. Liliane sidled into a chair and covered her face, Pierre watching where Èvelyne had went, a dark look on his face.
"I hate when she works me up like that. Then I start coughing and..." Liliane trailed off.
"...Shh, don't worry about her, Liliane. Take a few deep breaths."
"I know, but when she starts all that nonsense about Jean being worthless..."
"Not in front of our child, love."
"Maman? What was Grand-mère saying?" Jean felt he had to interject, still not comprehending his grandmother's words and why his parents looked agitated.
"It was nothing, Jean. Don't worry about Grand-mère. She's not happy today." Liliane looked at him. A cough exploded from her again, and Pierre patted her back, looking unsettled. Once her coughs subsided, he took out his pocket watch and peered at the time, sighing again.
"I have to return to the barracks now," he said, closing the watch and dropping it into his uniform's pocket.
"So soon, mon amour? Please stay for a while longer." Liliane looked at him, slight desperation in her eyes.
"I must, dear wife. I'm due for my night shift." He stood and went over to Jean, ruffling his hair again and kissing his head. "Keep on growing, Jean. I'll be back sometime next week; Papa has work to do." He turned to Liliane and kissed her passionately, his hand cupping her cheek as they embraced.
Jean felt entranced by what his parents were doing in front of him. He watched, seeing the love between them, yet not grasping its meaning. Something about the affectionate gesture struck him, just as the peeling wallpaper piece had; he couldn't tear his eyes away. Something unlocked in him as his parents drew back, the moment ending. He realized he wanted them to touch lips again and be together for a while longer. He knew his father visited once a week, but a certain yearning in him wanted his father to stay and play with him. To reassure him that he did have another parent.
"Goodbye, Liliane," Pierre said, embracing her one more time and shooting a wink at Jean. Once he drew back, he left, his posture hunched.
Liliane watched him go before she sat back in the chair, covering her face again. Another cough exited her, making Jean flinch.
"My poor son," she whispered, and Jean looked at her intently, "if only you understood the world you're living in..." Her head shook back and forth. "Being happy is the only way to survive now..."
Jean felt a presence behind him, and he turned to see Èvelyne hobble into the kitchen, her blue eyes alight. He turned back to his mother, who peered from behind her hands at her mother.
"So, the "Commander" has flown the coop until next week, eh?" She gave Liliane and the kitchen a contemptuous sniff. "Personally, I think his loyalties lie elsewhere. What man can't visit his family at least a few days a week, even if he's in the military?"
"You've spoken enough tonight, Mère." A hardness came into Liliane's eyes. "Why must you always trash my family and be nosy about every affair we undergo?"
"I'm a part of that "family", or have you forgotten?"
"Just stay out of our business."
"While I'm here, I'm involved. I'm not exempt from your family's poverty, Liliane."
"There you go again, pinning your blame on me again."
Jean watched his mother and his grandmother argue, curling his posture to make himself smaller. He wanted to go to his mother's side, but, on the other hand, he didn't want to risk having his grandmother spew contempt at him again. So he sat, twiddling his thumbs, grimacing as Liliane and Èvelyne ignored him, locked in their heated debate. He yawned as his stomach growled, and he clutched his stomach, mimicking his mother. He wondered why she hadn't eaten the bread and had given it to him and his grandmother instead.
After a while of contemplating it, Jean gave up and tiptoed back to his bedroom. However, his grandmother noticed him sneaking away and said, "You better shape up, boy. If you don't want to be anymore of a disgrace to the family, you'd better grow up fast."
Jean covered his ears and climbed into his bed, seeing the fading twilight outside the window. He yawned again, hearing the creak of the house's wooden foundation, and sighed. Thoughts of his father entered his head, and he felt a strange sadness fill him. He knew his father was busy, but he didn't know why. All that talk about Hitler and Germany had escaped him, naturally because he was young. However, the way his father and mother had discussed it made him feel a slight tinge of dread. Èvelyne's words bounced in his mind now, and he suddenly wished he could be older. He wanted to understand the world. He didn't want to be the odd man out.
He pulled his blanket over his head, hearing his grandmother and his mother talking in the kitchen. Their voices had lowered now, but he could still discern tension in the house's atmosphere.
Before his eyes closed, he noticed the mirror on the other side of the room for the first time, and, in the gloom, he saw a dark shape reflected in it. Fear made his blood turn cold as his limbs tensed. The figure didn't move, but Jean had a feeling it was watching him, just as he was watching it.
"Maman!" he cried out, his voice trembling and high-pitched, and Liliane came running into the room.
"What, what is it?" she asked, heading instantly to his side, her hand touching his cheek. "Are you okay, Jean?"
"Scary..." His paralysis faded, and he pointed to the mirror with a shaky finger. He gasped as the figure in the mirror did the same, and he hid under his blanket. He wanted whatever was in his room to get out, and he began to shake.
"That's you in the mirror, Jean. You can't tell because the lights are off." Liliane sounded relieved that the reason for his fright was so minor. "Don't worry, your reflection won't hurt you."
Jean popped his head out from his blanket and looked at her in askance before he turned to face the scary mirror. The growing darkness still chilled him, but he felt somewhat reassured by his mother's presence.
"Scared of his own reflection in the dark?" Èvelyne asked, a sneer in her voice, as she entered the room as well. "He'll accept the darkness in due time, I assure you of that." A strange tone in her voice made Jean cock his head. His grandmother's words gave the impression that she was foreshadowing something, but he couldn't pinpoint why.
She chuckled and left Jean's room, heading to the guest room, leaving Liliane with her son. Liliane shook her head and kissed Jean's forehead, asking, "Do you want me to stay with you?"
"Non." His grandmother's words had reached him, and he wanted to be strong now. He didn't want to be the object of scorn. Perhaps if he proved that to his grandmother, then she wouldn't say nasty things to him. Even if he couldn't understand her words half of the time, he came to recognize her tone of voice whenever she regarded him.
"All right. Good night, Jean. Sweet dreams." Liliane didn't sound hurt by his decision. She kissed him again and left, leaving the door open a crack.
Jean stole a glance at the mirror, the darkness in the room masking his reflection, and tentatively pulled his blanket over him again, closing his eyes. His stomach rumbled once more, but he ignored it, somehow knowing he wouldn't get anymore food until morning came. "Maman..." he whispered before sleep took him, enveloping him in black nothingness.
Translations:
Maman- Mommy (Informal)
Mère- Mother (Formal)
Mon Mari- My Husband
Mon Amour- My Love
Non- No
Merde- Shit
Grand-mère- Grandmother/Grandma
