Miss Pauling was always on top of everything that was important to her, without fail. Everything always had to be perfect. Paperwork was always neatly ordered and filed at the end of every incredibly long day, the proper forms were submitted timely, and she'd be damned if at the end of it all a single hair on her head was even slightly displaced. This was the way that Miss Pauling structured the world around her. Impressively, it wasn't something she actually minded. In fact she valued her job, and saw absolutely nothing wrong with that - and it wasn't like she was handling puppies. As it stood, Miss Pauling's job was incredibly taxing, dangerous, and consumed her life completely.
She just allowed it to without batting an eye, and went about her daily activities as if burying bodies and faking death certificates was something any 33 year old woman did.
Work had become everything to her.
Even now, she sat thumbing papers still tucked in their folder, their white edges just barely poking out. Just another task that had been given to her the night before, she thought, only vaguely aware of her hair being worked into her signature bun by her mother. In the back of her mind, she noted that her mother wasn't quite doing it right, that it wasn't exactly to her liking.
Miss Pauling could've sworn it was a tad too tight, and pulled uncomfortably at the nape of her neck. But she didn't say anything - not when her mother was doing her best to take care of her at a time where she felt confusingly hollow. Logically, it didn't make sense. Emotionally, Miss Pauling was a wreck.
She opened the folder, staring down at the blurry words that speckled the page, and slowly realized her glasses were still sitting on the vanity where she'd placed them to do her makeup; her makeup was always plain, she didn't see the point in wearing a whole lot, but didn't feel like leaving the house without it. Miss Pauling had once been told this was part of her "charm and beauty", but to her, it was just the way she'd been raised. It was a traditional way of life that contrasted her career choice, but revealed itself in her favorite, perfectly plain, purple dress. Biting her lip somewhat, Miss Pauling's fingers danced over the pages, wanting to turn them over to look at what she knew was underneath, but hesitated. All odds were the last page in the folder held an incident report that she was required to sign. An incident report she'd put off signing for two days now. Miss Pauling just couldn't bring herself to. Closing the folder quietly and setting it aside, she stole a glance at her reflection, and was heavily reminded that her makeup was only half done.
Taking a deep breath, she moved forward, pulling herself out of her mother's busy hands and grabbed the blush with a careful grip, turning it over once or twice like it was some sort of magical object. Her free hand gripped the table, as if steadying herself - nails digging into the soft wood of the vanity.
Behind her, her mother's frail fingers hovered just a moment, before patting her back gently, though noticeably resigned, and left the room. As the door shut with a muted thud, she lowered her head and stared intensely at the blush. All in all, Miss Pauling wasn't surprised she didn't know how to comfort her, nor did she actually think she wanted to be comforted. She didn't really deserve it. That same ugly voice that had been talking to her for 48 hours now hissed in the back of her mind.
This is all your fault.
A tear dropped down onto her hand where it rested on the vanity and she sniffled.
"It isn't," she whispered to herself in a weak reminder.
There was nothing she could've done to change the outcome. Any and all leadership skills she thought she might have had were moot in the grand scheme of things. A weak, morbid smile tugged at the corners of her lips in mocking as she placed her glasses back on her face, trying to steady them to no avail. The blush all but forgotten now as she became lost in thought. Not even Medic was able to do anything, and here she was trying to convince herself that she could.
Maybe somewhere deep down, she had thought of herself as better than them.
Maybe she thought she could do something that they couldn't, that she made a difference somehow and that she was a major player in all of this.
It was arrogant, misguided.
She was nothing more than a means of evidence disposal, a means of keeping the mercenaries from going to jail, the paperwork girl, the deliverer of contracts, the one who would take the fall.
Blankly, Miss Pauling stared back at the sallow reflection that watched her. She couldn't recognize herself. It was just some sort of empty shell of the mousey woman she knew and loved. With a dull laugh in her head, it occurred to her that not even makeup had the power to cover being awake for two days.
Gently, she pushed herself out of the chair, listening as it gave a whine of relief, and smoothed her black velvet skirt. Normally, every motion, every thought, every action, was calculated and well planned. She liked executing her movements precisely. But now, everything felt heavy and slow. She stared instead of acting, and let herself drift from one thing to another when she caught herself just sitting there.
Miss Pauling tried straightening her posture, now seeing herself completely in the mirror. Just like before, the longer she stared back, the less she recognized herself. Her shoulders sagged, and the clothes threatened to hang off her body in various ways that she would normally never allow.
Ways that weren't professional.
In the back corner of the room, her eyes caught some movement, and she drew her arms around herself with a sniffle. All it took was one moment of awareness to make her immediately self-conscious about her sorry and self-pitying state.
It was just too late to do anything about it now.
A heavy hand cupped her shoulder, and Miss Pauling fully focused in on the figure behind her - taking in the slim suit that was normally a cranberry red, now an empty black, and stilled.
"Black," he said clearing his throat softly, "is a terrible colour on you, Mademoiselle Pauling."
Miss Pauling stifled a small laugh that bubbled up in her throat out of awkwardness, and shook her head.
"No.. That's.. Just the way I look today," Miss Pauling replied as she turned to look up at Spy with dull green eyes. She knitted her hands together in front of her stomach, pulling at her fingers. "Two days without sleep is hard on anyone."
"This is true." A pause. "...Are you ready to leave?"
"..No."
"And you will never be," Spy informed her plainly, lighting a cigarette.
"Spy, he doesn't mean more, t-to me, now that-," began Miss Pauling. "I never.. I wasn't-.. I just didn't think-.. I wasn't thinking, I-I don't know I should've-.. He just-"
"Mademoiselle-"
"I-I just, I was just always really focused and I just didn't have time for him and that's..that's just so stupid, it's a stupid, stupid excuse I-"
"Mademoiselle Pau-"
"God, how was I always so blind, I practically ign-"
"Miss Pauling," Spy snapped quickly, gripping her shoulder again and lifting her chin to look up at him. "No one is saying that you did or did not care about him - except for yourself, of course. No one is blaming you either, ma chère. We can only blame the man responsible, and he is long dead and buried now - something we all made sure of."
"...Okay," resigned Miss Pauling with a small voice. "...Okay...okay..." A deep breath through her nose. "Okay... Let's...go."
With a slight nod, Spy extended his arm to her and she took it with those tiny hands of her's. Miss Pauling found herself squeezing his arm through the suit jacket, crinkling the fibers with her fingers and feeling the warmth of his arm as they started walking.
True to his gentlemanly nature, Spy opened the door for her, and ushered her out - something that was admittedly difficult with her holding onto his arm the way she was, but he didn't mind. He just understood.
"You wore heels," he commented as they began down the old wooden stairs of her family home. Spy was glancing about, looking at the dusty framed photos that seemed to float off the wall despite the thick air of the house. Somewhere a clock was ticking absently, accenting the feeling surrounding the pair.
A heavy silence overtook the house.
"I figured..all things considered..," Miss Pauling voiced out, wobbling slightly in the low heel. She was painfully out of practice wearing the small black pumps. Spy just nodded in the silence that followed. "You...," she began after a moment, "..out of all the years you've worked for The Administrator, I-"
"Hmm?," he asked, glancing down at her, then touching his face absently, he realized what she was referring to. "Ah," said Spy. "My face, you mean? I didn't think it was appropriate."
"..I guess not." Miss Pauling scanned Spy's strong features for a while longer before looking back ahead. He certainly resembled him just enough to be recognizable, she ultimately decided.
It was enough to bring that guilty voice back up to the surface, and another tear escaped down the side of her face. Miss Pauling knew well enough there was a stain from her eyeliner.
Stupid girl, that voice chastised her.
Another sniffle, and another stray tear.
Spy stopped her at the bottom of the stairs and took both of her shoulders in his hands, giving them a squeeze, turning her to face him. Those blue eyes scanned her features, and she immediately felt sheepish. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed along her cheek to try and fix the stain. "I am not your typical gentleman - at least not in most cases - though I will say that for four years, it has been a different experience to take orders from a woman," he informed her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. "This should go without saying that both on a personal and professional level, I have the utmost respect for you, Miss Pauling. It is not easy to make such calls. You made the right one, no matter how painful. None of us will fault you for that."
"Thank you Spy."
"De rien." He moved away from her and opened the front door, briefly locking eyes with Miss Pauling's mother, who watched them from the sitting room. Spy wondered whether or not she knew what her daughter was so heavily involved in - but it was a brief thought, as it wasn't his place or business.
The warmth of the sun spread across the tops of Miss Pauling's feet and traveled up her legs as the door was opened. Spy stood to the side, allowing Miss Pauling to go first.
Her bottom lip trembled furiously, threatening to lose her cool as she saw the other men standing along the path up to the house, waiting for her. Tears pricked her eyes and she tried blinking them away to no avail.
"After you," he told her quietly.
Taking a deep breath, Miss Pauling straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and took a few hesitant steps outside - wobbling in her heels with every other step. She wrung her hands in front of her as she walked, meeting eyes with the team hesitantly.
Her breath caught and stuttered when she felt a different, heavier hand square against her back. Looking up, she was met with the all too gentle gaze of Heavy. The way that he looked at her went against the horrible voice that blamed her for everything. She knew all of them should do the same, but they weren't. It was confusing, complex, unreal, and it broke her. Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to sob despite all efforts not to.
With more care than she thought he was capable, he pulled her into the most warm hug and rubbed her back. Through her tears, she was vaguely aware of another hand or two patting her shoulder in comfort, but she couldn't place from who. She curled her fingers against the worn suit the Heavy had on, and truly cried for the first time since everything had fallen apart.
It wasn't an alien feeling, she'd cried plenty of times, and cried in front of them.
This time, it was just different.
It was personal on a level that she didn't know how to deal with properly.
Miss Pauling didn't know how long she let herself cry, and in the back of her mind, she was angry with herself for being so unprofessional in front of the men.
"I-I'm sorry-," she finally said, pulling away sniffling. "I-"
"Och, lass," with a shake of his head, Demo brought a bottle up to his lip and took a drink, "none o' us dinnae ken what ye're haverin' on about. 'Sorry' - there's nothin' to be sorry about. As far as we ken, ye dinna pull the trigger, didya now?"
"But-," she tried again, weakly.
"You're not about to blame yourself in fronna us, are ya? Maybe it ain't really my place to say so but uh.. You don't got anything to feel sorry about here, ma'am," reassured Engineer quietly. "It sure isn't like we don't know the circumstances."
Taking in the expressions of the men around her, she started to feel uncomfortable. A sheepish smile and a small, hoarse laugh escaped her lips out of nervousness. Reaching up, she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and warmth rose to her cheeks in slight embarrassment from being watched.
Another nervous laugh, and another sniffle. Miss Pauling looked down, scuffing her feet on the gravel.
"It's just...not very professional of me," Miss Pauling finally said, wringing her hands back and forth.
"Well now ain't that the spirit of things..," commented Sniper as she looked up at him, giving her a little wink and a click of his tongue - the corner of his mouth tugging up in a cocky smile.
Spy raised an eyebrow, looking down at her, and felt a smile of his own creep along his lips.
"I think we can forgive you Mademoiselle - all things considered," Spy added.
"All things considered...," she echoed, blotting at her tears. Miss Pauling bit at her lip, and let her eyes slide to the car that was waiting to take them to the small church where the service had been arranged. It was an ominous, looming presence that reminded her just how unprepared she was for the moments ahead. She would have to get in, willingly, and admit that this was indeed all real.
Miss Pauling didn't know if she was ready to do that.
But she didn't have a choice either.
It was time.
Heavy watched her before giving a nod to the other men and gestured his head towards the car.
They began walking.
"Do you think-?," she started to ask timidly.
"No," Heavy interrupted her. That seemed to be happening a lot today.. But then again, Miss Pauling couldn't quite fault them for it. If things were different, if she was where they were, she might have been doing the same. "He would not blame you," he continued plainly.
"I hope you're right Heavy..."
"Miss Pauling!," announced Soldier as they reached the car. He placed himself at attention at the side of the car as Heavy opened the car door for her. She gripped the sharp edge of the top of the door as she looked over at him.
"Yes, Soldier?"
"This is for you," he declared, reaching his hand out. "I recovered it."
Shakily, Miss Pauling extended her hand to meet his, letting the soft, worn leather roll into her hands. Her poorly manicured thumb ran over the raised stitching, and her chipped nail polish tried to paint an artistic picture when paired with the snags and frays that decorated the old baseball she now held.
"Thank you Soldier," she whispered.
Miss Pauling had always dreaded seeing the family of a fallen member of the team, but over the years, she had grown confident that despite the constant hell they were put through, they would always persevere.
It was this exact arrogance that had prevented her from being prepared for the possibility of a day like this.
Walking into the small church now and seeing Scout's mother made her feel like she'd been hit by a train head on. The reality was crushing and terrifying, and without her control, she froze down the aisle - staring at the black haired woman clutching a stained handkerchief. Miss Pauling didn't realize she would feel so cold and alone in all of this until Spy had left her side to comfort Maudie Kelly. Seeing the way he gathered her in his arms was a harsh reminder that the two had lost far more than she did.
What right did she have to cry over a man she never gave a chance in front of his parents?
There was that nasty voice again.
She pushed it aside much quicker this time as her heels echoed off the walls of the church and she became absorbed in the moment completely. Time felt like it had stopped, and everything around her was ethereal. For a moment, in all the sadness, everything felt weightless within the church, but it was brief. The kind of briefness than made her wonder whether or not she deserved the break from the pain. Truthfully, she was starting to get tired of feeling guilty... Somehow, being within 15 feet of Scout's mother was making it abundantly clear that she was focusing on herself today - not Scout.
Hearing Maudie's sobs dropped her back into reality, and crushed her under its weight. She was thinking about herself. What about him? What about his family? She'd been blaming herself so much that she'd lost focus of what today was all about, and hadn't fully accepted it.
Miss Pauling's heart skipped a beat. It hit her. This was actually happening, this was her reality, but now.. She felt like she finally had a clear head, and the sadness was settling in on a much deeper part of her heart. Blaming herself wouldn't bring him back, and it wasn't right.
He needed her to be thinking of him, the way he'd always wanted her to.
And she was being selfish.
Miss Pauling caught herself staring at Maudie and Spy, watching as she cried into him and shook uncontrollably with soft sobs, and went right back to wringing her hands in nervousness. Maybe she didn't have to blame herself, but she fully expected a grieving mother to.
With a soft bump, she watched as Medic pushed past her carefully, giving her a gentle look in passing, and made her way to Maudie where he apologized for being unable to do anything for her son.
Maudie just covered her mouth and nose with her handkerchief and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as she listened to him. By the time he'd finished, she'd thrown her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, her cries muffled now.
A white bird flew off of the back of a pew behind them and landed on his shoulder with a small coo. Medic just shook his head and whispered to the bird.
"Not now, Archimedes." He took a hand off of Maudie's back to shoo the dove away, and his whisper carried through the church. It made a small smile form on Miss Pauling's lips - as if the interaction between the German and the bird was the most normal thing in the world amidst the sadness.
And for a painfully real moment, it was as if it was all normal, and at any moment, Scout would burst through the door and announce something stupid, just like he always did - some sort of caffeine riddled drink in hand.
The framed photo up towards the front, where a thick oak coffin sat, told a very different story.
As the other men filtered their way in, sitting at the back, Miss Pauling took the opportunity to approach Maudie before Spy got the chance to walk her back up to the front to sit with her other seven sons and their wives and kids.
"Ms. Kelly?," she called, her voice meak and foreign to her own ears. The woman's blue eyes, bloodshot and pained, met her's, and the suffocating terror of having to face the woman she'd failed evaporated almost instantly. Maudie was thinking of Scout. She was the last thing even on her mind, certainly not enough to blame her for what had happened. Today it was about her young son.
"Oh, hun," Maudie managed, sniffling, "you're Ms. Pauling?"
Hearing her name said that way was too close of a reminder.. She held back tears that threatened to fall. In an attempt to steady herself, she nodded a little too quickly. Maudie just smiled gently, though it was weak.
"He talked a lot about you - almost every week that boy called me 'n wanted to get around ta introducin' us. Lord I musta heard your name a dozen times in every conversation..."
"O-Oh," was all Miss Pauling could say. Maudie eyed the baseball still clenched in Miss Pauling's hands and a few more tears escaped.
"That was his- That you got there, that's my boy's?," whispered Maudie, her voice cracking.
"..I..." She hadn't realized she'd been holding onto it since Soldier had given it to her at the car. It stared back up at her from her lithe hands, empty and waiting. Something about it made her stomach drop. Someday, Scout might have been standing in a green yard across from his son, tossing this ball to him. And that little boy, could it have been her's? She was sure he would've wanted him to be. A question that made her realize how cooly she'd acted towards his advances, how much he really thought about her, floated in her head: could they have had a future together? Her grip threatened to loosen and drop the ball. It scared her and made her sick - not because she couldn't stand the thought of him.. Because she'd denied him four years of his life that he spent on her. And it was too late now. Desperate to get rid of the baseball, she quickly tried handing it to Maudie. "Yes... H-Here I-"
"No, you keep it, hun, I-... I got enough of 'em around the house - probably one too many." A small laugh escaped the woman's lips as she pushed the other woman's hands away, rejecting the baseball. "Signed ones.. Old ones, new ones, bunches 'n bunches. Even his first one - he got roughed up real bad by a neighbor's dog tryin' ta get it back one aftanoon afta his brothas tossed it ova there. Ended up in the hospital he did. Such a hell-raiser... Balls, gloves, bats, trophies.. All of 'em..they're...all reminders...of my Jeremy..." Heavy tears welled up in her eyes, and she broke back down into sobs. Spy pulled her back into his arms, whispering to her in the sweetest French that Miss Pauling thought she had ever heard.
He began to walk her to the front, leaving Miss Pauling feeling like she had just been electrocuted.
It certainly wasn't her fault that Ms. Kelly was crying again, but she couldn't help but blame herself again. Her legs trembled underneath her, and threatened to give out.
It occurred to her that the Kellys, Spy included, probably gave her far more chances that she was worth.
Miss Pauling held her hand to her head and tried to still herself, doing anything she could to wave away the nausea. There was a rushing sound that filled her ears, growing louder and louder, that was finally broken by the smooth German accent of the doctor behind her.
"Fräulein?," Medic called gingerly from their seats in the pews. "The service is starting."
She turned around to see they'd left her a space between them all. Pyro waved his hand enthusiastically and patted the spot on the pew. In the back of her mind, she wondered whether or not he really knew why they were here.
"Mm-hm," he nodded warmly.
With shaky legs, Miss Pauling walked back and took her seat with the men. As she sat, Pyro handed her a paper crane he'd made out of bible pages he'd ripped out from one of the holy books in the shelves. It was impressively folded, neat and well taken care of like he'd really put a lot of effort into making it perfect for her.
"Thank you, Pyro." She shook her head with a soft, forced, laugh.
"Mmhm!"
As the priest began to speak, the seven men and their handler turned their attention to the front. Listening solemnly to his words, Miss Pauling wondered what they were thinking at that moment. It was just her way of pushing her own feelings aside, but it was enough to cause her to steal glances at the others. Afterall, she had only two other options: the photo at the front, or the baseball still clutched in her grip.
It felt wrong to distract herself by observing the others, but her mind was made up when she thought again about that little boy that could've been her son. Scout's son. Jeremy's son. Whoever the kid would've been under the guidance of his parents didn't matter anymore, because the child that had never existed never would.
She just couldn't think about it anymore.
With a shake of her head to herself, Miss Pauling focused back in on the other men.
Pyro was kicking his feet without a care in the world. Medic was trying to get him to stop by holding down his knees, but it wasn't working.
Sniper's eye twitched every now and then. He was concentrating heavily, a deep set frown carved into his features. Soldier had a similar expression, but Miss Pauling chalked it up to his military ways.
Demo stared blankly at the back of the pew in front of them, and it occurred to Miss Pauling how drunk he was at the moment. It was reassuring to know that some things didn't change - no matter the occasion.
Engineer seemed focused, his hands were knit on his lap, and she thought he might be trying to pray in a way that the other men wouldn't quite notice.
Heavy, on the other hand was leaning forward with his elbows on top of the other pew, head lowered in prayer. She could see his lips moving.
"Jus' don't seem real do it?," she heard Engineer comment quietly as the priest continued.
"We're only men," grumbled Heavy, interrupted from his prayer.
"We overestimate our abilities because we think we can always do better, be stronger.. It'll be our greatest undoing, won't it...?," Miss Pauling asked.
"Nah missus...," Sniper finally said. "It's what pushes us ta do better - cause that's all we can do. Jus' keep gettin' better 'n better." He was staring at the framed photo towards the front now. "He sure was an annoyin' little shit, 'n he was sure as Hell no professional merc, but he was only a man pushin' for more. He didn't have anythin' else. We ain't much different."
"Humans are veak creatures," Medic commented, giving the top Archimedes' head a tiny stroke with his index finger.
"You're right..," Miss Pauling replied, thinking of how quickly a life could be ended. She'd done it plenty of times during clean up, and know they'd done it tenfold. Life could leave much quicker than it could begin. Humans just weren't built to last, and these mercenaries knew it well. "...We are..."
The service hadn't lasted long.
The burial passed in a blur.
And at the end of the day, as the sun was setting, eight mercenaries and one brave little woman were left standing at the grave of one "Jeremy Kelly", 27 years old, a "beloved son". The rest of the family had come and gone, but the mercenaries who'd seen death, caused death, lived and breathed it, couldn't quite pull themselves away.
Perhaps it was because of Miss Pauling, but no one could say for sure what kept their feet rooted in the grass.
Maybe they were just bad at saying goodbye, at dealing with their emotions, at feeling anything real.
The small woman stared at the thick gravestone, not paying attention to the men until she felt something cold tap the side of her arm. Looking up and over, she realized Heavy was handing her a can of soda.
In fact, the sodas were being passed to everyone.
"Agh..," Sniper groaned as he turned the can over in his hand. "Pretty sure these things are toxic to the human body, huh?"
"Heh, c'mon there partner, it can't be too bad," Engineer tried to reassure him. "Nothin' like sharin' one last drink with the kid, you know? The least we can do for 'im."
"It could've been a beer," protested Demo, in spite of himself as he cracked open the soda. The others followed suit, the popping and fizzing of the air escaping playing out in a chaotic rhythm as the cans were opened at different times.
Spy reached over and popped open the last one, leaving it sitting on top of the head stone.
There was silence as they took their first sips of the caffeinated drink.
"Jesus, that's...awful," Miss Pauling said with a cough, forcing herself to swallow the bitter soda down.
"He had a truly disgusting taste in beverages," remarked Spy, refraining from making a face as he held the can out to study it. He held it as though it were a disease.
"I don't see how anyone could take more than one sip of this shit," Sniper grumbled.
"He vas clearly more capable zhan zee rest of us." A plain smile formed on Medic's face.
"At what? Chokin' down the world's worst drink?," replied Sniper in annoyance. With the skip of a beat in that moment, Miss Pauling found herself giving a small laugh, then covering her mouth.
Then Heavy chuckled, and Engineer.
The air eased up, as others made small jokes and laughs here and there, trying to finish their cans of soda.
"The one time I tried playing baseball wit' 'im," Engineer began to say, "nearly put my eye out with that damn bat of his. Let go of the thing when you called him."
"No...," Miss Pauling laughed a little. "I am so sorry."
"He was just an idiot for ya, head over heels in love like a pup - all of us knew it," Engineer chuckled.
"He was an idiot overall," corrected Spy, lightning a cigarette with a casual flick or two of his lighter.
"Same thing could be said about the rest of 'em mate, I don't think he was really much different." Sniper lazily jabbed his thumb towards Soldier, Demo, and Pyro, letting his arms drape over the top of the head stone, drumming his fingers against the smooth face of the marker.
"Och, ye don't know anythin' 'bout me smarts!"
"I also take offense to this statement! You will retract it!"
Pyro simply sat removing tiny flowers from the grass and sticking them into the freshly reburied earth, bouncing his legs back and forth in the air. It wasn't long before he started drawing pictures of the other mercenaries in the uncovered dirt.
Everything felt..normal.
No one could deny the painful sadness that clouded the nine of them, but no one could deny that their conversation brought a sense of ease back to them all.
And so it went on, talking about Scout in the fondest way they knew how.
"...I could never get him to come in for a checkup - he vas alvays afraid of zee needles, so I told him one day, Scout zis is a lollipop - it vill probably make your teeth fall out but..."
"...He outplayed me in poker one night! I bet 'im me liva! Wrote in marker on me body right here 'Tavish's Liver, property of Scout', misspelled me name even! But I won it back. Like I wouldn't win me own liva back..."
"...Mm-mmm, mphmm mm-mm. Mm! Mmmhhphm m-mm..."
"...jumped back 'n forth through the damn teleporters one day tryin' to keep an apple pie my baby sister made for me, shovin' it in that wide trap of his with his hands..."
"...had no idea it was bloody piss in the jars, musta explained it a thousand times, I swear..."
"...I shared sandvich with him one day. Biggest mistake of my life - he bother me every day for 'recipe' like something was special. It is just sandvich, I say..."
"...AND THEN I TOLD HIM, LISTEN UP SON! You don't touch Big Bertha here, because she's only faithful to one man and that's ME, but I could teach ya to use a rocket launcher proper..."
As night grew closer, the sky painted a brilliant red as the sun lowered itself further beneath the horizon, their stories and memories started to quiet down.
Finally, all talking stopped as they finished the last of their sodas.
Spy swirled his last bit around at the bottom of the can, staring down at it like it held some sort of answer for why he was at the grave of the young man who was very much his late son.
"..Hey," Sniper spoke up, watching Spy with a worldly expression, "M'sorry mate."
"Do not be," he replied, drinking down the last bit in the can before picking up the final soda can that had been left on top of the head stone. He drummed his fingers over it, before pouring it out, washing away the dirt drawings Pyro had left. "I have only myself to blame. If I had ever truly cared about being a father - I would've stayed, non? Scout did not see me as a father, and I did not see him as a son - it is as simple as this. A man does not get to be a father because he is his mother's lover, or because God has demanded it with 'Biology'. A man is a father when he teaches his son how to be a man. As much of a nuisance as he could be, and as unprepared as he was for the world, Scout was a man long before we met. There is nothing that I could've done to change this, and nothing - could I go back to the beginning - I would do differently. Maudie did a wonderful job as it were."
Miss Pauling smiled gently, sadly, at Spy. She knew this was far from the truth, and wouldn't be surprised if some of the other men hadn't figured that out either. Reaching out, she touched the side of his arm and gave it a small squeeze.
"You were a father in the end, even if you didn't think you were," she said. He scoffed weakly, thinking about the constant bickering and irritation he'd often held with Scout.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Pauling." In his hands, he now held the tattered cap that Scout had always worn. It'd seen Hell and back, been through every mission, and every challenge, every fuck up the spastic young man had inevitably made for himself. He'd tried to give it to Maudie, but she wouldn't take it. Carefully folded to the best of his ability, it'd stayed in his back pocket until now.
Spy turned it over and over, trying to absorb every detail.
"It's time to say goodbye, isn't it?," asked Heavy.
"...'fraid so. It ain't somethin' we can avoid," Engineer answered.
"Does anyone-..?," began Miss Pauling, but her voice cracked halfway through as her face heated up, and tears welled back up. She managed to blink them away this time. "Does anyone..have...the..the bat..? His baseball bat?"
"It is in car," Heavy replied, turning to go retrieve it without being asked. As he stalked away, Miss Pauling crouched down and gently placed the baseball in the soft soil.
"He said he'd take me to a game," Miss Pauling remarked blankly as she stood back up.
"I told him never to do that." Spy grumbled under his breath as he set down the cap carefully on top of the head stone. She laughed quietly.
A cool breeze blew at their backs, picking up some swirling dirt as it moved across the cemetery plot and rustling the trees above them. The crisp smell of winter came with it.
By the time that Heavy returned, the sun had dipped beneath the mountains, and a faint glowing hue was all the light they were left with. A weird in between that made up the difference of night and day made itself known with the odd dark blue sky.
Heavy rotated the bat gently in his hands, thumbing over the dent as he came to stand next to Miss Pauling.
"He was good kid at heart," Heavy reflected as he looked down at the bat, then handed it to Miss Pauling, who took it with shaky hands.
She set it by the baseball on the ground and straightened again, placing a hand by the hat on top of the head stone. Squeezing the cold stone, tears escaped her eyes one last time.
"I'm sorry Scout," she whispered, biting her lower lip. "I made the call - I'm sorry.. I didn't know.." Miss Pauling squeezed her eyes shut for a long time, lowering her head with her grip still tightly on the top of the head stone.
Finally, her grip eased, and she stepped away, taking a deep breath.
Everything skipped a beat, nothing else could be said or done, so they finally turned to walk away quietly, leaving a treasure of soda cans, a hat, a baseball, and bat at a grave of a man that no one else knew. Jeremy Kelly had not gone down as a famous baseball player like he dreamed, and nothing that he'd ever done would be marked down in any sort of public eye. Aside from his family, they would be the only ones to remember him. Miss Pauling knew, in the moments that made up their walk back to the car, that it was her job now to keep him alive in her own mind. She owed it to him for being too busy for him in life. A large part of her wished it hadn't been too late to give him the time of day.
In a few ways, mercenaries were just like normal people - except they had to fight to even get a grave in the first place, a way of being remembered. But this simple marker, paired with the remembering minds of his family and coworkers, was just enough, and maybe Jeremy would think so too.
As they got in the car, Miss Pauling caught Spy staring out the window intently - right in the direction of the burial site. She wanted to reach over, but she stopped when she noticed him deep in thought and retracted her hand slowly.
His eyes flicked downwards, and she realized he'd seen it, but said nothing.
"We oughta go out 'n grab us somethin' to eat," said Engineer through the silence. Miss Pauling proceeded to tune out the conversation as the men argued back and forth on what and where to go, picking at her poorly manicured nails.
By the time she'd tuned back in, they'd still not decided, and it caused her to smile a little.
Things were trying to be normal. She thought about mentioning the job The Administrator had left on her desk the day before, but didn't. Just because things needed to be normal, didn't mean this job couldn't wait.
Once, in one of their all too brief moments together (that Miss Pauling had surely understood now had been taken for granted), she and Scout had talked about what "normal" meant. It was an odd question, but it was no doubt centered around her somehow. With a furrow of her brow and a heave of her paperwork, a large stack she'd denied letting him help her with, she'd answered. For Miss Pauling, it meant work. Scout had described normal as being at the bottom of a milkshake at a diner that served the greasiest, dirtiest food known to man, had the ugliest waitresses for employees, a broken jukebox, and was open in the dead of night. Through the dark windows you could barely see your friends coming in, and the neon lights above the counter blinked and flickered just like the ones outside. A diner that by all reasonable means should've been depressing, and managed to be anything but. The company you kept in a place like that was more important than anything else at that moment. "Normal". Miss Pauling ran the word over and over in her head, thinking about the description Scout had given her.
Normal was all they could ask for right now.
And she'd be damned if a diner like that didn't sound perfect right about now.
A/N: Whew, okay, this is my first time ever posting anything, or actually completing a story for once, so the entire time I fiddled around with , I was really hoping all the formatting would come out okay. Well wasn't that all fun and games? Maybe I won't write something as depressing next time. If you've made it this far though, I give you a million thanks for reading the whole way through as it was rather long. I suppose I could've released it in chapters, but.. I don't know, as much as I thought about doing that, this story just didn't seem to lend itself to that despite the horizontal line breaks. As a general copyright rule, I don't own any of the characters involved in the story.
Edit: Quick note, something I forgot to add since I was so nervous posting. I want to give all my thanks in the world for the beta reading my friends Valinian, Xigmeister, and Mingo did, you guys and your support pushed me to even post this so thank you so much. This story was written for you three.
Thank you again for reading!
-Derp