If anyone asked about last night, it didn't happen. Or at least, that's what Dell would say.

No one else had been there when he'd slowly closed and locked the door. No one else had seen the Frenchman breakdown completely and murmur uncontrollably between quiet sobs. Only Dell had been there. After Spy had begun to calm down, he made Dell swear never to tell another living soul. When the two had finally gone off to bed, Dell had thought it might be difficult to keep the secret. He thought Spy would still be shaky and fragile in the morning, but now, the Frenchman was arguing loudly with a man who was supposed to be in charge of Spy's car while he wasn't in France.

"I don't think you quite understand, there is no way you simply lost my car."

The other man held up his hands defensively, "Look, Monsieur, I was simply taking it out for a drive when..."

"You drove it?" Spy took a deep breath to compose himself and lowered his voice, "Did I authorize you to drive it?"

"Well, I"

"Did I. Authorize you. To drive it?"

The man pursed his lips and stared at the ground. With his foot, he kicked aside a loose rock from the asphalt. "No Monsieur."

Spy cast a disapproving look down at the shorter man, "Now we've sorted that out, where is my car?"

The man lowered his voice to a cowering whisper, "While I was out driving, I pulled up to the stoplight on Saint Joseph and..." the man clasped his hands behind his back, "Two men opened the door, forced me out of the car and drove away."

Spy closed his eyes momentarily before responding, "You forgot to lock the doors?"

"Yes," the man squeaked.

Spy turned away from the man and whipped a small, silver phone from his pocket. "Get out of my sight," he snarled at the man.

The man paled and scurried away.

"I recommend you explore the local area, it may be some time before I can acquire another car."

Medic, Dell and Pauling looked around for a moment before realizing Spy was speaking to them.

"Good," Miss. Pauling said, "call when you're done. Come on boys, let's go get some croissants."

Medic and Dell nodded and the trio left the small garage. They walked down the narrow street slowly. While Miss. Pauling seemed on edge, Medic and Dell moved more like relaxed tourists. Medic especially took his time to examine his surroundings. He still felt as though he was in a daze, even days after he'd had his memory back, bits of Ted still lingered in his mind. He caught himself thinking about camera angles, casting and crew that would work well for a movie set in the French streets. As his mind wandered, he moved his hand up to stroke Archimedes. The little bird helped keep him grounded in reality. That and the über formula he'd been creating in his free time.

His thoughts on the über and gaze on the shops along the street, Medic caught a glimpse of a man who looked oddly familiar sitting at a café reading the newspaper. Medic blinked and looked back at the café. "Vait," he told the group.

Dell stopped alongside Medic, "What's wrong pardner?"

Medic didn't respond and started crossing the street. Several cars honked at the man bee lining through traffic. Dell shrugged and jogged after his teammate. When he and Pauling caught up, they found Medic scowling at a man sitting at a café, nervously checking his watch.

Medic gestured to the man, "Does he look familiar?"

Dell shifted around Medic to get a better look at the man, "Not really. What're ya getting at doc?"

"Stay here. I'm going to speak vith him. Don't vorry, I know French."

Dell and Pauling shrugged simultaneously. Dell looked over the man a little closer. He was extremely tall with a wide frame and low muscle mass. The brown hair on his head sat awkwardly atop his head like a wig and glasses were perched on the edge of his nose to read the paper.

Medic engaged the man quickly and pulled the newspaper down from the man's view. At first, Medic wore a smile on his face, but as the conversation went on, his expression changed from enthusiastic to irritation. Despite his clear frustration, Medic continued the conversation and soon returned to his group toting the man from the café.

"Allo," the man said, "my name is Jaques Million," he turned to Miss. Pauling, "And you must be Mrs. Hart. Pleasure to meet you madam."

Miss. Pauling nodded, "Pleasure to meet you too."

"Nice ta mettcha. My name's Dell."

Jaques smiled and ignored Dell, "Why thank you. Your friend has already informed me that you are ready for the tour. If you'd come with me, I live above that shop there."

Jaques took Miss. Pauling's hand and led her towards a small art studio.

Medic leaned closer to Dell, "I think zhat's Heavy, but he's not like himself."

Dell snapped his head to face Medic, "That's Heavy?"

"You believed Andy was Spy."

"Yeah, but, he looked right. Jaques doesn't. How do ya know you're right?"

Fluorescent light flashed across Medic's glasses as they entered the studio, "I don't."

Jaques looked over his shoulder at the two mercenaries, "Come up here, you must see my latest work."

The duo shuffled closer to see an array of abstract paintings adorning the back wall of the studio.

Jaques gestured to a painting at the center, "This here is one of my best pieces. It took me a long time to finish, but it was worth it, wouldn't you say?"

Medic crossed his arms, "Yes, zhat's all vell and good, but have you ever been to Russia?"

"Russia? No. I think the best aspect of my work is in the bold accent lines. They really bring out the emotion of the piece and emphasize the most important aspects. My godness this is beautiful."

"Right," Medic said, a scowl spreading across his face, "if you're done impersonating Herr Scout, be can focus on something zhat matters."

Jaques glared at Medic, "Scout? I... So, Mrs. Hart, which piece do you like best?"

Miss. Pauling looked at the art, "Uhh, I think-"

"Sash's been cheating on you vith Soldier."

Jaques raised a manicured eyebrow at Medic, "Monsieur, I don't know what kind of sick disease you have, but I have to ask you to leave my studio."

Medic walked up to Jaques and jabbed a finger into his chest, "Nein Misha, I'm not going to leave zhe studio because it is not your studio."

"No Monsieur, it is my studio and I'm asking you to leave before I call the police."

Medic groaned and paced once in a small circle. He threw his hands in the air then turned swiftly to Jaques. "Ugh, vhy can't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

Medic reeled back and slammed his fist into Jaques's chest.

Jaques made a prominent oof noise and staggered back a few steps. He looked taken aback, but made no attempt to fight the doctor.

Dell grabbed Medic's arm, but was violently thrown to the floor.

"Everything!" Medic yelled, "Vhy can't you remember me?"

He punched Jaques again in the same place, "Or Russia?"

Another punch.

"Or Zhannah?"

Two successive punches, "Or your mother."

Between every word, Medic threw another hard punch to Jaques's chest, "Or zhe gulag, or RED or BLU or zhe über or your real life? Dammit, I. Need. My. Test. Subject!"

Medic charged Jaques and slammed his head against Jaques's sternum. Breathing heavily, Medic stared at the floor as he waited for Jaques's answer.

Several silent minutes passed as no one moved or spoke. Then, Jaques's arms moved up to encase Medic's head in a gentle bear hug.

"Is doktor feeling better now?"


Tavish Finnegan DeGroot sped down an interstate highway with his mother knitting alongside him. She may have been blind, but she could make some of the best scarves Tavish knew of. He smiled at the thought. One year, she'd insisted on making a red scarf for each member of the RED team. She said she only did it because no one can work when they're sick. Yet, even as they fought Gray's army, the old members of RED would pull out the thick wool scarves and wear them when the weather was cold.

"Tavish."

"Yes mum?"

Mrs. DeGroot set her knitting in her lap, "Do ya know what time it is?"

"One thirty three mum."

"No," she said, "it's lunch time. Pull over at teh first place that looks good."

Tavish rolled his eye and scanned the road ahead for somewhere to eat. Unfortunately, he'd just hit a string of gas stations and historic sites. Nearly twenty minutes later, the Golden Arches of a McDonalds rose above the highway.

Tavish sighed in relief and pulled into the small parking lot. The ground crunched beneath as he walked around the car to help his mother.

"It's about time we stopped, I was practically starving in that car."

Tavish held open the surprisingly well-oiled door for his mum, "Don't worry mum, there's food right inside."

A line of customers waited for their orders to be taken. Tavish walked to the back of the line and took a moment to look around. Despite the deteriorating exterior, the interior of the restaurant was clean and well kept. White and red tiled walls gleamed alongside chrome lined tables and chairs. Behind the counter, red shirted workers bustled about, trying to fill orders as fast as possible.

"Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?"

Tavish snapped his attention back to a young man wearing a headset and a dark gray shirt, "What? Huh? Oh, I want a...a..."

Tavish glared harder at the man taking his order. His smile was fake, but his face was familiar. Something about the energy in his eyes and slight bounce as he stood seemed like something Tavish had seen before.

"Might I suggest a number one? The Big Mac is a guaranteed win."

Tavish quickly noted the name on the man's shirt; Rick. "Oh, yeah, one a those. Actually, make that two. With coke, an some chocolate chip cookies."

"Ok, so, that's two number ones with coke and three chocolate chip cookies." The man bit his lower lip as he tallied up the order total, "That'll be eleven fifty four."

Tavish handed over his debit card, the man took his money and gave him an order number. Tavish took the receipt and made his way to the table his mum sat at. Halfway to the table, Tavish realized that he did know the man behind the counter. Quickly, he turned on his heels and approached the now empty food line.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," Rick said, "I forgot to give you your drinks."

Tavish waved off the man's offer, "That's all fine and good, but what are ya doin workin at a McDonalds?"

Rick frowned, "I, well, it was a very good first job and I suppose it just…"

"No, I mean, why are ya workin here?"

Rick shook his head and backed away from Tavish, "I'm sorry sir, but I really do have to get back to work. It is fast food after all."

He turned quickly away and busied himself with filling orders.

"Scout," Tavish called, "don't go."

Rick stopped bagging a meal and looked back to Tavish, "Scout?" He walked forward and placed his elbows on the counter between he and Tavish, "Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yeah, we used to work together."

Rick took off his baseball cap and headset, "We did, dint we…It was someplace red wasn't it. Like an Office Depot or something. Man, now this is gonna bug me, I just can't place you in my memory."

"Like ya used to know, but now ya don't."

Rick nodded, "Exactly. I-I'll talk to you if I remember anythin."

Tavish nodded once and returned to the table his mum sat at.

"Did ya get the drinks?"

Tavish nearly slapped himself in the face for his forgetfulness, "No mum."

"Well then go back an get em."

Tavish sighed and looked back to the counter. Just as he made his way to return to the counter for the third time, Rick went rigid. The young man twitched violently, then looked around, concerned. He spun in a quick circle, spotted Tavish and jumped over the counter. He sprinted the short distance and stopped right before Tavish.

"Demo?"

"Ack, Scout, yer back."

Scout stepped back and gestured proudly to himself, "Like hell I'm back. Man, I am so done with this stupid fast food place. And Rick, that guy's a loser."

Scout bounced up and down for a few seconds before collapsing. Tavish lunged forward and grabbed Scout before he hit the ground.

Tavish looked around the restaurant. Nearly all eyes were on him. Tavish did his best to ignore the watchers and hoisted Scout over his shoulder. He brought him to the booth with his mother and set him down on the worn plush seat. Tavish propped up his teammate and went back to wait for his food.


Soldier returned briefly to Connor's house before starting his trek to America. He grabbed a small sleeping bag sack from a closet and stuffed it full of canned food, money and clothing. He slung the full bag over his shoulder and took one last look around the two room apartment. All he could think to himself was that Connor's short existence had been sad. The man had spent most of his time reading books about world history and finishing his colleagues work at the office. He'd never really had any friends and worst of all, he'd never been to America.

"America," Soldier muttered, "I'm coming home, I promise."

"Are you Soldier?"

Soldier snapped his head up to find the spirit of George Washington standing above him.

"Because where I'm standing, it looks as though your lolly gagging."

Soldier's eyes widened, "You're right!" As fast as he could, he charged down the apartment hall and onto the busy London street outside. "America, I'm coming home!"

To conserve energy, Soldier switched to a light jog. There had to be some way to get to America. His first thought was of a boat. It would work, but America would be easier to get to over land. Then, he thought of taking an airplane. However, he was probably too American to pass British customs. Plus, he didn't really like flying if he wasn't the one at the controls.

Then, it hit him. Or rather, he hit it. In his concentration, Soldier forgot to look where he was going and slammed face first into a station marker for the London Underground. On impact, Soldier recoiled and fell to the ground.

"Why you good for nothing maggot," Soldier grumbled as he jabbed his pointer finger at the marker, "If you were a man I'd shove my boot so far up your ass they'd have to, oh." Then, Soldier remembered what the marker was for. It was the station name for an underground train thing Connor had taken a couple of times to get around the city. Though Connor had never took the train to America, trains were very American and Soldier was sure the vehicle could take him there.

Soldier picked himself up off the ground and gently patted the steel marker, "I'm sorry pole, you were only trying to help. Next time, try not to hurt me in the process."

Soldier saluted the marker and marched down the escalator. Once he reached the bottom, he rushed to the turnstile just before boarding the train.

"Ticket please," the turnstile attendant said.

"Ticket? This is the only ticket I need," Soldier threw a stack of money at the attendant and jumped the turnstile. Just before the doors to the train slid shut, Soldier jumped aboard and took a seat for the ride to America.