Engineer heard a noise and looked over his shoulder to find… nothing. Nothing and no one. Frowning, he went back to tightening the bolts on the Sentry. Hearing footsteps down the hall he looked up again to see Pyro entering the room.

"Heya, pardner," he said quietly, patting the firebug roughly on the shoulder. His hand rested on rubber and asbestos, and Pyro looked just the same as he always did. No disguises. Pyro stood there patiently - long used to the Texan's paranoid habits. Once assured that Pyro was in fact Pyro he turned back to tightening the bolts that probably didn't need any attention.

It had been a week since he had seen the BLU Spy. The damn Frenchman hadn't been around in days. Not that he missed him. He just found the snake's absence odd. Unnerving. The first few days he wondered if this was some new strategy. Lull him into a false sense of security and just when he didn't expect anything… pop up again like a weed and stab him in the back.

Except Spy hadn't appeared to stab him in the back. The Spook hadn't shown up at all.

The talks and grumbles around the mess hall at meals revealed that no one had seen hide nor hair of the man. Not since the last time Engineer had knocked his head across the base. At the time he had been rather pleased with himself for a job well done. The snake's head had achieved a rather nice arc as it sailed over the skirmish. But now he thought back with a stomach churning worry. Had he killed the man? Permanently? It was possible he supposed, that there had been a Respawn glitch and the man had died.

It wasn't that he liked the man. The smug bastard was always prying, causing trouble, plaguing him. Even Spy's few acts of kindness had been acts of pity. To show him how pathetic he was. No, he definitely didn't like the man. But neither did he hate him enough to want to murder him. Well not forever anyway.

Though the rest of BLU team acted just the same. If there had been a glitch he would have expected some caution or hesitance on the other team's part. A day off for a system's check. Revenge. Mourning. Something. Some sort of reaction.

Maybe none of them liked the bastard enough to mourn or care. Horrible as it was it didn't seem unlikely. He tried to calculate how upset his own team would be if certain members died and never came back. It was an unsettling equation in values that one couldn't put into numbers and he quickly abandoned it before he came to any unpleasant answers.

Besides if the man was dead, wouldn't BLU send a replacement? Mercenaries were easily replaceable, RED's own management was fond of reminding them. But no there had been no sign of a new hire.

Logic insisted the man was probably not dead. Spy had probably gone off… somewhere. Wherever it was he went when he wasn't sneaking around shadowing him. Though if the man had gone somewhere he could have said something. Told him.

He froze in embarrassed confusion, why would the man tell him? They weren't friends. They were enemies, or near enough to it. The man had no reason to tell him his travel plans anymore than Engineer had any reason to know them. If it had been him going off on leave for… whatever reason, he certainly wouldn't tell the enemy Spy about it.

Though he suspected if he did go on leave, Spy would know without being told where he was. Or if he was alright. Or even alive.


Spy leaned back on the plush hotel pillows taking another drag from his cigarette half listening to the lulling sound of his handsome bed partner's voice. He couldn't remember the man's name, but that hardly mattered. In the morning they would go their separate ways never to see each other again. It had been a wonderful night, he hadn't thought of the Texan once.

"-You know that scooter of yours." the man paused waiting for his response.

"Hmm?" he replied noncommittally, unsure where this conversation was going. His companion had proven to be a very enthusiastic lover, he was willing to tolerate some eccentricities at the moment.

"It sounds terrible."

Spy bristled but listened in silence as the man went on with his unlikely pillow talk.

"I'm surprised it runs. I could look at it for you. "

"You're a mechanic?" he asked with a frown, sitting upright in the bed.

"No, no," the man laughed warmly. "I'm an engineer for Aerospatiale, I design rockets. Fixing up cars and engines is a hobby."

The evening had been going so well. Good food, good wine, enchanting company and he hadn't been reminded once of the damn Engineer. Until now.

Spy stared at the man, previously a handsome diversion, a pleasant stranger for an idle evening. But now all he could see were the ways the man wasn't like the damn cowboy. Tall where the Texan was short, bold instead of soft spoken, slim rather than stocky. The differences suddenly seemed jarring, disappointing.

"A vespa should be no problem after dealing with rockets all day." the man insisted. But Spy wasn't hearing him, his mind was reeling back to the desert and the idiot he left in it.

"Get out," Spy said. He was supposed to be forgetting the man not seeing him in every stranger.

"What?" the man laughed in disbelief,. "Why?"

"I said get out." he repeated coldly.

"You're serious?" the man's smile faded into confusion which quickly turned into anger when he realized Spy wasn't joking, "You're serious." he repeated.

"Leave." he pointed the incredulous man to the door.

""Crazy lunatic!" the man spat at him climbing out of the bed.

"Asshole," he fumed on as he found his trousers, yanking them on. He raged on as he slipped on his shirt, muttering about Spy's unlikely parentage as he buttoned it up. "You can go fuck a cow."

Spy, sat wordless and motionless on the bed, watching the man get dressed.

"Offer to be helpful and the bastard throws me out." The man snarled to himself while he pulled on his shoes. Finally, he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair where and pulled it on over his rumpled clothing.

"You can go fuck off to hell on that broken scooter of yours," he snapped as he slammed the door leaving Spy alone in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Burying his face in his hands he sighed, "I need a drink" he muttered to the empty room.


I get along without you very well. Of course I do, The tinny radio on the counter warbled, providing background noise for his thoughts. Except when soft rains fall. The Frenchman ground another cigarette stub into the ash tray and with a gesture ordered another drink from the bar tender. After he had thrown the blasted engineer out he found himself restless. And drip from leaves, then I recall. The thrill of being sheltered in your arms. The hotel room was stifling with nothing there but his suit case and his thoughts. Though going to the bar hadn't done much to clear his head.

Of course, I do. But I get along without you very well. He hadn't been in the mood for any of the noisy tourist bars and had ended up in a small, quiet local establishment that reeked of smoke, beer and disappointment. This suited his mood just fine.

I've forgotten you just like I should. This was pathetic he fumed, knocking back another drink. Without prompting the bartender refilled it, experienced in the wordless language of miserable, fed up men. Of course I have. He had traveled halfway across the globe to forget the silly Texan but he seemed to be failing at that endeavor. Except to hear your name. Or someone's laugh that is the same. Even when he wasn't comparing recent lovers to the man he found little things reminded him. It seemed impossible but even in France, his home, an ocean and what might as well be another world away, he would still find reminders of the Texan. But I've forgotten you just like I should. A farm truck on the road, a guitar player on the street corner, a construction worker with his hardhat tucked under his arm. All of these were enough to send his mind back to the Engineer.

What a guy, what a fool am I. The few moments when he didn't think of the man he'd notice and congratulate himself on not remembering him and suddenly his thoughts would be of nothing but. The sound of his voice, his smile. To think my breaking heart could kid the moon.

What's in store? He took a sip of his drink and wondered idly what the Texan was doing right now. He glanced at his watch, back at Tuefort it would be the middle of the afternoon and the fighting would be resuming after lunch. The cowboy had probably noticed he was gone. Did he care? Did he miss him? Would he wonder where he was? Likely not, he told himself. They were enemies after all. If Engineer felt anything about his absence it would be happiness. Relief. Should I phone once more?

Angrily, he lit another cigarette exhaling smoke and frustration and adding both to the miserable haze of the room. No it's best that I stick to my tune. One thing he knew for sure, the Texan wasn't suffering like he was. How had this happened to him? This entire situation was ridiculous. It should never have happened.

Never get involved, never get attached. Make acquaintances not friends. Trysts not affairs. Basic tenets he'd learned a long time ago and lived by. Tenets he should have followed. He should have left the man alone. Alone to sulk and moan and weep over his broken marriage and lost cow wife.

But he hadn't left the man alone to his misery, had he? He had to go meddle and get involved. At some point, he couldn't figure out when exactly, he started caring. Maybe after the game or at the diner, or Noel. Or the drive back to the base. Or any other little moment. It didn't matter when, the damage was done and he found himself caring. Caring. A foolish and treacherous enterprise he reminded himself, staring at the last traces of his drink at the bottom of his glass.

It wasn't just the caring, it was getting attached to a silly little farmer. A cowboy who talked like a character in a western. A laborer who smelled like engine grease and dressed like a classless buffoon. An enemy whose work he was supposed to undermine and destroy. Who would destroy him and had done so on the occasions he'd been too careless. The whole notion was ridiculous. And dangerous. Conflict of interest would barely begin to describe this, he buried his face in his hands and debated ordering another drink when the jukebox changed its tune.

He peered from his hand in mute horror as he realized he recognized the opening guitar strains. "Your baby doesn't love you anymore." The language was French, but the song was horribly familiar. Gritting his teeth he thought back to another night in another bar where this song had played endlessly. That night months ago, when he had followed the Texan off base and, in disguise, witnessed the man start a drunken fight and get arrested. Engineer had asked him what his intent was when he bailed the Texan out of jail. At the time the plan seemed straightforward enough. Now. He mused looking down at his empty glass, there was no plan. He had no idea what he was going to do now.

Golden days before they end. The radio warbled on. No, he wasn't doing this. He wasn't going to sit around a bar drinking and sulking while listening to ridiculous songs. Certainly not this ridiculous song. No. He was better than that. He had dignity. Self respect.

Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a large bill and slapped it on the bar. He slipped on his hat and was out of the door before the ridiculous torch song could reach the chorus.

Spy stepped into the evening air and paused to light a cigarette. He took a drag from his cigarette, his hands jammed in his pockets, he walked down the narrow sidewalk with no real destination in mind. He wasn't ready to go back to the hotel. There was nothing for him to do there but sleep and pace the floors. He'd had enough of pacing and his mind was too restless for sleep. Finding another lover for the night might pass the time, but the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. All his attempts at distraction had proven pointless, he'd be fooling himself to think another try would work.

His vacation would soon be over and he'd have to go back. Back to the desert, all the explosions, the idiots. And the cowboy. He couldn't avoid it. He might manage it for a month or so but BLU wasn't the sort of employer you walked away from. Not that he was going to let some silly mechanic chase him away from a job, he was a professional after all.

He stepped across the narrow street so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the first few raindrops fall on the pavement. First a few, then more followed until the rain poured down and Spy found himself in the middle of the sidewalk standing in a deluge. Spy hunched and turned up his collar and thought wistfully of his umbrella, back at the hotel where he left it, dry and useless. He swore under his breath as cold water dripped off his hat brim and down the back of his neck. He sprinted along the sidewalk through the rapidly forming puddles finally stopping under an awning for shelter. He tossed his waterlogged cigarette into the gutter and pulled another one out of his damp jacket to light. The flame of the lighter was a brief warmth on his face and his soaked mask. Irritably he puffed on the cigarette and peered from under the canopy at the storm in vain hopes it would let up soon. A young couple jostled past him laughing as they huddled under a newspaper for cover, seemingly oblivious to the cold and wet. Turning his back on the street he looked idly in the shop window behind him and froze.

The store whose awning he was currently huddled under was apparently a small toy shop. The window was filled with a display of toy airplanes, dolls and other childish trinkets. Propped up against a toy car was a plush bear in goggles, and a hardhat. Resting his hand on the glass Spy chuckled softly to himself as he noted it was even in red overalls. He turned away from the window to look at the falling rain that was starting to let up. Cautiously he stepped out from under the awning and started to walk away from the store. The jingle keys caused him to turn and look back over his shoulder at the shop. An old man had stepped out and was locking up for the night.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," Spy, seized by impulse, called out to him, "How much for the bear in the window?"