"Take that, ya bloody sneak!"
Spy bit back a swear and dove out of the way of a rather inconveniently aimed jarate. Returning to the desert and the routine after New Year's hadn't been as bad as Spy thought it would be, it was worse. The jar of urine missed him and splashed down the wall a meter away.
He ducked around a corner and with a push of a button he faded from view. Pulling his knife from his pocket he listened carefully for footsteps to hear if the Sniper was in pursuit. What he heard instead was a muffled swear and a beep followed by an explosion. The Sniper had other problems right now. He departed from the scene quickly, no sense waiting around to be noticed. He stalked down the hall, deeper into the base. The sounds of the explosions and gunfire faded as he made his way down the stairs into the office, where the intelligence- and the cowboy almost certainly- was.
Sure enough, he could hear the beep of the man's machines as he reached the base of the stairs. Peering around a corner he found the Texan and his toys. The man was alone tinkering with a dispenser, there was no sign of the Pyro around. Slipping around the perimeter, Spy pulled a sapper from his jacket and attached it to the side of the sentry and quickly stepped away from it, ducking behind a filing cabinet. The hiss and pop of the sapper alerted the Texan who immediately whirled around, looking around in tense suspicion, but unable to see the Frenchman silently sidle up to him. The sapper was knocked away and the Texan glanced around again before starting to repair the damage.
He plunged the knife into the man's back, there was a quiet rasp as the Engineer slumped to the ground like one of his out of commission machines. He stared down at the man's motionless corpse on the floor as the blood from the wound soaked through the man's clothing. Distracted, he'd forgotten about the sentry gun slowly coming back online. He didn't realize his mistake until he heard the beep and the bullets cut through him.
The next thing he knew he was squinting into the bright light of the Respawn room, his head buzzing. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand he tried to clear his head of the image of the dead Texan burned into the backs of his eye lids.
His mind went back to the image of the cowboy laying on the concrete like a broken machine. This was a very inconvenient time to be developing a conscience. He was too old to be rethinking his career now. The day was far from over and he had a job to do. Angrily, he straightened his tie and walked out of the Respawn door. How dare that stupid Texan make him feel bad for doing his job, he'd go back to the RED base and give that damn cowboy a piece of his mind.
Working his way back into base this time had been easier. BLU had broken RED front lines and chaos ensued as both sets of mercenaries clamored for the upper hand . No one noticed the Frenchman slip through the mess, helping add to the confusion as he made his way deeper inside the base. The halls of the RED base echoed with explosions, and he guessed Demo had gotten inside. He crept past a rather messy blood splatter on a wall and walked down the stairs to the office and the Texan. He paused, footsteps and the squeak of rubber echo up the hall alerting him to the coming of the enemy Pyro rushing to no doubt the same goal. He caught the monster smoothly by the elbow snapping him around. Before the creature could react he met the back of it's neck with his blade slicing through rubber and skin and bone. If there was any in there to cut, it was hard to tell though all the asbestos. He released his grasp on the maniac's arm and the figure collapsed like a puppet with it's string cut. He grit his teeth as his cloak flickered back on and he made his way down the stairs.
Down the hall was the sound of another explosion, gun shots and a body hitting the floor. He walked on silently, stepping over the body of his team's demo man and the mess that used to be the Scot's head.
Engineer was in the corner of the room near his smoldering dispenser, a quickly healing gash on his shoulder and his shotgun clutched in his hands. The Sentry was in scorched pieces and Spy had to tread carefully not to tread on the rubble and alert the Texan of his presence. Walking around he made his way to finish the Texan off.
He stood poised ready to kill the man, a quick stab in the back and the man would be finished. He hesitated. The image of the man's dead body laying on the floor flashed in his mind. It was just a moment but it was long enough. The Texan flexed his healed arm and stepped back - bumping into the Frenchman. Spy froze, horrified. The stock of the man's shotgun had swung into his diaphragm before he could react. He gasped, his cloak sputtering and he found himself face to face with the angry Engineer. The man swung again - acting on instinct, Spy stepped back and the gun whistled past him, missing him by mere centimeters. He countered, slashing at the man and dodging another swing. Stepping sideways he tried to evade another swig. Stars exploded in his vision when the Texan's blow managed to slam into his eye socket knocking him backwards.
The Engineer swung again but Spy managed to grab the rifle and pull the man closer. A quick jab to the man's kidneys and it was over. Panting, the Frenchman pulled the knife back out letting the man sink to the floor in a heap, groaning his last.
Blood soaked into his mask, plastering it to his forehead. Gingerly, Spy's fingers grazed the cut, he winced. Painful but not serious, he could feel the start of a black eye that would swell up if he let it, minor injuries. Wiping the blade and placing it back in his jacket he stepped over the Texan's rag doll corpse, unable to make himself look at it. The man would be out of Respawn soon enough and he did not intend to be here when he returned.
The day wore on as Spy made himself useful in the skirmish. Stab the Medic while pretending to be wounded Scout, shoot the drunken Scotsman as he stumbled his way out of Respawn, invisibly tripping the Abomination down the sewer stairs. It was getting late in the afternoon as he climbed, up to where the RED Sniper was shooting from. The man was in rare form today and causing considerable trouble for BLU's renewed assault. Taking care of him shouldn't be too difficult and would help end the day on a more pleasant note. He hugged the wall as he rounded the corner and nearly ran into the Texan with his toolbox slung over his shoulder. Why was the man out here?
He watched the man walk along the ledge - probably looking for a strategic place to build…whatever it was he came out of his hole to build. Spy hesitated and was about to turn and find something else to do, someone else to bother, when the blue dot caught his eye. The scope of his own team's Sniper, lining up a shot. The cowboy hadn't noticed at all. He'd walk right into it.
On impulse, he stretched his fingers and got a grip on the man's coverall straps. With one firm tug, he managed to pull the man off balance and the Texan stumbled back a few steps, behind cover. Breaking from Spy's grip the cowboy whirled around, his free hand slamming into the Frenchman who appeared out of thin air. His eyes were obscured by his goggles but that didn't make Engineer's fury any less obvious. Spy's mind fumbled for a word, an action, a reason, but failed to find anything. He didn't even notice the Texan shift the toolbox off his shoulder, only briefly saw the box swing at him with a speed that seemed impossible and felt the impact as it slammed into his head.
Back in Respawn with his head aching his heart pounding, Spy had the impression that he'd been hit by a truck. That had been foolish, he hissed to himself as he pulled out a cigarette. Stupid. Impulsive. Sabotaging a teammate - breaking cover to help an enemy. Stupid. Illogical. He massaged his temple gently, soothing his phantom headache. Why had he done that? He had nothing to gain from saving the Texan and less than nothing to gain by sabotaging a member of his own team. He had nothing personal against the BLU Sniper and little reason to mess up the man's shot. In fact, he'd a lot to explain if someone realized what he had done.
What had possessed him to do such a stupid thing? It was almost as if he'd developed a soft spot for the silly little man. But that was ridiculous, he told himself. Laughable even. Cold realization washed over him, freezing him to the spot. He should be laughing at such a notion, he insisted.
"You alright, Frenchie? I saw yer head fly off - musta been like twenty feet." Scout asked jostling past him.
Spy mumbled an inaudible response, unlit cigarette dangled from his lips. It was a joke. Men in his line of work didn't develop attachments to their mark. That was unprofessional. Sloppy. A rookie mistake. He should be laughing. His mind went back to seeing the Texan slumped on the floor like a broken toy. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wasn't laughing. His knees buckled and he sank onto the bench behind him. Feebly, he pulled his lighter from his pocket and after a few tries managed to light his cigarette.
"Merde," he muttered quietly, his mind tuning out the bustle and explosions of the conflict outside the room. He puffed on the cigarette holding the smoke in before releasing it in a long slow sigh. "Mon Dieu."
Miss Pauling leaned back in her chair and enjoyed a peaceful moment with her cup of coffee. Ignoring for a moment the beeping monitors and mountains of paperwork that never seemed to shrink no matter what she did. She leaned into the mug enjoying the aroma and feel of the steam on her moment was rudely interrupted by the shrill ring of the phone. She glanced at the desk. The phone rang again, a blue light on the dial flashing with every ring. She should probably answer that, someone had probably exploded again, or been arrested. With a resigned sigh she set down her mug and picked up the receiver.
"Builders League United," she answered brightly.
"Miss Pauling." a familiar accented voice purred into the phone.
"Spy - she answered brusquely.
"Ah, Miss Pauling, how ar-"
"What happened?" she asked, cutting the Frenchman off, envisioning the disaster that must have unfolded for Spy to call the main office.
"Nothing you need to worry about. Everything here is running smoothly. Well as smooth as can be expected."
"So why are you calling?" she asked cooly.
" Merely a personal matter, I'm afraid I need to take some leave."
"You need leave?" she asked incredulously, "Just after Swissmas?"
"Alas, I find myself with a family emergency."
"A family emergency." she repeated flatly.
"Oui - my beloved Grand-mere died. It was very sudden."
"Your… grandmother."
"My last remaining relative, she was sick for a while but just when they thought she was getting better…" he trailed off theatrically, "Tragedy. I am inconsolable," he added in a tone that suggested he was far from it.
"So you want time off to attend her funeral." she stated seeing clearly where this conversation was headed.
"She was very dear to me." Spy insisted again. "I need to make the proper arrangements, lay her to rest and sort out her affairs."
The story was a fabrication, there was no doubt in her mind otherwise. But if she pressed the issue she also had no doubt that Spy would present any number of documents insisting that he did indeed have a dead grandmother who needed to be buried. And while he was at it, probably a note from a doctor explaining scientifically just how bereft and grief stricken he was.
"So how long do you need to handle these 'family affairs'?" she asked.
"Three weeks should be enough, there's the family estate to handle, the vineyards, the polo-"
"Two weeks."
"Very well, I shall try to wrap everything up and be back here in two weeks."
"You will be back in two weeks." she insisted firmly. The unspoken threat of what would happen to him if he failed to appear remained unsaid.
"Mm, two weeks then."
"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. And you have a funeral to plan."
"Yes indeed. Good bye Miss Pauling. I'll be back before the end of the month."
"Good-bye" she sighed, putting the phone back on the receiver.
Spy hung up the phone with a mute sigh of relief. His story had not been believed, but it had been accepted. It made little difference if Miss Pauling had believed him, he had never expected her to. As long as they accepted he was leaving.
Turning on his heel, he walked down the hall to the barracks to pack. The rest of the team was eating dinner and wouldn't notice his departure. He'd leave a note explaining the death of his beloved grandmother and his subsequent absence. Which sounded much better than the actual truth of the matter.
He needed to get off this base. Away from this town. Away from silly Texans and all these bad decisions. Get away, get some distance from everything. Surely that's all he needed. Clear his head, get his mind off things. And people. A couple weeks traveling, some much needed rest and recreation and he'd be back in the game. That's all this was. He was tired and his mind was playing tricks on him. He was going soft. A change of scenery, that would help get his edge back.
It was quarter to six, he noted glancing at his watch, he would need to hurry if he wanted to catch the train out of Tuefort tonight. He would make arrangements for a jet once he got out of this blasted desert. To Florence, Paris, or maybe the Côte d'Azur. He would figure that out later. The sooner he was away from here the better, he fumed unlocking his door. He quickly stepped over the trip wire shutting the door behind him, and shoved a picture aside flicked a switch to turn off the alarm.
His room was fairly plain, no open decoration or momentos. Unlike his RED counterpart he hadn't seen fit to replace the furniture. He'd stayed in worse places and the battered furniture was serviceable enough. This was a job not his home.
There were few personal mementos to see. He'd traveled lightly over the years keeping everything to the essentials. Just clothes and his equipment. There'd never been much of material value he'd grown attached to.
He took his suitcase off the top of the wardrobe and tossed it on the bed. Delicately, he opened it without setting off any traps, and began throwing clothes into it. Socks, clean shirts, boxers, ties, slacks, tuxedo, and some false beards. He tossed in his micro camera and the toiletry bag, just in case. His trench coat was pulled from the wardrobe and placed on the bed. Reaching up on the top shelf he felt around for his folding umbrella gun. As he pulled the umbrella down a flurry of hats slid off the wardrobe shelf, raining down over his head. Grumbling he scooped them off the floor, fishing his fedora out and setting it aside he pitched the rest back in the wardrobe with little care, he froze as he picked up the last hat off the floor. The stupid burgundy cap from Thanksgiving. His lips quirked into a smile before he could stop himself, his mind going back to that night. The Frenchman swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He flung the hat inside the wardrobe as if it had stung him.
He tossed the umbrella in the suit case and stalked across the room to the desk, opening the bottom drawer. Removing the false bottom, he pulled out a packet of cash and a handful of passports and identifications. Perching on the edge of his desk, he flipped through them mulling over names and cover stories. Not thinking about the cowboy's smile, not thinking about the man's incandescent joy, the warmth of the man's arms around him. He was not going to think about that at all.
Finally, he settled on a passport and set of papers. Placing the rest back in the drawer he replaced the false bottom and slammed the drawer shut. His travel papers and money were tucked inside his jacket pocket, he should only need the one identity for this trip and he'd get more money from his accounts if he needed it. He glanced at his watch again and grimaced, right now he needed to leave.
A note explaining his absence was quickly written up, he'd hang it on his door on the way out. After making certain he had everything he needed, the suitcase was snapped shut and his trench coat slung over his shoulder. He slipped his hat on and walked to the door. One switch turned the alarms back on, and another turned the light off as he slipped out the door.
