(A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter, guys. =) I really appreciate them)
Title: Spies Like Us
Chapter 8: Efforts
An empty cardboard box remained overturned in the corner, large bits of crumpled, packing paper strewn across the floor. A large wad of plastic was slowly uncurling in a wastepaper basket, having been stuffed rather hectically into it. The small girl stood in front of a dinghy, full-length mirror, examining her new uniform curiously. It was loose at certain areas, the suit having been tailored with a male physique in mind, but not unbearably so. The material was a dark blue pinstripe not unlike the one used to make the Spy's own suit. It was a bit… odd, wearing the exact same clothes as the man who hated you. Not so much like attending prom with the same dress as the loud, popular meangirl, but… it wasn't an entirely different scenario. Violet was still nervous to what the Frenchman would think, but she highly doubted that he would splash punch on her.
Somehow, the thought didn't reassure her much.
"Maedchen?" There was a soft knocking at her door.
"You can come in," she called over, and with a soft click, Medic appeared at the doorway, a stethoscope in one hand and a file in the other. A disapproving look ghosted over his withered features upon seeing the small mess and Violet cast her gaze to the floor. Instinctively, she bent over and half-heartedly tossed the flimsy paper back into the packaging box, replacing it on the carpet right-side-up.
"I zee you haff your new uniform," the doctor noted, flipping through a few documents in the file, his stethoscope now around his neck.
The girl gave a small nod, though she wasn't sure he saw her, the man still preoccupied with the notes in his hand. "Yeah," she added softly for extra measure.
"Very good," he murmured absentmindedly. "How iz training?"
"Non-existent as usual," Violet admitted casually and the doctor's gaze immediately shifted back to her, as if she had grown a third head. She returned his look with one of confusion.
"Dummkopf," she heard him hiss under his breath. She didn't know much German, but she had a strong hunch that that was a bad thing.
"I'm sorry?"
"Nein, not you," he reassured. Without another word, the doctor abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of her bedroom, the stethoscope still draped around his neck. Before the girl could stop him or ask for an explanation, Medic was already halfway down the corridor, his footsteps quick, heavy and full of purpose. It wouldn't be wise to run after him, she concluded, withdrawing back into her room.
"Hey."
Violet's head popped back out to see Scout's lanky frame exiting his own room, bandaged hands in his pockets. Before she could reply, she saw his eyes fall immediately onto her outfit – which he then stared at with an unfathomable expression, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Violet stiffened, wondering what was going through his mind. Was it shock? Disgust? Amusement? She couldn't tell. Would the other members react this way as well?
She coughed.
"Oh yeah," the Bostonian snapped out of his daze. "What's up with doc?" he asked casually, jerking his thumb in the direction the German had disappeared off to.
"Dunno," Violet shrugged.
"Hmm…" he then fell silent as he glanced down the corridor. A moment passed before he turned back to her, grinning across the hallway. "So, how are ya holdin' up?"
"Okay… I guess?" she answered uncertainly, raising her shoulders. "Wounds are healed, at least."
"Guess I'll hafta start callin' ya 'Spy' too, huh?" Scout said half-jokingly, motioning to her clothes.
"Well, Engie calls me 'Lil Spah'…" Violet replied, mimicking the Texan's accent with a smile. The Bostonian returned it with a small 'heh'. "But Vi's okay."
"Vi it is then," he nodded with finality. There was another pause with the two of them awkwardly standing in their respective doorways. "So, I'll see ya around?"
"Yeah," she nodded, making a move to close her door, taking a backwards step into her bedroom.
"Hey, Vi," Scout called out just as it closed, the girl cracking it back open and glancing out through the gap.
"Yeah?" she called back.
"Looks good on ya."
"Spy! Herr Spy!"
Ah, another cigarette break… wasted…
"I suspected you vould be here!" the physician's snarl was out-of-breath as it drifted from a distance. Spy rolled his eyes as the plodding footsteps grew nearer, the wet soil squelching underneath every single footfall, painfully blatant. When his instincts told him that Medic's muddied boots getting far too close to his newly-laundered suit, the man gave the good doctor a casual glance over his shoulder, causing him to halt in his tracks.
"Dummkopf," was the hiss of a greeting he received.
"I am not sure what I 'ave done to merit such language, docteur," he answered as genuinely as possible. As he waited for him to calm down, he took a long drag from his cigarette, filling his lungs with nerve-soothing nicotine.
"Don't you dare lie to me, Herr Spy!" Medic held up his index finger accusingly. Something on the German's chest caught the sunlight and the Frenchman had to blink through the slight glare. He soon discovered that it was a stethoscope, still slung around his neck, probably left on after one of his routine check-ups. "Did I not tell you to train her two days ago?"
Oh, so that's what this was about. That girl again.
"Oui," Spy answered nonchalantly. "Exactly twenty-four 'ours after ze bushman asked moi for ze same thing."
"And?"
"And?" he mimicked his tone, feigning uncertainty.
"Has zere been any progress?"
"Non," it was said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Ze girl proved herself to be… incapable for ze job."
"All ze more reason to continue training her!" the doctor snapped matter-of-factly.
"Ze training never began, docteur," he corrected knowingly, as if he had proven a fact.
Another inhale was drawn from the half-burnt cigarette, the Frenchman billowing out the white smoke in a casual sigh. The entire time completely oblivious – or choosing to be oblivious – to the seething glare the Medic was shooting at him.
"You are killing her."
"Oh?" Spy seemed unfazed by the accusation.
"Frau Spy vill begin her vork tomorrow evening," he began. "And she has not learnt anyzing?"
Silence fell between them, thick and tense as it wafted through the small clearing. The tall pine trees around them loomed menacingly, thick columns rooting them to the ground while thin branches reached upwards towards the sky. The slowly setting sun in the distance cast elongated shadows onto the wet earth, a cue that their nightly battle with RED would begin soon. The doctor relaxed his shoulders, somewhat triumphant of the quietness, assuming that his words had made an impact on the Spy.
"What did you call her?" the Frenchman murmured after awhile.
"Frau Spy."
A moment passed by without either of them saying anything.
"Eet iz almost time," Spy said, his voice void of any infliction, completely unfazed and monotonous. It sounded dangerous and unnerved the doctor somewhat. "Let us go. Set Up will begin in a few minutes."
Despite the fact that the dispute was still unresolved, Medic silently complied, remaining quiet throughout the entire journey back.
The loud, piercing siren radiated through the concrete walls, penetrating into Violet's bedroom and signalling to her that the fight had already begun. The ground vibrated under her feet as the onslaught of explosions erupted throughout the battlefield outside. Engineer had been right, the Infirmary had been too far away from the middle for any of the sounds to have reached her. Here, she could hear almost every scream and every yell quite clearly, which was why she would usually take this opportunity to walk around the empty base. This would be the last time she would be sitting out on a battle, she realised, nervousness bubbling in her gut. Her teeth gritted together as she recalled the letter she received not too long ago. Actually, it wouldn't be fair to call it a 'letter', since only one sentence had been printed on the otherwise blank sheet of paper:
Ten-member battles will commence in forty-eight hours.
It was short, but that didn't reduce the impact at all.
Violet swallowed, taking in deep breaths. The large scar across her stomach stretched uncomfortably as she did, and she winced lightly. It didn't hurt as much, but she wished it did. Maybe, it would delay her starti—
'No,' she thought, shaking the idea out of her head. She wasn't going to find her family with a loser's attitude.
Standing up from her bed, she smoothed down the front of her new uniform, ironing out the creases with gloved palms. 'Hopefully, I'm not rusty,' she thought jokingly. Slowly, she raised her hands in front of her, willing herself to disappear.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her whole reflection vanish completely.
'That's impossible!' her eyes widened in shock. Waving her arms in front of the mirror, she was amazed to see that her entire suit had disappeared along with her. She took a shaky step towards the mirror. 'How? Who? When?' So many questions ran through her head.
It was then she fell down to her knees, quickly reappearing before she scrambled about the floor, frantically searching for the envelope she had earlier brushed aside. A few bumps to the head later – courtesy of her desk's legs – she spotted the light brown paper peeping out from underneath her bed. Mentally scolding herself for disregarding it when it came with the evening mail and her package, she got on all fours. Reaching out a lanky arm, she winced as she pushed herself against the wood, blindly feeling about for the now-important letter. Fingers caked with dust, she pulled it out, hastily tugging the flap open.
Dear BLU Spy (F),
After investing copious amounts of Australium and money on the best Mann Co. scientists and researchers we could buy/bribe, we have been able to (mostly) replicate the material of your suit. Needless to say, Miss Edna Mode merits my praise for making the process as frustratingly complicated as possible and I send my utmost regards to her and her craft. In other words, your custom uniform is extremely expensive.
Do not damage it.
Attached is further information regarding your new suit.
- The Administrator
Violet flipped through the papers.
Dear BLU Spy alias Spy V,
As you would soon find out, your suit is not perfect. Complete invisibility is only limited to 10 seconds and you will be rendered fully visible after this time limit. Worry not, your uniform will 'recharge' after a period of time, but you can also hasten this recharge period by picking up any of the various ammo containers scattered across the map. Inside, you will find a small device – when plugged into your customised Invisibility Watch (linked to your suit) – will instantly bring your suit to full-power. I hope that you will memorise the locations of these crates quickly as they will greatly benefit your progress.
Further enclosed is a set of rules and regulations pertaining to the Spy job class. It is highly encouraged that you follow them word-for-word as the breaking any of these rules would be seen as an immediate breach of your contract. Serious action will be taken. Also included are simple how-to's regarding usage of the Electro Sapper as well as your standard-issue butterfly knife.
On another note, I hope your training has gone well and you are prepared for the battles that will soon follow. Your contributions (and failures) to the team will be recorded. All the best.
Sincerely,
Miss Pauling.
The living quarters of the BLU base were coldly silent when Spy emerged from his room. The dark hallways had no windows to let in the light but even so, it was still far too early for the Sun to be up. With a soft click, his door was closed behind him, the male swiftly tucking his cigarette case into his pants pocket. Obviously out for his ritual early-morning smoke, the Frenchman proceeded to stride down the quiet hallways, the carpet softening his footsteps to soft 'thump's, further adding to his stealth. As the rooms were arranged according to alphabetical order, the male resided in one of the last few bedrooms, all the way at the far end of the corridor. Unfortunately, he was also right next to Soldier's room, which fuelled his daily need to be out of the base before morning trumpet roll-call.
Curiosity peaked as he neared Sniper's room – now the girl's room – cocking an eyebrow at the door hanging ajar.
'Mon dieu,' he sighed in frustration, wondering if she was that careless or just stupid. Silently hoping for the former (they didn't need an idiot-Spy, after all) he placed a gloved hand on the doorknob.
It creaked a little as it was pushed open, the sliver of light on the floor growing in width as the gap broadened, revealing a small, curled-up figure sprawled across the bedroom floor. The fact that she was surrounded by papers helter-skelter caused him to suspect that she had been murdered, but closer inspection revealed no fatal wounds. Also, her rising and falling back signalled that she was just sleeping and very-much alive. Spy wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not. The girl's presence itself gave him mixed feelings, and not in the good way. He felt cluttered, frustrated, angry, but most of all: uneasy. Would he be happy if she suddenly died? No. Reassured? Maybe.
Picking up one of the papers from the carpet, a small pang of nostalgia hit him as he discovered that it was one of the Spy notes he had been given during his brief, Mann Co. mandatory preparation (of course, he had gone through intensive training elsewhere years before Mann Co.). He cast the sleeping form a chaste glance. Surely she should know that mere notes wouldn't be enough to become a true Spy. Time was an important factor and there were just some things you learn, not through words, but through experience.
You didn't give her much of a choice, now, did you?
The sheet crumpled a little in his tensed-up grip, Spy hastily pushing the reproachful thought out of his head. It was then he noticed the little blotch of dark claret on the upper right corner of the paper. Furrowing his eyebrows, the Frenchman lightly pinched at it with his fingers. It was stiff.
The hiss of Violet's personal Dispenser then caught his attention, the man turning his head towards it inquisitively. Following the coiled wire from the machine to the girl, he saw that Engineer's new extension wasn't wrapped around her waist... but clutched in her arms. Slowly lowering himself to his knees, he made sure that the papers on the floor didn't rustle as he brought himself to eye-level with the sleeping girl. Taking care not to wake her up, he lightly took hold of her right wrist and drew it away from the healing pad. It was clenched up in a loose fist and he tenderly eased it open.
In the dim blue glow of the Dispenser, he could see pale white scars scattered across her palm. There were marks of varying thickness and they overlapped each other like a hectic spiderweb. Between the grooves of her hand, small bits of dried blood still remained. Spy winced at this discovery.
Immediately, his first, clumsy experience with a butterfly knife flashed into his mind. He remembered the first sting it gave him: a deep, thin line along his middle finger, which quickly streaked his palm with dark red riverettes. Of course, in the hands of a professional, it was graceful, swift and precise. But in the hands of an amateur, it only resulted in blood, tears, frustration and the constant urge to give up to stop the pain. He recounted his own bit-back tears in his naive youth, all the while, staring at the scars on Violet's small hand.
"You worked hard, petite," he found himself murmuring under his breath.
Maybe you're not as incapable as I thought...
(A/N: Balisongs do hurt like a mo-fo. xD
Please read and review. =D )