fic: Until Death Do Us Part

[bonnefois]

Title: Until Death Do Us Part
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On the night before the court date of a massive legal action against Mann co. and TFI, Miss Pauling drags Scout to a Vegas drive-through chapel.
Word count: 18336
Author's note: After the line "Though, technically, we'd have confession immunity if we got married" in another piece I backflipped into a fake marriage fic in like ten seconds flat.

Hand driers originated as early as 1921, and were popularized in the 1940s.

For Sarah.


"Let's go," she said.

When she asked, Scout followed. He leapt into the truck, and waited on the explanation why. In his line of work, it was better not to ask. But, something was off today. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set. Scout tried to remember back. He hadn't stolen any briefcases--at least, not when he was off duty.

Couldn't be him. He'd been doing everything he could to prove just what great boyfriend material he would make.

"So--where we headed?"

She cut him off. "Don't, it might be bugged," she said tersely.

It came to Scout that when Miss Pauling was worried, then some real shit must've gone down. But he caught himself. If she couldn't even tell him where they were going, she certainly wasn't about to tell him what they were up to.

*

The drive was longer than usual. The radio only brought in some country station, but jangling banjos was better than the silence. If he'd known it'd been this long--that she'd be as tight lipped as if she was on the witness stand--he would've brought his comics.

They passed by a big, fancy sign that said Welcome to Nevada. It went too fast for him to catch the state motto. Miss Pauling was driving so fast, a practical dust storm of clouds rose up behind them as they sailed over that desert highway.

"We got a job, or on a deadline or somethin'?"

"You'll see," was all she said. Which was no wonder. She was always quiet about jobs.

They passed by ghost towns and gas stations. The tank was half full from the last fill up, so that was one thing less to worry about.

"I can't go on without another cup of coffee," she said.

"I'll take over. Where we headed?"

"Vegas," she said.

She gave over the wheel, and laid down on the seat. The tip of her head rested against his side. It took all his effort to keep his attention on the road.

He knew damn well they weren't headed for a night at the casino, not unless they had somebody to kill. But, he just kept driving towards those far off lights.

*

They reached Vegas about 3AM. She stirred as he came to a stop at the nearest gas station.

"We're here, though I don't know where the friggin' hell is here," Scout said.

Technically he did. Anybody knew Vegas. But what he meant was he had no clue why they were in Vegas at 3AM.

In the end, it was probably better that he didn't know. Like Miss Pauling was always telling him: you can't be a witness if you didn't see anything. You can't testify if you don't know anything. So don't look at those papers, and don't you dare steal anymore briefcases.

"I know where we're going. I'll take another turn," she said.

The casinos were a show of bright lights and fountains. In the morning, the poor bastards would blink into he light, dull and dazed, with much lighter pocketbooks. But for now, they were living it up.

Scout craned his neck to watch them fade into dark and streetlights. But she headed towards one of the smaller ones, like a roadside diner of casinos. On the side was a pink, flickering drive through chapel. An overweight Elvis drank from a bottle of cheap whiskey in front of a bedazzled pulpit. There was the sound of clanking and beeping from the slot machines in the nearby rooms.

"Look, Miss P, it's a McMarriage! They should offer fries to go. Ey, Miss Pauling, you think they throw fries instead of rice here? Maybe burgers..." He chuckled at his own joke. A McMarriage. God, he should write these ones down.

She smoothed out her skirts. Her hair had gotten mussed. "At least it isn't stained," she said to herself.

"You look fine. Which you always do. More than that, you look great."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Scout said.

"You shouldn't, but I'm glad you do. No matter what, keep trusting me. All right?"

"C'mon, I ain't that bad at poker," Scout said.

"You're that much and more. You lost to a lamp."

"A lamp who was also a lawyer, like not just any regular sexy foot lamp, this one had a law degree," Scout said.

"Trust me, this time, you won't have any lawyers who can double as furniture," she said.

Las Vegas didn't have much now that he was steady with Miss Pauling. She was the only nudie show he wanted to attend, and he didn't have much luck with gambling. For all his bragging, Scout knew he didn't have the best poker face.

But Scout figured they'd only see the lights in passing. Some poor bastard would end up dead in the back of their truck, and Scout would find a new forever home six feet deep in the desert wilds.

But Miss Pauling parked the truck at Almost Elvis' House of Love: 24 Hour Marriages.

Were Elvis impersonators on the Voice's shitlist now? Maybe they'd gotten the wrong person hitched and now they'd have a hunka-hunka- burning limb.

A large Elvis impersonator took a drink from a bottle of Jack, and wiped his mouth with the back of his big hands as Miss Pauling approached him.

Miss Pauling cleared her throat. "Are you still open?"

"We're open all night, darlin'," the Elvis impersonator said. He pointed up to the sign. "Twenty-four hours of hunka-hunka burnin' love."

Even though it was part of the act, Scout found himself gritting his teeth. He couldn't believe some fake Elvis got to call her a sweet nickname before he even did. His hand tensed. His bat, his gun was near.

Miss Pauling placed her hand on his shoulder, like she sensed his dumbass ideas. His hand relaxed at her touch.

"Good, then we'd like to be married, please."

Scout gaped, and quickly looked to her for some kind of confirmation. What the fuuuuck? Wait a---

"Of course, darlin'. Right over here. We got custom papers, and matrimonial options. Some rice for 25 cents in the back.

"Oh, that's all right. We have to make this quick. Real quick," Miss Pauling said. "You have rings for sale, right?"

He had to be dreaming. In a few moments she would turn into stripper Miss Pauling and the dream would have a very literal happy ending. Then he'd wake up with sticky pajama pants, and it'd be the same song and dance of burying bodies and the only thing keeping him warm at night was his hands, because she didn't have any time for anything else.

"Oh, this some kind of shotgun wedding?"

"You could say that," she said dryly.

No, seriously, what the fuck? Scout wasn't exactly a genius when it came to plenty of things--God was too busy giving it all to Miss Pauling, so he could have the looks and the charisma and the sweet, sweet, muscles. to say nothing of his fantastic ass. But he was pretty damn sure marriage came after things, like an actual date. And a ring. He hadn't even gotten her a ring yet.

But apparently Elvis here was already showing her the options.

Sure, he'd thought about it. But rings came after a frigging date. Unless maybe she counted each body burying as a literal date. Then they'd be up to....Scout couldn't even count the amount of bodies they'd done in together.

And shotgun weddings--those came after sex. Which they hadn't had.

Could Miss P be one of those super religious types? Scout knew all too well the Catholic girls who might neck a little, but the minute he slid in for second base, would button up their shirts and demand a commitment. He'd flirted and kissed plenty during his teens. There was a reason he was a virgin well up until he moved out to New Mexico for work.

"You got a certificate?"

"How much extra is that going to take? I need to get this done fast. I have to be back to work soon," Miss Pauling said.

"Hundred and a pack of smokes," he said.

She dug in her purse. "I've only got cash."

Scout dug around in his bag, and pulled out an unopened pack. He threw it towards the Elvis impersonator. It sailed over his head and smacked against the wall.

"Close enough," Scout said.

"You don't smoke," Miss Pauling said.

"In prisons, it's good to have some handy, to keep people from shankin' you. Plus it's fun to light 'em and flick 'em at Spy when he's bein' a jerk. Then Pyro picks 'em up and runs around like they're sparklers. Must think they're like sparklers or somethin'. It's always handy to have some smokes around. Of course, they're hard to buy..."

He never could convince the sellers that he was old enough to have them. Even when he showed his real IDs, they just claimed he was faking them, and there was no way he was older than sixteen.

But Elvis here, he either didn't care or was too drunk to try and pull some shit like that. He glanced over their IDs and wrote up.

"What names you want on them?"

Everything faded away as he faced her, and she took his hands in hers. Sure, he didn't know what the fuck was going on. But as long as it was with her, he'd say yes every time. His heart beat in his chest like a freight train. It hadn't been the way he'd planned, but here it was. Miss Pauling and him, forever.

"Let's cut it down for time. I don't really like the worship and obey part," Miss Pauling said.

"I do. I'll obey and worship you," Scout said quickly. "Uh, what was the rest of it?"

"Richer or poorer, I think. And In sickness and in health..."

"Then--" Scout broke off.

"Oh right, to have and to hold," she said.

"I remember this one! I like that one. Then it was... Until death do us part. And I ain't talkin' Respawn, either."

"Right, I do," she said quickly.

"Me too. I totally do."

Then, she kissed him. Hands to his chest, her fingers balled up his shirt. The day only felt more unreal. Scout was just sure he'd wake up any second now. But he kept not waking up.

*

They stumbled out into the parking lot. Or at least, Scout did. He was half-surprised he didn't fall, face first into the pavement. The word felt weird, like he was drunk. But it wasn't on alcohol, it was her that was making him more and more intoxicated.

"We need to be back as soon as possible," she said.

"It's fine, I'll shotgun some coffee."

If he'd know he was going to be pulling an all nighter, he would've grabbed some BONK. Sure, he'd be going the speed of light, but he'd be up.

"No...I don't want you falling asleep at the wheel. Pull over at the next motel."

There was always a cheap hotel or motel somewhere in Vegas. In this case, it was right across the street. Miss Pauling paid, and then it was just him and her and one room. Sure, Scout had been planning this whole thing for years, but he didn't think it'd happen all at once.

Scout took several deep breaths, like he did before each game. He'd had this vision of them both, and there were rose petals and a lot of other fancy crap girls liked. Somewhere fancy, not some sleazeball motel. The tv was chained to a cinder block. The lock, and thick chain were covered in scratches that looked like they'd been made with a knife.

It wasn't even a good TV. The bunny ear antenna were wrapped in tin foil, and it looked about ten years out of date. Probably didn't even have color.

Hell, he hadn't even planned on his wedding night happening this soon. His palms were sweaty. Any game he'd had was lost somewhere along with I do and until death do us part. He staggered in towards the bed, still barely able to believe he hadn't woken up yet.

But he didn't take that leap. Not yet.

Miss Pauling practically fell into bed. She didn't even bother getting undressed. Interesting plan, but Scout liked it. Even if taking her dress off with her in it could be a challenge. Gotta love a challenge.

But the place, it was all wrong. He stretched out to clear and calm his mind. If only he could get in a nice run and a shower. He hadn't even gotten close, but the Elvis impersonator wore so much cologne, it had wafted onto him.

"Goodnight," she said. "Don't exercise too much. We'll have a long drive back."

She turned off the lamp, leaving him in darkness.

His options were the floor, the chair which looked about as comfortable as the cinder block, and the bed.

It was supposed to be a queen, but it felt about the size of a twin. He tried to steady his breath as he slipped in beside her.

He couldn't say if he was disappointed that his wedding night was curling up on a too-hard bed in a crummy motel in sheer exhaustion, or relieved that he could get a do-over which was more romantic. And less likely to have bed-bugs.

*

He woke up, and she was still beside him, still wearing the ring. Unless it was a dream within a dream, he'd won the fucking lottery and Miss Pauling and decided to freaking marry him.

She woke up with messy hair, her bun all undone and reached for her glasses. The night had wrinkled her purple dress. He slowly let his hand rest against her hip. She didn't push him away.

"Mmn. What time is it?"

Scout squinted as he tried to read the clock on the wall. "Says ten, but it might be broken. Everythin' else in here is."

"Shit! We should've been out by nine!"

She was out of bed in seconds. Scout's hand fell to the bed, where it'd once been against her. There wasn't much to pick up, considering that nothing had been unpacked. Scout pushed himself up. He'd kind of hoped, just a bit, that maybe they'd get a chance to change to a different motel or hotel, and get this wedding night in, even if it was a wedding afternoon.

She finger combed her hair back into a more orderly bun as he watched.

"We have to get back before anyone realizes we're gone. We could be charged with leaving that---Scout, do you remember the inquest?" She met him with that intense green eyed gaze through the mirror.

"You mean that G&G stuff we were doin'?" Scout said.

"No, I'm talking about the massive law action that's going on against Mann. co."

Oh right. He'd heard something about that, but he hadn't paid much attention. It wasn't really his business, and the more he got into TFI business that wasn't his, the more he got photographs reminding him that they knew where his mother lived.

Scout shrugged. So what if there was a 'inquest'? He'd done jail time. Hell, Saxton had done jail time. Miss P always got them all out. It'd be just a another few annoying hours of waiting in a court and waiting for her to come in, like the Calvary.

"So? Spy says he put his money in offshore banks. What, did Saxton put his money in Yetis or somethin'?" Scout said.

"If only it were that simple," she said.

She let out a long breath. "Listen, all you need to do is take the fifth. Don't say anything. Not a damn thing, all right? They can't make you talk. Not now," she said.

They got breakfast on the drive back. She was quiet, considering it was hard to drive over the sound of the motor. The truck hadn't been fixed. For once, Scout was caught up in himself, wordless with wonder.

He was freaking married to Miss Pauling. And that was something he was ever going to get used to or ever stop being damn thankful that the Big Guy Upstairs had apparently decided that today, he was gonna win the jackpot.

*

The base was quiet. Too quiet. No explosions or laughter, no animals being wrestled or cries of Freedom! and For America! The rest of the men were gone, and whatever other staff were either hauled away to the clink, or dead and buried somewhere in the caves.

It was the sirens that cut through it, Scout whirled around.

"Let's go. We can get out of here. We're close to the border--we can get there in a few hours, right? Make it back across later on, go hide out in Southie--!"

"No, Scout. We've got to do this," she said.

Scout reached for his gun. He'd probably survive it, though they'd have to be a real Bonnie and Clyde when it was all over, and head straight to the border.

"Don't you dare. You're going to live through this. Remember, Scout. Remember the fifth!"

Drop it! Drop the weapon!

Scout dropped his gun, make that plural. He didn't even make a stupid ass pun about gun shows like he would've before then. Not with Miss Pauling so close, not when they were both in the firing line.

The pigs closed in, blue uniforms and mirrored glasses. His mind whirled with possibilities to keep her out of all this, to keep her safe, but it was all an hour late. He could only watch as the handcuffs were put on her.

"Don't you touch her!" He was cut off as he was slammed against the door of the police car. His bag was torn off. A used candy wrapped spilled out onto the sand and gravel as they went through his most personal possessions.

"Don't you take my stuff! Th-that's my pictures!"

"He isn't involved with this--I'm telling you, he isn't involved with this at all! He's just a delivery boy! He knows nothing!" she said.

Her protests were ignored.

He was cuffed and shoved into the back of the police car. It sure wasn't the first time he'd heard those blaring sirens in his head. Probably wouldn't be the last, knowing him.

*

It was a small, concrete room. The fluorescent lights above flickered, like some disco Halloween show. Someone was behind that two-way mirror. Scout smirked at the person waiting. come on, you son of a bitch. I'm waitin'.

Miss Pauling and his Ma were always the two people he had to choose between the one phone call. If Miss Pauling wouldn't pick up, then it'd be to Ma and apologize for being the son who came back in a casket. But this time, it was Miss Pauling in deep with him. So he just shook his head when it came to his one phone call.

He'd spend it calling the Big Guy Upstairs and asking him what on earth was up with this? Two seconds of heaven and then crashing back to hell? He should've known that some things were too good to last.

He couldn't let him get down. Miss Pauling would get them out of this. She always did.

His hands were folded on the table. Men in blue circled him. As they talked, Scout just smirked. Nothing could touch him, not even their attempts to chip away at him. They tried his ego, they tried whatever they could think to tear him down, or piss him off.

All they got was a cocky grin. He was married to freaking Miss Pauling. Little things like trying to imply he was a dumbass, or a brute wasn't going to cut it when she'd said I do hours ago.

No water. No food. For hours they'd turn down the lights. But they'd pipe in some godawful radio, wouldn't let him sleep.

Thought they could wear him down. Scout smirked. Miss Pauling had already given him the out.

By hour six, they shoved data in his face. Scout had to bend close to read. The words seemed so blurry, and jumped around, all twisting until he couldn't get past them, like a maze. And when he did manage to get it close enough to almost get past that blurriness, they were all big and stupid and boring. He managed to read out loud a few, then pushed it aside in frustration.

By hour ten, they were trying to cut a deal. Make him turn. But he wasn't a rat. And he wasn't about to give in that easily. Not that he had anything to give anyways.

"Takin' the fifth, pally," was all he said.

It was probably the only damn time he'd ever willingly chosen not to speak. Anybody would've probably thought he'd have died, not talking for that long. But his mind kept going back to her sleeping beside him. He'd do whatever he could to get back to that moment, and get back to her.

*

He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. But, they couldn't hold him. They'd tried to pin a bunch of shit on him, but his superior dumbassery won through the day. Bet those teachers who laughed when he couldn't see the words written on the blackboard past the blurrinsess and way the words just kept going cross-eyed. Well, look who was laughing now, and not in freaking jail?

Scout downed drink after drink of Coke from the vending machines outside. He felt marginally more alive as his parched body took in all that sugar.

"I'll be pissin' like Sniper at this rate," he muttered.

The sugar rush hit him like a wall of adrenaline, but that wasn't all. He shoved quarters into the vending machine. Chips, candy bars, he bought up one of everything. He shoved them in his mouth, all the flavors melded together. The wadded ball of wrappers fell into the trash can.

With as many brothers as he had, a guy learned to eat fast. If he didn't get his share, he'd go hungry. And he was the smallest of the bunch, but he could run, and he could hit hard.

He headed back towards the front desk. There was a female cop, and a cute one, at that. He would've flirted with her in another life, before Miss Pauling.

"Listen, pally. Where's my pictures? Ain't nothin' about the case about pictures of my ma!"

"Sir, if you'd--"

"C'mon, I'm innocent! Gimme my pics of my ma already!"

Miss Pauling had a bag slung over her shoulder. His bag, in fact. It was a bit ripped up, and had definitely seen better days, but it was still there. Hopefully it still had his pictures, too.

"Oh! Miss Pauling!"

She glanced back. She looked about as grim and tired as he felt before she got there. "Let's get out of here, Scout," she said.

He caught up with her in the parking lot. A heat mirage rose up from the chipped blacktop.

"Miss Pauling, you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Of course, they didn't even use torture. Something about it not being legal." She let out a derisive snort. "Some law system they are. I guess it's lucky for us they're so incompetent."

"Ain't nothin' to hide anyways," Scout said.

She climbed into the truck. Who had brought it there? Some orderly that remained around? Scout didn't quite know. Maybe Miss Pauling perfected magic and teleportation while he wasn't looking. It'd explain how she managed her hellish schedule.

He followed her into the truck, and shut the door hard behind him. The side rattled, possibly with old bullets.

She turned the key, and it rumbled to life. It wasn't until the police station was so far away, it was a line in the distance that she finally replied.

"For you, maybe. When all your coworkers are alcoholics, there's always evidence to hide. They're always sloppy at getting rid of something. And I'm always too busy to catch all their mistakes. And that isn't even bringing into everything I know about TFI," she said.

"Oh, yeah. Guess you gotta think up alibis," he said.

"There's nothing to think up. I never do anything without a clear alibi, even get coffee," she said.

"Dang," he said. She was so put together, remembering alibis like they were nothing. But then, Miss Pauling made everything look easy. She read off stuff like the words weren't blurry and jumpy, he bet she even could do math.

They ended up back at the base. She pushed up the yellow tape and climbed underneath.

Scout headed upstairs to the former men's quarters, where rooms full of boxes remained. There wasn't a single sound, not even a raccoon digging around, like usual, or any angry men screaming freedom! at the top of their lungs.

His stuff was all boxed up. The room was downright bare. Even the posters had been torn down. Without the pin up calendars and baseball pics on the walls to cover up the bullet holes, the room looked like moldy Swiss cheese.

"What the hell, am I fired?"

"Keep your voice down, Scout," Miss Pauling said. "Don't be silly. There's no job left to be fired from."

"Oh, right...I just figured, the whole place always comes back..."

"If it comes back, it'll be under another name, and with entirely new staff," she said.

She bent down and dragged a box closer.

"You're moving in with me. We're married now, after all. I just took the liberty of getting everything ready."

A week ago, he and Miss Pauling had been only sort of, kind of dating. The type where he questioned a lot if they really were dating or he just hallucinated that whole bread thing, because, really? Evil bread with tentacles?

Now, they were Vegas married. He hadn't even popped the question, she'd just dragged him there and then this happened.

They were really married. He was really Mr. Pauling now. Wait...

And he had a ring to prove it. Every time Scout wondered if maybe the whole thing was a fever dream, all he had to do was look down.

Still, he had so many questions. Why the sudden change? Who had packed his stuff up, if they were both out? He was pretty sure the cops wouldn't just put stuff in boxes like that.

She came up behind him, small and in charge. He turned around, and shared a smile with her for a second.

"These are all yours," she said.

"When'd you get a chance to save them?" he said.

"Before I left, off course."

They didn't even smell of smoke. Somehow she'd kept what little he had safe. Scout smiled. "Thanks, Miss P."

(Did Miss Pauling have the ability to be in two places at once, or possibly know teleportation? Because that would explain a lot.)

"What about you?" he said.

"My things? I already stashed my weapons and some new clothes. I didn't really have anything else worth saving other than that."

"Seriously, nothing at all?"

"If you treasure something, you've got a weakness," she said.

She met his gaze for a long while, and he nodded. The company sure had sent him a lot of pictures of his ma to remind him that the minute he stepped out of line, they knew where she was.

"Aight, I got 'em. I'll have the whole thing loaded before you know it."

As he hauled the last box into the truck, the lights all suddenly blew. Scout whirled around, ready to fight whatever ghost or wizard was there. But it wasn't Merasmus, fourth rate wizard he saw. Miss Pauling was silhouetted in flames. In her hand was a can of gasoline.

It was a beautiful, horrible sight. Here he was, watching all his work for years go quite literally up in smoke. The rickety wood walls gave in easily.

But Miss Pauling sure looked good while she destroyed everything he'd loved.

She razed the whole place, until even their tracks were lost. And then they drove off into the night, back into Teufort. Scout figured there were more hotels with their name on it, but Miss Pauling stopped into Teufort Pleasantville Apartments.

"I already booked us a place at least until the end of the month," Miss Pauling said.

That little us made him shiver.

"And you shouldn't call me 'Miss Pauling' anymore. It'll seem suspicious. You should call me Sophie, or Mrs. Dempsey. Though I haven't changed my name yet officially..."

Scout scrunched up his nose. "Suspicious? Feels weird, you not bein' Pauling anymore. It's all I've ever know you as."

"I could hyphenate. Then I'd be Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey, or Dempsey-Pauling."

"The first one. Then you'd still be Miss Pauling."

"Mrs. technically," she said.

"Yeah, Mrs. Pauling. Uh, babe--Why not go into hidin'? That's what I don't get. You say you have to take all this. It ain't your crap."

"Because the Administrator left this for me to handle. And I'm sure it's just like all the other trials she's given me."

"If she can be a coward and just run off, then so can you. It ain't your place to carry the whole company. What have they ever done for you?"

Miss Pauling's face twisted into rage in seconds. Scout hadn't seen her this pissed since he stole a briefcase. She pointed a finger accusingly at him. "Scout, don't you dare say such things about the Administrator. She is no coward. She's the most powerful deadly person in the world, and if she heard you say such things, not even I could save you from her wrath."

Scout gestured with his hands, towards nothing, towards everything. You talk like an Italian, baby his mother had always said, because even his hands couldn't keep quiet, and had to go along while he talked. It got even worse when he was angry.

"Oh, right--what's it called when somebody runs off and leaves the mess for everybody else to clean up? Because that sure don't sound like frickin' bravery to me!"

"Strategic. It was a common practice for kings and queens of the day. You don't let the important people just get captured."

"Then what does that mean, she don't think you're important?"

Miss Pauling's voice rose. There was this wild look in her eyes that usually ended up with somebody dead. Scout enjoyed watching her go off on whatever poor bastard was next in line to the graveyard train, but it was a lot less enjoyable being the target of her wrath. "I'm important enough to clean up and save the company for her. Not that you would understand anything about that. You're nothing but a mercenary. You've never even met the Administrator. To you, she's just a voice yelling commands. Well, I took care of those commands and did things you can't even imagine!"

They hadn't even been married a week and they were already into first fight territory. Scout couldn't tell if it was a bad sign, or good to get it out of the way. Either way, even a dumbass like him could see there was no winning this one. Whatever hold the Voice had on her, it was too strong for him to get rid of so easily.

"Forget it. We're both exhausted. Let's just get the stuff put in and get to bed."

She didn't respond, though that door sure didn't close quietly behind her. Which made Scout realize that today was probably supposed to be their belated wedding night, and he'd probably spend it on the couch. He had an inkling Miss Pauling's take on 'never got to bed angry' would probably come off more like 'never go to bed unarmed.'

Sure, he'd made some dumbass choices, but was this one of them? How the hell was he supposed to know that telling Miss Pauling to take care of herself and not rush headlong into certain death would be taken like that. He sat down, pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

It was going to be a long night.

*

When she woke up, all the anger was gone, and replaced by the kind of Pauling who stumbled out like a zombie until she got her first sip of coffee.

Scout still wondered if he was supposed to get her flowers, even though he'd been right. He still wasn't sure about this marriage thing.

(Except he was sure of one thing: He'd think twice before criticizing the Voice. Even if she deserved it for being Literal Satan On Earth.)

He settled for bringing coffee and donuts from a stall down the street.

She looked up from her coffee.

"You asked what the company had ever done for me... The Administrator raised me. She found me when I was just a baby, and taught me everything I know. How to kill people in every way imaginable, how to file paperwork, and bury bodies. She taught me how to lead, and how to live. I owe everything I am to her."

Scout had to bite his tongue, because from where he was, it sure looked like the Voice wasn't paying her worth shit compared to what she did, and wouldn't give her any real time off. And if Miss Pauling was so important to her, she would've taken her along. She certainly wasn't winning any mother of the years awards, with the way she'd send hitmen after her own...daughter? The word felt so weird used in the same sentence as the Voice. But even a dumbass like him could see he wasn't going to win this fight. Not when the Voice had spent so much time making Miss Pauling feel like she'd done something for her, when from what Scout could see, Miss Pauling was the only one doing any real giving.

"Aight, I'll drop it," was all he said.

"Thank you," she said curtly. Like the fight wasn't really over, but they were both hungover from being angry.

"You wanna go get breakfast? After this? Cafe down the way's pretty good. You ever been down there?"

"No. I don't have time for such things. Er, didn't have time."

She took another sip of coffee. "I guess now all I have is time. At least until they come and drag us back into the case. The trial is going to start soon, and we'll need all the energy we can get."

Technically, all Scout knew about law was from watching episodes of Ghost Prosecutor.

"When you said inquest, you think it'll take a long time? I mean, Ghost Prosecutor finishes up his in thirty minutes, so it can't be that long. At least this case my lawyer ain't a lamp, or even worse, Soldier," Scout said.

"From what I know about Ricard, he'll use everything he can to make it go as fast as possible. Usually these things would take months, but the mayor is easily swayed and Teufort has always been rather lax on the rules. That's why the Administrator chose here. Well, that and other reasons, like it's so close to the border."

"So, what would take months is gonna take minutes?"

"I can't say how long it'll take."

"If you don't know, then nobody does."

"Yeah, you could say we're royally fucked," she said.

"We got out of all the other crap, we'll get out of this one. Ricard ain't shit. He's no wizard, or evil mutant bread, or even a magic book of bombs, or aliens. What's he got? The law? Big frickin' deal. I've been flippin' off the law since I could walk. It's the Southie way."

She smiled. "You're right. We have fought much harder enemies. It's easy to lose sight with the fact that base was destroyed."

By her, no less.

"Eh, it ain't the first and it won't be the last."

He grabbed his bag and they headed out to eat together. Things still weren't entirely right between them, but it was slowly thawing. Scout only hoped it wouldn't linger, like some storm that just wouldn't let up and left the whole place soaked for days.

*

On cue, the were called in the very next day. Scout had to dust off his suit, and drag his ass right into one of his least favorite places in the world: the courtroom.

Scout sat on the bench just outside the courtroom 2. He kept fiddling with his tie. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why some chuckleheads wore these torture devices for a living. it wasn't like it made them look more professional--just easier to strangle.

Before Miss Pauling could reply, a tall man stepped out. He kind of reminded Scout of the Cowboy Prosecutor from Ghost Prosecutor, the one who was a real rival of the big GP. He wore a big brimmed hat, and a draw string about his neck instead of a tie. His linen shirt was starched enough to not have a single wrinkle.

"Wow, what a pleasant surprise, Miss Pauling. You didn't skip town. You lost me ten bucks already," he drawled.

"Indeed, I didn't. Though, I think you'll have to take some new things into account. Like this." She held up her hand to show off the new set of rings. She then lifted his hand to show off his own ring.

"You'll have to reconfigure your ideas with cross-examinations, because we're married," she said.

"How very... sudden," Ricard said.

"Well, I found out I was... expecting," she said. She cleared her throat. "So we wanted to get it done before I couldn't fit into my dress."

Scout nearly fell out of his chair. That's what it was all about? Wait, they hadn't fucked yet. Sure, Scout had been expelled out of almost every school in Boston, and finally dropped out when he ran out of schools that would take him, but he was pretty sure this wasn't the sequel of the Virgin birth.

And Miss P probably wasn't a virgin, anyways. She could be, with how much her work cockblocked them, but Scout didn't want to think about her past. Probably best not to, anyways. She'd have an awful lot of murder charges with her name on 'em if they ever dug too deep in those caves. The less he knew, the better.

He gave her a side glance. If he asked, she'd probably go of course I'm not pregnant, Scout. Do I look pregnant? Being pregnant requires having sex! Does it look like we're having sex? Do I look like I have time for sex?

Right?

When Ricard had left, Scout got a bit closer to her.

"So like....about that...bun in the oven--"

"Medic says it's too soon to tell when the due date is," she said, in this June Cleaver kind of way that felt like a mask was firmly put on her face.

"But we--"

She grabbed his shirt and roughly pulled him down to her level, and silenced him with a kiss.

As she pulled away, he heard her whisper. Remember, trust me.

He forgot all his questions and everything but her lips.

*

Scout didn't know a damn thing about being married. He didn't even know who to ask about something like that. The base was downright empty--and now burned to the ground. Not that he could ask any of the guys how to be married. Wait, Demoman had mentioned that Medic had a wife. And that he'd shagged her. Okay, maybe Doc wasn't the person to ask. After all, what kind of gal would marry somebody like Medic?

Plus, the whole faking his death thing made him pretty hard to find. Which left Scout back at the beginning on figuring out how.

He slipped the quarter in and waited as the rings went through. It always was agony, the seconds it took until his ma picked up. When she did, he couldn't even wait for a hello and hello, how are yous, and burst out instead with "Hey ma? How do you be married?"

"Well, you get a ring, and give it to somebody. Can't be a dime store ring, either. You goin' to ask that girl you been moonin' over to finally get married?"

"Already did that. I mean, how do I be married?"

"You got married and didn't even tell me?"

"Look, it was an emergency! She dragged me out and was like 'we're gettin' married now.' Hell, she didn't even tell me that, she just said 'let's go' and then we were in Vegas, gettin' married by an Elvis impersonator."

"I carried you for nine months inside my body, through morning sickness and then never stopped cryin' when you were a baby. You almost never slept because you were too busy bawlin' your lungs out. Then, as a kid, you broke so many damn windows with your baseballs. And that's just the start of all the hell you've put me through. And you don't even invite me to your weddin'. Well, I hope you're happy--"

Hell, this wasn't a guilt trip. It was guilt vacation. It was around the world in 20 guilt-ridden days.

"Ma! Ma! Listen, I promise we'll get another weddin' goin'. But it turned out she was knocked up, so we just winged it and got hitched before it started to show. I really didn't want the kid comin' out a bastard, you know? Once the kid is here, we can get the family all together and have a big weddin'."

So, maybe it was a little white lie. Unless you really could get knocked up from getting to second base. But with his back against the wall, what other choice did he have? Besides, it was just making her lie come in stronger if anybody was listening in.

"There's a baby on the way?" He heard his ma blow her nose. Aww, damn. He'd gone and made her cry with one thoughtless comment. "Really?"

"Yeah. I just found out I'm goin' to be a daddy. It was all real sudden. She just dragged me out there in the middle of the night. I didn't even know we were goin' until we hit the place. Figured it was some kind of delivery job."

So he'd kind of fudged what his job really was.

"Now you didn't try and run, did you?"

"Of course not," Scout said. "Though I didn't even know what was goin' on. Though I wouldn't have! The only runnin' I would've done was runnin' down that aisle to marry her faster."

"I really hope I can meet this girl some day. She's really made you clean up, sweetie."

"C'mon, ma. I wasn't That bad."

She laughed so hard he was surprised she didn't drop the phone.

The payphone started clicking. An operator voice came over, urging him to put in more money. (In his lonelier years, he'd had fantasies about that operator girl. She sounded like a classy gal. But for some time, all his dreams were about Miss Pauling.)

"Ma, I gotta go! Runnin' out of time! Take care, love you, bye!"

The phone cut off her goodbye. Scout put the phone back, only to realize someone was behind him.

As he turned, Scout saw it was her. She looked almost ominous. The way the light hit her glasses, he couldn't see her eyes. Scout still thought of her as Miss Pauling, even though she wasn't a Miss anymore.

"Come with me," she said.

He hopped into her truck, and they set on down the road.

"You'll have to be careful what you tell your mother. I think the phone systems have been compromised."

She held up a little metal beetle between her fingers. In a moment, she smashed it, and wires came out.

"What the hell?" Scout said. "You think he'd bug the friggin' payphones?"

"This is deeper than I thought. Ricard isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty."

"You got the dirtiest hands I ever seen."

"Er, thanks," she said.

The dust kicked up. They were finally out of the courthouse, out of all those watching eyes. The motor was too loud to talk. It was another hotel they ended up at. A little less sleazy, two towns away. She threw her bag aside. It was beige, but classier, with some cheap painting of a sunset and a television which wasn't even chained down.

"Is the apartment bugged?" Scout said.

"I can't tell. We'll go back, eventually. But for now, we just need to find somewhere I know Ricard hasn't gotten to."

She laid back on the bed and started to rub at her temples.

"Got a headache? Might have some aspirin in my bag," Scout said.

"My head is constantly pounding. The Administrator left the company as a sinking ship. She left us! ...she left me to go down with everyone else."

She pulled her glasses off and set them on the bedside table.

"I was supposed to be different," she said in a soft voice. "I was irreplaceable. I was her right hand woman. I did all her dirty work for me. I wasn't supposed to be like the rest. Maybe she's just testing me. She does stuff like this. She sends hired killers to see if I can survive them. Sets up emergencies to see if I have enough grit to take them." She let out a sigh.

"She was the closest thing to a mother I had. She raised me. Taught me how to kill before I even was in kindergarten. Of course you already know that. Because I told you."

Scout placed his hand on her shoulder. "Look, you ain't alone here."

She glanced back at him. "The rest of the men disappeared. Except Engineer."

"Really? He's that loyal?"

"No, he's just smart. I found out he's been keeping documents to start this narrative of innocence. I suspect that he's going to make the case that he was just a contractor who fixed things and had no idea of what was going on, about as guilty as someone who unknowingly fixes the refrigerator of a serial killer."

"Dang, Hardhat has balls."

"He can even wing it to pad his resume with the next big corrupt corporation he works with. And he's got just enough manners to fool any of the low-level managements. I just hope he isn't cornered. Because there's no telling what other documents he held on to in order to keep himself safe. I don't even know if I can trust that he'll be our ally anymore."

"Hardhat? Nahhh. He's too nice for somethin' like that. He'll run circles around any chucklehead who tries to take him down."

"You always believe in everyone," she said.

"Of course. The guys are my pals. They're like brothers to me. Besides, you ain't alone. I'm always here. I'll drive the getaway car," Scout said.

She smiled, just a little. "It's a bit late for a getaway car. If we were going to go."

"Why didn't you? You could've gone up to Southie with me. Found some hideout. I told you all along we could book it out of here."

"That'd be the first place anyone would look for you," she said.

"Babe, you don't know Southie. Ain't nobody gonna squeal up there. They hate cops and outsiders. We could just lay low until they lost interest. ...Hey, you said the rest are gone, you got any idea where they are? Like, where's doc?"

"Faked his own death, I presume. It isn't the first time, nor will it be the last."

"Heavy?" Scout said.

"Back to his family, or with Medic. Maybe both. Who can tell?"

"Soldier? Demo?"

"Currently under medical supervision, deported back to Scotland," she said.

"Sniper?"

"I haven't found out yet. He might've gone to hide out in the outback. I wouldn't worry about him; he always lands on his feet."

"Spy?"

"No one knows. They never do when it comes to him."

It had all looked like the usual amount of chaos to Scout. Sure, there were orderlies running around and burning files, but they'd done that just last month, and the month before. And every month. Sure, he'd had to help hide a whole lot of bodies--but he did that every damn day.

He was so used to chaos that he didn't even recognize when the whole place was falling apart.

"It was her legacy. I couldn't just let it fall to nothing," she said softly. "I had to do something. But, I can't risk being hungover for tomorrow's court date. I can't go to the shooting range. There's all this stress and I can't do anything about it."

"Don't be silly, Miss P. This is America. Everyone goes to the shootin' range. I headed down there a ways back, and I passed a Priest, two suburban moms and a judge all comin' in to fire away."

"Not in this case," she said.

She went over to the bed and sat down, like the weight of everything was so much she could barely lift it up.

Scout sat on the bed beside her. "You got me. I'll always have your back."

"You've been there all along, and you're still there..." She said softly.

"Yeah, I'll always be here. I promise," he said.

She pushed herself up. Her hands grazed up his chest, and in seconds, she silenced him with a kiss.

She broke apart with a gasp "...This is fine, we're married after all."

"Didn't take you to be the freaking secret Catholic," Scout said dryly.

She smiled. "Trust me, Catholic's one thing I'm not."

She climbed up onto his lap, and pushed him down to the bed. "I need this right now, need you, so..."

"I'm all yours," Scout said. "Always have been, always will be."

Shirts were pulled off, stockings ruined through hungry, roaming hands. Her skirt was lost somewhere off to the floor, and shoes off the bed, mouths met, touched. His hand fit right there, between her legs. The first moan he got out of her felt like a triumph, better than any stolen briefcase, any won game.

God, he'd hit the jackpot. She was fricking gorgeous. Curvy, covered with scars--but she made it cute--dark haired and with the most incredible green eyes he'd ever seen. If there was one set of tits and ass that could keep him home and satisfied for life, it was hers. But she was more than just a good figure. She was smart, and strong, and just so cool.

Her nipples hardened at his touch, and all he could think was I could have her forever? I could do this with her for the rest of my life?

She climbed up on top. "Just, stay with me, okay? I guess it's harder for guys to stay up for a real long time, but I really need you right now."

"Not a problem," Scout said. "I a runner, got stamina, remember?"

She leaned down to whisper. "Stamina at running doesn't mean stamina like this."

He let out a low groan. God, her voice made him so hard. The light was just dim enough for him to see the shape of her smile, her excitement as she ground her crotch against him.

That first feeling of his body and hers tight together was enough to make him let out one hell of a groan. Sure, he wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex once, with the taste of chicken wings between kisses. But it wasn't like this. Damn, he didn't even remember her name. Brenda? Brandi? Something like that.

But it was so different with Miss Pauling. He was in awe of every thrust inside her, every moan and shiver and damn touch of her. Oh, he was in deep. Spiraling out of control, and it was incredible.

She let out a sudden cry and clung to him so tightly that he couldn't hold back anymore. He thrust hard again and again until he suddenly came. They both laid out on the bed, a gasping for breath. Shock and awe, that was how he'd describe it.

She nudged him with another kiss.

"It--it wasn't good for you?" Scout said. Could all that moaning really have been a fake? He thought the more a girl moaned, the realer it was.

"You know how when you're eating a cake you bought from the store and you promise yourself one piece, but it's so good you keep going and before you know it, the whole cake is gone and then you think maybe I'll go buy another cake? And then you end up eating all of that too, even though you only meant to have one piece again?"

Technically, Scout couldn't really relate. He always ate the whole cake--or as much as he could before his brothers came through, because there was no going for seconds with that many brothers. It was a fight just to get his share with so many bigger siblings to push him out of the way.

"I want the whole cake. And then I want to go to the store and buy another cake, and maybe top it with ice cream. Do you get it?" she said.

On one hand, her metaphor was kind of all over the place and was making him hungry. On the other hand, he got the message from the way her hand was going straight to his cock, to pump him hard again.

Considering it'd been over two years since he'd gotten laid, it wouldn't take long to get it up. He'd stopped trying to chase after other girls when he'd finally figured out on the brink of death that she was his one regret. He'd taken so many cold showers, he was surprised his balls didn't freeze off from how blue they were.

But here he was, in bed with Miss Pauling. His wife. She was just so soft. Her warm breasts pushed against his chest. She pulled him on top of her.

"Wait, I don't wanna crush you."

"You aren't even a hundred and fifty pounds, I'll be fine," she said.

It hit like a slap. But she saw the flinch in him and kissed him.

"Don't take it like that. I like you that way. I like so much about you."

"Really?"

"You think I'd be here if I didn't?"

"You never said anythin'. Most of the time you seemed pissed."

"I've just got so much on my shoulders. Everything had to be for the Administrator's wishes. There was no room for me, and what I wanted. I was able to slip you in during work, but that was it. Trust me, liking you was never the problem. It was my packed work schedule."

And then, she slipped him inside her, and there was no more talking or coherent thoughts. Just the warmth and softness covering him. His pulse raced, and he could lose himself in the rhythm, the feel of her body and his. But he kept pulling back. Think of the Yankees winning, think of the Impossible dream and how the Red Sox lost. anything to keep it up extra long for her.

He'd never gone this far, never come this hard. She was against him, warm and small. She fit so well into him, in every way there was to fit into a person. He rested his hand over her, almost hesitantly, like she was so fragile that the dream might burst, like a bubble.

But he didn't wake up. And he kept not waking up.

*

Scout examined the hickies all across his neck and chest in the mirror. And that didn't even go to the lines of scratch marks she'd left across his back last night. God, he looked liked he'd been mauled in the sexiest way possible.

She smirked. "Good thing you're wearing a high collar today."

"Just for that, I'm wearin' a tee in next time. One with a reaaal low neck," Scout said.

"Now, now. The judge might throw you out for being disorderly and distracting everyone."

She did the knot in his tie. If Scout had his way, he'd come into court with a rumbled shirt, open jacket and with muddy sneakers. Hell, if he had his way, he'd ditch court entirely and use that tie for more important things. Like his hands getting tied to that headboard.

"We'll be late."

"New married thing: kissin' you every mornin'."

Just in case one of them didn't come back.

She wiped the lipstick off his mouth. Finally, she wiped of off her own and kissed him once more.

"I should just stop wearing it at this point. You're just going to kiss it off me," she said.

"It's fun, though," he said softly.

She left the trace of lipstick on his collar. "It makes the alibi more realistic," she sad.

She leaned in so close, her lips almost brushed his cheek. "And it reminds everyone that you're mine."

His eyes widened, and he glanced at her. She smiled knowingly, and went out ahead of him.

God, he'd follow her into hell and back. Which was good, because that was what this case threatened to be.

*

The proceedings all faded into this background hum. Ghost Prosecutor made this all look a whole lot more interesting. Their lawyer was like if dirty dishwater was a person. Sorta balding, sorta boring. He droned on, and Scout missed everything he said. He could feel the heat of her as Miss Pauling's knee brushed his. He let his hand come to rest there, right on her thigh.

She mouthed, don't distract me and brushed his hand away.

So he put his hand on her back, to steady her like. She gave him a hard stare.

"What? I'm supportin' you! he mouthed to her.

She pushed his knee away when he sat, spread legged. He hadn't even been trying to touch her that time, just trying to keep his balls from chafing in this stupid suit.

Like he was supposed to focus on some big shot chucklefuck guy who wanted to take them down when he'd slept with Miss Pauling less than 24 hours ago.

One thing was for sure, Ghost Prosecutor sure made courtroom cases seem intense. But actually being there was about as interesting as watching Sniper paint the outside walls yellow after a long time of being camped out. He leaned back in the seat as another damn person droned on like he gave a damn what they thought.

His mind kept going back to last night. His hands, his mouth, her hands, her mouth. Their bodies moving together. He'd put his sex drive in storage while he was waiting for her, and then put a padlock on it, just in case. He had barely even looked at another girl in that whole time, let alone flirted with any. Since he tipped over into I like this girl to this is the only girl for me. He'd done his push ups and read more books on dating than he could remember. He had planned to be a gentleman, even if he had to take five cold showers a day.

(And the mere thought of the word "gentleman" sort of made him want to punch someone, like if Spy was a word and was laughing Frenchly at him.)

But it was back with a vengeance. And the last thing he wanted was to be popping a boner while they were trying to not be in the clink, and everyone else here was cockblocking him with the whole trying to send him to jail thing.

When the fifteen minutes recess came, Scout headed out to the nearest bathroom. There was a single room unisex one not too far away from the courtroom. It had two sinks, a john, a gray sort of coldness, cloudy mirror, and not a whole lot else. What he needed was a cold shower. But he'd have to make do with a lot less. Scout splashed cold water on his face. With a glance back, he undid his collar, and that tie Miss Pauling had worked so hard to fix. His neck was covered in hickies. A line of dark bruises she'd left on him disappeared past the buttons. Just below his collar bone was a bite mark. He rubbed the tender skin with his thumb, and remembered.

Her lips at his neck, her tongue over his throat, her fingers across his back, her breasts to his chest.... She'd pulled him on top of him and sunk those nails deep into his skin. All over his body was marked by her. He'd been branded by her name for years before he finally got bruises left by her for real to show the way she had been bruised on his heart since the first time he'd seen her.

Damn, last night had been something else. A whole new kind of wildness. Waiting for her had been the right idea. It just wouldn't have been the same in some shitty cheap motel where tons of tricks had been played, and the stinking mattress was probably full of bedbugs, or worse.

Sure, he'd wanted her. But he'd had no idea. No idea that she'd drag him out to get married in Vegas, and sure as hell no idea that he'd be fucked hard enough to forget his name last night.

He splashed cold water onto his face. It wasn't enough. But it wasn't like he could climb in and soak his dick in under the freezing stream from the faucet. He'd just have to go back and pretend to be a gentleman for her sake. Because she wanted to focus on the case, and technically, he wanted to not be in jail too--even if the only thing he could think of was her body and last night and everything in-between.

Hopefully she wouldn't be too tired after this whole thing, because he was dying to touch and taste her again.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Fuckin' hell... just give me a second, all right?"

He didn't bother to dry himself off as he walked back. When he opened the door, she was right there waiting.

"Oh, uh, hey."

"It's a unisex bathroom," she said.

"Yeah, it was the closest, so--"

Before he could come say another word, she pushed her way through and locked the door behind them.

"We've got less than fifteen minutes," she said.

Before he could even respond, she climbed up onto the counter between the sinks and hiked up her purple skirts and he got an idea why she'd forced her way in.

God, she was so wild and wicked. Just when he thought he couldn't be anymore turned on by her, she went and pulled this.

He tore those stockings in two right at the crotch, and spread her legs wide. She hadn't put on panties today. All this time he'd been this close to her, the heat of her body slipping into him. Had she been thinking of him too?

Had she planned this whole tryst out right from the minute they left?

Her legs wrapped around his hips. She pulled him in closer, closer to that sweet taste of heaven.

"God, Miss Pauling..."

"Keep it down, we're in public. And hurry it up. We don't have much time," she said.

He didn't need telling twice. The counter kept her right at the perfect angle to thrust in hard. Her back was to the mirror. He thought the faucet had to be digging into her, but she didn't complain. Her hands slipped down, to get herself off.

He pulled on her shirt, desperately, and buttons came flying off, but that wasn't all. The finest tits that the world had ever known were exposed to the cold air.

"Scout--"

He buried his face there, and took several gasping breaths. The purple lace of her bra dug into his cheek, his back began to protest from the way he'd positioned himself, but it was all worth it.

She had to bite her lower lip to keep a moan quiet. That only made him thrust in harder, until her beautiful green eyes widened, and she could barely keep still and silent.

He reached out to the hand drier and slammed down that button to drown out her moans with the roar and rush of that hot air.

"Scout, Scout..." she gasped as he gripped her hips tight.

He was balls deep in her, fucking in a Unisex bathroom, in mere minutes they'd be back trying to dance away from death--and oh, he was freaking married to Miss Pauling."

He slammed that air drier one more time as she let out a long whimper, and clenched tight about him. He gripped her ass tight, hard enough to leave marks on her milky skin. It was enough to destroy all control he had left as he took those last thrusts and came. Calm and pleasure filled him. Everything was quiet in his head instead of the usual chatter and constant brightness of images.

He leaned in, barely able to stand or even think. The fact that she had her legs about him so tightly was the only thing that kept his knees from buckling.

He leaned against the wall, and let out a long breath.

He smirked. "I thought you needed to be qu~iet, Miss Pauling."

She struggled for breath, could barely even respond or form words with the way he'd fucked her. Hell, she still might be coming from the way they went at it.

"You're welcome," he said.

"I told you, don't call me that anymore," she said.

"Sure thing, wifey," he said.

"I should fuck that smug smile right off your face," she said between gritted teeth.

"Later, we gotta go to this thing, remember?"

As she climbed down off the counter, white dripped down between her legs.

And you're welcome for that, too he thought.

"Right--court." She quickly grabbed a wetted paper towel to clean up the best she could. She let out a little shivery moan as she rubbed at her tender thighs.

"It might be easier just to take these stockings off," she said under her breath. "But, no time..."

He enjoyed the show, still too well fucked to do much more than sit in this post-coital good mood, and the fucking smugness that she was his, all his.

"Crap, we'll be late at this rate..." She broke off, and caught his gaze.

He lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck it," she muttered.

She cupped his face and stole one last kiss. Then she pushed him away, and rushed out that door. Scout felt dazed and dizzy from her, from it all. But a few seconds later he followed.

*

The days blended together. The nights--and occasionally lunch breaks or other recesses were filled with more passion than he could even imagine. He was sleepwalking through the whole case, and loving every second with her--even if that asshole prosecutor kept taking up their time.

During a recess, Miss Pauling sat on the bench with her head between her knees. Scout glanced down the long hall, the fancy wood walls. There were some guards in blue uniforms in front of each courtroom. Lawyers and staff and all other sorts walked past them.

He sat down on the wooden bench beside her.

"Miss P, is everyhin' all right?"

She glanced up at him. Exhaustion had left dark circles under her eye, as purple as her dress.

"I told you, Scout. Technically I'm not 'Miss Pauling' anymore, Or Miss anything."

"Oh right, still gettin' used to this marriage stuff. Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey," he said.

Scout held out a bottled water. She looked like she might vomit right there in the middle of the hallway. And that had to be some kind of crime.

"The stress got to you?"

"Possibly. Or I could've gotten sick. I... haven't been able to keep food down lately."

"Sounds like stress to me. Or overheatin'. I get like that sometimes when I'm runnin' in the desert."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "Hey, we're goin' to get through this."

"That's kind of you, but I don't have the luxury of looking on the bright side. I know too much."

"What's the worse case scenario? We go to jail? Please, I've been to jail before. We'll be out and on the road, like Bonnie and Clyde before it's all over."

"I'm just really tired."

"Court ain't for a while. You can nap on me until then."

"I should be checking over our case..."

"Go on. You'll think better. I'll keep a watch out. Nobody's goin' to hurt you."

She rested her head against his shoulder.

He leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I won't let nobody get you," he said softly. "I promise."

She stared up at him with those deep green eyes, and just a glance could make him shiver and give up everything he'd ever thought he wanted or was. She nuzzled in close.

"Okay... wake me up when it's time," she said.

He leaned in to kiss the top of her head. "Sure thing."

He stroked her head until she nodded off. The minutes passed by and the people passed by. He watch, and kept still and quiet for her. The two things he could never manage before Miss Pauling came into his life.

*

When the court reconvened, Scout craned his neck to look through the gallery. There was a big empty spot where that balding, mumbling guy had been.

"Babe, where's our lawyer?"

"I'm taking over," she said.

He glanced over at her with sheer awe. "You got a law degree too?" Scout said.

"I know more than he did," she said derisively.

"I call Liam Dempsey to the stand."

"Listen," she said desperately, "Don't say anything. You have a constitutional right to silence. Just say 'I take the fifth.' We're married. They can't force us to testify against each other."

Sure, he'd been here before. Been here a couple of times. And once, his lawyer had been a lamp. Even worse, another time his lawyer had been Soldier

"Got it," he said.

He leaned in quickly and stole a kiss. Not the long type he wanted, with hands underneath the purple blouse action, but enough to steady his nerves as he took that long walk up in front.

"Mr. Dempsey, this is a court of law," the judge said.

"We're newlyweds, your honor," Miss Pauling said.

There was laughter in the gallery. The judge slammed his gavel down. "I'll overlook it this time, but please keep it to the bedroom."

"Oh, trust me, we do," Scout said.

Miss Pauling was glaring daggers into his back, like she was trying to Morse code blink messages right into his brain. Scout took a seat in the wooden witness stand, which he was a little too comfy in, considering how many times he'd been here.

"State your name and occupation, Mr. Dempsey."

"Liam Dempsey, professional deliverer, professional stud."

People in the gallery suddenly broke out into chortles of laughter.

Ricard stepped forward, with his cowboy hat, and there's not enough room for both of us in this town swagger. "Mr. Dempsey--"

Scout cut Ricard off. "I'm takin' the fifth, and I don't mean a fifth of vodka, though I'll take that too if you got it," Scout said.

Several people in the gallery chuckled. This time, the judge didn't demand order. Probably because he was so charmed by Scout, he couldn't stand it. Not that Scout could blame the guy. Everyone was charmed by his incredible charisma and superior handsomeness.

Ricard gave him a shrewd glance. "So you're admitting your guilt?" Ricard said.

Miss Pauling clutched the briefcase so hard that she was surprised it didn't snap under her grip. Her eyes were desperately trying to tell him something. Probably don't be a dumbass, stick to the fucking plan knowing her.

This Prosecutor was a chump. Scout had fought with tougher types. He yawned and gave Ricard a bored glance.

"Admittin', adschittin'. I'm sayin' the fifth, also I don't know about all this crap. I just do runs And I mean super fast runs. You should see my times. I'm a delivery boy, you know?"

"What, you bring back pizza?" Ricard said derisively.

A few people in the gallery laughed.

The black-robed judge banged his gavel. "Order. Order in the court."

"Sometimes. Sometimes coffee, or donuts. Or I gotta take around like, furniture and boxes and carts of stuff. Just briefcases and crap. Don't look in 'em. Can't tell you anythin' about them."

Which wasn't even technically a lie. He'd gotten plenty of meals for Miss Pauling, once he'd finally gotten close enough to her. Despite the fact that he stole a briefcase once, he didn't make a habit of looking in at them. There was nothing but boring papers, anyways.

Ricard held up a document. "You signed this contract, correct?"

Scout glanced over the end of the papers. It was way too damn long to read them, but he recognized his big swirl. He was always practicing for when he'd have to give autographs. "Yeah, that's my name."

"I have an objection. There's no saying that this is in fact the correct Mann co. documents," Miss Pauling said.

"This was taken directly from the files. At least before the unfortunate 'accidental fire' which destroyed so much evidence," Ricard said.

He stepped closer to Scout. "So you willingly agreed to all laid out on these papers?"

Scout laughed. "C'mon, it ain't like I read it."

Ricard turned to face the gallery. "What kind of imbecile doesn't even read a job contract?"

Scout gestured at himself with both thumbs. "This guy, right here. See, this gorgeous lady came to offer me a job. Couldn't barely focus on anythin' but her and that sweet purple mini-dress she was wearin'. Wowie, zowie. We're married now. Capish? I don't know anythin', so I'm fifthin' all out here. Now, Mister Prosecutor Guy, ain't you just wastin' your time?"

Ricard let out a sigh of disgust. That was the thing about smarty pants college people. They didn't know what to do with a dumbass like him. Nothing in their big books and education prepared them for a loudmouthed Southie boy so in love with a girl he'd go diving straight towards hell without even a second thought.

"He's your witness."

"I have no questions your honor," she said.

Smart girl. She knew if she got up there, it'd just devolve into him flirting with her on the stand. Then they'd be thrown out of the courtroom for indecent behavior.

Scout headed back to his seat with a smirk. If it kept on like this, that prosecutor wouldn't even have a case to lose.

*

"I call Miss Sophie Pauling to the stand."

He gave Miss Pauling a worried look. She squeezed his hand, and mouthed trust me.

And that's really all he could do.

She went up to that stand and took a seat.

"State your name for the court," the judge said.

"I suppose it would be Mrs Pauling-Dempsey now. Though I haven't gotten a chance to change my name," she said.

Ricard smirked. "That so?"

"Indeed," she said curtly.

"Then, Mrs Pauling-Dempsey, state your job," Ricard said.

"I'm a secretary at Mann co. Former now, I suppose. I never did get my severance pay. But with the owners all gone, I doubt I will now."

Ricard lifted his eyebrows. "Just a secretary?"

"You could say I do a lot of things. I file paperwork. Move things, occasionally take phone calls. Like any other secretary, I suppose."

"And that's all you do?"

He was baiting her, trying to trip her ego. But she didn't fall for it.

"Well, I type out things, empty trash cans occasionally. The janitors are rather inept. Actually, most of the staff was inept. I would end up doing their jobs and working late into the night."

"Is it true that the Mann co. building burned down?"

"So I heard," she said.

"And your footprints and fingerprints were found there."

"I worked there. In fact you'll find my hair and even fingerprints all over anything that wasn't burnt. I did a lot."

"On the empty containers of gasoline," he said.

"As I told you, I took care of the trash. There isn't exactly garbage pick up that far out in the desert. There likely isn't a single thing in there that doesn't have my fingerprints on it."

"Like the weapons?" Ricard said.

Scout flinched. Wow, Ricard was going for blood. But Miss Pauling didn't seem phased at all.

"Saxton Hale sold weapons. There is no contest to that, and there shouldn't be. Guns are perfectly legal, Prosecutor Ricard. I helped him a few times."

"So you're saying, that if your fingerprints were found on those many weapons, it was just for innocent reasons?" Ricard said suddenly.

"Objection, conjecture," Miss Pauling said.

"Get to the point, Prosecutor," the judge said.

But Ricard kept on, like a wolf latched on to its prey.

"And if your fingerprints were found on things in the caves around Teufort, what then? What about that, Miss Pauling? Were you selling guns in there? And what," Ricard said between gritted teeth, "About the bodies, Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey?"

"What about them?" she said coolly.

"Hundreds of bodies were found in the surrounding caves, most rotted by quicklime."

"It's tragic, but completely unrelated to me," she said. "After all, I'm just a secretary."

Wasn't this a point where she'd make an objection? Had Miss Pauling forgotten that she was their attorney now too? Scout cleared his thought.

"Mrs Pauling-Dempsey--"

"And that'll cue an objection," Miss Pauling said. "You've been dabbling in hearsay and what ifs for a while. I really expected more from you. You're supposedly supposed to be good at your job."

Ricard was left speechless. The gallery murmured behind him. This wasn't the first time he'd been in utter awe of her, and Scout knew it wouldn't be the last. She was deft, and danced ahead of each question he asked.

He pulled at the little draw strings at his neck, covered in a silver holder. He was back to that southern gentleman mask again.

"Sorry, your honor. I got a little ahead of myself. Now, let me get back to where I was..."

"Your husband, Liam Dempsey, he too was employed there. Known as TF industries, Red Bread, R.E.D. and B.L.U. and a bunch of other names and shell corporations."

"As you should know, we work for gravel makers. He was a delivery boy there," she said.

"On file were several men who had gone in for drunk and disorderly, attempting to burn down zoos, and attempted murder."

"I can't speak for Redmond and Blutarch's hiring strategies. After all, I wasn't in charge of that."

"And yet, Liam here, said that you were. I can bring up the transcript if you've forgotten."

"No need. I haven't forgotten in the least. Yes, I was there when he was signed on. Doing some paperwork." She shrugged. "He always attributes far more importance to what I do. He's a romantic like that. You see, I didn't choose to hire any of the men, and I merely helped deliver their contracts so they could start excavating gravel. As to their so called 'shady pasts' I have no knowledge, nor would I want to. In truth... I didn't spend much time with the men. They were out in the fields. Excavating gravel for Redmond and Blutarch. Several of them didn't even speak English well."

Ricard's eyes narrowed. "You didn't spend much time with the men, except you married one. Is that not right, Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey? Wouldn't you call that a bit of a contradiction?"

"As I told you, Liam is a delivery boy. He was constantly bringing papers for me to notarize...among other things. I'd hardly put him in the same category as the rest. He barely even worked in the fields. As it is, Mister Ricard, I hardly think my marriage is the subject of this case."

"I, for one, agree," the judge said.

"Hundreds of bodies were found in the caves," Ricard said. "Along with Mann. co Equipment--"

"Objection," Miss Pauling said.

"Prosecutor, you already touched on this subject, and we deemed it unrelated--"

"Give me a chance here, your honor. It'll show up soon enough," he said.

"I'll allow it."

"The police are still digging up bodies. They may be in the hundreds," Ricard said.

"That's horrible. Does this mean Teufort has a serial killer? It's hard to believe someone like that would lurk in such a quiet, peaceful town."

"Quicklime was found before this 'unfortunate' burning which had nothing to do with you."

"It's used in the excavation and preparation of gravel," she said.

"And some of Mann co's tools were there. Namely, shovels. When tested, the evidence was conclusive that they were what was used to bury all these poor lost souls."

She was unperturbed by his onslaught. "Mann co was a store. I wouldn't be surprised if their tools were found near dozens of murders. Do you go after the local Quik-E-Mart when something from there is linked to crimes?"

"You're awful calm about murder, Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey," Ricard said.

"I have to be. After all, I'm defending for three of us, now," she said. She patted her stomach and stared right on at him, daring the fucker to try and prosecute a pregant woman. She'd come out looking as blameless the Blessed virgin Mary before it was all over.

"Your honor, I'd like a ten minute recess," Ricard said suddenly.

The balding judge glanced his way. "I'll allow it."

Miss Pauling walked away from that witness stand, and it took everything he had not to do a slow clap.

*

Out in the hallway, Ricard leaned in to speak with Miss Pauling. There was something in his hands, though it was too close for Scout to see. A picture? A file?

Scout gritted his teeth. That stupid chucklefuck moving in on his pretend-pregnant wife! What kind of cad made passes on a woman who was (probably) pretend expecting?

Scout started to walk towards them. Miss Pauling looked wary, and quickly shook her head as Scout came closer.

Ricard stepped away with a smirk.

"Remember, Mrs. Pauling-Dempsey. I always win."

She didn't respond.

"What a creep! You want me to punch that guy out?" Scout said.

"No...let's just go home."

"But don't we got more court?"

"It's done for the day," she said flatly.

All the way home she didn't say a word. It was nothing but the hum of the truck as they headed back to Pleasantville apartments.

*

She hadn't stopped pacing since he got in. He set down the bottles of water on the table, and headed over to where she was wearing down the floorboards in the living room.

"Listen, babe, settle down. You ran circles around the guy. At this rate we'll be off quicker than Ghost Prosecutor does his cases."

She stopped for a moment, and stared blankly at the wall.

"In the end, it's the only choice," she said under her breath. "I...have to do it."

"Babe?" Scout said.

She whirled around, her eyes full of green fury. "You should go on back to Southie. I don't even want to look at you!"

Scout felt like he'd been slapped. What? Just last night they'd been hot and heavy. Just before this time, she'd kissed him. What could've unraveled it in this amount of time? Was it one of those monthly bloody things that happened but mentioning equaled certain death?

"What, did I mess up the court thing? I took the fifth, just like you told me to!"

"Don't you get it? We're through. Now, go run back to your mother."

"But, babe--"

"Scout, it was an mistake. All of this was. Now, go. But don't you dare get a divorce. Do you understand?"

Scout flinched, like he'd been slapped. "All this time I was waitin' and waitin' for you--do I mean anythin' to you?"

"This isn't the time, Scout," she said under her breath.

"No, this is exactly the time. You dragged me into a chapel and said 'we're gettin' married.' What even was that? Some drunken whim? Now tell me, do I mean a damn thing to you?"

"You're alive, aren't you?" she said in a low voice.

"Forget it," Scout said. "Sorry I asked, sorry I even tried."

Miss Pauling didn't look at him. "Here. I bought the tickets. Go on back to Southie. Be safe."

"I'm goin' for a run, not that it means anythin' to you, because this is a sham, ain't it Miss Pauling? But you know what? I meant it, and I been meanin' it for six years. When I said yes, that made me so frickin' happy that you finally were mine like I dreamed about so long. But that don't mean anythin' to you, does it? Those dreams don't man anythin' at all. Because you don't got room for anythin' but work. The Administrator ain't even around anymore. She left you to drown, and you still are doin' everybody's job."

He didn't wait for her response. The slam of the door was like a sort of end on its own. Scout walked out into the desert, six year's dreams behind him.

*

Usually, a run could fix everything. A bad loss for his team, another time when she was too busy to give him the time of day. But not even runner's high could erase the feeling. Like getting his ribs broken, but worse. He'd rather take the pain of dying again than this horrible emptiness inside.

Six years he'd been in love with her. And he'd finally gotten her, and been so damn happy. And she just threw him out like that.

Did she think he'd stepped out on her? Maybe he could go back and tell her that he'd never do anything like that. Sure he used to sleep around with any girl who'd have him, but that was the past. He just couldn't figure out how it went from being perfectly happy to...this.

But she'd said it was over and she wanted him gone, and even bought him tickets.

Scout came to a stop. It was like he was being torn in two. Part of him desperately wanted to go back and fix this, make her realize he didn't go running around with other girls. The other wanted to take that flight to Southie, and curl up under the blankets with some of his ma's clam chowder.

Engineer was fiddling with some wires. His hardhat and overalls were both stained with oil. The guy must've had one hell of a blowout with his equipment.

"Hey there, Yankee," he said.

"Ain't in the mood to talk, Hardhat," Scout muttered.

"Then that sounds like exactly the thing you need to be doin'."

Scout sighed. Where did he even start? The girl of my dreams maybe turned out to be the girl of my nightmares.

That was a good one. He'd save it for his memoirs.

"Problems with the wife?"

"You could say that," Scout said.

"Aww, you must've had your first fight. Now, those things don't last, even if they seem like they will."

"You even married?"

Engineer chuckled. "This ain't my first rodeo, son."

He closed the top of his toolbox.

That left more questions than answers, but Scout was in no mood to ask about his history. Most of the guys were pretty tight-lipped about stuff like that, anyways.

"When somethin' like that happens, you gotta go back where it all started," Engineer said.

It'd started with a stolen briefcase, and three days to live. No, it'd started long before that. The first time he'd seen her and everything started to shift inside him. When all the other girls just faded away because she existed. He wasn't about to start teleporting bread. But, he could go back to where so many memories started. The caves, filled with skeletons he'd help put in there.

"Thanks, Engie!"

He'd go back there, to all those graves.

His mood almost started to lighten then. He'd find a way back to her. He always did.

It was dusk about the time he came to the caves. They were covered with yellow police tape. Scout came to a stop. Maybe he could find a rock or something nearby, and make her remember the good times.

He bent down. He should've brought a flashlight. Here was hoping he didn't get lost in the desert on the way back, because it got real fucking cold down here. A sudden pain made red bloom on his side, and left him doubled over in intense agony. The second knocked him flat, until all he saw were those shiny black cowboy boots standing over him.

The guy started to drag him. Sand and dirt caught in the open wound. Darkness came in as he was dragged closer, and closer to the caves.

*


There was blood in his mouth. Each breath he took in ached. They must've busted one of his ribs with one of the shots. At least, he hoped it was just that. Doc wasn't around to fix a busted lung. There were several figures in black, masked away until he couldn't see them. He could swear that the Administrator hired these same goons. Was there some Goons R Us which had some kind of Spy-like uniform, complete with ski mask?

But one motherfucker stood out from all those hired mooks: Ricard. His hands were folded in his lap. He'd pulled out some folding chair, and stared Scout down.

"Three more hours until the deadline. Then you can be buried in one of those caves. Just like all those bodies you helped put there."

He laid down Polaroids of them moving bodies. Miss Pauling was smiling back at Scout in them.. But it didn't mean anything in the end, did it? Nothing she said meant anything.

"You know, it doesn't sit well for me to send a lady to the gallows. Especially one who's expecting. I've got a nice little plea deal right here. I don't go for death penalty, and you sign right across that dotted line."

He handed out the pen. "It's simple. Nobody has to be hurt."

Scout coughed. The sharp, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. "Too late."

"Oh, isn't that just a flesh wound for a killer like you?" Ricard smirked. "Regardless, it's what you deserve. Look at all those people you put in here."

Technically, these were Miss Pauling's kills. Scout mostly specialized in killing those clones of themselves, the dreaded Team BLU. And did killing clones that returned in less than a minute over an endless fight for gravel even count as murder?

Now there was a question for the ages.

Scout shut his eyes. He'd been through worse, much worse. Then he'd been pulled back into this world via Respawn.

He could barely move his hands, but he started a scrawl across the paper. As long as she was okay, then--

A voice cut through the cave and echoed. He dropped his pen in shock.

"Don't sign anything!"

"So, you came to our meeting after all, Miss Pauling," Ricard said.

Ricard rose up, and dusted off his pants.

"I thought you might say something like that. So maybe this will give you some incentive to cooperate," he said.

He gestured back to where Scout was tied up. One of Ricard's hired guns shoved a pistol against Scout's head. A throbbing ringing rang through his skull. Blood dripped down his lips.

"Now, I don't like to get my hands dirty, but if the law needs it to put away disgusting people like you, then I suppose I gotta do what I gotta do. After all, what's a bullet in the head of another killer?"

"Miss...."

She had a shotgun in hand, but she was outnumbered. Every single one of those othermooks crawled out of whatever shadows they were hiding in.

"Now, Miss Pauling, you had to know I never work alone. Every law office has their interns. I just hire a little more creatively to take down disgusting scum like you."

Let my husband go," she said, low and fierce. The kind of voice a person heard before they died.

"Oh? Your husband, you say?"

He nodded, and one of the goons pulled out a tape recorder.

Don't you get it? We're through. Now, go run back to your mother.

Just the sound made Scout feel like his heart was breaking all over again. At this rate he welcomed that bullet in his brain just to make the intense pain that filled every part of him go away. He'd be back soon enough--probably. Respawn wasn't a certainty anymore.

A shadow came over her face. "Every couple has fights," she said.

"How funny of you to just get up and hitched, just as you both were going to be called up to be examined. Almost like you needed an alibi," he said.

"Accidents happen. And our little accident meant we needed to get married fast. Scout wouldn't stand for our child not having a father in its life. Not when he raised without one," she said.

"Enough talk. I've been chasing your company for ages. You've killed more than wars could claim. It's about time for you to join them. Drop the weapon, or he'll be the next buried in these graves."

The hired killer cocked the pistol, and prepped it to fire. It'd all be over for him in a few seconds. He wasn't even sure if he'd get anymore second chances at this rate with Respawn. The whole thing was probably dismantled when Miss Pauling burned down the base, if it hadn't been done so when everyone else got the fuck out of there.

Scout tried to shake his head. He mouthed No, run away. The hired killer slammed the butt of the gun against his head. The ringing and pain in his head grew about ten times more intense. The chair toppled to the ground. His vision dissolved into stars and clouds.

She immediately dropped the gun to the ground.

"All of them, Miss Pauling," Ricard said.

With a snarl, out came the rest. A knife, a set of brass knuckles, a pistol. She must've been packing light for the courtroom, because usually she had about three times as many weapons hidden all over her curvy body. Some at her thigh holster, her back holster, and even more between her tits deep in her cleavage. (The first time he got to second base with her, he'd nearly died.)

"Now, lift your hands up where I can see them."

She complied, and put her hands up.

"Let him go. He was never anything more than a delivery boy," she said desperately. "He isn't a part of this at all."

"I think we both know you're lying, Miss Pauling. That's all you've been doing all this time, even to this sweet little boy."

One of the hired killers kicked Scout in the ribs. Scout let out a ragged breath, and coughed blood up onto the sand.

She flinched. Her expression turned to one of barely contained rage and gritted teeth. Her hands reached for a gun that was no longer there.

"That's right. You're awful well armed for a secretary. Oh, are you demoing products this time?"

"This is America. The priest nearby has just as many guns on hand, if not more," she said.

She'd used his line. He'd have felt a little bit of warmth, if the pain wasn't blacking out his vision.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Pauling?"

"Prosecutors aren't the only ones who don't work alone," she said.

A clank echoed through the caves, then another, and another.

"You were a fool to try and double cross us, boy."

Just behind the large rock, she saw a glimmer of red metal. There was a series of beeps that Scout knew all too well. But he couldn't scream before it started. Everything came out muffled. She took a dive towards him. She and Scout ended up on the floor as the storm of bullets came. Screams and groans of pain--and Engineer's laughter, as Ricard's last stand turned into a last fall.

She cupped his bruised and bloodied cheeks. She cupped his face and kissed him so hard he forgot the intense ache and the blood for a few seconds. She pulled back gave him one hell of a cold stare.

"What the hell were you thinking? I told you to go back to Southie."

"I was just goin' for a run! I didn't expect to be friggin' attacked! I fought some of them off. But there were just too many."

She cut free his hands. Scout rubbed at his wrists.

"You were shot?"

"Yeah, I didn't even see them." He let out a cough.

"About time. I should've finished him off much sooner. It figures that he'd be dirty," she said.

Scout couldn't bear to look at her. Each breath was agony, but it wasn't as bad as that recording had been. He stared down at the broken black plastic, and his resolve came back. It filled up his chest like cold metal spread out until there was nothing to his heart. "Look, he's dead. You don't gotta put any show on anymore. Now that that creep's gone, I'm out."

"Scout--"

"That's what it was, right? An alibi, like what he said. You can take care of yourself. You were right, I'll go back. The feds will never find me in Southie--Southie doesn't rat out their own. You said yourself that I'm a mistake. That's all I am to you," Scout said.

"Scout, listen to me. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but you were never one of them," she said.

"Then what the hell was all that? I thought we were goin' good, but then you spring all that on me. All that we did together... was it a lie? Were you just gettin' an alibi like Ricard there said?"

"I had picked up on Ricard's plan, and that he'd bugged some of the equipment. He outright threatened me just before then. I had hoped to get you out of here before he implemented it, but he must've realized what I was planning in time to follow you."

"Wait, you're sayin'...."

"I gave you two tickets, Scout. You didn't notice that I had all my things packed? If things went south, we were going to Southie. Together. I had to make him think we were going different places. Did you even look at the tickets at all? It had both our names on them."

"Didn't notice anythin' but you," Scout said.

She held him closer, and even though it hurt, he took it. The bullet hole in his side hurt a lot worse than her saying they were through.

"I'm sorry I had to hurt you. I didn't mean any of it. I just needed you out of there and not to be in his grasp. Even if I had to hurt you a little to do so. He threatened me--us, really. And I couldn't have you getting hurt."

"But this whole thing--you weren't really knocked up. Even I know. Reminds me of this Ghost Prosecutor. What were you plannin'?"

"Yes, that did factor into it. But that wasn't the only reason. I realized that you were the one I thought of first. When the news came that the inquests were coming, all I could think was you wouldn't last under it. And I needed to keep you safe no matter what. When the gun was to your head--the thought of losing you was something I couldn't bear."

She stroked his face.

"So, you didn't--"

"No."

"Listen, this is important--I never cheated on you or anythin'. I'm sorry if the cross-examination wasn't good enough. I tried to fifth it, like you said," Scout said desperately.

"I know you didn't. Trust me, I would've found out if you did anything. It was never about that. I was never really angry at you," she said.

She let out a soft sigh and leaned in. Her lips brushed across his forehead.

Her voice was a hoarse whisper spoken against his skin. "I'm not good with relationships or emotions. I work extra hours because when I'm not working then I'm alone with my thoughts. And yet you always see such good things in me. You see such good things in everyone, in a group of hired killers you'll go on and talk about how they're such good friends and such good people. I've spent my whole life killing people and hiding the evidence since the Administrator adopted me. I barely know what love is, but I know I love you."

He held her close, even through the pain. But the pressure got to him, until he could barely breathe.

Scout coughed, blood down his shirt. At least red never showed a bloodstain.

"Careful, at least one of these ribs is broken."

She balled her fist. "I killed him too soon. I should've made it painful," she said.

"That's my girl," Scout said.

"Your wife," she said. "That's your wife."

"I guess you fell right into his plan."

She glanced up. "Good timing, by the way."

"My plan, that was," Engineer said. He tapped his sentry.

"Get close and make 'em think you'll flip. Make Scout lead 'em right to the place when the time is right, and then, fire away. It'll take months to get another investigator on the list. And there's plenty of those who can be bought off."

"And I wasn't exactly alone. Someone had to set it all in motion."

Spy appeared from the shadows.

"Spy, you didn't run off!" Scout broke into coughing.

"Someone had to work behind the scenes. It'd been quite a while since I'd faked my death," Spy said.

"You and Spy worked together? You hate each other."

"Sometimes, there comes the kind of man that inspires such hate, that you put aside your grudges and work together to put that motherfucker six feet under."

Engineer's sentry beeped.

Engineer patted it on the top, like it was a dog. "Yes, you were a good little boy."

"God, I'm glad you were still on our side."

"Workin' with the Mann family's in my blood. I ain't about to turn so easily."

"See, I told you! They weren't gonna just leave us hangin'," Scout said.

"Yes...you were right in the end. At least about Engineer and surprisingly, Spy. The rest of them probably simply left. Oh...and now I've got a lot of bodies to dispose of," she said.

"Naw, I'll do it. These whole caves need to be dynamited down so no more pesky folks go puttin' their noses where they don't belong. You got a husband to take care of, don't you, now?"

"Husband...I like the sound of that," she said.

Scout winced in pain as she helped him up.

"Shame the Doc ain't here to patch him up."

She put her arm about his back to support him on the way out. "He'll be fine once I'm done with him."

*

The water that ran off his hands was stained red. She took a wet washcloth to his cheeks. Scout let himself be taken care off. Each breath ached. She was worth the pain.

As much as he hated doctors, he almost missed that freaky bastard. Or at least, the instant healing (that occasionally had the side effects of attempts of stolen organs.)

He'd gotten used to broken bones being fixed, burned skin healed, and bullet wounds closed over. Now he'd just have to deal.

She leaned down and kissed him. He reached out to touch her. Even as he groaned in pain, he didn't let go.

"It might kill me, or make me wish I was dead from pain, but it'd be worth it," he said.

"I saved some of the gel Medic made, just in case. The truth is, I don't like seeing you get hurt, and anyone else leaving marks on you," she said.

"Can't promise I won't get in anymore fights, babe. That's just the kind of guy I am," Scout said.

"That's fine. I'll finish any fight you start," she said.

"Glad you got my back," Scout said.

"Did the bullet go clean through?"

"Yeah, it hurt like a bitch, too."

She peeled her wet dress off, but left her purple bra and panties on. She stepped into the tub and started to rub in the gel over his side. It was cold, and tingled as the skin healed in seconds, not weeks.

"Was there any others?"

"Broken ribs," he said.

She lifted the remaining bottle to his lips and let him drink. The best way he could explain it was that it tasted somewhere between aloe vera, mint and cold. He wiped the side of his mouth. The pain just swirled down, like it went straight down the drain. The exhaustion remained. He rested his head against her. She ran her hands down his back. Not sexual this time, but out of sheer gratitude he was alive.

Or so Scout liked to think.

When the water went lukewarm, they climbed out. When he'd dried off, she bent down into her purse and rifled around.

"You comin' to bed?"

"Just a second...I have to check something," Miss Pauling said.

"I'll be right here, waitin'," Scout said.

"Go ahead, keep talking," she said.

Scout stretched out with his hands behind his neck. Somehow, they'd gotten out of it alive. Another close scrape. He should've known she would've saved the day. She always did.

"You got any plans?"

"Well, the prosecutor is dead. I'm sure if we throw some money at it we can make this case go away. That's what I used to do for the Administrator whenever pesky things like Saxton Hale being hauled off to jail happened."

She paused, and there was a flush.

"Yeah, that should do it. You torched the evidence they were countin' on, anyways."

"Scout, let's do it for real this time," she said.

"That time in the bed, and the other bed, and the bathroom weren't real now?"

"I mean, get married," she said.

"I promised ma she'd be at the next one. She's goin' to kill me if she finds out that we got married again without invitin' her. Also, I told her you got knocked up, which was why we got married so fast. So she'll expect a kid."

"...Well, actually, that won't be a problem."

"Wait, you---you sure?"

She stepped out of the bathroom and held up a little white test in her hands. "Positive."

"So that time we--"

"I was so overwhelmed by the case that I must have gotten a little sloppy with taking my pills. Given the fact I've been so nauseous, it could've even been the first time. Or maybe it was just nerves and I'm projecting....But it'd fit."

She tossed the test into the sink and washed her hands. Scout tried to push himself up, but the effort only made him dizzy. Even though he was healed up, he must've lost a lot of blood out there in the caves. But he pushed through and lifted her up and pulled her back to bed. He couldn't stop kissing her all over. Her nose, her forehead. Not in a way that led to getting sexy. She laughed through the onslaught of kisses. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm goin' to be a dad. Natch that, I'm goin' to be the best damn dad this world has ever seen."

He wrapped his arms tight around her, and nestled close against her curves.

"You wanna come back to Southie to get married? Maybe live up there a while. I'm sick and tired of the desert," Scout said.

"I want to be wherever you are. Southie, New Mexico, or Tijuana. Hell, I'd go to Antarctica if you wanted."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I was just about to say the same thing. Except not Antarctica. I mean fuck Antarctica. It's all snow and ice and crap! If I wanted snow and ice and crap, I'd just go back home to Boston. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about a freakin' Polar bear eatin' me!"

"I'm never letting you go," she said softly.

"Good," he said. "Like except if I'm goin' to the john, you probably wanna let go a bit there, but the rest of the time, sure, good, great!"

She laughed, and curled closer against him. With a glance towards her, he pointedly kissed her ring.

"It was a real complicated way down, but I'm glad it happened. And I can't wait until we do it all again," Scout said.

"Preferably this time without prosecutors who want to kill us," she said.

"Who knows what kind of trouble we'll get into. But as long as we're together, they won't stand a chance."

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. They shared this powerful kiss, the type that whole movies could be filmed about. All Scout could think was he couldn't wait for forever with her.


*