![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Need
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1962
Summary: Scout's trying to mix guns and romance, with varying results. (Or: why Miss Pauling kept running into Force-A-Natures in The Contract.)
Author's note:
Her passenger's seat on the truck was filled for the next few weeks. She'd had to multitask, putting her listening and body burying together. It made the jobs go faster. Every so often, she'd find herself laughing at some quip he'd made on her answering machine, even through the grimmest work, she'd find a little awful pun or joke he'd made, and the day would be less wearying, less hard. Soon other tapes joined it as she failed to destroy them as well, looking for evidence to compare against his accidental confession.
Hearing more of him only made everything become clearer. His sudden stuttering towards her, the awkwardness and how he hadn't gone outside the base on his usual flirting runs for almost an entire year.
She'd known he'd been fixated on her for a while, but he was a skirtchaser who hit on anyone female and breathing, and occasionally females who weren't after a drunken trip to a wax doll factory. She hadn't connected his sudden lack of composure with anything; after all, some of his first words towards her was asking if she'd seen him without his shirt.
She'd listened to his accidental confession several times to try and see if this was some ploy, or she could hear a trace of snorting laughter at the end, in case Spy had taken to going that far in teasing his teammates and her. But each time all she heard was everything she assumed Scout wasn't.
She listened more carefully when he called, sometimes she even dared a little bit of small-talk within the guidelines of the handbook.
And each time she found herself softening until all hard edges smoothed towards him. Everything that had once seemed incorrigible about him came into focus. He'd worn a mask as much as Spy had.
*
"Scout, I need you," she said. Only after she'd said it did she realize what she'd said, or to be more exact, how she'd phrased it. "I-I-I mean...for.. for this." There was several seconds as she mentally berated her slip. Even someone as clueless to the atmosphere as Scout would get that.
"...What I meant to say, is are you free? I have something for you."
She put the phone down and busied herself with paperwork she couldn't focus on. Seconds later, the door burst open with such a noise that she jerked in surprise, her hand reaching for the gun at her hip.
"Miss Pauling, I heard you needed me," Scout said.
If someone had timed Scout's trip there, he probably would've broken world records. In fact, she was surprised that there wasn't a trail of flames in his wake.
"I didn't expect you yet---"
"Expect the impossible when it comes to me!" Scout said. He lifted up his arm in a victory gesture, or perhaps a way to show off his biceps. With him there was no telling.
"Ahem, yes, actually, I have something for you." She held up the case for him to see. "Don't tell the other guys I gave you this."
"But, they're yours, we had that talk--" Scout said.
"Oh, I've kept several, and they're absolute beauties. Do you want to see?"
"Of course I want to see, I always wanna see," Scout said. He leaned in, his hand splayed across her desk for support. He was coming perilously close to overturning her pencil holder.
He let out a low whistle as she held up a Black Dahlia pistol, painted varying shades of black, with lighter triangles.
"That is one beautiful gun, though, fits. Someone like you should have beautiful gun, you know?"
"You should open yours," she said.
He slipped the key in and parted the case. He lifted up the factory new model Night Terror with a sense of awe. She'd had much of the same reaction upon seeing that gun in particular, with its dark artistic patterns of black and gray like storm clouds.
"It's like havin' a gun which is literally Batman, except I'm not carryin' around a dude, just his cool as hell gear."
He held up the painted gun, and struck a pose. "I am the night---!" Hey, I could do this. He grinned wide, and hoisted the gun over his shoulder.
"Wow, are you sure I can have this? It's gorgeous," he said.
"It's the type of gun you use. I've used shotguns before, but usually prefer something smaller, and easily concealed," she said. "And I thought you might like it." She said the second more softly, her gaze averted for a moment. He hadn't caught on, too awestruck by the guns. A boy after her own heart.
"True, true―Though, hey, I could teach you if you want. The kickback ain't so back once you get used to it. A little one on one down near the training grounds. Just you and me, and some guns. Nice way to spend a night. Maybe even grab some dinner on the way back―Hey, wait a minute. This gun's a lot like mine! So, we'd match? Matchin' guns and all, like some dread duo of disaster―hey, that could be our catch phrase, not that I've been thinkin' about what kind of catch phrases we'd have if we ever, say, became superheroes together."
That was a rather specific denial. Then again, Scout never was good at keeping secrets of any kind. She figured the question wasn't if but how many notebooks are filled with practice quotes and tiny drawings of him and her holding hands?
She guessed probably at least twenty.
She plucked up her pen and twisted it in her fingers. For all the state of the art equipment, the Administrator sure skimped on office supplies.
"Aren't we more the type to be villains?" she said.
"Maybe we'd be like, those ones that become heroes sometimes, but are mostly villains. The morally gray ones, they're more fun than the fancy-pants goody-two shoes," Scout said.
"I'm sure I can fit in saving the world into my busy schedule. It'll just have to go after the two-o-clock massacre," she said.
"So, if I help bury the bodies, we could save kittens or somethin'. Great way to spend a weekend."
"Think more along the line of five minutes. That's closer to what I can fit in," she said.
"Miss Pauling, this is me we're talkin' about. We'll have minutes to spare. All the minutes to spare, enough minutes for ice cream."
"In this heat?" she said.
"I'll run so fast, it won't even drip on my fingers. That's a promise, in fact, I'll go get some right now and prove ---" Scout said.
"Scout vs the New Mexico sun. Now there's a battle for the ages," she said.
"Damn right. I'll fight the sun, he ain't got anythin' on me. I'll go punch out that bastard!"
She chuckled, and shook her head. "If you're that eager for a fight, I'll have a contract prepared for you soon."
"All right, but you keep the gun this time. Though if you really wanna give me somethin', just wait to open it until I'm around. That's all I ask," he said, his voice growing soft in the way that sounded just as he had in those tapes. The raw, stripped bare version of him without the posturing and bad pick up lines.
The side she had grown fond of, despite herself.
"I'll be sure to call you," she said.
*
It was just after the afternoon match that he got the ring. He nearly tipped over, fumbling for the button on his headset. "Scout, It's Pauling. This isn't work, it's a social call," she said.
It took his brain a few seconds to realize for the first time, it wasn't the other way around. He wasn't going to hear a dial tone after some quick instructions.
"Does it involve guns?" He said.
"When doesn't it?" she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Miss Pauling, can you open your window? I'll be there."
Every hero had their bat signals, and his was an incredible girl in really cute glasses telling him she needed him around.
Being on the second level had its advantages,that was for damn sure.
He took a running start and leapt out that window, hurtling through the air. A few more milimeters and he would've been falling straight back to Respawn, but he caught the side of one of the two powerlines the criss-crossed through the buildings and swung himself up.
He was glad for his wraps as he slid down, rushing ever faster towards the window. He just barely caught the ledge and pulled himself up onto the narrow brickwork. At least this base had hand holds he could work with; most of them were pure wood or steel, and he would've slid right off.
Scout was one misstep away from being pieces splattered across the concrete. He caught sight of the ground below in his side vision, blurred out and dizzyingly far. He was still two windows away from her office. Just a few steps more. He forced himself on past the sudden lurching fear, and grabbed at the other window ledge, and the next, until he could see her drab place, lined with cases.
With a smirk, he leaned back enough to catch the second powerline, and ride it all the way through. He crashed into her office, papers flying everywhere in his wake. Scout barely caught himself, teetering back as he landed on her desk. He took a bow, because this kind of stuff belonged in the comics, the circus, or both.
What could he say? He made this crap look easy.
"I told you I'd show you a good time, now how about that? Bam! I bet I totally broke the record. All of them, in fact. I bet I broke all the records."
She checked her watch. "Thirty seconds? That's even better than last time, and I think you broke the speed of sound that time," she said.
"I told you I'd show you a good time. I bet you I could beat that, and not even break a sweat. Then, I could show you an even better time."
"Scout, off my desk," she said.
He chuckled, and hopped off, just barely missing the pencil holder.
"Here, I'll get 'em, no need to throw me out the window."
"You'd just hop back in," she said.
"Damn straight I would. So, not related to work, huh?" Scout said.
"You said you wanted to watch me open up the cases, and I've got about five more seconds left of lunch," she said. "Though it looks like I will be reordering papers the rest of the afternoon."
Scout came up holding a pile of papers to his chest. "Got 'em. Really? You remembered?"
"We had this conversation yesterday, it'd be pretty hard to forget," she said.
"Still," Scout said, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He dumped the pile of papers haphazardly on her desk, and tried to put it in some sort of order.
"She brought up one of the cases to her lap. Her pantyhose had several runs and bloodstains that looked like they were from a handprint on her ankle.
"You been fightin' zombies, Miss P?"
"Oh, that. My aim was a little off today, but I got him in the second shot," she said.
"Hey, good shot. I bet you totally blew his brains out," he said.
"Oh, they went everywhere. Brains tend to do that," she said.
"Now you really sound like a zombie," he said.
She laughed, and opened up the case. Her face lit up with such utter joy, and it was all because of him. Well, technically she stole the guns, and Saxton Hale made them, but that was just minor details in the long run. He rested on the back of her chair and took in these seconds of pure happiness. He hadn't ever seen Miss Pauling smile like that, but he intended to make sure she grinned a lot more, no matter how many people he had to kill to make it happen.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1962
Summary: Scout's trying to mix guns and romance, with varying results. (Or: why Miss Pauling kept running into Force-A-Natures in The Contract.)
Author's note:
Her passenger's seat on the truck was filled for the next few weeks. She'd had to multitask, putting her listening and body burying together. It made the jobs go faster. Every so often, she'd find herself laughing at some quip he'd made on her answering machine, even through the grimmest work, she'd find a little awful pun or joke he'd made, and the day would be less wearying, less hard. Soon other tapes joined it as she failed to destroy them as well, looking for evidence to compare against his accidental confession.
Hearing more of him only made everything become clearer. His sudden stuttering towards her, the awkwardness and how he hadn't gone outside the base on his usual flirting runs for almost an entire year.
She'd known he'd been fixated on her for a while, but he was a skirtchaser who hit on anyone female and breathing, and occasionally females who weren't after a drunken trip to a wax doll factory. She hadn't connected his sudden lack of composure with anything; after all, some of his first words towards her was asking if she'd seen him without his shirt.
She'd listened to his accidental confession several times to try and see if this was some ploy, or she could hear a trace of snorting laughter at the end, in case Spy had taken to going that far in teasing his teammates and her. But each time all she heard was everything she assumed Scout wasn't.
She listened more carefully when he called, sometimes she even dared a little bit of small-talk within the guidelines of the handbook.
And each time she found herself softening until all hard edges smoothed towards him. Everything that had once seemed incorrigible about him came into focus. He'd worn a mask as much as Spy had.
*
"Scout, I need you," she said. Only after she'd said it did she realize what she'd said, or to be more exact, how she'd phrased it. "I-I-I mean...for.. for this." There was several seconds as she mentally berated her slip. Even someone as clueless to the atmosphere as Scout would get that.
"...What I meant to say, is are you free? I have something for you."
She put the phone down and busied herself with paperwork she couldn't focus on. Seconds later, the door burst open with such a noise that she jerked in surprise, her hand reaching for the gun at her hip.
"Miss Pauling, I heard you needed me," Scout said.
If someone had timed Scout's trip there, he probably would've broken world records. In fact, she was surprised that there wasn't a trail of flames in his wake.
"I didn't expect you yet---"
"Expect the impossible when it comes to me!" Scout said. He lifted up his arm in a victory gesture, or perhaps a way to show off his biceps. With him there was no telling.
"Ahem, yes, actually, I have something for you." She held up the case for him to see. "Don't tell the other guys I gave you this."
"But, they're yours, we had that talk--" Scout said.
"Oh, I've kept several, and they're absolute beauties. Do you want to see?"
"Of course I want to see, I always wanna see," Scout said. He leaned in, his hand splayed across her desk for support. He was coming perilously close to overturning her pencil holder.
He let out a low whistle as she held up a Black Dahlia pistol, painted varying shades of black, with lighter triangles.
"That is one beautiful gun, though, fits. Someone like you should have beautiful gun, you know?"
"You should open yours," she said.
He slipped the key in and parted the case. He lifted up the factory new model Night Terror with a sense of awe. She'd had much of the same reaction upon seeing that gun in particular, with its dark artistic patterns of black and gray like storm clouds.
"It's like havin' a gun which is literally Batman, except I'm not carryin' around a dude, just his cool as hell gear."
He held up the painted gun, and struck a pose. "I am the night---!" Hey, I could do this. He grinned wide, and hoisted the gun over his shoulder.
"Wow, are you sure I can have this? It's gorgeous," he said.
"It's the type of gun you use. I've used shotguns before, but usually prefer something smaller, and easily concealed," she said. "And I thought you might like it." She said the second more softly, her gaze averted for a moment. He hadn't caught on, too awestruck by the guns. A boy after her own heart.
"True, true―Though, hey, I could teach you if you want. The kickback ain't so back once you get used to it. A little one on one down near the training grounds. Just you and me, and some guns. Nice way to spend a night. Maybe even grab some dinner on the way back―Hey, wait a minute. This gun's a lot like mine! So, we'd match? Matchin' guns and all, like some dread duo of disaster―hey, that could be our catch phrase, not that I've been thinkin' about what kind of catch phrases we'd have if we ever, say, became superheroes together."
That was a rather specific denial. Then again, Scout never was good at keeping secrets of any kind. She figured the question wasn't if but how many notebooks are filled with practice quotes and tiny drawings of him and her holding hands?
She guessed probably at least twenty.
She plucked up her pen and twisted it in her fingers. For all the state of the art equipment, the Administrator sure skimped on office supplies.
"Aren't we more the type to be villains?" she said.
"Maybe we'd be like, those ones that become heroes sometimes, but are mostly villains. The morally gray ones, they're more fun than the fancy-pants goody-two shoes," Scout said.
"I'm sure I can fit in saving the world into my busy schedule. It'll just have to go after the two-o-clock massacre," she said.
"So, if I help bury the bodies, we could save kittens or somethin'. Great way to spend a weekend."
"Think more along the line of five minutes. That's closer to what I can fit in," she said.
"Miss Pauling, this is me we're talkin' about. We'll have minutes to spare. All the minutes to spare, enough minutes for ice cream."
"In this heat?" she said.
"I'll run so fast, it won't even drip on my fingers. That's a promise, in fact, I'll go get some right now and prove ---" Scout said.
"Scout vs the New Mexico sun. Now there's a battle for the ages," she said.
"Damn right. I'll fight the sun, he ain't got anythin' on me. I'll go punch out that bastard!"
She chuckled, and shook her head. "If you're that eager for a fight, I'll have a contract prepared for you soon."
"All right, but you keep the gun this time. Though if you really wanna give me somethin', just wait to open it until I'm around. That's all I ask," he said, his voice growing soft in the way that sounded just as he had in those tapes. The raw, stripped bare version of him without the posturing and bad pick up lines.
The side she had grown fond of, despite herself.
"I'll be sure to call you," she said.
*
It was just after the afternoon match that he got the ring. He nearly tipped over, fumbling for the button on his headset. "Scout, It's Pauling. This isn't work, it's a social call," she said.
It took his brain a few seconds to realize for the first time, it wasn't the other way around. He wasn't going to hear a dial tone after some quick instructions.
"Does it involve guns?" He said.
"When doesn't it?" she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Miss Pauling, can you open your window? I'll be there."
Every hero had their bat signals, and his was an incredible girl in really cute glasses telling him she needed him around.
Being on the second level had its advantages,that was for damn sure.
He took a running start and leapt out that window, hurtling through the air. A few more milimeters and he would've been falling straight back to Respawn, but he caught the side of one of the two powerlines the criss-crossed through the buildings and swung himself up.
He was glad for his wraps as he slid down, rushing ever faster towards the window. He just barely caught the ledge and pulled himself up onto the narrow brickwork. At least this base had hand holds he could work with; most of them were pure wood or steel, and he would've slid right off.
Scout was one misstep away from being pieces splattered across the concrete. He caught sight of the ground below in his side vision, blurred out and dizzyingly far. He was still two windows away from her office. Just a few steps more. He forced himself on past the sudden lurching fear, and grabbed at the other window ledge, and the next, until he could see her drab place, lined with cases.
With a smirk, he leaned back enough to catch the second powerline, and ride it all the way through. He crashed into her office, papers flying everywhere in his wake. Scout barely caught himself, teetering back as he landed on her desk. He took a bow, because this kind of stuff belonged in the comics, the circus, or both.
What could he say? He made this crap look easy.
"I told you I'd show you a good time, now how about that? Bam! I bet I totally broke the record. All of them, in fact. I bet I broke all the records."
She checked her watch. "Thirty seconds? That's even better than last time, and I think you broke the speed of sound that time," she said.
"I told you I'd show you a good time. I bet you I could beat that, and not even break a sweat. Then, I could show you an even better time."
"Scout, off my desk," she said.
He chuckled, and hopped off, just barely missing the pencil holder.
"Here, I'll get 'em, no need to throw me out the window."
"You'd just hop back in," she said.
"Damn straight I would. So, not related to work, huh?" Scout said.
"You said you wanted to watch me open up the cases, and I've got about five more seconds left of lunch," she said. "Though it looks like I will be reordering papers the rest of the afternoon."
Scout came up holding a pile of papers to his chest. "Got 'em. Really? You remembered?"
"We had this conversation yesterday, it'd be pretty hard to forget," she said.
"Still," Scout said, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He dumped the pile of papers haphazardly on her desk, and tried to put it in some sort of order.
"She brought up one of the cases to her lap. Her pantyhose had several runs and bloodstains that looked like they were from a handprint on her ankle.
"You been fightin' zombies, Miss P?"
"Oh, that. My aim was a little off today, but I got him in the second shot," she said.
"Hey, good shot. I bet you totally blew his brains out," he said.
"Oh, they went everywhere. Brains tend to do that," she said.
"Now you really sound like a zombie," he said.
She laughed, and opened up the case. Her face lit up with such utter joy, and it was all because of him. Well, technically she stole the guns, and Saxton Hale made them, but that was just minor details in the long run. He rested on the back of her chair and took in these seconds of pure happiness. He hadn't ever seen Miss Pauling smile like that, but he intended to make sure she grinned a lot more, no matter how many people he had to kill to make it happen.
