fic: You Too?
Jan. 31st, 2018 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: You Too?
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3873
Summary: Scout's been waiting with this date with Miss Mystery for over a year. So when his date shows up jittery and hiding a big secret, Scout just tries to get her to open up. That and not set the table on fire.
Author's note:
From this post. Specifically the "finding out they both have the same secret" one. Canon typical gore. A bit AU in the fact that while they work together, neither is close enough/on base to realize it/Miss Pauling has a far less hands-on approach with the mercenaries, and isn't set in current timeline.
For Sarah.
Scout stared down that clock like the first one who blinked lost. The damn clock beat him on that staring contest. Thirty more minutes. She couldn't have bailed. Not after a whole year of planning. He'd even checked in with her the day before to make sure the time was right. Sure, he'd had to leave a ton of messages to get ahold of her, but he'd definitely gotten through.
Maybe she'd forgotten?
No way, he'd made sure she remembered the exact day.
His stomach let out a gurgle. He'd already finished the kind of stale bread, but it wasn't enough, not considering he'd ran about a solid thirty miles, probably more. It was hard to keep his mind on where he was going with bullets whizzing by his head. He would've gone more, but there wasn't a YMCA to shower at before he got there, and like hell was he coming up on his very first date smelling like a battlefield.
The whole place was surprisingly bare. Was this a rich person thing? Damn, back in Boston the average seafood restaurant had everything but the ship and an actual lobsterman hung up on the walls. There'd be at least thirty nets, lobster baskets and hooks per wall. But here, it was white walls and black and white tables, and a whole lot of nothing. At least with a bunch of sea nets he could've mentally drawn up some fantasy about fighting pirates. Here, the only fantasy his mind brought up was her arriving just in time to be utterly amazed as he punched out the waiters.
He could swear the damn waiters were judging him, like he was some loser who got stood up. Dressed up in suits, like they were in cahoots with Spy. (Except knowing Spy, he'd call these suits cheap.) One of them came closer. The asshole was smirking at him.
"Are you ready to order?"
"Nah, gimme a few. She'll be here anytime. Just runnin' a bit late. But a bread and water refill would be great," Scout said.
"Of course," the waiter said. He smiled, but there was disgust in that smile, like he thought Scout was some poor frigging jerk.
Scout grimaced, and swallowed down all the fuck yous he wanted to tell the staff here. "I got a knuckle sandwich with your name on it, pal," Scout muttered.
Like hell he was going on rampage when he was so close. He tried to think of calming things. The Bosox winning games, punching Yankees fans, dating this cute girl whose name he didn't know.
Speaking of which....
Scout glanced back towards the door. Not a single damn person came through. A few of the waiters smoked at the front, and laughed about something. The jerks were probably laughing at him.
Some kind of low-key discount jazz, the kind you hear on elevators was playing. He tapped his fingers. Most of the tables were empty. Then again, it was a Wednesday night, when bowling was half price and had free karaoke.
Teufort was so small, it was either this or the Greasy Spoon. He'd wanted to impress her, though honestly he would've preferred the first. At least he could get a decent burger for a good price, and Old Myrna was a good sport. Plus, they had a jukebox, which he could put a bunch of quarters in until Tom Jones played for hours.
He glanced at the menu. Half of them he couldn't pronounce. He hoped they weren't snails. But with some relief, he saw burgers were on the very last page. Way more expensive than the diner, but hey, maybe they'd have some special sauce or something.
He had just flipped to the last page when he heard someone come up to the hostess.
"Two. Well, if he's still here. I'm...an hour late," she said.
Scout lowered the menu. There she was, the girl without a name. He broke into a big smile as she rushed towards his table.
"Miss Pauling!"
He quickly rose to pull her chair out. But he was a little too quick, and almost bumped into her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said. "Traffic was...."
"What, you from Albuquerque or somethin'? The only traffic I've seen out here is when it's two dollar drinks at the bar."
She cleared her throat. "I mean, flat tire. You know how it is. With all the glass on the road and...stray bullets."
Wisps of black hair fell free from her bun. Smudges of dirt--or was that oil?--covered her purple dress. And near her collar was a splotch of red.
But, damn he loved the way that dress hugged her curves. Even if it looked like she'd been in a car crash and then thrown into a dumpster at some point. Hell yeah, he'd totally climb right in that dumpster to be with her.
"You like fries?" Scout said.
"Hmm? Oh, sure. Is that what you're ordering?"
"Had some for lunch?" Scout said.
He pointed towards her hem, with a smile. "I do that, too. Makes me glad I work in a RED shirt, so it doesn't show." It also covered the bloodstains.
She clutched her purse with a kind of blank horror. Scout wondered if maybe he'd put his foot in his mouth again with some dumbass comment. He quickly changed the subject.
"Oh, yeah. So, tell me about yourself," Scout said.
"Myself?" The deer in the headlights look only increased.
"Yeah, like what you do for a living, what you like, stuff like that," Scout said.
She pulled out something from her pocket and held it to her palm. "Really, there isn't much to say..."
He wasn't sure if he was supposed to ask. Was it one of those girl things he wasn't supposed to talk about, like how he just brought chocolate and wine back when Ma was in the Monthly Mood and tried to keep all his trouble making more low-key.
Technically, he didn't know a lot about dating. His 'dates' lasted a night in a cheap hotel, or the back of a car. Or sometimes, fifteen minutes behind the bar. But he'd read books--multiple ones, even--and they all said to listen and be 'communicative.' He'd asked around the guys what 'communicative' was and how he could get like that, and they all assured him that not being 'communicative' wasn't a problem with him, at all.
The acrid scent of smoke filled the air. Scout craned his neck towards the kitchen, though all he saw was a door swinging close.
"--is that smoke comin' from the kitchen, you think? Hope they don't burn our food."
"Oops," she said flatly. She slapped a menu across her burning skirts. A large part had been burnt out; it looked like a bite mark from some kind of creature.
"Oh crap, oh crap! Y-You okay? What, did you run into a tiki torch on the way in or somethin'?" Scout said with alarm.
"Um. Sure," she said. "It happened when I was fixing the tire."
As she reached for a water, he noticed what had been in her hands all along: a matchbook, with one match gone.
"Eh, it happens," Scout said. "Had somethin' kind of the same happen last Halloween. There was a wizard involved. That chucklehead's name was---"
"Shh! Speaking wizard's names has a habit of summoning them."
"Oh, that's explain why he keeps showin' up, with how Soldier's always callin' him out."
"The military is summoning wizards now?" she said.
"Wouldn't be surprised. Wizards caused the Curse of the Bambino, you know? People say, the only way he could've traded Babe. If a wizard took his brain and put it in a jar."
She drank down the glass of ice water until it was halfway. Man, she must've worked up a thirst changing that tire. Scout licked his chapped lips at the thought of her with oil stained overalls. What a fantasy to have, what a girl.
"So, about that tire," Scout said.
Her brow furrowed. A few dark bangs had fallen out of step. All he wanted to do was push them back into place. "Er, the tire?" she said.
"Yeah, you handy? That's pretty sexy. I didn't take you for a mechanic," Scout said. Hell, she didn't even look like she could lift most of the tools, considering she wasn't even as tall as Engineer. But, hey. Looks were deceiving, apparently.
She nervously shifted in her seat. "Me? I just have a really boring office job. I mean a really boring one, I think I'd bore you to death if I talked about it at all." She cleared her throat. "Actually, I think I to drop by the powder room for a second and--get the road grease off."
Scout took some comfort that she didn't leap through the window. Damn, she was so nervous, like there was a gun to her head.
She returned a few minutes later. Her dress was still damp from where she must've dabbed out of it with paper towels. Her bun was back in place, and she now wore a fresh coat of lipstick.
"Sorry about that. I got a little dirty...changing that tire." She cleared her throat. "We really should order. You've been waiting a while."
"It's been a whole damn year since I saw you last; I can wait a few minutes," Scout said. "Seriously, what kind of job doesn't let a girl like you a friggin' break?"
"A job..." She glanced up at his cap. He'd put on his team one; his usual work one was still washing the bloodstains off, after all. "So, you're into baseball?" she said quickly.
Scout broke into a big smile. "Oh yeah, it's great!"
"Good, I'll figure out my order while you tell me all about sports," she said.
He started on a play by play. It didn't even matter that their food came cold, and it was almost as cold as the look the waiters' kept giving him. Wow, a cute girl and she liked baseball, too. He really was hitting a home run when it came to dates.
*
Two burgers, some fries, a bill and the entire history of the Red Sox from nineteen twenty on, they were out on the curb, right next to a street lamp. This late in, almost no cars passed. Inside, the waiters cleaned up and chattered, but he didn't listen in.
Scout mentally weighed the options on how to end out the date. Even the thought of it ending made him drag his feet, and want to try for a trip out for desserts, then one last long drive together. But a hard working girl like her would definitely want to get home soon enough head to bed, and right back to her mysterious job in the morning. Kissing on the first date shouldn't be a problem, but did going all the way on a first date change if it took a year to get there? Funny, all those dating books he read never touched that subject.
Actually, natch that. She was looking like a deer about to burst into a run again. Just when she'd gotten settled down. Now there was a thought. Miss Pauling in running clothes. A nice pair of running shoes--expensive ones, with good support--and some nice bright colored running shorts, and a too-big shirt. God, her stance had to be amazing. And the thought of her doing those warm up stretches got him warm.
Damn, he still hadn't gotten her name. Or given his, actually. He was so used to code names and super secret crap he kept forgetting to give his real one.
"This was great. When can you pencil in another? We could try the Diner next time," Scout said. He put his hands in his pockets.
She let out a little sigh, and shifted her purple leather purse open and closed. "Look, you're fun, really. But..."
"But what?" He'd waited a year to get this date. The fact that here he was, getting the closed door was like a punch in the gut. He'd stopped going to bars and flirting around, stopped chasing other girls just for this one whose name he didn't even know.
She didn't look him in the eye. "Look--It's complicated. I....I have a really difficult job."
"You said it was just some boring office job. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed there. So you're a paper pusher. So what?" Scout said.
"Well, it keeps me really busy. And I do work in an office sometimes," she said. She nibbled at her thumb. Already, her purple nail polish was cracking.
"How does that work in? I mean, I get it, you're travelin' all the time," Scout said.
"Listen, I had a lot of fun. And I now know more about baseball than I ever thought I would, but--I won't be getting a day off for another year, and that's if I get the vacation times. If a disaster erupts on base--er on site, then even that is gone."
Scout tilted his head. "Base? You in the military?"
Scout tried to imagine her in green combat fatigues. Was she some kind of drill sergeant? He could just imagine her demanding orders of him, as he dropped to the ground and gave her as many damn push ups as she wanted. Scout licked his lips. Damn, that was a hot thought.
Her green eyes widened. "Oh no. I just slipped up. Don't focus on it. Really."
"So, you a top-secret spy or somethin'?" he said.
Man, she could really fill out a suit. Way better than Spy ever could. She'd probably smell better, too. Natch that. She'd definitely smell better than Spy.
"Honestly, I can't tell you anything about my job. And my job is my life, so I can't tell you anything," she said.
"Anythin'? What about your favorite food?"
"Does wine count? I've been having liquid dinners lately," she said dryly.
"See? We're makin' progress. You like wine a lot. You like puppies?"
"I don't think there's anyone in the world who truly hates puppies."
"Another thing we got in common. You got a favorite team?"
"Honestly? I haven't had a lot of time to watch sports." She pushed dark wisps of hair that had come out of her bun back behind her ears. "But, I liked hearing you explain it, even if I don't even understand half the terms. You just get so excited and happy about it."
"Trust me, spend half an hour and you'll understand it all."
She laughed. "Oh, I'm sure I would. But that would entail actually having thirty minutes off."
"So your job is really borin', but you can't leave? You're...a mall cop?"
She raised one eyebrow. "That's the first thing that came to mind?" she said.
Scout gestured enthusiastically towards her. "They gotta protect the mall! Everyone's always shoppin', so they don't get anytime off. It's sad, really. They gotta be dedicated to protectin' all the little metal claw toys and food court, though," Scout said.
"Sounds fun," she said dryly.
"So, you got a job. So, what? So we're what time next year instead of what time next week. It don't matter to me."
She let out a little sigh. "I haven't been this happy in a long time. But..." She shifted her gaze downwards. "If I were to talk about what I do, you'd never look at me the same," Miss Pauling said.
"Cafeteria lady, then," Scout said.
Her brow furrowed. "How did you even come to that conclusion?"
"Ketchup on your collar. Never fails. Tell the school you need a friggin' day off," Scout said.
She smiled wryly. "Trust me, I'm not a cafeteria lady. Though sometimes it does feel like I'm managing a bunch of children."
A shame. Scout was just getting started on a mental image of her, and damn if she didn't pull off that hair net and gloves.
Scout put his arms behind his neck and stretched. "Well, I kill people for a livin', so whatever you do, it can't be that bad," Scout said.
She froze a moment, and nearly dropped her purse to the cracked sidewalk. Slowly, she turned back to him and finally met his gaze. "Wait--you too?"
Scout burst into a big smile. "What, you were worried that I'd dump you because you have a body count?" Scout laughed. "A girl who can hold her own with a gun is sexy. Don't think I could date a girl who packed up and left at the sight of a guy packin' lead. What's yours? Not to brag, but I've got hundreds on my kill count. Not that I'm keepin' track or anythin'. I mean, I'm sure there's a record somewhere."
Probably for blackmail, considering his bosses. But hey, it paid well. He could never be cooped up for an indoors job. He'd take prison again before he ever ended up in a cubicle.
Finally, all that jitteriness faded away and she smiled. And what a beautiful smile that was. He wanted to kiss it all day. "Thousands upon thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. I don't exactly keep records, for obvious reasons. I've filled mass graves before," she said.
"Wait--You're a serial killer?" he said.
She scrunched up her nose. "Serial killers usually do it for fun. Or some kind of weird sexual pleasure. I mean, of course I enjoy it, but I get paid, so it's more of a job. Or maybe a calling, you know?"
He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed that she didn't deny having some kind of sexual pleasure from killing.
"I probably shouldn't be asking this, but I'm really curious. What's your work? Mafia? Intelligence work?"
"Nah. I did some before back in Boston and ended up in the clink. Somebody sprung me out and gave me a job, and here I am."
"Wait, you work here? In New Mexico?"
"Yeah, right here in Teufort at some base way off grid. These two chucklefucks want some guys to beat up other guys over gravel every day. Real outdoorsy work, if you know what I mean. Pay's great, though."
"You work at TFI? I work at TFI!"
Scout grinned wide. "Seriously? I can't believe we ain't ever run into each other!"
"I can't believe I haven't had to kill you yet. Especially with how you just let it out that you kill people and your employer on the first date," she said. She shook her head. "And here I thought I might have to kill you if I let anything slip up. It was such a downer. The last thing I wanted you in was a body bag."
"Nope, no killin' me. I'm the star of the show over there. I can't believe you ain't seen me."
She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully, uncaring of how her lipstick smudged. At that moment, he really wished he was where her fingertips were. "Honestly? I'm usually so busy killing my coworkers, I don't remember names. Having to learn they have families and pets--it just makes the work harder."
Scout spread his arms out, as if to put himself on display. "You might notice me on those screens-The fast charmin' and handsome guy runnin' around, gettin' all the briefcases. Sound familiar? Seriously, you can't miss me. I'm on the field, bein' fast and a hero, savin' the day, bein' incredibly handsome. All stuff like that."
"On the field?? That'd mean you aren't an office boy--you'd be a mercenary! But, I've seen the mercenaries, and you don't really look like them. Unless they snuck a new hire in at some point..."
"Not surprisin', I'm way cooler than them. Way faster, too. Faster than the speed of sound," Scout said.
"Sound? Wait, a minute. You're that loud one--"
Scout chuckled. "That's me!"
"You're usually running so fast, I can't even catch a glimpse. It's just a red blur. Or a red blur when you stopped too long to mock someone and end up in pieces."
"I know. Bein' so fast is a curse. Same is my smartass mouth. You would've believe how many bars of soap I've had to eat over th eyears. But, this solves all the problems! We can see each other on base, even if you gotta work."
Her smile disappeared. "Except...I still have a ton of work. My to-kill list is still really long, and I still only get one day off a year," she said.
"Hey, here's a thought--maybe we can kill people together? Maybe you'll even get more time off. If not, we can still at least spend time together," Scout raised his eyebrows suggestively,"I bet you can wield a gun real good."
"Oh, trust me. I can hold my own with firearms just fine. And knives, though they tend to get... messy." she turned towards him and smiled.
"It'd be nice to actually be able to see you wreak havoc instead of just seeing this flash of red."
She leaned in. "So, your place or mine?"
Wow, this was going fast. Did his room at base count as a 'place?' At least he hadn't left any nudie magazines out. At least he didn't think so. It'd been a real long year, with no trips to the bar to relax with some pretty girls.
Scout swallowed. He'd already been trying to be a gentleman and treat her right, even though all he knew about being one is mocking Spy and those books he read. He took a deep breath. cool it, Scout. She probably don't mean it like that.
"Your place? That on---base?" Scout said.
"By my place, I mean 'the murder caves at the edge of the desert.' It's kind of my murder headquarters."
Scout broke into a big grin. "Murder headquarters? That's so cool! You sounded just like some James Bond villain right now," Scout said.
"Oh, you're into that?" Her tongue playfully flicked between her teeth. "Because I could be down for that. Pick a Bond Movie and we can do a low-budget reenactment in the caves. But with more bodies."
"Deal," Scout said.
*
Author's note: setting your own clothes on fire to avoid an possibly awkward question is a 10/10 idea, would try on the next family gathering.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3873
Summary: Scout's been waiting with this date with Miss Mystery for over a year. So when his date shows up jittery and hiding a big secret, Scout just tries to get her to open up. That and not set the table on fire.
Author's note:
From this post. Specifically the "finding out they both have the same secret" one. Canon typical gore. A bit AU in the fact that while they work together, neither is close enough/on base to realize it/Miss Pauling has a far less hands-on approach with the mercenaries, and isn't set in current timeline.
For Sarah.
Scout stared down that clock like the first one who blinked lost. The damn clock beat him on that staring contest. Thirty more minutes. She couldn't have bailed. Not after a whole year of planning. He'd even checked in with her the day before to make sure the time was right. Sure, he'd had to leave a ton of messages to get ahold of her, but he'd definitely gotten through.
Maybe she'd forgotten?
No way, he'd made sure she remembered the exact day.
His stomach let out a gurgle. He'd already finished the kind of stale bread, but it wasn't enough, not considering he'd ran about a solid thirty miles, probably more. It was hard to keep his mind on where he was going with bullets whizzing by his head. He would've gone more, but there wasn't a YMCA to shower at before he got there, and like hell was he coming up on his very first date smelling like a battlefield.
The whole place was surprisingly bare. Was this a rich person thing? Damn, back in Boston the average seafood restaurant had everything but the ship and an actual lobsterman hung up on the walls. There'd be at least thirty nets, lobster baskets and hooks per wall. But here, it was white walls and black and white tables, and a whole lot of nothing. At least with a bunch of sea nets he could've mentally drawn up some fantasy about fighting pirates. Here, the only fantasy his mind brought up was her arriving just in time to be utterly amazed as he punched out the waiters.
He could swear the damn waiters were judging him, like he was some loser who got stood up. Dressed up in suits, like they were in cahoots with Spy. (Except knowing Spy, he'd call these suits cheap.) One of them came closer. The asshole was smirking at him.
"Are you ready to order?"
"Nah, gimme a few. She'll be here anytime. Just runnin' a bit late. But a bread and water refill would be great," Scout said.
"Of course," the waiter said. He smiled, but there was disgust in that smile, like he thought Scout was some poor frigging jerk.
Scout grimaced, and swallowed down all the fuck yous he wanted to tell the staff here. "I got a knuckle sandwich with your name on it, pal," Scout muttered.
Like hell he was going on rampage when he was so close. He tried to think of calming things. The Bosox winning games, punching Yankees fans, dating this cute girl whose name he didn't know.
Speaking of which....
Scout glanced back towards the door. Not a single damn person came through. A few of the waiters smoked at the front, and laughed about something. The jerks were probably laughing at him.
Some kind of low-key discount jazz, the kind you hear on elevators was playing. He tapped his fingers. Most of the tables were empty. Then again, it was a Wednesday night, when bowling was half price and had free karaoke.
Teufort was so small, it was either this or the Greasy Spoon. He'd wanted to impress her, though honestly he would've preferred the first. At least he could get a decent burger for a good price, and Old Myrna was a good sport. Plus, they had a jukebox, which he could put a bunch of quarters in until Tom Jones played for hours.
He glanced at the menu. Half of them he couldn't pronounce. He hoped they weren't snails. But with some relief, he saw burgers were on the very last page. Way more expensive than the diner, but hey, maybe they'd have some special sauce or something.
He had just flipped to the last page when he heard someone come up to the hostess.
"Two. Well, if he's still here. I'm...an hour late," she said.
Scout lowered the menu. There she was, the girl without a name. He broke into a big smile as she rushed towards his table.
"Miss Pauling!"
He quickly rose to pull her chair out. But he was a little too quick, and almost bumped into her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said. "Traffic was...."
"What, you from Albuquerque or somethin'? The only traffic I've seen out here is when it's two dollar drinks at the bar."
She cleared her throat. "I mean, flat tire. You know how it is. With all the glass on the road and...stray bullets."
Wisps of black hair fell free from her bun. Smudges of dirt--or was that oil?--covered her purple dress. And near her collar was a splotch of red.
But, damn he loved the way that dress hugged her curves. Even if it looked like she'd been in a car crash and then thrown into a dumpster at some point. Hell yeah, he'd totally climb right in that dumpster to be with her.
"You like fries?" Scout said.
"Hmm? Oh, sure. Is that what you're ordering?"
"Had some for lunch?" Scout said.
He pointed towards her hem, with a smile. "I do that, too. Makes me glad I work in a RED shirt, so it doesn't show." It also covered the bloodstains.
She clutched her purse with a kind of blank horror. Scout wondered if maybe he'd put his foot in his mouth again with some dumbass comment. He quickly changed the subject.
"Oh, yeah. So, tell me about yourself," Scout said.
"Myself?" The deer in the headlights look only increased.
"Yeah, like what you do for a living, what you like, stuff like that," Scout said.
She pulled out something from her pocket and held it to her palm. "Really, there isn't much to say..."
He wasn't sure if he was supposed to ask. Was it one of those girl things he wasn't supposed to talk about, like how he just brought chocolate and wine back when Ma was in the Monthly Mood and tried to keep all his trouble making more low-key.
Technically, he didn't know a lot about dating. His 'dates' lasted a night in a cheap hotel, or the back of a car. Or sometimes, fifteen minutes behind the bar. But he'd read books--multiple ones, even--and they all said to listen and be 'communicative.' He'd asked around the guys what 'communicative' was and how he could get like that, and they all assured him that not being 'communicative' wasn't a problem with him, at all.
The acrid scent of smoke filled the air. Scout craned his neck towards the kitchen, though all he saw was a door swinging close.
"--is that smoke comin' from the kitchen, you think? Hope they don't burn our food."
"Oops," she said flatly. She slapped a menu across her burning skirts. A large part had been burnt out; it looked like a bite mark from some kind of creature.
"Oh crap, oh crap! Y-You okay? What, did you run into a tiki torch on the way in or somethin'?" Scout said with alarm.
"Um. Sure," she said. "It happened when I was fixing the tire."
As she reached for a water, he noticed what had been in her hands all along: a matchbook, with one match gone.
"Eh, it happens," Scout said. "Had somethin' kind of the same happen last Halloween. There was a wizard involved. That chucklehead's name was---"
"Shh! Speaking wizard's names has a habit of summoning them."
"Oh, that's explain why he keeps showin' up, with how Soldier's always callin' him out."
"The military is summoning wizards now?" she said.
"Wouldn't be surprised. Wizards caused the Curse of the Bambino, you know? People say, the only way he could've traded Babe. If a wizard took his brain and put it in a jar."
She drank down the glass of ice water until it was halfway. Man, she must've worked up a thirst changing that tire. Scout licked his chapped lips at the thought of her with oil stained overalls. What a fantasy to have, what a girl.
"So, about that tire," Scout said.
Her brow furrowed. A few dark bangs had fallen out of step. All he wanted to do was push them back into place. "Er, the tire?" she said.
"Yeah, you handy? That's pretty sexy. I didn't take you for a mechanic," Scout said. Hell, she didn't even look like she could lift most of the tools, considering she wasn't even as tall as Engineer. But, hey. Looks were deceiving, apparently.
She nervously shifted in her seat. "Me? I just have a really boring office job. I mean a really boring one, I think I'd bore you to death if I talked about it at all." She cleared her throat. "Actually, I think I to drop by the powder room for a second and--get the road grease off."
Scout took some comfort that she didn't leap through the window. Damn, she was so nervous, like there was a gun to her head.
She returned a few minutes later. Her dress was still damp from where she must've dabbed out of it with paper towels. Her bun was back in place, and she now wore a fresh coat of lipstick.
"Sorry about that. I got a little dirty...changing that tire." She cleared her throat. "We really should order. You've been waiting a while."
"It's been a whole damn year since I saw you last; I can wait a few minutes," Scout said. "Seriously, what kind of job doesn't let a girl like you a friggin' break?"
"A job..." She glanced up at his cap. He'd put on his team one; his usual work one was still washing the bloodstains off, after all. "So, you're into baseball?" she said quickly.
Scout broke into a big smile. "Oh yeah, it's great!"
"Good, I'll figure out my order while you tell me all about sports," she said.
He started on a play by play. It didn't even matter that their food came cold, and it was almost as cold as the look the waiters' kept giving him. Wow, a cute girl and she liked baseball, too. He really was hitting a home run when it came to dates.
*
Two burgers, some fries, a bill and the entire history of the Red Sox from nineteen twenty on, they were out on the curb, right next to a street lamp. This late in, almost no cars passed. Inside, the waiters cleaned up and chattered, but he didn't listen in.
Scout mentally weighed the options on how to end out the date. Even the thought of it ending made him drag his feet, and want to try for a trip out for desserts, then one last long drive together. But a hard working girl like her would definitely want to get home soon enough head to bed, and right back to her mysterious job in the morning. Kissing on the first date shouldn't be a problem, but did going all the way on a first date change if it took a year to get there? Funny, all those dating books he read never touched that subject.
Actually, natch that. She was looking like a deer about to burst into a run again. Just when she'd gotten settled down. Now there was a thought. Miss Pauling in running clothes. A nice pair of running shoes--expensive ones, with good support--and some nice bright colored running shorts, and a too-big shirt. God, her stance had to be amazing. And the thought of her doing those warm up stretches got him warm.
Damn, he still hadn't gotten her name. Or given his, actually. He was so used to code names and super secret crap he kept forgetting to give his real one.
"This was great. When can you pencil in another? We could try the Diner next time," Scout said. He put his hands in his pockets.
She let out a little sigh, and shifted her purple leather purse open and closed. "Look, you're fun, really. But..."
"But what?" He'd waited a year to get this date. The fact that here he was, getting the closed door was like a punch in the gut. He'd stopped going to bars and flirting around, stopped chasing other girls just for this one whose name he didn't even know.
She didn't look him in the eye. "Look--It's complicated. I....I have a really difficult job."
"You said it was just some boring office job. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed there. So you're a paper pusher. So what?" Scout said.
"Well, it keeps me really busy. And I do work in an office sometimes," she said. She nibbled at her thumb. Already, her purple nail polish was cracking.
"How does that work in? I mean, I get it, you're travelin' all the time," Scout said.
"Listen, I had a lot of fun. And I now know more about baseball than I ever thought I would, but--I won't be getting a day off for another year, and that's if I get the vacation times. If a disaster erupts on base--er on site, then even that is gone."
Scout tilted his head. "Base? You in the military?"
Scout tried to imagine her in green combat fatigues. Was she some kind of drill sergeant? He could just imagine her demanding orders of him, as he dropped to the ground and gave her as many damn push ups as she wanted. Scout licked his lips. Damn, that was a hot thought.
Her green eyes widened. "Oh no. I just slipped up. Don't focus on it. Really."
"So, you a top-secret spy or somethin'?" he said.
Man, she could really fill out a suit. Way better than Spy ever could. She'd probably smell better, too. Natch that. She'd definitely smell better than Spy.
"Honestly, I can't tell you anything about my job. And my job is my life, so I can't tell you anything," she said.
"Anythin'? What about your favorite food?"
"Does wine count? I've been having liquid dinners lately," she said dryly.
"See? We're makin' progress. You like wine a lot. You like puppies?"
"I don't think there's anyone in the world who truly hates puppies."
"Another thing we got in common. You got a favorite team?"
"Honestly? I haven't had a lot of time to watch sports." She pushed dark wisps of hair that had come out of her bun back behind her ears. "But, I liked hearing you explain it, even if I don't even understand half the terms. You just get so excited and happy about it."
"Trust me, spend half an hour and you'll understand it all."
She laughed. "Oh, I'm sure I would. But that would entail actually having thirty minutes off."
"So your job is really borin', but you can't leave? You're...a mall cop?"
She raised one eyebrow. "That's the first thing that came to mind?" she said.
Scout gestured enthusiastically towards her. "They gotta protect the mall! Everyone's always shoppin', so they don't get anytime off. It's sad, really. They gotta be dedicated to protectin' all the little metal claw toys and food court, though," Scout said.
"Sounds fun," she said dryly.
"So, you got a job. So, what? So we're what time next year instead of what time next week. It don't matter to me."
She let out a little sigh. "I haven't been this happy in a long time. But..." She shifted her gaze downwards. "If I were to talk about what I do, you'd never look at me the same," Miss Pauling said.
"Cafeteria lady, then," Scout said.
Her brow furrowed. "How did you even come to that conclusion?"
"Ketchup on your collar. Never fails. Tell the school you need a friggin' day off," Scout said.
She smiled wryly. "Trust me, I'm not a cafeteria lady. Though sometimes it does feel like I'm managing a bunch of children."
A shame. Scout was just getting started on a mental image of her, and damn if she didn't pull off that hair net and gloves.
Scout put his arms behind his neck and stretched. "Well, I kill people for a livin', so whatever you do, it can't be that bad," Scout said.
She froze a moment, and nearly dropped her purse to the cracked sidewalk. Slowly, she turned back to him and finally met his gaze. "Wait--you too?"
Scout burst into a big smile. "What, you were worried that I'd dump you because you have a body count?" Scout laughed. "A girl who can hold her own with a gun is sexy. Don't think I could date a girl who packed up and left at the sight of a guy packin' lead. What's yours? Not to brag, but I've got hundreds on my kill count. Not that I'm keepin' track or anythin'. I mean, I'm sure there's a record somewhere."
Probably for blackmail, considering his bosses. But hey, it paid well. He could never be cooped up for an indoors job. He'd take prison again before he ever ended up in a cubicle.
Finally, all that jitteriness faded away and she smiled. And what a beautiful smile that was. He wanted to kiss it all day. "Thousands upon thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. I don't exactly keep records, for obvious reasons. I've filled mass graves before," she said.
"Wait--You're a serial killer?" he said.
She scrunched up her nose. "Serial killers usually do it for fun. Or some kind of weird sexual pleasure. I mean, of course I enjoy it, but I get paid, so it's more of a job. Or maybe a calling, you know?"
He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed that she didn't deny having some kind of sexual pleasure from killing.
"I probably shouldn't be asking this, but I'm really curious. What's your work? Mafia? Intelligence work?"
"Nah. I did some before back in Boston and ended up in the clink. Somebody sprung me out and gave me a job, and here I am."
"Wait, you work here? In New Mexico?"
"Yeah, right here in Teufort at some base way off grid. These two chucklefucks want some guys to beat up other guys over gravel every day. Real outdoorsy work, if you know what I mean. Pay's great, though."
"You work at TFI? I work at TFI!"
Scout grinned wide. "Seriously? I can't believe we ain't ever run into each other!"
"I can't believe I haven't had to kill you yet. Especially with how you just let it out that you kill people and your employer on the first date," she said. She shook her head. "And here I thought I might have to kill you if I let anything slip up. It was such a downer. The last thing I wanted you in was a body bag."
"Nope, no killin' me. I'm the star of the show over there. I can't believe you ain't seen me."
She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully, uncaring of how her lipstick smudged. At that moment, he really wished he was where her fingertips were. "Honestly? I'm usually so busy killing my coworkers, I don't remember names. Having to learn they have families and pets--it just makes the work harder."
Scout spread his arms out, as if to put himself on display. "You might notice me on those screens-The fast charmin' and handsome guy runnin' around, gettin' all the briefcases. Sound familiar? Seriously, you can't miss me. I'm on the field, bein' fast and a hero, savin' the day, bein' incredibly handsome. All stuff like that."
"On the field?? That'd mean you aren't an office boy--you'd be a mercenary! But, I've seen the mercenaries, and you don't really look like them. Unless they snuck a new hire in at some point..."
"Not surprisin', I'm way cooler than them. Way faster, too. Faster than the speed of sound," Scout said.
"Sound? Wait, a minute. You're that loud one--"
Scout chuckled. "That's me!"
"You're usually running so fast, I can't even catch a glimpse. It's just a red blur. Or a red blur when you stopped too long to mock someone and end up in pieces."
"I know. Bein' so fast is a curse. Same is my smartass mouth. You would've believe how many bars of soap I've had to eat over th eyears. But, this solves all the problems! We can see each other on base, even if you gotta work."
Her smile disappeared. "Except...I still have a ton of work. My to-kill list is still really long, and I still only get one day off a year," she said.
"Hey, here's a thought--maybe we can kill people together? Maybe you'll even get more time off. If not, we can still at least spend time together," Scout raised his eyebrows suggestively,"I bet you can wield a gun real good."
"Oh, trust me. I can hold my own with firearms just fine. And knives, though they tend to get... messy." she turned towards him and smiled.
"It'd be nice to actually be able to see you wreak havoc instead of just seeing this flash of red."
She leaned in. "So, your place or mine?"
Wow, this was going fast. Did his room at base count as a 'place?' At least he hadn't left any nudie magazines out. At least he didn't think so. It'd been a real long year, with no trips to the bar to relax with some pretty girls.
Scout swallowed. He'd already been trying to be a gentleman and treat her right, even though all he knew about being one is mocking Spy and those books he read. He took a deep breath. cool it, Scout. She probably don't mean it like that.
"Your place? That on---base?" Scout said.
"By my place, I mean 'the murder caves at the edge of the desert.' It's kind of my murder headquarters."
Scout broke into a big grin. "Murder headquarters? That's so cool! You sounded just like some James Bond villain right now," Scout said.
"Oh, you're into that?" Her tongue playfully flicked between her teeth. "Because I could be down for that. Pick a Bond Movie and we can do a low-budget reenactment in the caves. But with more bodies."
"Deal," Scout said.
*
Author's note: setting your own clothes on fire to avoid an possibly awkward question is a 10/10 idea, would try on the next family gathering.
