(A/N: I was debating on whether or not to publish this chapter as it is. It feels a bit derpy, but it's been redrafted and rewritten far too many times. I'll just go with it and hope for the best. xD
Enjoy.)
Title: Spies Like Us
Chapter 7: Condescending
"Oi, wanka."
Spy couldn't help but groan when he heard the all-too familiar accent. Paced, rustled footsteps soon followed and he pictured the Australian awkwardly treading through the longgrass, a scowl coming to his masked face. Bidding farewell to his last bit of alone-time, he blew out a cloud of smoke, as if saying 'adieu'. His glazed-over eyes watched as the nicotine mist dissolved into the clear mountain air. He chastely acknowledged an actual, natural mist in the distance, calmly drifting through many a pine tree. The sun seemed to wane as it slowly rose, pink-tinged rays trickling past the jagged tips of the horizon. The BLU base remained tall, blocky and prominent behind him, its long shadow stretched out like a grey tar road.
A warm, calloused hand on his shoulder caused his head to cock to the side, his gaze unwillingly meeting with the sharpshooter's. Almost immediately, he turned back to the scenery with a bemused snort.
"You'd better not be glaring at me, mon cher."
"Well, I am."
The Frenchman waited for him to clarify, patiently counting the faraway trees. The other's inhales were deep and laboured; he was out of breath, for some reason. "Bloody 'ell, took me all mornin' ta find you."
"Came all ze way to tell me zat?" his taunt was answered with a rough shove; rough, but friendly. He smirked.
"I'm here 'bout the shiela," the Australian said simply.
The soft, subtle 'scree' of crickets and insectlife filled the silent void between them. Spy cocked an eyebrow questioningly, his attention shifting back to the Australian. The bushman had simply stopped, as if his last sentence had been explanation enough. Spy let out a scoff of white smoke before dropping the spent cigarette to the ground. It was promptly extinguished by the wet earth and the heel of his shoe. He could feel the sharpshooter's eyes latched onto him, studying his expression, trying to read him. The masked man gave another scoff, the jarman could stare at him until the end of time and never come close to deciphering him.
By instinct, his hand reached to his coat-pocket for another cigarette, only to claw at thin air. Cursing under his breath, he recalled leaving his jacket in his room, along with the Spytron 3000. He tried not to show his disappointment.
"Well?" he bristled now, a strong urge to return to base. He needed a cigarette.
"Whaddaya mean 'well'?" he could hear Sniper's voice raise a little. "You know as well as I do, you hafta start trainin' 'er."
"Like I said at ze meeting, mon cher," he ignored the retort that followed ('Stop callin' me that!') and kept his eyes on the horizon. "I politely refuse."
There was a sigh; long, spent, and reeking of those cheap things he smokes. "Look," he muttered. Oh, he was using that voice now...
With a roll of his eyes, Spy leant onto a nearby tree, bracing himself for the incoming bore of a lecture that was sure to follow. The bushman was using that low murmur of his - something Spy considered a weak attempt to sound menacing. It might've worked on Scout (the boy being the wimp he is), but he'd be damned if it affected him the very slightest.
"Look," Sniper repeated for emphasis (Spy snorted at this). "If ya don't stop with this high-and-mighty attitude of yours, we're all dead."
'Pause for dramatic effect,' the masked man thought.
"The Administrator's goin' easy on us, but if you're not gonna hold onto yer end of the deal, I dunno what'll happen, spook."
'Another pause,' Spy correctly predicted. The man was like an open book, a broken record that kept repeating the same tricks over and over.
"So, quit bein' such a snob with yer 'skills' and 'trainin'. Just a fraction of dat would be enough to- Can you stop laughing?"
Spy half-heartedly quelled his soft chuckles, clearing his throat a little. With a sidewards glance to the taller male, he smirked lightly at the angry glare. He gave his tie a small jerk to regain his composure, brushing off his vest absent-mindedly. The Sniper's heavy stare bore into him, which he returned with a look of pure nonchalance. There was silence once more.
"Wot exactly is your problem, mate?" his tone had a sharper edge now. Oh, something new for once.
"Everyzink," his answer had an air of finality, not even bothering to hide his lack of interest.
Before Sniper could react, the man had already walked past him without a second glance, single-mindedly making his way back to base.
"Spook, oi spook!"
"What?" the masked man snapped back, lifting his wrist, his right finger hovering over his watch.
"Just... think about it, yeah?" Sniper shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "You'd... be doin' it fer the team, is all I'm gonna say."
Narrowing his eyes, Spy pressed a button on his watch, dissolving from sight.
"And then, ya loop this o'er like this."
The girl mimicked the Texan, wrapping the heavy piece of plastic-like cloth around her abdomen; it rustled noisily as she adjusted the velcro. She watched as the man demonstrated with a towel, how she was supposed to use the Dispenser's latest extension. Engineer had mentioned that it just entered the beta-testing stage, and apparently, she was the new beta. That worried her somewhat.
"Yeah, good," he mumbled, examining how the large pad overlapped at the seams, tugging away a coiled wire from the folds. "An' then, all ya hafta do is switch it on." With that, he grabbed the other end of the cable and plugged it into the hissing machine.
"Is this... really necessary?" Violet queried, the slippery material threatening to fall off; she caught it just in time. "I mean, can't the Dispenser heal me without this?"
"Sure she can," Engineer replied with a wave of his hand, bending over to give the aforementioned machine one last maintenance check. "But that wound at'cha belly there runs pretty deep, an' since yer gonna be out on the field soon, I gotta make sure there be absolutely no internal damage."
"And this will make sure I'll be okay?"
"Cross my heart." His confidence was reassuring.
Violet smiled a little.
"Are you finished yet, private?" an angry voice caused the windows behind her to rattle. Without knocking, the loud man named "Solly" marched in, his larger-than-life strut giving Violet the impression that the room was too small for him. "If moving that infernal machine of yours took that long on the battlefield, we'd all be DEAD," he berated the mechanic. She winced at the volume.
"Just teachin' her how tah use the wrap-around, is all, Solly," he answered, seemingly accustomed to the man's behaviour. "Since she won't be hooked to the Medigun anymore, it's all up to lil' pardner o'er here tah fix 'er up." He gave the Dispenser next to him a small pat on the side, smiling affectionately as he did.
Soldier's head abruptly turned to Violet - making her take a small step back - before glancing back at the Texan. "Carry on, truckie," he said simply before disappearing out the small doorway.
A moment passed before the girl spoke up, "Does he... do that often?"
"You betcha," snickered the Engineer. "You best be gettin' used to him yellin' like that." The man then removed his helmet and placed it at his side, taking out his wrench from a nearby toolbox. "You had it easy 'till now since the medicine bay's far from the middle." (she assumed Soldier frequented 'the middle') Without warning, he then began to whack the Dispenser a fair number of times, indifferent to the sharp, loud sounds that were echoing all around the room. Violet cupped her hands over her ears, silently questioning the mechanic's methods.
"It's nice of Sniper to give me his room," she half-shouted over the deafening 'clang's, an attempt to make conversation (and to also make him stop).
The man paused in half-swing, causing Violet to breathe out a sigh of relief.
"Dat man dun spend too much time in base, neeways," Engineer shrugged his shoulders. "Never seen him use his room fer sleepin', even when we were in Dustbowl. He's always in dat van o' his."
"Why doesn't he sleep inside like everyone else?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Well, if 'e did, 'e would have ter wake up to that bloody trumpet ev'ry mornin'," came a casual drawl from the doorway. Violet glanced up to see the tall Australian side-stepping into her new room, dodging the tools strewn across the floor. Everyone seemed to be poking their noses in today, she noted.
"Careful o'er there, pardner," the Texan warned just as he tripped over a screwdriver.
"Trumpet?" the girl queried.
"You'll find aut soon enough," Sniper murmured knowingly. He approached a small wooden desk at the side of the bedroom, sliding one of the drawers open. Reaching in, he rummaged about before extracting a piece of stiff paper. Swiftly, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Photograph," the man said simply, noticing Violet's curious gaze.
"Not like yah tah forget things, Snipes," Engineer mused.
"Yeh, well, must've slipped my mind," he answered simply, making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to walk out, he gave the girl a chaste glance. "Take care of yerself, shiela."
Before Violet could reply with an uncertain 'thanks', he had already disappeared down the corridor, his strides long and purposeful.
"Snipes ain't the type tah mingle fer no reason," the mechanic explained, standing up now and brushing off his overalls. "He's the quiet type, he is." With another loud 'clang', the heavy wrench was dropped into his toolbox, along with the many bits and bobs scattered across her carpet.
Violet reached down to help him pack up, gathering the nuts and bolts that had strayed too far. "Everyone's so different. I wonder if I'll be able to get along," she mused under her breath, to which Engineer gave a small 'heh' of a laugh.
"That's what I thought on my first day with the team," he recalled fondly. "But ya'll get used to it, fer sure. And if ya don't, just talk to me. I like a friendly chat."
"Thanks, Mr. Engineer," Violet smiled weakly.
"Naww, don't call me dat, 'Engie' 's fine."
"Okay. Thanks, Engie."
"Don't mention it, Lil' Spah."
With the Texan packed up and out of her room, Violet was finally left on her own. The soft hiss of the Dispenser filled the otherwise silence as she slowly sat on her new bed. She smiled lightly at the softness, falling back against the sheets tiredly. Needless to say, the operating table in the infirmary hadn't been that comfortable, despite the pillows and blankets Medic had piled on top of it. Even though this new bed was creaky and the mattress was more spring than fluff, she was satisfied enough.
Suddenly, a wave of solemness ghosted over her features and that faint glimmer in her eye faded.
Somewhere outside, a bird flapped past her window.
Slowly, she raised her right arm vertically from where she lay. She stared at the gradient of shadows cast by the creeping sunlight from the window. Her expression was unfathomable, the girl flexing her fingers before making them disappear. "Spy," she whispered her new codename testingly. It sounded empty and cold, just like the other person that shared the same name.
Narrowing her eyes, she hastily pushed herself up into a sitting position, determination surging through her veins.
Violet grabbed the large paper bag she had brought with her from the infirmary, pulling out her old suit. The bright yellow 'i' shone like a beacon of hope, but the tracking device above it remained dead, unresponsive. Her grip tightened.
"I'll find you," she vowed, tracing her finger over the curve of the emblem. "Wherever you are."
She didn't even notice the small patch of cloth missing from her suit, masked by the jagged hole that stretched across the middle.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The footfalls pacing down the corridor caused her attention to snap back to reality. Panicking as they neared, she hastily shoved her old uniform back into the paper bag. Without hesitation, she dropped it to the floor and gave it a swift kick under her bed. Just as she pulled the blankets over the edge of her bed to hide it, the soft click of the brass doorknob caused her to stand up straight, heart pounding against her chest.
Violet froze in shock, not because her door had been opened without her permission - though, she was pretty taken aback by that - but, because of who had opened it.
Framed by the rickety doorframe, was the person she least expected to barge into her room: the BLU Spy.
Immediately, her eyes fell to the drawn butterfly knife in his hand, his arm poised before him in a precise, attacking stance. Her pulse quickened when she saw the sharp blade glint in the light, all feeling leaving her body. Fear hit her hard, and she remained there, stunned, like a deer-in-the-headlights.
"Oh," his exhale took her attention away from his weapon, and she was shocked to see a similar look of surprise on the man's face. Though most of it was hidden, she could make out the slight upwards curve of his eyebrows. "I thought zere was an intruder 'ere..." it was far too soft, as if he was speaking more to himself rather than her - and maybe he was, since his gaze seemed to look past Violet, fixating on something outside her window.
She shot him a look, regaining her composure, "Wha-"
"Shh!" his hush cut her off, the man's head jerking to the left. The knife was flicked and folded with a flourish without him even looking at it. Under different circumstances, the girl would be impressed, but all she felt now was confusion. Exactly what was he listening for?
Without warning, Spy quickly stepped inside, a move which caused her to instinctively take a quick step backwards. Violet shot him a questioning look, which he didn't return. Instead, he threw one last glance down the hallway before closing the door behind him, another move which increased the girl's suspicion. Just before it clicked shut, the faint mumble of conversation drifted through the gap. It died out before increasing in volume, the newcomers coming her way, and approaching fast. She could see Spy's face contort in worry as he pressed his back against the door.
"Maedchen? Are you in zere?" the voice was unmistakably Medic's.
"Ye-Yeah," she called back, her eyes never leaving the Spy.
"Has Herr Engineer moved the machine for you?"
"Yep, he sure did," she replied, trying to sound casual.
"Ja, very good," said the doctor. There was a soft sound as the doorknob clicked threateningly. Spy hastily clasped a gloved hand over the other end, holding it in a vice-like grip. "Maedchen, open ze door," he sounded exasperated. "I haff to check on your healing progress." Of all times to pay a visit, why now?
She watched as the man shook his head, an index finger over his lips. "You can't," Violet retorted quickly.
"... Vhy not?"
"I'm- I'm," she stuttered, trying frantically to think of a lie. "I'm naked!"
The look on the Frenchman's face was that of pure disbelief, his eyebrows knitted together enquiringly.
There was an awkward pause. "Was?" the German's voice was an octave higher now.
Violet's eyes rapidly darted around the room, trying to look for something, anything that could inspire a probable alibi. She spotted the towel on her bedside table. "I'm was about to take a shower," was her cover-up. "I'll find you when I'm done, okay?"
"... Ah, understood... I vill see you in mein infirmary zhen." The simple reply was followed by the sound of Medic's footsteps fading away.
"Merci," Spy felt obliged to thank her, nonchalantly brushing imaginary dust off his suit.
"I heard you hated me."
The statement left her before she could stop herself. Violet wasn't sure whether it was a smart move, but his questioning gaze spurred a bit of doubt within her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as stale quietness lingered.
He raised his eyebrow. "From whom?" she couldn't tell whether he took offence or not. His tone remained unfathomable.
"No one," she admitted with a sideward glance. "But Scout said you didn't want to train me."
"..."
"Is that true?"
"Oui," it sounded cold.
Silence fell between them again.
"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it?"
"Partly."
"I find that sexist," she murmured acidly. She hadn't expected him to answer a question like that so matter-of-factly. Clenching her fists, she looked at him directly in the eye. She shuddered. They were as icy as his words.
"C'est vrai? I think of eet as 'protecting you'." Was that sarcasm?
"I didn't ask to be protected. I asked to be trained."
"Like I 'ave said to everyone else who asked," he sighed exasperatedly, as if teaching a child two-plus-two. "I politely refuse."
"And why not?"
There was a small scoff, low and patronising. "You really want me to answer that?"
Her glare answered the question for her.
"You will not be able to keep up," the man said simply.
"You don't know that. I can, and I will. Just give me a chance," Violet pressed.
"I highly doubt you can, cherie. You are underestimating exactly what you are getting yourself into."
"I don't care."
"You don't care?" he snorted in disbelief. "Stop being foolish, child."
"I'm not a child! I'm eighteen years old!"
"It does not matter. You are still far too young for zis."
"I think I'm qualified for the job."
"You are not qualified for anything, girl."
"Don't say that as if know me," she snapped bitterly.
"Oh?" he cocked an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."
"I..." Violet stopped herself from blurting her secret out; admitting softly, "I can't."
"You can't?" he scoffed.
"If I don't do this, I'll never be able to find my family!" she didn't realise her voice had risen until she heard her own echo slipping into her ears. Her shoulders slumped as she took in deep, steady breaths. Eyes never leaving the Frenchman, she roughly blinked the oncoming tears away. Mild disgust welled up in her gut at his unwavering expression, the man completely unfazed by the her sentimental outburst.
It made her all the more angry, but all the more sad.
In surrender, she hung her head, eyes stinging as more tears threatened to fall. In that moment, she regretted ever bringing the subject up, wholly embarrassed that she was showing her weak side to this monster. Her fist tightened so hard, her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.
"And you said you were capable."
He said it just as he opened the door, a mildly-disappointed drawl that sent a dagger through Violet's chest. She bristled as he began to slowly walk away, each footstep causing that knife to dig a little deeper into the wound.
Without glancing back, he continued down the hallway.
(A/N: Please read and review. =) Thank you.)