Chapter Three

. . .

"I know darlin', wish I didn't have to either, but it's only for a lil' while longer." The phone was hugging the crook of Engineers neck as he spoke softly to Arleen, who'd become heavy-hearted upon learning of her husband's extended stay away from home. The house was awful quiet without his absent minded but ever present whistling she'd told him.

"Jus' promise me you'll be safe hon? Ya'll know how I worry…" her voice was low and he could picture the frown on her face, the one that brought a little crinkle above the bridge of her nose and narrowed her eyes. He'd never told his wife about the dangers of his old job, but she'd seen his scars and was no fool – she knew her husband hadn't been a run-o-the-mill engineer for RED. Still, she kept her word, never asking to know any details. She simply asked that he be safe. Still, the burly Texan sighed as he clutched the phone closely. He hated lying to her, but he'd tell her a thousand lies to keep her mind at ease while he wasn't at her side to soothe her. There was no safer place for Arleen to be in this world than in her husband's arms.

"I know, I jus' gotta help the boys clean up a few last minute odds an' ends an' I'll be on the first plane home-"

"Hey chucklehead! We goin' or what!?" Scout leaned out of Engie's rental truck just off the road, a cap pulled over his head as he sighed emphatically to express just how tired of waiting he was. The boy seemed physically incapable of being still for any real length of time; if he wasn't drumming his fingers or tapping his feet, he was playing with anything within reach or rummaging through anything that could open. Must'a drove his momma crazy as a youn'un, thought Engie

"Hey hardhat! Hey, hey hard-"

"I hear ya, ya pea-brain!" Scout slumped back inside with an exasperated groan and dragged his hand down over his face. Engineer apologised to Arleen for Scout, 'he's not all there' he'd explained. After saying his goodbyes, the Tex clambered into the driver's seat and shot his passenger a glowering look as Scout sat smirking, playing with an air freshener.

"That your wife?"

"yeah."

"She know why you're here?"

"Yeah."

"She know why you're really here?"

"Nope."

"Got kids?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"There a reason you're askin' for mah life story, son?"

"Nah, jus' thought an old timer like you woulda had kids by now. 'Case ya die of old age or somthin'." Engineer just chuckled at that as he warmed up the engine, fixing the mirror that Scout had moved out of place when he'd fiddled with it.

"Who needs kids when I got you ta mess up mah van for me?" It had been the same five years ago; Scout would get bored of pestering the other REDs and wonder on down to Engie's work shop. He'd move things, break things, lose things, hell once he even found an old wrench that Engie had been looking for.

They'd gotten Spy's address from REDs files easily enough with Engie's know-how, but picking a passenger had been more daunting than it should have been. Sniper had mysteriously disappeared from sight after Engie announced that he was looking for someone to accompany him, and although Soldier volunteered Engie mysteriously seemed not to hear him. In the end, Scout had agreed to come after finding out that Boston was where they were going. After an hour's drive though, the old van jolted, croaked and suddenly screeched to a stop.

"Darn it all." Engineer knew the sound of a tire taking a nail when he heard it, and he gave a long dreary sigh.

"Hey no problem, I know how'ta change a dumb tire." Scout jumped out of the van, his dog-tags bouncing off his chest as his feet clapped onto the sandy ground, causing dust clouds to rise.

"Scout, maybe ya'll are better off leavin' that t'me-" But the young man was already kicking at the tire iron with his heel to loosen the nuts, cursing loudly when they didn't budge. Scratching his shaven head, Engie observed the scene for a bit before moving the boy aside.

"Now that ain't gonna do it." He crouched down to remove the nuts with his gloved hand, hoisting the tire off as if it weighed no more than a feather. The shorter, stout man sure was a lot stronger than he looked. Scout watched him work, fascinated, before his natural knack for speaking before thinking kicked in.

"So how come you still wear dat old glove anyways?"

"Jus' go get me the dang spare, boy."

"Fiiine!" After throwing his hands in the air Scout did as he was bid, but when he made to pull the large tire free, his eyes bulged and his teeth clenched. "Jeez, it's, uh, s'a little heavy!"

"S'as light as a box'a hair! Didn't your daddy ever show ya how'ta change a tire?"

"Pfft, he'd needa know how ta do it himself first." He struggled, but slowly managed to bring the tire to Engie's waiting hands. He couldn't imagine how hard his life would have been back in Texas had he needed to call for assistance every time he got flat on the road - especially as a wayward teen in his first pick-up, now those where the days. After demonstrating for his rather easily distracted comrade how to change a tire, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and sighed.

"See? Easy as pie." On the road again, Scout yapped on about various topics, none of which Engineer paid much attention to, at least not until the subject of life in Boston was raised.

"-but I says to dis guy, 'yeah? Well Boston thinks your ma's easy' and bam! Got 'im right in da face."

"Can't imagine your momma approved of that type'a behaviour."

"Nah, she was always wantin' us to be more like the Martins 'cross the block. Bunch'a freaks if ya ask me – the son don't even play baseball." He sounded truly appalled at that.

"An' your daddy?"

"… what about 'im?"

"He condone your beatin' up on the other boys?"

"Are ya kiddin'? If we ever came home cryin' 'bout some punk who'd beat on us, dad would belt the hell outta us an' send us back out to show that we weren't no pushovers." Well that certainly explained a lot. Engie felt a twinge of anger then, the protective side that he'd grown for the youngest on the team growling at the thought of a scrawny, much young Scout being beaten for crying. He swallowed that anger and changed the subject.

"So ya'll only ever lived in Boston?"

"Yeah, s'alright. Doubt it's anythin' like France though; dunno why Spy'd be there." He paused a moment, chewing his lip. "Ya think he already knows 'bout Pyro?"

"What makes ya say that?"

"Well it's the Spy, ain't dat what he does? I mean his old rivals all up in the know how an' everythin'."

"He's a former Spy, son. Jus' like ya'll are a former Scout an' I'm a former Engie. We ain't supposed to be keepin' up with our old ways." Scout snorted contemptibly at him.

"Ya know what I do when someone says I ain't supposed to do somthin'? I do it anyway." The statement was true enough for Scout, but it was clear that his intentions were to speak for his entire team. The Engineer chuckled and nodded in agreement.

. . .

"We're awfully sorry to bother you ma'am, but we're old colleagues of your husband an' I'm afraid we got a bit of bad news for him. Is he home?" Engineer used his warmest smile to greet the woman who'd answered the door. When they'd pulled up outside he'd almost thought they had the wrong address. He never imagined the Spy living in such a working class area. Perhaps Scout was right, maybe the Spy's 'refined tastes' schtick was all for show to throw people off what he was really like outside of work. He'd knocked on the door very unsure of who would answer, but he certainly wasn't expecting a woman. She didn't return his smile, choosing instead to stare between the Texan and his younger companion wearily. Scout himself was looking at his feet, having just been given a thorough warning from Engie about what would happen if he ran his mouth off.

"What sorta bad news?" She opened the door a crack wider, head tilting in curiosity. She had a Bostonian accent and seemed somewhat familiar now that she had taken a step closer. "He in some sorta trouble?" she had a strained tone, as if she were expecting the worst. Realisation dawned on Engie as he analysed her features. He had only seen her in photos – all the REDs had – but this woman was most certainly the BLU Scout's mother.

"No ma'am, no trouble at all. Thing is, one of our former colleagues passed away recently an' we jus' felt it was news best delivered in person, you understand." Spy had been having an affair with her while he worked with RED, though most considered it a cruel jab at her BLU son. Apparently not, if he'd made her his wife. She bobbed her head solemnly in understanding before pushing the door open to permit them entry. When the RED Scout made to pass her, she suddenly stopped him with her hand, her once immaculately painted nails now bitten to bleeding point. He regarded her as she looked up at him, but after a brief moment she turned on her heel and went upstairs without another word.

"I didn't do nothin'!" Scout insisted in a whisper when Engie eyed him before heading into the living room. It was a homely home, the walls were dotted with various photographs of a large family and their many memorable days out, and the fireplace was overloaded with little ornaments and trinkets of personal sentiment. Standing stiffly in the small space, the two ex-REDs began to bicker in hushed voices when Scout realised just who had greeted him at the door.

"Wait, was that…? What the hell man!? Spy's married to that punk's ma? No way, what if he's here? What if he sees us and tells BLU an-"

"Will you be quite? Try to stay calm or-"

"But what if he-"

"Gentlemen," That voice. They turned to see him; standing in the doorway clad in a casual brown suit – maskless – was the former RED Spy. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" His tone was calm but he stared at them suspiciously, his eyes cold.

"S'been a while, huh?" the Engineer stepped forward and cleared his throat "bit of bad news for ya, pardner." he offered his hand, which the Spy shook. "Pyro's dead." He took the information well, as most assumed he would. Spy himself was now in his late forties, though the creases on his face only seemed to make him look wiser, rather than older. His hair was greying in areas but still maintained some of the brown that he'd once hidden beneath his mask. Of all the middle-aged mercenaries he'd definitely been the only one to continue taking good care of his appearance.

"My condolences, labourer, I know that you were very fond of 'im." In typical Spy fashion he brought out a cigarette as he spoke, though he didn't light it as he eyed the pair awkwardly hovering in his living room. "Is that all?" anyone who didn't know him would think him incredibly insensitive, but Spy was simply letting his visitors know how painfully obvious it was that there was something else they had to tell him, and that he wasn't about to take part in small talk until they spat it out.

"No." the Engineer sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, deep lines framing his brow. "Sit down, son. This might take a while."

. . .

Back outside the hotel, Medic sat smoking in the driver's seat of his "rented" van as his large Russian friend sat in the passenger's seat reading a novel in his mother-tongue. The good doctor had garnered an affection for Heavy when he'd realised that there was much more to the giant man than just an unhealthy love for big guns and an insatiable appetite for sandviches. Although his grasp of the English language was crude, causing him to sound somewhat simple minded, lengthy discussions between the two had uncovered an incredibly intelligent side to the Heavy that only Medic really knew about. They talked less now, instead simply enjoying being in familiar company once again. The sun had set almost an hour ago but the night air was still warm and fireflies had slowly begun to assemble outside, slowly dancing and hovering about.

"What do you think Doctor, of this BLU attack?" Medic made a derisive noise, not bothering to take his gaze from the dashboard as he spoke.

"From zhe Engineers story I vouldn't exactly call it an 'attack', it sounded more like zhe spy vas simply trying to get avay."

"Dah. But why? Why be at leetle Pyro's home if not to attack team?"

"I do not think zhat he vas expecting anyone else to be zhere." He rubbed his face and threw the end of his cigarette out the window, suppressing a yawn. Maybe it was just because he'd aged since they'd last saw one another, but the German looked very tired in the dull light of the fireflies.

"Has been long day. I retire for night to greet Engineer and leetle Scouts return tomorrow."

"Ja, sleep vell mein friend." The Heavy nodded good night before exiting the van, which leaned to one side as he climbed out and then rocked noisily with the removal of such a weight. Once Heavy had closed and locked the door to his small hotel room, Medics sleepy demeanour changed to one of alert excitement and he grinned wickedly, climbing through to the back of the van. Seizing the large, metal handle of the freezer he yanked it open and his grin grew devilish as the air around him misted up with smoky frost, which curled around him and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention.

"Now," he shivered "let us see vhat really lay behind zhat mask…"

. . .

"And you are sure of this?"

"As sure as sure can be, me and Sniper saw him with our own eyes, it was the BLU Spah alright." The RED Spy sat in quiet contemplation, one leg crossed neatly over the other as he toyed with his unlit cigarette.

"I see. Then let us find out if BLU really 'as anything to do with this." He made to stand but Scout stopped him.

"Wow, wow, wow. Hold it right there, Frenchie." he turned to the Engineer. "How'd we know we can even trust dis guy anymore? I mean he's married to BLUs ma!"

"Oh, please-"

"Hey don't gimme dat! You've never exactly been in the most trustful "dis-po-sition" have ya? Now outta nowheres, BLUs back an' one of their guys has killed one of ours – an' you're shacked up with another one of theirs' ma? Nuh uh, no way, I don' like it. BLU is upta somethin' an' you're playin' dad to one of 'em!" Spy kept his expression unreadable as he allowed the younger man to vent. The unlit cigarette danced between his fingers as Scout stared at his wedding band as if the ring itself was mocking him.

"And you feel the same way, toymaker?" his eyes cast over Engie, though they didn't convey his thoughts on their situation.

"Mah distrust don't lay with you, Spah, but I can see how the BLU Scout bein' your new son-in-law makes this a … delicate situation. On a more personal level, that is."

"Very well. Then allow me to put your poor minds at ease. I could not possibly rat you out to the BLU Scout, even if I 'ad the desire to do such a thing."

"Oh yeah? An' why's dat?"

"Because the BLU Scout died three months ago." He looked down to stare at his unlit cigarette before slowly putting it back into its case unsmoked. "My wife 'as still not come to terms with it, but 'ow does a mother cope with the loss of her youngest son?" he smiled bitterly, but his eyes remained empty. "Naturally the boy 'ad tried 'is damndest to prevent my marriage to 'is mother at first, but eventually 'e gave 'is blessing - after years of childish protest. Things 'ad just become peaceful around 'ere, when we got that visit from the police…" he broke off, staring into space. It was indeed true that the RED and BLU scouts shared strikingly similar appearances and that both had grown up in the poorer parts of Boston – they'd actually known each other before joining RED and BLU, but not that well. His similar appearance and mannerisms to her dead son must have been what had caught the BLU ma by surprise at the front door, he thought.

"… how?"

"An accident they said, wrong place at the wrong time in a rough part of town." His tone was harsh and it was clear to Engineer that Spy didn't believe that story. His face was a strange mixture of anger, sadness and something else. Guilt?

"We need your help, Spah, something ain't right here."

"You need to find my counterpart, yes?"

"Yeah. But we don't even know where to start, s'the thing."

"Then leave it to me, my friend. I will find you once I 'ave 'is location."

"Don't'cha want our help? Could be dangerous goin' alone."

"Hm. We both know that I work better alone, and besides …" he adjusted his tie "If a crowd of us were to pop in unannounced at an old BLU base then it would certainly alert them."

"What, so we jus' gonna trust him, just like dat?" Scout looked between the Engineer and the Spy with unease. The muscles in his arms were twitching and his teeth, stained yellowish by the boink he always drank, were bared.

"Allow me to earn your trust once again, boy, I shall bring you this information on BLU and you will be grateful that I am bothering to leave my grieving wife to retrieve it." He still didn't like it, but the RED scout nodded nonetheless, looking away.

"Excellent, now go. I will find you when my task is completed." Spy smoothed his hair back absentmindedly, a scar he'd received from the BLU Snipers kukri visibly running across the back of his hand.

As they took their leave, Scout looked over his shoulder at a small framed photograph on a nearby shelf. He'd noticed it on his way in but hadn't been able to look at it properly. The quality of the photo suggested that it was new, and it was the only one that was given its own shelf rather than being hung on the wall with the others. It showed the BLU ma, who looked a lot less gaunt and far more radiant than she had at the door, with her hair dyed so no grey showed. Beside her was Spy, in a smart white shirt with brown braces and his arm around his wives shoulders, they both smiled happily as their heads touched affectionately. Spy's other arm was wrapped around the shoulders of a third person, who in turn had their own arm slung around him. The BLU Scout was beaming a large, cocky smile and had grown a small goatee but other than that, he looked just like his RED counterpart, who couldn't bring himself to look at the family portrait any longer.

. . .

Two nights later…

The battered remains of the old BLU building were so neglected and worn that one would assume it had been abandoned for decades, not just five years. The former RED Spy stared up at its towering mass, his eyes examining every nook and cranny as he mapped it out mentally in his mind, an old habit. There didn't seem to be any signs of life, but that would be a judgment made once he'd got inside. Pulling his old balaclava over his face and swinging his backpack over his shoulder – it was time to see if he'd gotten rusty over the years. With all the grace and stealth of a cat, he prowled up the footpath and picked the large lock that held the iron gates closed to the world. Once he'd glided up to the main door, he pulled a small box-like device from his pack and attached it to the nearby control panel, causing five years worth of dust to fall from it in a thick, chalky cloud. This was the part that very few others knew how to deal with.

Beep. Access granted.

It took longer than he'd have preferred, but he sapped the large entrance doors unlocked and snuck inside. The interior of the old base was grimy and smelled strongly of musk; it was safe to say that nobody had been here since the day of disbandment. Finding his way to the surveillance room, Spy pulled out several more gadgets from his pack and inserted line after line of computer code (which he had acquired from an old contact who owed him a 'favour') He successfully hacked into the BLUs terminal. Attaching a device that looked like a smaller version of his sentry sapper, Spy brought up a hidden window that required voice recognition to open its files. Activating his old disguise kit, he transformed into his former bosses pretty young secretary.

"Access requested."

Identification required.

"Voice verification – Pauling."

Voice verification confirmed. Access granted. Welcome, Miss Pauling.

With entry into BLUs private files, Spy dropped the disguise and began to search for the data collected on individual BLU mercenaries, which was stored for "emergencies". When he located the right files, he opened the one on his counterpart.

BLU data file 003379 – Spy

Surname: Arsenault

First Names: François

Nationalities: French citizen

Place of Birth: Angers, France

Employment: 06-06-1968 – 01-08-1973

R. : 270191

"R.I number 270191 …" The Spy punched the six digits into his silver "cigarette" case and saved the information before locking the computer down. He knew many decades would come to pass before the rest of the world could grasp technology this advanced. Although he would have loved to snake through all of the BLUs files to satisfy his ever present curiosity, he was well aware that all of BLUs (and REDs) terminals were linked up to a super computer that alerted whoever ran the whole thing of any activities that persisted, and that opening too many files would trigger suspicion. After all, the R.I number was all he needed. It was a scary thought, that to find a former mercenary of either RED or BLU one simply needed six simple digits. He placed all of his trinkets back into his backpack and crept silently back out of the room, smirking devilishly as he ghosted over the tiles. From the corner of the room, a tiny camera watched him leave.

. . .

"Pope's deed."

"Huh?" Sniper glanced up at Demoman, who was reading the cover of the morning's newspaper and swigging from his trusty scrumpy bottle. Judging by his glazed over eye, he was halfway to hammered already.

"Pope Paul VI dies at 80" he read the mornings headline out loud before offering his Australian friend a swig from his bottle. Sniper held up his hand in polite decline.

"S'eight O'clock in the mornin'." He knew the time didn't matter to the Scot but nonetheless lifted an eyebrow to shoot him a look over the rim of his aviators. Demoman ignored the comment and the look, as Sniper knew he would, holding up his scrumpy in a toast.

"God rest yer soul, Paul!" He swigged, staggering back a bit as he did so.

"You ain't even religious." Again the comment was ignored as Demoman slumped down next to Sniper, bumping him a little and continuing to read his paper, rocking slightly. The sharpshooting Australian suddenly recalled an incident seven years ago when he and Demo, along with Soldier and Medic, had been playing cards. Everyone thought Soldier was a crazy bastard – which was true – but he was also quite the poker buff. Only Demo had known of his skill at cards, and he'd already folded. It was just Soldier and Medic, who was on a winning streak, left in the game.

"I'm calling your ten," Medic had grinned "Vhat have you got?" Soldier had pouted and huffed, and then laid down his cards face up.

"Full house, Fritz."

"Holy dooly!" Sniper had been genuinely flabbergasted.

"Vas zum teifel!?" Medic dropped his cards and stared at Soldiers.

"That is how we play cards in America, son!" Soldier had leaned back in his chair and lit himself a cigar, having rendered his three card buddies speechless. Medic had been so angry that the vein in his head was seen visibly throbbing and he reddened like a tomato. The fact that Demo and Sniper couldn't stop laughing at his expense certainly didn't help. He chuckled at the memory, though it was just one of many poker nights they'd shared. When he'd first met Soldier and Medic, he honestly never imagined himself drinking and playing cards with them, let alone counting them among his friends. Not only where they both mad, but Soldier thought Australia was a city in England and Medic introduced himself by asking for a blood and urine sample. Look at us now, he thought.

"Hey Demo, where is the Doc anyways? S'unlike 'im not bein' the first one up." He turned to his drunk friend, who'd now discarded his paper in favour of staring up at the clearing sky.

"Dunno lad, no seen 'im either."

"Well aren't you two up early?" Engineer approached them, his own morning newspaper tucked under his arm, cup of coffee in his gloved hand. He wore a hat similar to Snipers, though it was far less beaten up. The Australian may have gotten a new house and van, but he refused to part with that damn hat. "Any sign of Spah yet?"

"Nah, not yet. Y'sure he'll come?"

"I know it's suspicious, what with him bein' married to the BLU Scouts momma an' all, but if the boys dead then it's not like he can find out about any of this."

"An' he didn't say how the ankle-biter went?"

"Nah, sounded like it happened in a street fight though." The three men were quiet for a moment, considering that scenario. The BLU Scout, much like their own, was young and skinny but the boy knew how to take care of himself. A rough life with seven, equally aggressive older brothers will ensure that. He was a mercenary, and always first onto the battlefield due to his superior speed and agility. Enemy or not, for the kid to die before hitting thirty was sad, but to be taken out by common thugs? That was downright tragic.

It was nearly noon when Spy finally arrived and although a few of the former REDs had expressed unease at his chosen wife, they still greeted him as they would an old friend. He was exactly that, after all. Heavy wrapped him in a bear hug, which the much slimmer mans spine took surprisingly well.

"So did ya find our man?" Engineer asked, peering out from under the brim of his white hat. Spy patted Heavy's shoulder endearingly before smoothing down his trademark suit.

"But of course, and I think you'll be pleased to know that 'e's not very far." He grinned from ear to ear. "We'll have 'im by nightfall."

. . .

Well, this chapter turned out longer than I had intended, but I have so many little memories and scenarios I want to add in, while at the same time wanting to progress the main plot … anyway, thanks again to everyone reading! The stories about to pick up so I hope ya'll stick aroun' for a bit! - Des