fic: Contract Contact
Aug. 31st, 2015 03:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Contract Contact
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1804
Author's note: Speaking of which, Star_'s contract video didn't inspire it, but it sure helped it along.
Scout had taken to keeping his headset on and sneaking it out of base to his bunk, just in case. Technically this was the kind of thing that got people killed around here, but it wasn't like he was stealing briefcases. Now that would give him a one-way ticket to shallow grave city.
He never knew when Miss Pauling might ask him to do some midnight contract. She might just suddenly need him at any second, and then he would be ready. He'd even started setting out a clean pair of clothes so he could slip in as fast as he could manage without pants ending up on his head again.
He'd even started to make his calls home by payphone, so he could keep his headset open. Sure it was racking up the bills, but he wasn't about to have Miss Pauling send a contract off to some other sub-par mercenary.
Nothing got his heart racing like hearing that phone ring. Not ghosts, or wizards, the latest Sox season, or even other girls. It was like a drug, a shot of Bonk straight into his veins. He'd practice in his head what to say while he was taking his morning and nightly practice runs, and even before he went to sleep. He saved all his wittiest lines, and all the great stories about how he was mentoring the guys to be just as cool as he was. So far, it wasn't working, but he'd make cool men out of them yet.
Everything he'd tried so far came out jittery, a flop, and not the dynamic and dramatic lines that would fit in his favorite movies. The kind the spy hero said just before they had to go punch baddies in some windswept masterpiece.
Since he'd stopped going to town to try and scope the bars and occasional chicken joints for chicks, he had plenty of free time. He spent most of it going straight to the mirror and practicing his greeting game. Any shiny surface worked well, from walls to doors, and once even Medic's glasses, at least until Medic came back and tried to disembowel him for touching his stuff.
He had only seconds to be the most memorable, amazing man she had ever met, and make her so utterly charmed that she demanded he go out with her tonight, and then every night after that, because he was so awesome that she couldn't deal.
Of course, he had a head up on the other guys, given that he was already real handsome, funny and had tons of muscles. But even something this good took practice, and even he admitted that a girl like Miss Pauling was out of his league, but not for long.
*
"Call me, Miss Pauling," he said, testing the words out on his tongue. Sometimes he just said her name to hear the way it sounded, and taste the syllables in his mouth. It was the closest thing he'd gotten to kissing her.
"Call me, Miss Pauling?" This time he sounded too desperate and shaky, like some junkie looking for a fix.
"Call me---"
He was cut off by the actual sound of his headset ringing. He fumbled for the button, his hands shaking with a jittery sort of peak excitement.
"Scout? It's Pauling."
"Yeah―Yeah, Miss Pauling!" He laughed, simply from the giddy feeling of hearing her voice . "I am one hundred percent here. I'm your man."
"Uh-huh, that's nice. I've got a job for you," she said.
And not for the first time, he was just struck silent. She'd said what he'd said was nice, and he'd just said he was her man. He leapt up, barely able to contain his vocal excitement.
"Y-yeah, I got it," Scout said. He cleared his throat, and pushed on. "I mean, you can always count on me, Miss Pauling! You'll have that pile of bodies with a bow on it before noon!"
"Good, I'm counting on you, Scout."
As the phone cut off, Scout let out a whoop.
*
He'd ditched his team a bit, because his stack of bodies was awful high, as well as three captured points. He figured they could manage to take one point without him carrying them. Of course, this was the guys here; he had to lecture them on everything, then dodge the bullets when they were ungrateful enough to get angry at his helpful advice.
Being incredible was tough sometimes, but he took it like a champ.
He wasn't about to have Miss Pauling's cute voice drowned out by screams and gunfire again. He still had it out for that BLU Sniper who picked him off just as Miss Pauling called him.
"Miss Pauling! Hello! Hi! Howareyoudoing---todayisgreatandsoareyou--"
She paused on the other line. For a second he had the panicky feeling that the phone had broken off. "Miss Paulng, you there?"
"I can't understand a thing you just said," she said.
"Well, that's all right, I'll just repeat it all--"
"That's not necessary. Anyways... Contract completed. I'll have the payment shipped to you shortly." He heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone, and the sound of something being opened. "Oh, this one's a beauty. If you don't want it, Iwill take it," she said.
He could die happy if she looked at him even half as fondly as she looked on guns. Maybe if he went like Engineer, and turned body parts into guns---but he liked his body too much to mangle it, even if he could fire by flexing.
"Go ahead. I mean, I already got guns, two of 'em, in fact," Scout said. He patted his bicep.
"You're flexing, aren't you? You do know that I can't see over the phone, right?"
"I just figured you had heat-ray vision, like Supergirl, because it's obvious you're a superhero. No other way you could save our asses over and over again."
"No superpowers here, though being able to effortlessly lift a truck would come in handy, I bet,"she said.
He lost his train of thought just at that, like hopping straight off the tracks. He'd about perfected the cape and outfit she'd wear, with a giant P logo on her chest. Was it for Pauling, or Perfect?
Obviously the answer was both.
"Anyways, you certainly do have enough guns. I've been tripping over your Force-A-Natures wherever I go," she said.
"You noticed?" Scout said.
"It's hard to not when they're falling out of every closet, beneath my desk, and I'm running over them," she said dryly.
"Yeah," Scout said, and chuckled.
A shame the gun chair had been stolen. All he had to do was get a decent cushion and that would've been the best, most original gift he could've given her. As a bonus, she could've even killed someone with it, if she wanted.
"So, you got anymore contracts for me, Miss Pauling? You know I'll get them done fast and clean. Just like me. In fact, I'm extra fast and extra clean, because I already took a shower, and I'm goin' to take another one. Another three ones, because I'll smell just that great."
"Uh... huh. You know I can't prioritize someone," she said.
"---But, you could have whatever I got. I mean, just talkin' to you is payment enough. Way more special than any old gun."
She cleared her throat. "That technically counts as bribery, you know."
"No, it--"
She continued on, with a brightness and enthusiasm he usually didn't hear from her. At least not towards him. "I'm impressed. You've never tried to bribe me before. Apparently you're showing more initiative. Though you should be careful who you try and bribe and blackmail. If you try the latter, you just might get higher up on my to-kill list," she said.
There was this lilt in her voice that he could swear was flirting. And he knew flirting, it was like a second language to him.
"Impressed? Really? I mean, of course you're impressed, but―it ain't a bribe. It's a gift. You do so much for us all, cleanin' up and stuff...you deserve a little somethin' too. So, yeah, I'll do whatever you want, but you can just keep that gun close. Or guns, I should say, because I do these contracts so well, why'd you even wanna give one to some other guy who will take all day, and then take the gun like some selfish douchebag?"
He heard rustling on the other side. Scout checked behind him. He could never be too sure on the battlefield, and if he got picked off while she was talking, that was it. She wasn't about to call him right back, or wait on the line until he came out of Respawn.
"Hmmm... Really? You'd, let me have them?"
"All of 'em. Every single one. Hell, I'd buy you more guns if I found some more nice ones, you know," he said.
"More guns?" She said, with just a shiver worthy lilt of excitement in her voice. "Then perhaps we could do something off the record."
"Yeah, off the record sounds great. Nice and private and secret...I love secrets, especially with you," he said.
"I'll be in touch," Miss Pauling said. The phone call abruptly stopped, before he could yell out stupid things like she smelled like spring, that just a hint of her voice made his whole week, that she made him think about old magazine ads of people smiling and in white lace.
"Does it count as a date if I technically didn't get a chance to ask her, but I gave her stuff, and maybe we flirted? Wait, no maybes, that was totallly flirtin', I'd know."
He pulled out a slightly cracked magic 8-ball, and gave it a good shake.
Answer hazy, ask again later.
"Figures," he said.
He put the 8-ball, which was definitely worse for the wear, back in his bag. He had to go teach some chucklenuts a lesson, with a gun through their skull. If he had enough time, he'd even bash a few heads in, just for Miss Pauling.
She'd be watching, and he'd be extra dashing, just for her. Sure, doing that threatened the universe imploding from just how handsome he was, but for Miss Pauling, he'd risk the world.
It wasn't roses, but it sure as hell made her happy. Then again, if he could make roses out of guns, it might be even better than a chair made of guns.
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1804
Author's note: Speaking of which, Star_'s contract video didn't inspire it, but it sure helped it along.
Scout had taken to keeping his headset on and sneaking it out of base to his bunk, just in case. Technically this was the kind of thing that got people killed around here, but it wasn't like he was stealing briefcases. Now that would give him a one-way ticket to shallow grave city.
He never knew when Miss Pauling might ask him to do some midnight contract. She might just suddenly need him at any second, and then he would be ready. He'd even started setting out a clean pair of clothes so he could slip in as fast as he could manage without pants ending up on his head again.
He'd even started to make his calls home by payphone, so he could keep his headset open. Sure it was racking up the bills, but he wasn't about to have Miss Pauling send a contract off to some other sub-par mercenary.
Nothing got his heart racing like hearing that phone ring. Not ghosts, or wizards, the latest Sox season, or even other girls. It was like a drug, a shot of Bonk straight into his veins. He'd practice in his head what to say while he was taking his morning and nightly practice runs, and even before he went to sleep. He saved all his wittiest lines, and all the great stories about how he was mentoring the guys to be just as cool as he was. So far, it wasn't working, but he'd make cool men out of them yet.
Everything he'd tried so far came out jittery, a flop, and not the dynamic and dramatic lines that would fit in his favorite movies. The kind the spy hero said just before they had to go punch baddies in some windswept masterpiece.
Since he'd stopped going to town to try and scope the bars and occasional chicken joints for chicks, he had plenty of free time. He spent most of it going straight to the mirror and practicing his greeting game. Any shiny surface worked well, from walls to doors, and once even Medic's glasses, at least until Medic came back and tried to disembowel him for touching his stuff.
He had only seconds to be the most memorable, amazing man she had ever met, and make her so utterly charmed that she demanded he go out with her tonight, and then every night after that, because he was so awesome that she couldn't deal.
Of course, he had a head up on the other guys, given that he was already real handsome, funny and had tons of muscles. But even something this good took practice, and even he admitted that a girl like Miss Pauling was out of his league, but not for long.
*
"Call me, Miss Pauling," he said, testing the words out on his tongue. Sometimes he just said her name to hear the way it sounded, and taste the syllables in his mouth. It was the closest thing he'd gotten to kissing her.
"Call me, Miss Pauling?" This time he sounded too desperate and shaky, like some junkie looking for a fix.
"Call me---"
He was cut off by the actual sound of his headset ringing. He fumbled for the button, his hands shaking with a jittery sort of peak excitement.
"Scout? It's Pauling."
"Yeah―Yeah, Miss Pauling!" He laughed, simply from the giddy feeling of hearing her voice . "I am one hundred percent here. I'm your man."
"Uh-huh, that's nice. I've got a job for you," she said.
And not for the first time, he was just struck silent. She'd said what he'd said was nice, and he'd just said he was her man. He leapt up, barely able to contain his vocal excitement.
"Y-yeah, I got it," Scout said. He cleared his throat, and pushed on. "I mean, you can always count on me, Miss Pauling! You'll have that pile of bodies with a bow on it before noon!"
"Good, I'm counting on you, Scout."
As the phone cut off, Scout let out a whoop.
*
He'd ditched his team a bit, because his stack of bodies was awful high, as well as three captured points. He figured they could manage to take one point without him carrying them. Of course, this was the guys here; he had to lecture them on everything, then dodge the bullets when they were ungrateful enough to get angry at his helpful advice.
Being incredible was tough sometimes, but he took it like a champ.
He wasn't about to have Miss Pauling's cute voice drowned out by screams and gunfire again. He still had it out for that BLU Sniper who picked him off just as Miss Pauling called him.
"Miss Pauling! Hello! Hi! Howareyoudoing---todayisgreatandsoareyou--"
She paused on the other line. For a second he had the panicky feeling that the phone had broken off. "Miss Paulng, you there?"
"I can't understand a thing you just said," she said.
"Well, that's all right, I'll just repeat it all--"
"That's not necessary. Anyways... Contract completed. I'll have the payment shipped to you shortly." He heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone, and the sound of something being opened. "Oh, this one's a beauty. If you don't want it, Iwill take it," she said.
He could die happy if she looked at him even half as fondly as she looked on guns. Maybe if he went like Engineer, and turned body parts into guns---but he liked his body too much to mangle it, even if he could fire by flexing.
"Go ahead. I mean, I already got guns, two of 'em, in fact," Scout said. He patted his bicep.
"You're flexing, aren't you? You do know that I can't see over the phone, right?"
"I just figured you had heat-ray vision, like Supergirl, because it's obvious you're a superhero. No other way you could save our asses over and over again."
"No superpowers here, though being able to effortlessly lift a truck would come in handy, I bet,"she said.
He lost his train of thought just at that, like hopping straight off the tracks. He'd about perfected the cape and outfit she'd wear, with a giant P logo on her chest. Was it for Pauling, or Perfect?
Obviously the answer was both.
"Anyways, you certainly do have enough guns. I've been tripping over your Force-A-Natures wherever I go," she said.
"You noticed?" Scout said.
"It's hard to not when they're falling out of every closet, beneath my desk, and I'm running over them," she said dryly.
"Yeah," Scout said, and chuckled.
A shame the gun chair had been stolen. All he had to do was get a decent cushion and that would've been the best, most original gift he could've given her. As a bonus, she could've even killed someone with it, if she wanted.
"So, you got anymore contracts for me, Miss Pauling? You know I'll get them done fast and clean. Just like me. In fact, I'm extra fast and extra clean, because I already took a shower, and I'm goin' to take another one. Another three ones, because I'll smell just that great."
"Uh... huh. You know I can't prioritize someone," she said.
"---But, you could have whatever I got. I mean, just talkin' to you is payment enough. Way more special than any old gun."
She cleared her throat. "That technically counts as bribery, you know."
"No, it--"
She continued on, with a brightness and enthusiasm he usually didn't hear from her. At least not towards him. "I'm impressed. You've never tried to bribe me before. Apparently you're showing more initiative. Though you should be careful who you try and bribe and blackmail. If you try the latter, you just might get higher up on my to-kill list," she said.
There was this lilt in her voice that he could swear was flirting. And he knew flirting, it was like a second language to him.
"Impressed? Really? I mean, of course you're impressed, but―it ain't a bribe. It's a gift. You do so much for us all, cleanin' up and stuff...you deserve a little somethin' too. So, yeah, I'll do whatever you want, but you can just keep that gun close. Or guns, I should say, because I do these contracts so well, why'd you even wanna give one to some other guy who will take all day, and then take the gun like some selfish douchebag?"
He heard rustling on the other side. Scout checked behind him. He could never be too sure on the battlefield, and if he got picked off while she was talking, that was it. She wasn't about to call him right back, or wait on the line until he came out of Respawn.
"Hmmm... Really? You'd, let me have them?"
"All of 'em. Every single one. Hell, I'd buy you more guns if I found some more nice ones, you know," he said.
"More guns?" She said, with just a shiver worthy lilt of excitement in her voice. "Then perhaps we could do something off the record."
"Yeah, off the record sounds great. Nice and private and secret...I love secrets, especially with you," he said.
"I'll be in touch," Miss Pauling said. The phone call abruptly stopped, before he could yell out stupid things like she smelled like spring, that just a hint of her voice made his whole week, that she made him think about old magazine ads of people smiling and in white lace.
"Does it count as a date if I technically didn't get a chance to ask her, but I gave her stuff, and maybe we flirted? Wait, no maybes, that was totallly flirtin', I'd know."
He pulled out a slightly cracked magic 8-ball, and gave it a good shake.
Answer hazy, ask again later.
"Figures," he said.
He put the 8-ball, which was definitely worse for the wear, back in his bag. He had to go teach some chucklenuts a lesson, with a gun through their skull. If he had enough time, he'd even bash a few heads in, just for Miss Pauling.
She'd be watching, and he'd be extra dashing, just for her. Sure, doing that threatened the universe imploding from just how handsome he was, but for Miss Pauling, he'd risk the world.
It wasn't roses, but it sure as hell made her happy. Then again, if he could make roses out of guns, it might be even better than a chair made of guns.
