[Explanation at the bottom]
January 1964 – the winter before the events of "Snowbowl"
"Ayyyeee, lemme join yeee will yaaa, yeah, or ye ain't no..."
Uncontrolled giggles overwhelmed the one-eyed man's voice before he could finish his sentence and the Heavy shoved him gently away before the drunk would upset the table.
Unwillingly the Demoman turned away from the Russian and threw his arms around the Pyro's neck, who, however, wasn't very excited about the sudden sign of affection. The tremendous belch coming from the Scotsman didn't help either.
"D'mo, get 'ff 'nd go to b'd. You a'e wast'd 'gain." In an indulgent, but determined manner he pushed the man away who would have fallen backwards to the ground if the Engineer hadn't come by to catch him from behind.
"Easy son," the Texan chided good-naturally with the always ready smile on his face, trying to balance a bowl filled with fresh popcorn in his free hand without letting the Demoman's arm go.
"Ya ain't gonna get anywhere like this, Demo." With his own shoulder he pushed the other man back to his feet, supporting his upper body until he was sure that his teammate could finally stand steady.
"Aye ya ain't no bad sort, my friendgenier, naye, ye me friend, are ye, yeah?" he smiled and took another sip of his bottle, and his grin changed into a sob once he found the bottle empty.
"Ye all hate me ol' monster, yeah, ya do, ye not givin' me mah Scrumpy, but ya ain't complainin' 'bout me on the bloody battlefield..."
"Good in battle Demoman is." Heavy laughed grimly, moving one of his pawns one square on the grid. "When drunk good Demoman he is. Afraid I am you blow up game of chess with bomb. This is not good." He frowned when the Pyro's knight threatened his queen.
"Ch'ck!" The smaller man obviously gloated; even if his face wasn't visible behind the rubber mask, his voice and body language were clear enough.
"See we will, friend Pyro, see we will."
"Come on, Demo, let them boys play." The Engineer dragged the drunken man along the room and tried to push him into one of the armchairs.
"Hey, tinkerbell, if ya don't hurry, ya'll miss the bloody opening!" a voice from the nearby couch called. Two long arms reached over the backrest and snatched the bowl from the Texan's hand.
"Thanks mate."
"Can't ya wait one darn minute, Sniper?" The Engineer shook his head, still busy with a clingy Demoman who now hugged the short man heartily. "Damn ya, ya better don't eat all that stuff alone, squatter, or ya oughta... no, Demo, ain't talkin' 'bout ya, it's fine."
The Australian laughed and turned back to the TV, his hand already buried in the fresh, still warm popcorn, while a cartoon started.
"Ya loss, mate."
A disapproving sigh from one of the other chairs was drowned by the happy, jingly opening melody.
"Vould you kindly turn down zhe volume, Herr Sniper?" With a furrowed brow the Medic looked up from his book. "I really don't understand vhy a grown man vould amuse himself vizh a children's show."
"Nah, don't be unfair, doc." The Engineer had finally been able to join the Sniper, after the Demoman suddenly had fallen asleep. Before letting himself fall on the sofa, he adjusted the volume.
"It's a nice show, watched it with mah little gurl a lot, even when she got older. It's still funny."
"Right," the Sniper agreed, offering the bowl to the Texan. "How 'bout it, mate, why ain't ya gonna join us?" He turned his head and grinned at the frowning German. "What good does it when ya leavin' ya office for a change when all ya doin' is readin' anyway?"
Another, rather derogatory, glare was all he received in response. He shrugged and focused on the black and white screen, soon laughing along with the Engineer, ignoring the Medic's random side remarks about children who obviously would never grow up.
"Come on, man, ya know, this fuckin' stuff's for babies, can't ya switch the stupid channel already?" another voice suddenly cut in from the side, sounding bored and aloof.
"Shut ya big mouth, gremlin, if ya not satisfied, ya can go to bed. It's sleepin' time for little kids," the Sniper shot back, apparently annoyed to be disturbed by another person when all he wanted to do after a long, hard day was relaxing in front of the TV. And the last person he would allow to spoil his fun was the Scout.
"Shuddap yaself, dumbass, who are ya callin' a kid? Seriously," he snorted, crossing his arms, trying to mimic the Medic's disapproving expression. "Who's watchin' a kid's show, eh? I tell ya, if ya were in my gang, comin' with that bullshit, I'd show ya..."
"Pipe down already, ain't givin' a bloody fuck 'bout ya great gang 'n opinion." The Sniper's good mood was changing, as was his voice, now sounding like a dangerous growl, and he looked like he was about to jump at the young man any second. "Tell ya what, nobody gives a fuck, so ya better be quiet or I gonna beat some sense into ya, got it, wanka?"
"Sniper, Scout, it's enough," Engineer barged in, eyeing both men disapprovingly. "After a long, hard day of good work ah wanna have a few peaceful hours, and ah can go well without ya fighting. Sniper, ya old enough to show some common sense..." He ignored the Medic's amused, mocking chuckle. "And you, Scout, if ya wanna be treated like an adult, ya better..."
"Alright, alright, I get it, man," the Scout interrupted him and leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes. "Just gonna take a nap, lemme alone already." He pulled his cap over his eyes, ignoring the others. Once in a while he glanced at the TV screen, but nobody noticed.
Soon the atmosphere relaxed and the men forgot the incident. Finally, Sniper and Engineer could enjoy what was left of their show and popcorn without interruptions, and their joined laughter filled the room, mixing with the Demoman's snores and the Heavy's and Pyro's occasional cursing and triumphing exclamations. The Medic soon joined them and teamed up with the Pyro in a new attempt to beat the Russian at his favorite game.
Nobody noticed the Soldier when he entered the room, not until he raised his voice in his usual, thundering manner.
"WHERE IS THE SPY?"
"Not here," the Sniper answered shortly, chewing on popcorn.
"Oh, you think, cupcake? I CAN SEE THAT, I'M NOT BLIND!"
With a sigh, the Engineer switched off the TV. He knew their leader well enough, they wouldn't have any other minute of peace until he received the answer he wanted to hear.
"Care to tell me WHERE he is, Hippy?" the Soldier barked, now standing right behind the Sniper, yelling into the man's ear.
"Vell, judging from his gaudy attire I vould say he has a date," the Medic answered when the Australian remained silent.
"Oh, wonderful," the American replied dryly. "Good thing there are only one or two women in this country."
"Well... the wanka's into men as well, so..." Quickly, his hand on his hat so it wouldn't fall off, the Sniper jumped from the couch, avoiding a blow with the Soldier's shovel just in time.
"Medic, do you know where he is?" Still threatening the Australian with his tool, the veteran faced the German who hadn't even turned around from their game.
"Vhy should I? Zhe Spy's affairs are not my business. Ask zhe Sniper, zhey go out togezher sometimes, chasing vomen and I don't know vhat."
The Soldier nodded and glared at the Sniper.
"Well?"
"Give me a second..." the tall man finally gave in. "Guess today it's the blond girl with those glasses he met last week..."
"No, zhat vas zhree veeks ago, before Christmas," the Medic corrected him. "I zhink zhis time it's zhe brunette he spoke of vhen ve had zhe assignment at Coldfront."
"Nyet. Two weeks ago that was. Of black-haired waiter he spoke Monday," Heavy informed them, his head still bent over the chessboard.
"M'le or fem'le?" Pyro asked, just to make sure. Sometimes the Heavy's English still was mixed up.
"Male. Check."
"D'mmit!" Muttering an array of curses both Pyro and Medic focused on the game again, reconsidering their options.
"Interesting, but I did not ask for his address register, I want to know WHERE he is!" Impatiently, the Soldier's fingers drummed on the worn-out leather of the sofa's backrest.
"Dark bloke, ya gonna find him at Club Elona then." Satisfied that they had finally solved that question, the Sniper stood up and turned on the TV again.
"Well, I certainly will not find him. Sniper, move your sorry ass and drag him back. ASAP!" the Soldier added when he saw the man's defying face.
"Ya gotta be kidding, Soldier. Send the gremlin, that's what he was hired for, right?" he protested, as expected, and pointed at the Scout who had still pretended to be asleep until this very moment.
"Are ya stupid, ya asshole?" the boy flared up.
"No, he's just even lazier zhan you," Medic added, more speaking to himself while moving the white king out of the line of fire, but the Scout heard him anyway and pulled a face at the underlying insult.
"Why don't ya send the quack?" the young man suggested. "He's quick and the cold can preserve his old ass."
"Oh, zhat's a splendid idea." Before the Soldier could answer the Medic stood up and walked up to the Scout, glaring through his glasses right into the boy's eyes. "And zhen I vill tell him zhat his 7am check-up vill be postponed to 1pm."
"Uh, wait, doc, that's when I have my check-up... geez, crap!" He pouted when he realized what the Medic meant. "Ya can't do that!"
"Of course I can, and I can do ozher, much more unpleasant zhings vhen zhey are necessary to make sure zhat your young body is healzhy enough."
The others gulped. Most of them had crossed the Medic at one point and suffered the consequences during the last months.
"Okay, okay." Scout hurried to consent, raising his hands in defense. "I'll go, just back off already."
At least the Soldier's face showed something that resembled a smile.
"Good son, very good. Bring him back at once, you hear me? And now – GET MOVING, MAGGOT!" he thundered and the Scout quickly dashed out of the common room. Once he was gone, the American sunk into the now empty chair.
"What is this? Engineer, switch the channel, I want to watch the news."
When the Scout passed the half opened door after he had returned from his room, he heard the voice of the weatherman, declaring that there would be more snow tomorrow and the day after. For a second he listened to the other voices – obviously everything was back to normal, the three men still busy with their game of chess while the Sniper and the Engineer were engaged in a friendly argument with the Soldier about the TV program.
"Bite me, all of you." Chewing on his lip, he went outside.
x x x
Outside the building, the strong wind blew thick snowflakes into his face and the warmth of his skin melted them at once, leaving wet trails of water. Once the chilly air had cooled down the temperature of his body, all that remained was the cold; and soon the snow felt like a layer of ice.
The jacket Scout had grabbed in a hurry kept his upper body warm, but his pants were too thin for this weather and he almost regretted not bringing one of his scarfs. But all scarfs and gloves he owned had been knitted by his mother and although he cherished them he refused to wear them when the other men were around. He rather endured the cold than giving them another opportunity to treat him like a baby. Idiots, who did they think they were anyway? Nothing but a bunch of loud and childish idiots who believed they could boss him around just because they were old. By now they should have learned that he was a team member just as valuable as the rest of them; he knew he was, they were only too stupid to understand.
Growling to himself, with his cap almost pulled over his eyes and his hands buried in his pockets, he walked through the snow. Even if he had intended to follow the Soldier's order and run, it would have been impossible. With each step his feet sunk deep into the white ground and where the snow had been removed he had to be careful not to slip on the icy surface. It was too late to take a bus and the others had refused to give him the keys to one of the cars a while ago – claiming he was too young and irresponsible. What a joke. Even without a license he was a good driver, probably learned driving at an age when they had still been sitting on their mother's lap. They knew nothing.
Even if he had been given a car just for tonight, he would have been too proud to accept. The stupid Sniper was right, he was the fastest runner of the team, that was one of the reasons why he had joined the organization, and if the others weren't fit for such a little walk, they were better off when they stayed inside the base, resting their fat butts in comfortable armchairs, in a well-heated room, eating popcorn while watching TV.
He cursed when his foot broke through a thin layer of ice covering a puddle of muddy water. The ground had become rough and uneven when he left the streets and strode across the fields. Following the asphalted roads would have been easier, but using this shortcut would save him at least 30 minutes. Even more if it were possible to run.
Through the whirling snow he soon saw the lights of the city and he wished their base were positioned closer. He missed the smell of the streets in summer, the sounds of cars and voices, even the gunshots and crime. Joining the team was just the right kind of challenge - after all, he had ruled the streets of the district of his hometown for a few years with his friends, and being paid for doing what he did anyway all day seemed like a good idea. How could he know that he would have to put up with a gang of old farts who were too dumb to respect him?
By the time he arrived at the town he didn't feel his hands and legs anymore. Fortunately he knew where he had to go - he had been at that place before. When an idiot like the Spy could have a good time there, he should, too. And he would have shown them what having a good time really meant if the bouncers hadn't thought otherwise. At home, nobody had cared, he always had had his way and so he had answered the men in no uncertain terms when they refused to let him in a few weeks before. With the result that he had been banned from the club's premises for a lifetime. But they would see about that, he sure didn't intend to let them have the last word in this matter. However, he wasn't in the mood to fight with the bouncers this evening. Maybe next time, when the weather was warmer.
Then a crooked smile appeared on the Scout's face. Spy was inside the club, how should he get him out when he was neither allowed to go inside nor to talk with the men guarding the door? He would be in trouble before he could ask them to call for the Spy.
After a few more minutes he had reached the red-painted building. It stood out from the other houses like a fat, sore thumb, impossible to miss. But even if it hadn't been painted in this hideous color, he would have found it at once – at this late hour it was the only business still opened. The rest of the quarters lay in darkness.
This establishment attracted men and women of the higher society and allowed them to enjoy a few hours of leisure and decadency while their privacy remained protected, so a position at the edge of the town was preferable. Although this was mainly a club offering drinks, music and harmless entertainment, the customers didn't want to show their faces to a crowd of bystanders. After all, even if it wasn't a service on the menu, other kinds of distraction were searched for by some of the visitors, among their own kind as well as from the staff; Scout knew that much. He didn't care about the motives of other people, but it would be harder to find a way to sneak in when he was the only one walking along the street.
He took cover behind a group of trees, watching the front entrance. As expected, the two doormen stood at their place and didn't look like they were about to slack off anytime soon. Scout stuck out his tongue and grimaced in their direction, knowing they didn't see him, before he moved back and searched for another way in at the other side of the building. He rubbed his hands and blew against them, hoping to warm them up at least a little – if necessary, he would find a way to climb in and he didn't like the prospect of doing so with stiff and cold fingers.
Lost in his thoughts of frustration he had almost missed a sudden possibility that changed the difficulty of his job in an instant.
It was a breeze of sticky, warm air that brushed his face when he passed one of the back doors. Normally they were shut from inside and impossible to unlock for him, despite all his street-smartness, but a lucky coincidence had left this one open for him. He hesitated only as long as it took him to look around and to make sure that really nobody had seen him, then he quickly left the cold behind, wondering if he should shut the door or not. But the corridor stretching in front of him was dark and he didn't dare to switch on the lamps, so he left the doorknob untouched and - with the outside lighting as only source of light - sneaked further into the building. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress the low, squishy noises his wet shoes made on the thick, dark red carpet, otherwise he moved without a sound.
The corridor wasn't long and soon he saw the bending off end, but what concerned him more were the voices. If he was close to the lounge, there should be more, and suddenly it dawned him that he didn't have any idea how to proceed from this point on. Spy had left in one of his fancy black suits, and even if Scout didn't know much about silken ties, expensive accessories or what kind of leather the French's winter coat was made of, the boy could almost smell how expensive the outfit was.
If Spy intended to blend in, then all other customers were probably dressed in a similar fashion and Scout realized now that he would attract everyone's attention at once – with his cheap anorak and soggy sneakers. And the result would be unpleasant for him, he could guess that much. However, the obstinate streak of his personality would make sure that he wouldn't go down without a fight.
Slowly, he shoved himself along the wall, closer to the source of the voices. He wasn't an idiot, he would simply check the situation and come up with a plan when necessary. After all, this wasn't a big assignment about breaking into a high security area, he just had to deliver a message. Scout almost made an angry snort. When exactly had he become the errand boy of the team? When he was back he would show them what his position really was, certainly not something like an unimportant delivery boy.
"Do not be greedy, mes amants."
Scout's step froze midair when he heard the familiar voice. He recognized the Spy at once, although the tone of his words and his chuckle seemed to be different from usual.
"Why shouldn't we, handsome?" another voice giggled, definitely female.
Scout rolled his eyes, not so much because the Heavy had been wrong – so it was a girl today – but the youth wasn't very excited about the idea to confront the Spy when he was alone with one of his chicks. On the other hand this was probably one of the more fortunate scenarios, at least better than running into one of the bouncers while the whole crowd stared at him.
Just when he was about to walk around the corner, simply demanding the Spy's attention and ordering him back, in the name of Soldier, a third person spoke.
"We shouldn't be too impudent, sweetie, after all, our dear friend is so nice to invite both of us tonight." Scout flinched. This was definitely another guy. Confronting Spy while he was with a chick and a man was a whole different story, an awkward story.
"Ah, mon corbeau joli, are you not ze most impudent of zem all?"
The French's laugh sounded muffled, and for once Scout didn't know what he should do or say. He didn't want to see what was happening behind the bend, yet he carefully moved forward, his body pressed to the wall, praying that they wouldn't notice him when he finally glanced around the corner.
In front of him, the corridor widened, taking the shape of a small room, covered with the same crimson wallpapers and carpet. He could smell the scent of cold smoke in the air, not sure if it came from the small group or from the room behind the door at the other end of the chamber.
He never got to know the purpose of the small hallway - from the first second on his eyes rested on the three figures. It was impossible to mistake the Spy. The tall man still wore his suit and even his mask. And obviously his tie, as a smaller man with black hair pulled the French down by it, greeting the Spy's mouth with a deep kiss.
Scout tried to get a look at the man's face when his lips parted from the Spy's and shivered when he realized that the dark guy was about his age, maybe two or three years older. With scorn Scout recalled how he was usually treated by his team member – like a silly, annoying brat, not taking him seriously at all as a fighter, and Scout had always thought that the reason was the typical arrogance of an old, stuff adult. But from what he observed, the other youth certainly wasn't treated like a child. Not that he wished to be treated like that by a vain frog-fag.
Then he saw the third person – a woman, definitely older than the man, maybe in her late twenties. Long, fair curls flowed over her shoulders and she giggled like a school girl while she stood behind the Spy, removing his jacket.
The French had caught his young lover's face with one hand and kissed him again. Long, slim fingers unbuttoned his shirt that soon fell to the floor like the jacket before. The young man's hands pulled the Spy closer, the woman's one hand traced along the skin of the Spy's back.
This was when Scout noticed the scars. Reddish marks of old burn scars stretched over the man's otherwise pale arm and back, already faded due to age and good care, and he could see how the Spy shuddered when the woman's tongue ran along the seam between marred and perfectly smooth skin.
Scout wondered how much of the body was covered by this burn, and how and when this had happened. His eyes followed the scars up to the Spy's shoulder.
The younger man's hand felt for the mask and shoved it up, only far enough to expose the French's slim throat. Even there Scout could see remains of the old wound, but before he could catch another glance the dark back of the other youth's head blocked his view, and Scout flinched when a low moan escaped the Spy's mouth.
While the smaller man bit along the Spy's neck, the French had seized the woman by her waist and pulled her closer, now kissing her.
Quickly, Scout dropped his gaze, only to follow the scars down their way on the man's back. For a moment, he stared at the Spy's hip, imagining how the marks covered the thighs of the long, slender legs. His face suddenly began to feel hot when the movement of a delicate hand caught his attention. The eager youth had started to touch the end of the Spy's back, not stopping at the waistline. Even without the taller man's groan, even without realizing how the Spy's back stiffened, he knew what the strange guy was feeling for when his hands moved around the slim body and stroke over the area of his groin.
He should look away, he didn't want to see how Spy opened the buttons of the woman's shirt with one hand while he caressed the other man's raven black hair the same moment his pants were opened and shoved down. But he couldn't help remaining where he was, still focused on the Spy's waist, wondering if the darkened skin felt different to touch than the rest of the body.
Another shudder ran down his spine when the Spy moaned again, this time against the woman's neck, but louder than before. Nervously he bit his lower lip, feeling his cheeks reddening even more, when the young man slowly kneed down, his tongue leaving a wet trail on the exposed abdomen.
A broad hand suffocated the Scout's scream when a strong arm grabbed him and pulled him away.
He tried to bite, but the hand covering his mouth didn't move away. Before he really understood what was happening, he found himself lying on the ground outside. With the icy asphalt touching his face he became even more aware how hot his cheeks felt. And obviously, his blood hadn't only run into his face. Blushing more, he tried to calm down and recover his wits and quickly he turned around, about to jump back to his feet, but the same strong hand from before pushed him back before he could recover his balance.
"Ouch..." He hadn't really felt the first fall, but the second time, landing on his back, hurt. Now flushed with anger, he lifted his head and faced the glares of two tall, broad men. Their faces seemed familiar and he searched his memory. Yes, they belonged to the club's security stuff, like the bouncers.
"Stupid assholes, whaddya think ya doin'?" he snapped, wishing at once he had kept his mouth shut when their expressions changed. Those guys meant trouble. Painful trouble.
"Look what we've got here, Jim. A little pervert, watching our customers," the taller one laughed and the one called Jim smiled maliciously. Although he wasn't of the same height as his friend, he even looked more threatening with his small, narrow eyes in a pink, beefy face.
"Isn't it sad when they start so young? What do you think, Horatio? 15? 16?"
"Shut up, ya ol' motherfuckers, I'm 18!"
'Almost...' he added in his thoughts. God, he hated it when people talked about him like he wasn't even present, but he knew he would regret his words when the man called Horatio seized him by the collar of his jacked and lifted the youth up until his legs hung a few inches above the ground.
"Did you hear that, Jim? He is an adult! Maybe he's just another customer and here we are, treating him like a saucy trespasser."
"Yeah, ya do! Now lemme down before I call ya boss and complain!" The fabric tightened around his neck because of the strong grip and his voice had almost changed into a squeak. However, he tried to sound as confident as possible, like always realizing too late that his big mouth would cause him trouble. All he achieved was that the two men shook with laughter.
"Well, if he is just a curious costumer, maybe we should grant him some special entertainment, what do you think?" Horatio asked his friend, his words and voice still very polite, almost soft.
"Uh, how about just lettin' me down and I'll pretend nothing happened? Would save ya lotsa trouble, ya know?" he croaked, trying to smile. 'Oh shit.' They ignored him, their eyes glinting viciously.
"Piss off, bastard!" he yelled when Jim seized his arms from behind. "Ya gonna regret this, ya frickin' jerks! Ouch!" He yelped when a big hand slapped his face. "Let me go!" Desperately, he tried to kick behind and at the man who moved closer and closer, but even when he hit them their strong bodies simply ignored the impact.
"Shut up and take it like a man. After all, you are the one who's all excited here." Horatio grasped the Scout's face, holding it in place, shifting his weight against the small body. He felt the man's warm breath against his skin, disgusted by the smell of stale smoke and cheap liquor.
"Excusez-moi, mes amis. Zis young man belongs to me," a voice commanded politely, but also stiffly.
"Oh, Monsieur Francois!" The two men's surprise was evident, and at once they let go of the Scout, who simply fell to the ground, for the third time within the last few minutes.
"I'm sorry, we didn't know that this... the young man was one of your friends, otherwise we wouldn't..." Horatio began, looking at Jim.
"Of course we would have guided him inside at once to meet you, isn't that right, Horatio?"
"Of course. Well, we better go now, come."
As suddenly as they had captured the Scout, as suddenly they were gone, and the Spy stared after them, giving a snort. "Imbeciles. Carmen should select 'er staff wiz more care."
Scout stared at him, his eyes fixed on the man's hand while he closed the last button of his shirt.
Finally, the French noticed the youth's gaze and bent down a bit, offering him a hand. He was wearing his gloves. Did he wear them before? Scout couldn't remember.
"Do you wish to stay zere for ze rest of ze night?"
Scout snapped out of his thoughts at the mocking words and grabbed the Spy's hand, allowing him to help him up. Back at their base he had usually mocked the man's accent, or insulted him as a fancy frog or fag, but now everything seemed awkward when he felt the Spy's warm hand through the fabric of the glove. He opened his mouth to thank him, for once remembering how his mother always had told him to be polite to grown-ups when they helped him, but before he could say a word the side door opened again.
The young man from before had followed them and put his arms around the Spy's neck at once, snuggling against the slender frame.
"How mean of you, to leave me behind so suddenly. Wasn't I good?" he purred and with a laugh the Spy kissed him.
"Mon amour, zere is no one as good at zat as you, and you know zat." He ran his fingers through the black, ruffled hair and suddenly an image of the Spy's hands seizing the kneeling man's head appeared in the Scout's mind. Blushing heavily he turned away, facing the snowy fields stretching in front of him.
"I'm glad. For a moment I thought you'd suddenly be more interested in little boys."
Scout growled inwardly at that, feeling the young man's stare on his face.
'Who are ya calling a little boy, you are hardly older than me!' But he kept his tongue still this time.
"Do not worry, mon corbeau joli. Now, 'urry inside, before you catch the cold." The Spy chuckled, and when Scout heard footsteps he finally turned around again, only to see that the other youth had pulled down the Spy into another kiss. The steps came from the woman.
"Are you leaving us already, handsome?" It was impossible to miss the disappointment in her voice, and regret was written all over her face when she handed Spy his thick, padded cloak. He thanked her with a kiss on her rosy cheek.
"Alas, ma petite, it seems like I am needed at 'ome, ozerwise zey would not have sent ze boy to come 'ere."
Scout was fed up with being called a boy or child for the evening.
"Hate to disturb ya little scene there, fagfrog, if ya don't mind I'm going ahead. Soldier's waiting for ya skinny ass, so ya better get goin' soon." Fuming with anger he walked away without looking at the others, as he set foot on the snowy field.
After a few minutes he heard footsteps behind.
"If you want, we can drive 'ome by car, lapin," the Spy suggested generously, and the Scout stopped. Of course, he should have thought of that. It had been very unlikely that the Spy would walk all the way and he had witnessed the French wasn't out to get drunk today. Yet he hesitated a moment before he agreed.
But instead of answering he simply turned around and traced back his own steps, back to the street.
"What does that mean?" he finally asked, still not looking at the Spy who walked next to him. He could smell the scent of a cigarette.
"What?"
"Lapin."
The French chuckled.
"What is ze word... bunny, I zink."
Scout forgot his embarrassment and glared at the masked face.
"Why the fuck are ya callin' me a bunny?"
"Why? Because you looked comme un lapin nerveux, like a nervous little bunny back zere." He laughed when the Scout's scowled at him.
"Wonder if ya'd liked it if ya ever got caught by some ugly fat assholes." Grumbling, the youth pulled a grimace and focused on the way ahead again.
"Eh bien. Tu as certainement aimé de regarder à mon cul maigre. Well, let's just say, a bunny is a fast little animal, non? Is zat better?" he offered generously when the bewildered Scout stared at him. Eventually, the youth shrugged.
"Whatever."
They remained silent until they had reached the parking lot. Scout had seen the car before and knew at once that it wasn't one of the vehicles they usually used. It belonged to the car pool usually used by their boss when she decided to inspect their headquarter in person and he doubted that Spy was authorized to drive it at all, but he preferred not to ask. He only wanted to return home and forget.
"Do you not zhink you should at least zank me?" Spy suddenly interrupted the silence when he started the engine.
Scout blushed again. Of course he should. But somehow, he just couldn't.
"Why should I? It's not my fault ya spend ya free time with fuckin' bastards and stupid whores. It's your fault I had to come here in the first place, Francois." The words came before he was able to stop them, but reacting like this was all he could do at the moment.
Spy ignored the unreasonable accusation, he hadn't really expected anything better from the little nuisance. Too bad that Soldier had sent the brat. He should really give him the number of the club, next time a call would be sufficient. And definitely be better than having to deal with an insolent child.
"Do not get cocky, lapin. Zis is another alias, of course, do not zink you know anyzing," was all he had to say and the Scout didn't answer.
x x x
"WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG, MAGGOT?" Soldier was completely in his element when they had finally entered the common room, but the Spy remained unimpressed.
"Eh, you know zat ze way is long and it is cold, mon ami. What is it zat you want from me?"
"Come, I will explain it to you back in my office... is there a reason why you stare at us like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake?" the older man snapped at the Scout, who hadn't even realized himself that he was still standing in the door frame – shivering in his wet shoes – and that he had indeed been staring at them. Both of them, of course, not only the Spy. Who he had observed earlier. Kissing and being kissed. Being undressed and touched. Who had come to help him.
"Ah, mon ami, do not waste time wiz ze child. Come, tell me what is ze matter." Loftily, he raised his eyebrows in the Scout's direction and patted the Soldier on his shoulder in a friendly manner when the veteran shouted something at the Demoman who commented the whole scene with a sudden burst of laughter.
When they turned around again, the Scout had disappeared.
Despite the cold creeping up his legs, his face felt flushed and oddly hot, and he feared he might come down with a fever. Maybe a shower would help to make it disappear, washing the memory of the two-colored skin away, and all he wanted to do then was sleeping.
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
Here's my feeble attempt to overcome my writer's block ^^ A little while ago, my beta and I had wondered why on earth Scout had developed a crush on the Spy xD Well, here's our idea. Labelled as "Prequel No. 1" just in case I feel like writing another "before the events..."-story again. mes amants = my beloved (plural) mon corbeau joli = my beautiful raven Tu as certainement aimé de regarder à mon cul maigre = You certainly liked looking at my skinny ass.