Standard disclaimer: None of the Team Fortress 2 characters, places, etc. in this story are mine but are the property of Valve. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.
Author's note: This is the final one in my series of TF2 fics, and if you haven't read my earlier ones, this one won't make sense to you. Kinda rushed this one to get it up before Christmas. All foreign languages come straight from Google Translate. My beta helped me a bit with the French, but any mistakes are mine alone.
Thanks to LadyKate1 for betaing this fic!
12/16/21: Updated to tweak a few things.
The sun had risen, for once, over a relatively peaceful day in the high New Mexican desert; instead of making ready for battle, preparations of a different kind were underway. This was the first day of the Christmas break, and most of the mercs were getting ready to return to their various homes all over the globe; suitcases had been packed, presents wrapped and a general air of conviviality lay over all. Shouts of good cheer and camaraderie were passed from team member to team member and even across teams, as RED and BLU mercs poured out of the barracks, baggage in tow, and mingled on the staging grounds where assorted vehicles would take over running them to the train station or airport from whence they would commence their journeys.
On the Blue side, Blue Sniper had just loaded up his van with Blue Heavy and Blue Soldier. "Come on, then, Scouts!" the lanky Kiwi called to the two Bostonian motormouths, who had identical team-colored duffel bags slung over their shoulders. "Haven't got all day! Got a plane t' catch!"
"Awright, awright, hold ya horses!" Blue Scout called, turning over his shoulder. "Be there in a sec, okay?"
"Still not sure I should be bringin' Red there with ya," Blue Sniper groused, leaning on his steering wheel. "Dunno what th' Administrator w'd say about that."
"Yeah, well, what she don't know won't hurt 'er," Scout shot back. "Just wait, okay?" Blue Scout turned to continue his conversation with the tall, elegant man standing in the shadows.
"Sure you won't come with us? I'm sure Ma w'd be glad t' have ya," Blue Scout offered.
"Non," Blue Spy said. He looked away. "But give 'er my regards."
"Soire." Blue Scout paused. "Anyway, hope you have a good Christmas without us," he added somewhat awkwardly. "It's gonna be kinda empty there at Ma's, ya know, none of my brothas are gonna be able t' make it back."
"Mine neithah," Red added, shifting his feet. He looked subdued, more so than Blue, and for good reason; this would be his first Christmas without his ma, even though Blue's ma had offered to host them.
"I am sure you will be fine," Blue Spy said shortly. "Now go. Sniper is waiting for you."
"Yeah ... all right." Blue Scout lingered somewhat wistfully; then as Sniper honked his horn, Red Scout said, "Come on, Blue, Snipah's gettin' impatient."
"Aw right already!" Blue Scout shouted back at Sniper. "We're comin, geez!" He looked back at Blue Spy one last time, and said, "Anyway ... latah." Then, with Red tugging on his arm, he turned and trotted toward the van.
Blue Spy remained in the shadows, watching the two young men hurry toward Sniper's camper. He took out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette, smoking pensively as the Scouts went around to the back and tossed their duffel bags in. After a moment, he removed his cigarette from his mouth. Without turning, he said, "Je sais que vous êtes là. Nous ne pouvons pas nous cacher."
Red Spy decloaked behind him. "Perhaps not," he said in the same language. He stepped up beside Blue Spy, resting his eyes on the two Scouts, who appeared to be arguing about who got the window seat in Sniper's van.
"Were you watching the whole time?" Blue asked him.
"Yes."
"And yet you did not show yourself."
Red Spy shrugged. He pulled out a cigarette himself and lit it. "I heard of your Scout's offer to you. To go to his mother's for Christmas."
Blue nodded slowly. Spy frowned at him.
"You will not accompany him?"
"Non." His counterpart took a pensive drag on his cigarette.
Something prickled inside Red Spy's chest. "And yet you were invited."
Blue Spy studied his cigarette. "Jeremy invited me. She did not."
"And so? You believe your Scout would have asked you if you were truly unwelcome?"
Blue Spy exhaled a cloud of smoke that plumed before him. "A son is a son," he said at last. "I … am something different."
Red Spy stared at his counterpart for moment, and then in a sudden burst of rage, slammed his fist into his double's jaw. Blue Spy reeled back, gaping at him in shock and anger. "Pourquoi diable as-tu fait ça!?" he demanded furiously.
"You imbecile!" Red Spy snarled into his own face. "You have a chance that I do not – that I can never have – and here you are wasting it! Go to her! Go, you fool, while you still can – before you lose her for good!"
Taken aback, Blue Spy rubbed his jaw. "But – But what if she does not want me?"
"Then at least you will know," Spy growled, "and will not have to spend the rest of your days wondering what might have been." As I do. "Go to her. Do not tell me why you cannot. Go."
Blue Spy nodded slowly. "You are right. I will go to her. Thank you, mon ami." He turned and strode after Blue Scout. Leaving Red Spy standing on the edge of the battlefield, alone.
Retreating into the base, he heard the clattering of metal on metal - the sound of Engie in the middle of another of his endless tinkering chores. As he came in, Engie looked up from the dispenser he was working on and lifted his yellow-gloved hand.
"Howdy there, Spy."
"Ah. ''Owdy' indeed," Spy returned the laborer's greeting. He was never quite sure what to make of Engineer; the man looked and sounded like a peasant, but was unquestionably the most educated and intelligent of the team with eleven Ph.D.s to his name.
Engie put down his wrench. "Looks like it's gonna be just a few of us here over the break. Heavy an' Soldier are goin' to visit Heavy's family – ya know Soldier an' Heavy's sister Zhanna are engaged – while Sniper and Demo are goin' back to their families, an' Scout just left raht now. Jus' you, me, Medic an' Pyro. I guess it's the same for the BLU team."
Spy shook his head, not really feeling like explaining the BLU team's Spy was leaving too. "Were you thinking some sort of Christmas truce?"
Engie chuckled. "Might be hard ta hide something like that from the Administrator, though who knows. But Medic has said he wants ta do the whole thing this year - promised a good ol' fashioned Christmas dinner. Even asked me to help him get ein Tannenbaum, so if he doesn't have one a' his tantrums, it looks like we might be havin' our own celebration here."
Spy nodded. Though one of the most volatile members of the team, when in a good mood, Medic could be surprisingly convivial and even something of a raconteur, with a whole arsenal of stories that ranged from hilarious to terrifying and often both at once. He was also one of the better cooks on the team, though considering the culinary skills of the likes of Soldier, Sniper and Demo, that wasn't saying much. (Pyro had been unanimously banned from cooking duty after his very first stint in the kitchen ended with RED Team's entire base going up in flames. Engineer had had to work for weeks repairing the damage.)
Engie tipped his helmeted head. "Would you be up fer somethin' like that, Spy?"
Spy shrugged. "I suppose. If I must. Eet would be good for morale." Inwardly, he was surprised to find the idea of some sort of Noel celebration somehow appealing. At least it would be a distraction from the quiet the departure of the other mercs had left behind.
"Well, that's mighty good ta hear." Engie smiled. "We're gonna start fixin' things up tomorrah, so if you've got any ideas, let us know."
"I will do so," Spy agreed, and continued past Engie up the stairs to his room.
He sat alone in his study that evening, pensive and brooding, wrapped in his own thoughts. He had never cared for this season. Too many bad memories. Nothing good had ever happened to him at Christmas time, and now was no exception. His mind ranged, almost without his will, back over Christmases past - over shadowy rooms, dark hallways, dark street corners, knives and bullets and pain.
No. Nothing good ever happened to me at Christmas. Except ...
Memory stirred: a dark rainy night; an alley; stabbing pain in his side, the taste of his own blood in his mouth. The ground was hard under him, the world fading in and out as his strength spilled away from him. So this is what death feels like. And then ...
He gazed into the fire, as the night darkened around him, and remembered.
He slept badly that night, his dreams occupied by shadows, and woke the next morning to find that he had dozed off in his chair in front of the fire, which had burned down to ash. The room was chilly in the bright morning sunshine. There was no battle waiting, and nothing he needed to do; he might have closed himself up in his study all day if he chose, but he knew from experience that would not be good for him. It was best to be around other people when he was in this mood.
He came down to the common room to find a roaring fire in the barracks fireplace, lovingly tended by Pyro under the watchful eye of Engineer, who was hanging strings of tinsel and lights along with Medic.
"Left, bitte!" Medic called. "Nach links ein kleines bisschen!"
"You jes' tell me where ya want it," Engineer replied amiably. He was up on a ladder adjusting a string of lights around the walls; now he stopped to turn to Pyro as the fireplace spat sparks. "Pyro, buddy, watch it all right? Remember – fire is happiest in its place."
"Mmmph!" Pyro responded, but the little creature poked obediently at the burning stack of logs.
"Spy, mein Freund," Medic greeted, catching sight of him. The German was beaming that slightly demented grin, and seemed to be overall in high spirits. "Ve are preparing for zhe celebration! Stay und help us!"
Spy studied the room, and shrugged. "Very well. Eef you insist."
"Sure do 'preciate it, pal," Engie said, giving him a clap on the back - with the Gunslinger; Spy reeled a bit. "Maybe you kin give us a hand choosin' the carols too. I'm riggin' up a record player - any old favorites you'd like to hear?"
Spy was about to answer, No, then stopped.
"O Holy Night." The words slipped out without even thinking about them, as he was suddenly overtaken by an image of his mother playing the piano - an image so old he had almost forgotten it. And, unbidden, on the heels of that image came another - a dark night, pain in his side, and the strains of the music welling in his ears, twining distantly like a far-off summons.
He had forgotten where he was for a moment; he came back to himself with a start to find Engie looking at him thoughtfully. Spy winced and waited for awkward questions, but the Texan just nodded. "All righty then. I reckon I've got that somewhere in my collection, an' if I don't I'm sure I kin track it down. Now whaddaya say t' helpin with these light strings?"
In short order, Spy found himself seated at a long barracks table, going through long strands of Christmas lights under Engie's direction, checking to see which bulb had burned out in order to bring the whole string back to life. It was tedious and time-consuming work, and he might have protested - but it kept his mind and hands occupied, and prevented memories from besieging him.
Finally he stood up and handed the strand back to Engie. "C'est fini. Do not ask me to do more, I will lose my mind."
"That's fine, that's fine," Engie assured him. He glanced around. "Medic is in the kitchen, startin' dinner, if ya wanna help him - "
Spy winced and shook his head. "I dare not. I would not be able to bear his cooking and we all know what Medic in a temper is like. I prefer to keep my internal organs internal."
Engie chuckled. "Ah, he ain't so bad. Ya just have ta know how t' handle him."
"Zat is an easier task for one of your ... plus aimable disposition," Spy allowed, a bit surprised at himself for speaking so freely. I must be more lonely than usual. "Non. Give me somezing to do zat weel keep me away from ze Medic and his cuisine and I weel do it trés volontiers."
"Hm, well, all raht then," Engie said. "Perhaps you kin help me put up th' tree."
The tree was a magnificent fir, at least ten feet tall. After they got it up, Engie proudly proclaimed it "ein richtig Tannenbaum, all raht," said in his characteristic Texas drawl as he stood with his hands on his hips. "Reckon even Medic oughtta be pleased with that."
"Eet certainly is trés grande," Spy allowed, looking up at the mass of green scented needles filling the corner of the common room. "Where did you get it, eef I might inquire?"
"Th' Sawmill. Last time we were there, Ah kept mah eye out. When Ah saw this beauty, Ah set up a teleporter an' teleported it raht back. Knew it'd be a good 'un."
"Impressive," Spy mused, "that you managed to carry out such an operation in secrecy. I 'ad not taken you for such a ... stealthy individual."
"Aw, 'twarn't nothin,' Engie said. "Everyone else was so busy with th' battle, nobody really noticed. Th' hard part was makin' sure Soldier didn't find out. F'r all I know, he'd start teleportin' trees, an' get us all in trouble." He chuckled ruefully.
"Indeed." Spy was surprised to find an answering smile tug at his mouth. Suddenly it seemed far too long since he had last found something humorous. Indeed, how long? He could not remember, but suspected the last time would have been one of Jeremy's antics; the boy brought more life - and yes, joy - to Spy's world than he would ever admit to him. He must get that from his mother, Spy thought; he certainly did not get it from me.
They worked most of the afternoon, wrapping tinsel and lights, hanging ornaments shaped like stars and weapons and trophies and class emblems, all to the accompaniment of bangs and clatters and furious German cursing from the kitchen. When Spy dared breach the perimeter to ask if Medic needed assistance he was met with a raised cleaver and the snarled words, "Raus! Raus!" Engie, seeing Spy's hasty retreat, chuckled.
"Medic in one a' his moods again?"
"Oui," Spy replied, brushing at his suit. "Let me say only: Infiltrating the kitchen with Medic on watch is a mission too risky even for a man of my considerable talents."
"Well, whatever he's doin' in there, smells all raht at least," Engie said, waving toward the kitchen door. "I reckon he'll be done when he's done, not a moment before if I know him."
Finally, Spy climbed down from placing a replica of the payload bomb on top of the tree, and Engie stepped back, and pushed his helmet back on his head. "Guess that'll do it," he said, looking up at the tree with pride.
Pyro leapt up from the fire where he had been sitting all afternoon, staring hypnotized into the flames. He looked up the tree, clapped his hands and cried, "Mmph!"
"Ya think it looks nice, ol' buddy?" Engie asked, patting the little creature on the shoulder. "I think so too. Ya should thank Spy, he helped."
Pyro turned to look at Spy with the bottomless black pools of its mask goggles. "Mph-mph."
"You're welcome," Spy returned, somewhat uncomfortably. Pyro nodded and then ran off giggling in the direction of its room.
"Gone t' get Christmas presents to put under it," Engineer explained.
"As long as none of them involve Jarate," Spy said, remembering a particularly distasteful year of gifts from Sniper.
"Nah, Ah checked all of 'em beforehand. Nothin' too bad this year." Engie chuckled, then stretched his back. "Kinda surprised t' see ya helpin', Spy, if ya don't mind my sayin so."
Spy stopped, taken aback by the question. "I suppose ... Let us only say zat some years are better zan others." At Engie's questioning glance he continued, "Heavy and Soldier are gone, Demo and Sniper are gone, Scout is gone ... " Scout is gone. "I had no mission and nowhere else to be. I might as well 'elp you. It is something to do."
Engie clapped him on the shoulder. "Beats sittin' up in yer room an' lookin' at four walls, don't it? Holidays kin be rough on everyone," he said, with a warm smile. "Don't Ah know it. C'mon, let's go beard the Medic in his den."
Medic had just about finished taking a magnificent goose out of the oven when they stepped in and, though Spy expected a bonesaw to the face, immediately pointed them toward dishes to take out to the barracks dining room. For the next few minutes there was a parade of serving vessels, until the entire barracks room table was laden with fried potatoes, stuffing, dumplings, red cabbage, and more. Engie had contributed too, Spy saw, a few Tex-Mex delicacies that provoked good-natured groans from both Spy and Medic; Engie laughed them off. "Aw come on, guys, it jes' ain't Christmas without th' traditional Christmas corn muffins!"
"Zat is no form of Noël I recognize," Spy replied.
"Ja," Medic agreed, "I hev never heard of such a thing." He regarded the yellow rounds with mock suspicion where they peeked over the edge of a basket.
"Hey, don't knock it until ya tried it," Engie said. He paused, regarding the whole table, laden with food, and added more gently, "I jes' wouldn'ta felt raht letting you do all this by yerself, Medic."
"Ach, es war kein Problem," Medic answered, but Spy could tell he was somewhat touched. "And after all - " He leaned back, looking over the decorations with a critical eye. "You did a good job on ze decorations. Das ist ein gut Tannenbaum!"
"Well, thanks," Engie said. "Now, Pyro, if'n ya wanna light th' candles?"
"Mmph!" Pyro squeaked in excitement. He jumped up but Engie put his hand on the little creature's shoulder.
"Try usin' this instead a' yer flamethrower, little buddy," he said, and handed him a lighter. "Remember - fire is happiest in its place, like I told ya."
"Mmph mmph," Pyro said, sounding a little disappointed, but it carefully lit the two candlesticks as Engie watched. The candles flickered to life, shedding a cheerful and comforting glow over the banquet.
Spy took a seat along with Engie and Medic, while Pyro watched with its expressionless mask in the corner. Come to think of it, Spy mused, I've never actually seen Pyro eat. He wasn't even sure the little creature did need to eat. I suppose Medic must know ... Although in that moment, Spy was quite content to leave such knowledge in the hands of Medic where it assuredly safely belonged.
Engie reached for the bowl of holiday spirits in the middle of the table, dipped himself a cup, and then passed the ladle to Spy who did the same and then to Medic. It was mulled wine, Spy found; warm and with the scent of rich spices: ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves. Gluhwein, he thought it was called. Once they each had a cup, Engie raised his.
"Like t' propose a toast," he said. "T' our absent friends. May their journeys be safe an' their holidays happy."
"To absent friends," Medic agreed and Spy started to speak but stopped. Suddenly he found he couldn't speak; his throat closed up. A few deep breaths and he was in control of himself again.
"To those who have left us."
Engineer regarded him thoughtfully, but Spy found he didn't care; he was too lost in his own memories.
She has left me, he thought. I had always thought there would be more time - and then, suddenly, there was no time at all.
It was Medic that pulled him out of his reverie, as with his cheerfully demented grin he reached for the goose in the center of his table, raising his Übersaw.
"Hope ya sterilized that thing," Engie said with good humor.
"No vorries, mein hard-hatted freund," Medic said. "Ze chance of any of us catching ein harmful disease from mein veapon here is quite low und even if we were to contract somezing, surely it vould be a most interesting case, ja? Definitely one for my case book."
"That don't exactly make me feel much better," Engie replied, but too late, as Medic had already sliced into the skin of the goose. Spy chose not to focus on the interesting stains and splotches along the Übersaw's blade and only to concentrate on the rich aroma that rose from the sliced carcass of the fowl. Soon dripping and delectable cuts of tender meat were heaped on plates, followed by fragrant gravy and mounds of potatoes, vegetables, and other delicacies. Spy had to admit he could not have done better himself. As the mercs dined - well, three of them dined and Pyro watched the flickering candles with rapturous fascination - the sun sank below the horizon and the stars came out.
The night outside was dark and cold. But inside the barracks, with a fire in the fireplace, and the rich food before them, and the clatter of plates and forks, and the soft strains of Christmas carols coming from the Engineer's rigged sound system, there was warmth and light. Wine and chatter flowed freely around the table, with all of them complimenting Medic on his culinary abilities, Medic relating some hilarious and horrifying stories from his past before joining RED team, Engineer chiming in with some of his favorites - Spy had observed that Engie was a story teller too, and suspected it might be an American Southern characteristic - and Spy found himself unbending enough to relate a few short anecdotes as well. Pyro giggled and watched the candles, and Spy thought, Yes. I needed this. It was certainly better than spending Christmas Eve alone in his study.
At length, the dinner finished, and the mercs all rose from the table to carry the dishes into the kitchen so they could be piled in the sink for later washing. "Aw, leave 'em for tomorrow," Engie said. "Or, hell, maybe th' day after. We don' need ta take care of 'em now."
"Nein, nein," Medic said brightly. "If we let them sit - Vait, vhat are you doing?"
He leapt back in surprise as Pyro leveled the Degreaser at the sink. With a yelp, Medic dove for cover as Pyro fired it up and a stream of flame swept onto the dirty dishes. A pillar of smoke rose from the pile in the sink as the leftovers ignited on contact, burning merrily. When there was nothing left but ash, Pyro triggered an airblast, and the flames extinguished.
"Mmph! Mmph-mh mmph!" the little creature chirped, raising the barrel of the Degreaser with a decisive snap.
Spy and Medic exchanged glances while Engie came up beside Pyro, clapping the merc on the shoulder.
"Well, Ah guess that's one way t' do the dishes, Pyro, ol' buddy," Engie said. "Jes' a little more - dramatic - than 's strictly necessary, I think. "
"Mmph!" Pyro responded, appearing to be undaunted by Engie's gentle reproof.
As the smoke from the sink curled and wafted gently in the air, the mercenaries withdrew to the common room fireplace, each settling in with their beverage of choice for the evening. The fire had died down to embers, casting a gentle glow over the room. They settled into overstuffed chairs around the fire.
Engineer smiled at Pyro. "Now Pyro, buddy, hadn't ya better be getting' t' bed? Ya know, Santa won't come if ya don't go to sleep."
"Mmph!" Pyro replied and immediately jumped up from his - its? - chair, then stopped and looked at Engie and the rest of them. "Mmph mm-mmph mmph?"
"We'll be along after a bit," Engie told him. "We're jes' gonna stay up a bit longer, I think."
"Mmph-mm-mph," Pyro answered and, giggling to itself, hurried out of the common room and up the stairs. Engie watched him go with a fond smile, like a mother looking after her child.
Like a mother ... Once again, Spy remembered the dark street, the rain, the music echoing in his ears. He saw Medic looking similarly lost in thought. Quickly, to distract himself, he spoke.
"'Ow is it, mon ami, zat you put up with that ... individual?"
"Eh, you mean Pyro?" Engie asked in surprise. "Aaah, Pyro don't mean no harm. He'll jes' sit in my workshop with me an' watch me tinker, as quiet an' well-behaved as ya please. He's even put some of his own stuff t'gether - th' Power Jack, f'r example, or his Degreaser. He's not too bad a mechanic, when it comes down to it. Besides, well - no offense, friend, but he's more'n a little useful helpin' t' guard my back an' my toys against yer counterpart there. He doesn't get in th' way, an, well - he needs someone t' watch over him. Pyro ain't too in touch with reality, in case ya hadn't noticed," Engie added with a rueful smile. "Hell, I don't mind."
"You are a better man than I am, laboreur."
"Well, we all have our different roles, don't we? Guess that's why th' administrator made us a team."
"Das ist richtig," murmured Medic.
A silence fell for a while, as the three mercs stared into the fire. Darkness pressed around the edges of the small circle of light, but it was a comforting darkness, emphasizing the light of the fire. In the background Engineer's carols played ...
"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
'Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
Fall on your knees, oh, hear the angel voices
O nght divine! O night when Christ was born ..."
And, as he gazed into the ever-changing coals, Spy mentally translated,
Minuit, Chrétiens,
C'est l'heure solennelle
Où l'Homme Dieu descendit jusqu'à nous
Pour effacer la tache originelle
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux
Le monde entier tressaille d'espérance
En cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur
Peuple a genoux, attends ta délivrance
Noel, Noel voice le Rédempteur ...
"What did you say?" Engie asked him, and Spy looked up, startled; he realized only then that he had been murmuring the words of the old carol to himself.
"Ce n'est rien. I was ... lost in thought." He managed a shrug. "Eet ees ze Noël, I suppose; it makes me ... melancholy."
Engie smiled. "Aw, it makes a lotta people melancholy, that's fer sure." He looked into the fire himself, the flames reflecting off his welding goggles. "'Bout this time o' year, seems like I always get t' thinkin' about the ones that aren't with us anymore. I guess everyone has some o' those." He paused. "Maybe more than some."
"Ja," Medic said quietly. He too was looking into the fire
"Pour moi as well," Spy said. He remembered the sound of rain, the music, half-heard, twisting through the fog of pain and exhaustion in his thoughts, the stabbing in his side ... So many things long past...
"Seems lahk we all have our secrets," Engie continued. "All of us. Heavy, Pyro, Soldier, Scout Snipah, Demo ... heck, maybe even Miss Pauling and th' Administrator. Well, maybe not Saxton Hale," he added with a chuckle.
"It is ein langer weg that brought us all to Teufort," murmured Medic. "Ein sehr langer weg indeed."
"Yeah, Ah guess all of us have left someone behind us on that road," Engineer said. "Who would y'all have with you here tonight if ya could?"
"Meine Frau," Medic answered. "More than anyone in the world."
"Yer wife?" Engie looked at him in surprise. "I didn't know you were ever married, Johann."
"Vor langer Zeit," Medic replied. "It ... vas not a success."
"Sorry ta hear that," Engie said with genuine sorrow. "Guess that makes two of us, I was married once too. And you, Spy?"
The question froze Spy; his heart rose up in his throat and choked him with the sound of bells. Engie studied him for a moment and then shook his head. "If I shouldn't have asked ... "
"Eet ees not your fault," Spy managed. "No. No wife. Mais il y avait une femme ... " He didn't even realize he'd spoken in French until the words slipped out.
Shirley. Mon choux d'damour ... And his throat closed up again. He realized he had taken out his cigarette case and was turning it over in his hands, just to give himself something to do. Both Medic and Engie were watching him with sympathy; Spy felt a rush of gratitude and then a needling sense of annoyance - what were they doing, looking at him like that? Did they think his life was a plaything of theirs, his pain an open book for them to read?
"'ow about you, mon ami ingénieur?" he asked, sharply attacking. "Tell us about cette femme à toi? I had no idea you were married until zees moment. What ozhair secrets 'ave you been keeping from us, your loyal comrades in arms?"
Engineer smiled and shrugged. "Aw, 'twere a long time ago."
"Still, I would like to hear zis ... story of yours. About your wife. Je n'en avais aucune idée you had evair been married, and after 'aving known you for all zis time - well, it makes one wondair."
"Well, all raht then, though there ain't much t' tell." Engie reached up with his hand – the one covered by the yellow work glove, the one he had lost and replaced with the Gunslinger – and removed his welding goggles; slowly, thoughtfully, he began to clean them with a grease and oil-stained bandanna. Spy studied him curiously; he had rarely seen the man without his goggles. He had heavy, dark brows and his eyes were a deep-set, intelligent bluish gray.
"Her name was Daisy, and she was just as pretty as a flower," Engineer said. "Met her my first year of high school. The moment I saw her, I thought I might be in love with her, an' after an hour, I knew it for certain. She was a couple years older 'n me, and I thought for sure she'd tell me where to go, but I guess she saw somethin' she liked – though I sure don' know what." He gave a soft laugh. "I asked her to marry me on graduation day, an' two years later we did just that. I was workin on my first pair of doctorates then, an' it was still the Depression so things were pretty tight – but weren't we happy?" He chuckled again. "Guess it's true what they say, that all you need is love. At least it was for us."
Spy nodded. He glanced over at Medic; the German's expression was shadowed. A silence fell for a moment. Engineer seemed lost in thought. After a moment, he sighed, and took a gulp from his beer.
"She had these … well, female problems. Had for as long as I'd known her." He shrugged. "Hell, I didn't know about that stuff, never had a sister, and my momma died when I was just a little sprout. She said she'd always been that way, an' I jes' didn't know no different. We had no idea anything was wrong till we went to the doctor t' try an' figure out why she wasn't catchin." He sighed again. "Three years to the day. That's when we found out. Uterine sarcoma, what the doc said it was.
"Nowadays I guess there's more they can do, but back then, why, they just sent ya home to make out your will. She hung on for another year, an' that year was … " The lines on his face deepened. "I seen worse deaths, but … it was a hell of a way to go."
Medic nodded silently.
"After she passed, well, I … " Engineer shook his head. "May sound strange ta say it, but thank God for the war. 'Bout that time the Navy was callin fer skilled tradesmen to become Seabees, so I joined right up. Figured I'd get away from everything an' maybe with any luck, the war would, ah … fix things." His gloved fingers tapped uneasily on the neck of the beer bottle. "I wouldn't think that way now, you understand, but … I wasn't doin' so well back then."
Medic frowned. "Seabees?"
"Ah, I'm sorry. Construction battalions. We were mostly in the Pacific, buildin' airstrips, ports, that sorta thing." Medic still looked blank. "You know – 'Construction Battalions' – 'C. B.'?" He pronounced it carefully so that the letters were distinct. "C. B. – Seabee."
Medic's frown deepened, and then he nodded. "Ah. Ich verstehe."
"Where were you?" Spy asked curiously.
Engineer shrugged. "Oh, a buncha places. Tarawa, Guadalcanal in the Solomons, Guam. I always wanted ta be where the fightin' was worst – no time to think, that way. Iwo. Okinawa. Toward the end of the war, Tinian."
Spy sat up and looked at him sharply, but Engineer's eyes were distant, as if he were seeing something beyond the confines of the room.
"You received several medals, did you not?" Spy murmured.
He shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess so. Didn't get what I really wanted – probably for the best. Anyway, after the war ended I found myself kinda at a loss. Dunno where I'd be raht now if not for the Administrator an' Miss Pauling." He paused. "I miss her," he said softly. "Every day, I miss her. Everyone who didn't get a chance t' know her missed out. She could light up a room jes' by smilin."
Spy nodded. He knew exactly how Engie felt.
"Zat vos how she vas," Medic murmured softly. "Hanni. Meine Frau."
"You lost her too?" Engie asked, glancing over at Medic. Medic shook his head.
"Nein. Ve ... It didn't vork out. Ve vere ... all through der Krieg. I vas in ze East. It vas ... a bad time. I had no time to think of her, of anyzing but ze vork. She vas in the West, in France ... und I suppose she had no time to think of me either. Zen, vhen the war vas over ... " He sighed. "Ve tried to pick back up as if nothing had changed. But everything had. I did everyzing wrong," he confessed. "Ve both did. Der Krieg, it had ... done things. To both of us. I couldn't see ... zat she vos hurting, because I vos too. All I could see ... " He lifted one hand vaguely. "My research. It had kept me going throughout ze war, und I thought I could share it vith her. But it didn't mean anything to her. Vhy should it?" He shrugged, a bit painfully. "I kept trying to make her see from my perspective, und never tried to see hers. If I hed been able to meet her, even half way ... But it is too late. Alvays too late."
"Too late." Engie shook his head. "Prob'ly my least favorite phrase."
And mine, Spy thought, his mind drifting again to Shirley, Scout's maman. He was lost in thought for a moment, until he looked up and saw both Medic and Engie looking at him.
"Und Sie, Herr Spy?" Medic asked, raising a brow over the frame of his glasses
"Yeah, pardner, we know all about you an' Scout's ma - so how'd that happen?" Engie's words were lighthearted, but there was a serious undertone there.
"Accourse, if you don't want ta talk 'bout it ... well, jes' say, pardner, but we toldja ours."
Spy's initial reaction was to tell them off; that what had been between himself and Shirley was not their business - but stopped. Suddenly he realized that for whatever reason - the Noël season, the late night, the fact that it was just the three of them, or maybe even watching his counterpart leave yesterday to see his own amour - whatever the reason, he did want to speak of it. He leaned back in his chair, holding his cigarette case.
"You are trés chanceux, mes amis," he said, somewhat expansively. "You 'ave caught me in ... 'ow you say, a talkative mood. If you truly wish to 'ear about myself and Scout's maman, then I shall unwind ze tale. But - " He paused and gave them both a stern glance. "Should you feel so disposed to share zis tale with our teammates, do not. On pain of my wrath."
The two of them nodded. Spy knew that Engie and Medic, unlike many others of the team, could be trusted to keep a secret; the thought of sharing so sensitive a story with the likes of Soldier or Demoman gave him chills. He paused a moment, ordering his thoughts, and began.
"Eet was during la guerre. As your stories also were. La guerre ... well, eet had a magnetic pull on all our lives, it seemed; after all, what were we but petites gens caught up in forces so very far beyond our control? During la guerre - and I trust I do not need to specify which one, there is only one for men and women of our age - I was as you see me now. I was a Spy. And a trés bon one too, eef I do say so myself - and I do," he added with a touch of wry grandeur. "I spied for ze Allies, and for Free France, for zat hero Charles de Gaulle, all over ze globe. And zat was my work."
He paused to light a cigarette, subtly watching Medic and Engie. Engie was listening sympathetically; Medic was more reserved, perhaps a touch defensive. Spy inhaled and blew out smoke, considering how to proceed.
"I had been in Boston, conducting counter-espionage," he went on. "Zere was a plot to sabotage ze port facilities zere, and I was involved in taking ze fight to ze enemy, so to speak. Well - " He gave a half humorous snort. "Ze enemy had la même idée and zey were on me first. Zey caught up with me ... "
He trailed off, thinking. I had been unprepared. I knew better than that, I was young and foolish, I thought they could not find me ...
"It was just before Nöel. Zere was an ambush. I remembair ... the snow on ze ground, ze sound of the church bells ... "
Oh yes, he remembered: the pain in his side, blood streaking his hand ... staggering through a darkened alley way, the awful stench of refuse ... soft things squashing under his feet ... rain pouring down ...
"It may surprise you, mes amis, to know zat I did not come off best. Oui, I admit it, even one such as moi can be taken by surprise at times. I was gravely wounded and barely escaped le mort by, 'ow you say, ze 'skins of my teeth.' I fled through ze back alleys, searching for a place to go to ground - " He exhaled a smooth ring of smoke. "And zat was when I saw ... her."
He took another drag on his cigarette, thinking that it sounded far more dashing to tell than it had felt in real life. He had merely staggered as far from the scene of the fight as he could, down the darkest alley he could find, following the sound of bells, ringing in his ears; he had not realized he had been heading toward St. Joseph's Church until much later.
At last he had come to the end of his strength and simply collapsed. The bells had filled the world, reality fading in and out around him. His eyes had fixed on a far and distant light, a ring of yellow that he learned later had been the streetlamp just outside the church. If only I can reach that light - He had tried to haul himself to his feet but had been too weak to rise. And then, as he had been thinking that perhaps this was the end ... She had stepped between the light and himself.
"She had ze face of an angel. I thought at first I was seeing an angel. I tell you now, I 'ave nevair seen a more beautiful woman."
The image of her face, backlit, shadowed, leaning over him - that, he thought, was what he would see on the day he died, and was received into Heaven.
She had had black hair, eyes as blue as her son's and a pale, lightly freckled complexion - you could only see the freckles in just the right light. She had bent over him, her perfect features drawn with concern - and then she had spoken and he knew she was human. Angels, he was fairly sure, did not speak with strong Boston accents.
"'Ey there, you okay buddy? What's wrong? Are ya hurt?"
Through the pain and exhaustion, he had felt the real warmth and concern in her voice. In a moment she was kneeling by his side. "Should I call an ambulance? Who did this to ya?"
To Medic and Engie, he said, "She saw zat I was hurt, and immediately she came to my aid. Zat was 'ow she was. Whenever someone or somezing was 'urting, she always wanted to 'elp."
He had managed to tell her, "No - no ambulance. I am - I 'ave enemies. Hide me. Please. Hide me."
"Enemies?" she had asked him, and her concern had deepened. "If you got enemies, then we gotta call the police."
"Non," he'd gasped out. "Pas de policiers - no. No police. Hide me, I pray you, hide me!"
Her brow had furrowed in suspicion. "Hey, what is this? You some kinda gangster or something?"
"Non ... non, madame - " And he had no idea why, but he managed to pull his identification badge out of his pocket. She took the ID in her hands and looked at it. Even through his haze he could read the emotions playing across her face - shock, surprise, and then a grim acceptance. Her shoulders set, as if she were picking up a heavy load.
"C'mon," she said. "Can ya walk? I know a place near here - a room where you c'n hide out. Not too far. Let's go."
She had assisted him down the alleyway, then opened a door - she had the key - to a dark warehouse and led him to a small storage room. "I'm a cleaner here, and the only one who has a key to this room," she'd said. "No one actually ever comes back here. Ya should lay low during the day but it'll probably be all right. I'll bring ya some food when I come back in the morning. Is there anyone I can call for you?"
Spy had been half out of his head by that time; he had slumped to the floor as if his limbs had suddenly turned to jelly. He managed to hang on to consciousness long enough to give her the contact information for a safe doctor in the area, and then the grayness closed in on him. The last thing he saw as the darkness followed him down was her face, her vivid blue eyes luminous with compassion. The sound of the church bells had continued to ring in his ears, ringing even in his dreams.
"She conducted me to a place she knew, a place where I could 'ide out in safety," he said as the memories flowed. "She brought me food and medicine - there was a discreet doctor nearby zat she brought to me - "
The man had pulled the bullet from Spy's side, had stitched him up and wrapped him in bandages. He had given instructions to Shirley on how to care for Spy's wound, and had left, with Shirley promising to summon him again if Spy took a turn for the worse. "And remember," he had told Shirley. "No one can know he's here. It would be better to move him to a safe house, but very risky in this condition. But if you don't feel that you can care for him - "
Shirley had stood strong, her eyes narrowed. "I can do it," she'd said. "Doan worry about that. We all gotta do our part."
"You realize," the Doctor had said, "that if you continue to care for him you may be putting yourself in considerable danger."
"I ain't afraid," she'd said, and even as weak as he was, Spy could see by the gleam in her eye that she meant it.
"She protected me," he said now, to his two listeners. "She stood by me sans peur. She knew zat she was per'aps endangering 'erself, but she did what she could. I ... would not 'ave survived without 'er."
"She sounds lahk she was very brave," Engie said quietly.
"She was one of ze bravest people I 'ave ever known," Spy said. "And no one - no one - 'ad a more gallant 'eart zan she did. Coeur de lionne, she 'ad ze 'eart of a lioness. I - " But he broke off, suddenly overcome. Engineer and Medic looked away, granting him space, doing him the favor of pretending not to notice. After a moment, Spy regained control.
She had brought him food every day, without fail, and blankets and other things that he needed. He could scarcely move at first, and she had helped him to sit up, arranged blankets and pillows to comfort and cushion him. "You must tell no one," the doctor had insisted to her, and she had kept her word. She had brought the doctor back to check on him at intervals, and the doctor had pronounced himself pleased with his progress.
"Eet ees ze result of having such a bonne nurse," Spy had replied gallantly, inclining his head toward Shirley, and she had shaken her head.
"Hey, you watch dat French charm dere, fella. I'm a married woman," she had chided him. Still there had been a twinkle in her eye.
He had told her an edited version of his part in the war effort; she had listened with obvious compassion as he had told her what the Nazis were doing to his beloved France. He had described the pleasant vistas of his childhood, his world-traveling career and she had listened with rapt attention and interest; he realized he was bringing her a world that she had never seen and probably could never hope to see. In return she had told him about her life - her seven sons, of whom she was inordinately proud, and her husband, a firefighter with the Boston Fire Department. Her pride and joy in her sons, and her deep love for her husband, came through clearly. "Your 'usband," Spy had told her, on more than one occasion, "'e is a very lucky man."
"Naw," she said. "I'm th' lucky one fer havin' him."
Aloud, Spy said, "She came to visit me toujours, every day, bringing me food and other things. She was secret as could be and told no one about me and my injury, not even 'er family. And zen - zen - one day - one day, she did not come."
He suddenly cleared his throat, finding it difficult to go on.
She had never gone a day without visiting him before. He had food enough that he was not hungry, but he could not help but worry about her. Had his enemies found her? Did they have her now? Had they perhaps killed her and her family and were making their way back to him? Awful ideas filled his mind, each worse than the last. He was almost strong enough by then to walk, and he had determined that if she did not come the next day he would leave his hiding place - dangerous as it was - and attempt to find her.
"I was trés concerned, almost out of my mind," he said to his friends. "I thought for sure my enemies 'ad found 'er. I knew zey would stop at nothing to get to me, and if zey knew she was protecting me, she would be zeir first target."
"Wow," Engie said. "Yeah, that'd be scary as hell, all right." Medic simply nodded, his eyes thoughtful.
"'Scary as hell.' Oui. Well said, mon ami. But ... she did return. Mais oui, she did return ... "
He had waited through the night and there had been nothing. Finally as the dusty, high-set window to his hiding place had brightened with the dawn, he had begun gathering his strength, preparing to sneak out, when he had heard footsteps. Her footsteps. He knew them by heart by now. His limbs weakened with the flood of relief that washed over him. She's back. She is all right.
The door opened, and she came in, and immediately he knew that something was wrong. She set down the bundle she was carrying - a bag filled with food for the day - and he could tell that she was tired and weary, but there was something else there. He had asked her, "Shirley, mon amie, what is wrong?"
She turned to face him, and her expression stopped him cold. The look in her eyes - he had seen it before. In the eyes of refugees the world over, men and women who had just seen their entire lives reduced to rubble.
"He's dead."
"Dead? Who? How?" he had asked, his heart frozen.
"My husband. Dead." If it weren't for a minute, almost undetectable tremor in her voice, he would have thought he had somehow misunderstood her. But then ... those eyes.
His gallantry took over; he struggled to stand. "Shirley, ma cherie, come 'ere. Sit down, my dear - " He tried to reach for her, but she waved him off.
"Nah. Don' need to."
"What - what 'appened, ma cherie?"
"There was a fire." Slowly, haltingly, she began to tell him the story: the late-night alarm, the fire in the abandoned house, the shouts from bystanders that some homeless men were squatting in there. Don't go, it's too dangerous! the chief had said, but her husband had insisted, I can do it! Someone's gotta save them! Spy could see it in his mind's eye - a tall, broadshouldered figure, dressed in turnout gear, backlit by swirling flames as he kicked the door in and plunged into an inferno.
"There was four guys in there. They tol' me he carried th' first two out, one over each shoulder. He dropped 'em in fronta the ambulance an' went back while the medics were workin' on those guys. Pulled out a third guy as th' fire reached th' roof and they told 'im not t' try it - said it was too dangerous to go back in. But he din't listen. He hadn't been in there for maybe ten seconds before th' roof collapsed. They tol' me he was probly killed instantly an' that he didn't suffer none." But her eyes said she didn't believe it.
"Shirley, ma cherie," Spy breathed. "I am so sorry. So sorry for you, my dear - "
She waved it aside as if she hadn't even heard. "Th' fire chief came t' tell me himself. There'll be a pension, but it ain't a lot. But th' mayor came through." Her face was absolutely stony.
"'e - 'e came through? Shirley, ma cherie, what do you mean?"
"He's gonna give me a commendation." Her shoulders began to twitch, then to shake. "Yep. For my husband. For the father of my children. A piece of stinkin paper! Like that makes it all better!"
Her face had twisted in anger and her voice was rising shrilly. Spy's blood chilled. "Shirley - ma cher, you must not, my dear, mon amour, someone may 'ear you, you must not - "
"Don't you tell me I must not! What am I gonna do now? How am I sposed t' go on? My husband is gone! Gone, an' all I got is a lousy commendation in return! How can I - " She broke off and then burst into a sob so sudden, so violent that Spy flinched.
"How can I live without my guy? We was sposed t' grow old t'gether - how can I go on without him? What's there left, without him?"
"Shirley, Shirley, mon amour, ma cherie - " He took her in his arms and held her as she sobbed out her rage and grief, until her arms tightened around him.
Spy paused there, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Do you think eet strange? I might 'ave too, 'ad I not felt it myself. But zere are times between a man and a woman when la grande passion takes hold, and zis was such a time." He exhaled, blowing out a long plume of smoke. "I 'ave always suspected our Scout was conceived zat very night."
Engineer gave a long, low whistle. "That's quite a story, pardner."
"Jawohl," Medic added, studying Spy with a new respect.
"So what happened between the two of you? Did ya stay with her?"
Spy shook his head slowly. "Non. Ze war was too urgent, I could not remain. In two weeks' time I was healed, and ready to begin my work again. I 'ad to leave, and she did not ask me to linger.
"I left but ... I could not forget 'er. 'Ow could I? One does not forget une femme of such ... courage, such passion, such strength. I found myself drawn to Boston again and again, just to see 'er.
"I came back to 'er month by month, as her belly grew, and it became clear to both of us, zat she was enceinte. She said - and I knew - zat it was mine, my bebe she carried."
Engie and Medic watched him thoughtfully. He was suddenly struck with the fact that he was the only father among the three - the only father on their team, as far as he knew - and he realized in a rush that he could not convey to them the full, awful weight of that knowledge - how heavy it had felt, how frightening it had been. To know that he was responsible for this new life, and that everything this child might make or do, from here to forever, was on his shoulders.
"I was not zere for ze birth," he said, "and I will always regret that. I could only plead ze war ... but ze truth was - " Admit it. Admit it to yourself. Just this once.
"J'avais peur." He hadn't even realized he had spoken in French until he saw their confusion. "I was ... afraid. Afraid of what it meant, of ze responsibility ... I was too young, I was not ready to be tied down, ze war demanded all my time - " He stopped and shook his head. "Yes, I can say zese things but zey are excuses. The truth is simply zat: I was afraid."
The words hung in the air. Somehow it was hard to meet his friends' eyes.
"Yeah, Ah kin see that," said Engie. "I was ... lookin' forward to it, but that was jes' cause I had Daisy beside me. I can see it'd be scary on yer own. An' at such a time too."
Medic studied him with a strange compassion. "Mein freund, zere are vorse kinds of fear. Ve all know zis. Ich hätte auch Angst gehabt, if I had been in your shoes."
Spy shook his head. "Zat is kind of you to say, mes amis, but you are wrong. Zere is no worse kind of fear. It led me to do what I should not 'ave done.
"I came to Boston often après la naissance. Every time I came ... 'e was bigger, my little son. My son," he said, again, contemplating the words. "I came ... but I could not stay. The walls, zey closed in on me. I looked at 'im and I saw ... I saw all zat could go wrong. All zat could 'appen to zat little life, ze ways zat I could fail 'im, and I had to get away.
"Each time I came eet was 'arder and 'arder to stay, and 'arder and 'arder to go. Shirley, she was not 'appy - she would chide me, gently at first, zen with greater ire. I tried to plead my duty, but she did not believe me. She was always so perceptive, she saw right through my petit ruses. Finally, she said, 'Choose. Stay with me, or do not return.'" He shrugged. "I made ze wrong choice," he said simply. "Ze wrong choice, and I am still paying for eet, and have lost ze chance to make eet right. Forever. And zat is ze story of myself and our Scout."
Engie shifted. "Yer bein' awf'ly hard on yerself, pardner. We all make mistakes. An' I promise you, you ain't the first or the last man t' make that mistake - "
"You think zat makes it better?" Spy shot back. "Eef anything it makes it worse. My own père, 'e - " His jaw tightened. "I swore, swore when I was un petit garçon, zat I would nevair be like 'im when I grew up and yet I did exactly as he did. I did it to my own fils and worse, I did it to Shirley, and lost ze chance to evair make it up to 'er."
"Was denken Sie, how much of zis Scout knows?" Medic asked. "Hev you told him any of zis?"
Spy stopped, considering. "Non, je n'ai pas," he admitted. "And he himself seems not to want to know; he has nevair asked me for ze story. Per'aps eet is too difficult for 'im to face."
Medic drew himself up in his chair, ramrod straight as a judge passing sentence. "You should tell him," he pronounced sternly. "Der Junger has a rightto know vat his father has done, und how he conducted himself vith his Mutter. You are fortunate zat he is still alive und zat you hef found him again. You could very vell hef never seen him again, efter ze two of you split up, und you vould never know to zis day vhat had become of him. It is your duty as his Vater, to tell him."
Engie nodded. "Medic's raht. You oughtta tell 'im. An' I'm sure he'd lahk t' hear it from you, " he added warmly. "Might make him feel better 'bout a lotta things."
Spy sighed. "I know. I ought to. But eet ees 'ard ... so 'ard. Zese are things I 'ave barely admitted to myself and you wish me to tell 'im?" he added with a weak laugh. "But per'aps ... perhaps soon ..."
Again he reflected that of the three of them there, he was the only father - the only one who had a son, that strange connection to the future. They could empathize, these men who were his friends; they could advise, could counsel, could console, but they could not know what he knew: that heady mixture of fear and pride, joy and regret that filled him every time he looked at this child of his.
"Well," said Engie, breaking the silence, "here's t' the ones we loved an' lost. May we never forget them."
"May we never forget them," both Spy and Medic echoed, and the three of them touched their drinks together, glasses clinking in the soft firelight.
They remained around the hearth in the barracks common room for a while longer, quietly reminiscing. Medic eventually brightened up and told some more of his blackly hilarious stories; Engie shared some tales from his time in the war, and Spy mentioned a few details he could safely share from his spy work. These men, he knew, understood espionage for what it truly was: an often boring, sometimes dangerous profession just like any other, without much glamor. But eventually as the fire died down to embers and Engie boxed it in with a metal screen - which he locked; "t' keep Pyro out, that little mischief," he said fondly - they rose and drifted back upstairs to their rooms, as snow fell softly outside.
"Merry Christmas to all, an' t' all a good night," Engie said, smiling.
"And to you," Spy returned as he disappeared into his room. As he lay down, thoughts of Shirley filled his mind - and the sound of bells followed him into sleep.
The morning was clear and bright and utterly cloudless. Spy descended to the common room to find Engie cooking breakfast, cracking eggs and whistling to himself with the radio on. Soon there was bacon, eggs, and toast on the table, as well as various leftovers from the dinner last night.
They met under the Christmas tree that spread its boughs over the common room. Engie had gotten little presents for everyone - a teddy bear with an axe and a fire helmet for Pyro, which made the little creature giggle happily; a stylish pair of driving gloves for himself, and a new bone saw for Medic. When Spy tendered his apologies for his lack of a return gift, Engie brushed him off. "Aww, shucks, ya didn't know I was gettin' you anything."
"But if you 'ad told me - "
"Then it wouldn'ta been a surprise," Engie said, smiling. "Don't you worry about it, pardner, Ah'm just happy yer here an' the four of us can spend Christmas t'gether."
Pyro had gotten gifts too and Spy opened his - he suspected it had been wrapped by Engie - with some trepidation. Inside however was a small stuffed Balloonicorn, that squeaked when he squeezed it. At Spy's polite "Merci," the firebug clapped his hands with childish glee. Spy was inwardly just relieved that Pyro hadn't given him anything explosive.
After the small gifts were opened, Engie relit the fire and played more carols as the snow came drifting down outside. Spy dug out a bottle of cognac from his supply and passed it around, to his friends' delight; "Vell, since I do not expect to perform surgery any time today zen zere vill be no harm in it," Medic said jovially while Engineer beamed.
Pyro sat in front of the fire, cuddling his bear and staring into the flames in rapt attention, and in the warm, mellow glow of the brandy, Spy found a warmth in his heart for that strange little creature too. He settled into an overstuffed chair, the Balloonicorn on a table at his side, and as the day wore on and the snow drifted, he let his thoughts roam over the past. Shirley, mon amour, if only you were with me here. Yet his grief had waned to a dull ache, and instead there was a gentle warmth at the thought of her I still love you, ma cherie. Perhaps I always will.
It was early afternoon when Engie, who had disappeared upstairs to work on a dispenser -"An engineer's work is never done," he'd said with a self-deprecating chuckle - came to the edge of the stairs. "Spy!" he called. "Phone for you!"
Spy's heart skipped a beat, and though he already knew the answer he called back to Engie, "Who is it?"
"It's Scout, Spy," Engie said calmly.
That Spy had guessed it beforehand did nothing to diminish the thrill that washed over him. His son - his son - had called him on Christmas Day. This was, in fact, he reflected, the first time in years that he had even had anyone to call him on Christmas Day. You are trés fortunate, Spy. Fortunate indeed, he mused as he rose and climbed the stairs to the Intel Room..
"Here ya go." Engie handed him the phone. Spy held the receiver to his ear and said, "Hello?"
A cool voice came down the line. "Will you accept a collect call from Jeremy Sullivan?"
"Yes, of course. Put 'im through," Spy said, amused in the back of his mind that his son was calling him collect.
"One moment," the voice said and then there was a click.
"He-eey," came down the wire, and for a moment, Spy was surprised; he couldn't remember having ever talked to Scout on the phone before. "Callin' you from Laverne's. How is everyone doin' back there in New Mexico?"
"We are all well, Scout." Spy glanced over at Engie, but Engie had gone back to the dispenser, though Spy suspected he was still listening in.
"Pyro ain't burned the place down yet?" Scout asked, and Spy chuckled in spite of himself.
"Not yet. Zhough not for lack of trying. Engie 'as been keeping a very close eye on 'im."
"Heh. Prob'ly fer da best. Lissen, sorry 'bout da collect call, but I ... kinda wanted ta avoid havin' Laverne get stuck wit' da long-distance chahges. Kinda felt like that wouldn't be fair t' her."
"Eet ees no matter, Scout," Spy said. "Believe me, you 'ave caused me far more difficulty than a seemple collect call before."
He meant it as a joke and only afterward did it occur to him that Scout might be offended; but Scout just snorted. "Yeah, prob'ly."
"To what do I owe ze honor of zees call, may I ask?"
"Ah, well, Laverne kinda suggested it. I'm here, Blue Scout an' Spy are here, Laverne's sister Ethel is here ... I guess the gang's kinda all here, an', well, Laverne suggested I give you a call too." Spy could hear the diffidence in Scout's voice; he guessed Scout was feeling somewhat out of place and had wanted to reach out to home.
"I see. Well it was wise of 'er to suggest it," Spy said, striving for the cool irony that had been the way they related to each other for so long. "After all eet ees Christmas, and one should get in touch with one's acquaintances at Christmas - eef only to remember why one avoids them the remainder of ze year." Again he had meant it as a joke and only thought of how Scout might take it after it was too late.
"Yeah, well. Lissen, Spy, there's ... " Scout broke off for a moment. "There's somethin' I wanna say ta you."
Silence. Spy waited, frowning, then said, "Well, go on."
"Ha ... okay. I called ta say ... ta say - " Again, Scout broke off, then Spy heard him take a deep breath. "I wanted t' say, uh - t-ta s-say ... 'J-Joy-oos Noh-well... m-mahn peer."
His pronunciation was so bad it took Spy a beat to figure out what he was saying. Mahn peer? But then it hit him.
Joyeux Noël, mon père. Merry Christmas ... my father.
His eyes were stinging; he blinked rapidly, and even swallowed a bit. Scout said nothing more; the silence on the other end of the phone was expectant, maybe even hostile. After a few breaths, Spy managed to collect himself. He replied, very gently, "Joyeux Noël, mon fils."
"Mahn fees? What, like, fish? What does that mean?" It was defensive and half-hostile, as if Scout expected Spy to be making fun of him. But perhaps for the first time, Spy could hear what underlay that hostility - the distrust, the fear of rejection - and he could empathize. Because he knew that fear too.
"It means ... 'my son," Spy replied, still gentle.
"'Mahn fees." He could almost hear Scout on the other end of the line, thinking it through. "Huh. Okay. Mahn fees. Got it. Okay, maybe ... maybe when I come back, you can teach me some more o' that French stuff, all right? I always wanted t' learn another language anyway," he added quickly.
"Of course, Scout."
"Ahh, jus' call me Jeremy, awright? After all, we're off the clock now. Lissen, I ah ... I gotta go, can't stay on the line too long, Laverne is thinkin' her kids or some o' my brothers might call but ... yeah, an' maybe when I come home you can ah ... we can talk about my ma some. There's uh ... there's some things I wanna ask ya."
"Certainly, I weel tell you whatevair you would like to know."
"Yeah. Good. It's ah ... it's probably past time we had that talk anyway. Anyway, yeah, I - I gotta go, so Merry Christmas an' all, an' say hi ta all th' guys back at the base for me. See ya in about a week or so. Bye."
"Goodbye, Jeremy," Spy replied, and Jeremy hung up the phone with a click. Spy sat unmoving, trying to come to grips with what had happened, as the dial tone rang in his ear.
Mon pére. Scout had called him "Father."
He might have sat there forever, but Engie looked up from his dispenser. "Everything, ah ... everything all right with you an' Scout?"
"Oui. Better - better than all right," Spy said. "Much better."
He replaced the handset on the cradle and left the room, wandering down the stairs to stop at a window looking out over the desert. The sun shone down, making the snow sparkle in the light. Spy rested one hand on the cold glass, taking it all in. He took out a cigarette - then stopped, thought about Jeremy, and put it back in his case.
This, he thought, is the best Noël I have had in years. Perhaps in my life.
He gazed out the window, contemplating Christmas, and family, for a long time.
Finis.