fic: Now With Isotopes!
Sep. 1st, 2019 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Now With Isotopes!
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,872
Summary: Miss Pauling has an infomercial addiction. All bets are off when Scout finds out.
Author's note: Ages ago there was this post on tumblr about a headcanon where she's addicted to watching late night infomercials and how Vince Offer (Shamwow guy) looks like Scout.
I was cleaning out my files and I found this in my drafts from circa...2013? early 2014? Because of that it doesn't feature any comic or Expiration Date canon at all and may entirely precede both.
Also you get Saxton/Admin as Pauling's parents. Just uh, ignore that comic where he hits on her.
Is this connected to Beat The Parents? I wonder.
I also blame this skit (warning, NSFW dirty humor)
There's a reference to one more thing. Take a wild guess what it is.
For Sarah~~~
Miss Pauling never had much time to herself, even after she got off duty, it would be very late into the night, long after the news had already been broadcast. The only thing on at this hour were infomercials, selling a variety of products in bizarre ways. She turned them on for background noise as she poured a glass of wine (or two, or three) to unwind for the day. The noise was her company, and often the only company she'd had.
She'd laugh at their ridiculousness and drink until she passed out on her sand-brown, should've-replaced-it-years-ago couch. (Sometimes she got careless. The next one she got was going to be the color of blood to hide the evidence.)
So tonight was like any other day. She turned on the television for the warm glow in the night, which was the closest she had to having friends. She walked out into the small kitchen and poured out her first glass of comfort, and her only break for the day.
A day like this would probably take three to four glasses, she thought.
And it seemed entirely routine, until she heard an all too familiar voice, and very thick accent.
Boston accent, that was.
Miss Pauling looked up from her wine glass, only to see Scout on the screen. All 5'11 feet of him, lanky and swaggering, his red shirt almost blinding. She really needed to get the brightness on her television fixed. He even still had his baseball cap and ear piece on. Now there was a violation if she ever saw one.
"Wow! The rag that cleans anythin'! Get it for your mama when she says she's tired of cleanin' up your messes!"
He wrung out a cloth into a bowl. Dirty water cascaded down. "Lookit dat! Bet your paper towels can't do that crap! Look at that mess! BAM! Obliterated! Cleanin' is fun. Nobody gonna arrest you when you got one of these."
He gave a big grin. "The Kleen Rag is so cheap, you'd think it's a fake, but it's totally legit! How do I know? I gave one to my ma, and I'd never lie to my ma." He laughed then, and flashed a smile to the camera.
"Oh, shit--"
She had been pouring out wine for so long that the cup began to overflow. After that last hitman debacle, she hadn't had time to get any paper towels. Well, she wasn't about to let good wine to to waste. She lapped up the wine from the counter.
Nobody had to know. Okay, other than her mother who watched everything from her giant technological advanced tower that was one laser away from going full Bond villain.
"Don't tell," she said to the television Scout, whose smile was blinding.
"Pretty neat, eh, Miss Pauling?"
Miss Pauling blinked at the television. "...What?"
Okay, she had to be seriously drunk. Because her television was speaking to her.
Scout on the television was speaking to her.
Or was it on the television? Remembering that at least one of her teammates was adept at mimicking voices, she gripped her gun and began a walkthrough of her apartment. She always did this when she came in, to suss out any hitmen who had been called on her by her employee in the past few days.
She found nothing but dust bunnnies (she really had to actually clean someday when she had free time. Except she never had free time.) And plopped down on the couch with her glass of wine.
This was her one bit of solace in the day. Stupid infomercials and getting drunk enough to forget for a few moments.
Scout winked at the camera and held up the rag thing he was selling. Actually, if it was half as good as Scout claimed (which it probably wasn't, given that Scout exaggerated) it might be good for bloodstains. "Miss Pauling, you are gonna love this!"
Miss Pauling downed her glass of wine.
She might, but her boss sure wasn't.
*
Miss Pauling's office was a tiny room, chilled to nigh arctic temperatures with her constantly air conditioner jacked up to the highest point. Powered by stolen ice crystal from the lost continent of Atlantis cold.
She had little room for decoration with all the metal filing cabinets that she would put away only to have to burn about ten minutes later. No one ever said this company (make that companies) was efficient. Especially when her mother was extremely sadistic and would like to watch her future fired (dead) employees suffer as much as possible.
Often, she even made the mooks they hired do their own taxes, just to see them writhe with pain and unending suffering.
Her desk was wedged in between the cabinets via magic. (No, really) and one chair had been pulled in.
It was entirely too small for Scout's lanky frame, but he didn't let that stop him from sitting in a way he probably thought made him look 'cool' and 'casual' and 'relaxed.'
Scout leaned back in the chair, his legs were spread so far apart they were practically in separate counties. He was trying for casual, she supposed. He looked more like he was begging to be fucked up the ass.
She cleared her throat and stared down at the paper. "Scout, I need to speak with you about your recent, ah, film debut."
Scout burst into a big grin. "Oh, you mean those propygandy videos? The ones that your boss used to blackmail me and threaten my ma and family with?"
He seemed way too cheerful considered the subject matter. Then again, he didn't mention her among the other names. Maybe he thought she wasn't involved.
She'd just let him keep believing that. For now, anyways.
Of course, his view of her being safe to speak to and possibly innocent. (which was laughable, really. There was only a few crimes she hadn't committed in her lifetime, and as her mother always reminded her, there was still time.) But a part of her wanted to not burst that bubble.
She tried not to think too much about what that might mean when she wasn't drunk off her ass, watching pratfalls on an infomercial late at night.
Speaking of which.
"The infomercials," she said, her voice cold and direct.
Scout smiled bright at that. "Oh yeah! That! When that Director Douche was around some of the cameramen said I should audition for it. So I gave it a try and they said I'm perfect for it. So I been doin' by the dozen. Makes a pretty penny--not that I need it, because I'm so rich."
"I know, I give you your paycheck," she said dryly.
"Then you saw? It's great, huh?"
She certainly didn't know New Mexico to be the leading point in the film industry, even the infomercial industry. Wasn't California ('land of the hippies' as Soldier put it) the film hub? Especially Hollywood?
She cleared her throat. "So you've been taking unlisted flights out? I didn't see any mention on your sign out form."
Scout rather cheerfully signed all his time sheets, and was all too happy to detail to her personally all of his time, often with a wink and a suggestion that she join him.
Some of the others were far more troublesome when it came to surrendering all their time to a tyrannical and murderous organization lead by her even more tyrannical and murderous mother.
She was fairly sure that most of the mercenaries were on the no flight list. Well, Scout was questionable. Unlike the rest of the mercenaries, he had more minor crimes under his belt. Assault and battery, attempted robbery, and drunk and disorderliness. As opposed to domestic terrorism and espionage, and first degree murder. The mercenaries loved to tease Scout about his lesser criminal record. Of course, it was his fault for bragging about it in the first place.
"Flights?" He scoffed. "This is me; I just run."
She was used to his random bragging and exaggerating, especially around her. She gave him a skeptical look. "Run? Isn't it in California? That's where those film types congregate. That's several states away."
"Just take a carton of BONK, drink 'em all at once, and BAM. I'm goin' the speed of light. There before the hour is out I rocket over there. It's awesome runnin' so fast."
She grimaced, and pinched at the bridge of her nose. Of course she should've known he'd come up with some utterly dumbass plan. It was Scout after all. "That's very dangerous. That's pure radiation and sugar, and you're out of range of Respawn."
He grinned, and his cheeks even flushed a little as he rubbed at his neck. And it was...dare she say... kind of cute, actually.
Nope, she wasn't having this conversation with herself when she was sober. Moving on.
"Aww, thanks for worryin' about me, but this is really important to me. Besides, forgot to mention, it ain't in California. The filmin' place is about fifty miles away or so. It makes for a nice brisk mornin' run."
"Well, mercenaries are allowed to leave the base... As long as all of you do your sign up sheets. But extra use of weapons and supplements will be knocked off your paycheck."
Scout shrugged. "Eh, it's worth it. I'll be makin' enough to offset anyways. Did I mention how much money this is rakin' in?"
"Yes, Scout. You did," she said dryly.
"But, it's more than the money! I love this job. It's a blast," Scout said.
She hadn't realized that being filmed was so important to him, but it made sense. After all, Scout had an ego bigger than the size of earth and was constantly desperate for attention. He acted as if he would die if nobody saw his 'sick moves' and backflips.
"Please send me the amount of BONK you've been drinking off-duty so I can begin the backlog of paycheck fixing," she said.
Scout's eyes widened at this. "So, I just show up in your office? And talk to you?"
"That's the idea, yes," she said dryly.
Scout shot up from his chair and let out a whoop like his team had just won the pennant. And it was his fault that she even knew that was the name of the prize for winning at baseball.
"Man, if I knew usin' stuff would've gotten me a VIP pass straight to your office, I would've been drinkin' down BONK by the cartonful."
"You already drink BONK by the carton," she said.
"Even more, then!" Scout said. "See you then, Miss Pauling!" He gave her a wink and was out of that door in a burst of speed which could've probably won every gold medal in any Olympics, if he hadn't gotten a criminal record so early on in life.
She turned over her pen. She'd given him a reason, even an excuse to come right to her doorstep at any given moment. And she knew he'd use it, even if he took thousands off his paycheck. Just for a second of her time...
She flipped her pen again. She didn't usually face this kind of feeling when she wasn't four glasses in.
With a shrug, she pulled out a bottle of wine and took a swig. Much better. Now she had an excuse if she did something reckless like think her coworker's smile was appealing, and extremely memorable. As the song went, it was Five o'clock somewhere.
*
Miss Pauling poured her fourth glass of wine for the night. It wasn't drinking alone if the television was on.
Besides, alcoholism was the in thing around here. She'd finally have something in common with her teammates and coworkers.
"How did I get this body? The flexmaster6900!" Scout began to march in place, then did a series of squats. The camera panned and lingered lovingly on his ass. Today he wore some rather high cut running shorts.
His current uniform really hid a lot. Of course logically she knew he was probably the most fit of all the mercenaries with all his exercise, but damn. He could bounce a quarter off that ass.
Finally, he started up in a bouncy aerobics routine.
"Pretty nice, eh, Miss Pauling?" He ripped off his shirt and flexed on the screen.
And she had to admit, that actually, he was kind of cute, kind of attractive, and kind of affecting her. Usually he was just a screaming blur on the battlefield. But up close, with this many glasses of wine in her, it made her think. He had a memorable smile. Especially when he was beating people to death on the battlefield.
Okay, maybe sometimes she caught sight of him there, and maybe she liked what she saw.
Not that she was going to do anything about it. It was stupid, really. Stupid things which she only thought when she was drunk. There was a reason it was 'blame it on the alcohol' and 'in vino veritas' and not 'with wine comes brilliance.'
On the television, Scout did a rather impressive backflip, they lifted up his arms, as if for applause.
"And that's why the Kleen rag should be on everybody's gift list. Buy it for your ma, your friend's ma, your favorite lady--hey, can I get one for Miss Pauling? Oh wait, we're on the Flexmaster 6900. Oh wait, you get a Kleen Rag too if you order in the next ten minutes. That way you can wipe down your Flexmaster 6900 so there's no sweat! The ladies don't like it if you get sweaty. Or dudes, for that matter."
"This rag sucks up sweat, it cleans up blood, even you know--" he gave a wink. And she was so drunk that she didn't know, but thought it was better not to ask.
"Aight, I'm gonna give it over to Bidwell here to give you the details. Hey, sleep well when you do, Miss Pauling. And stay safe! Y'know, from all those bedbugs!" He winked at the camera.
The budget for this had to be beyond shoestring and 'filmed in a dumpster.' But Scout had made it charming with all his kinetic energy.
The worst thing was at four glasses of wine, she was kind of touched.
Sure, he was a dumbass flirt who constantly ran his mouth, but no one had ever wished her a goodnight or to stay safe...pretty much ever. Having a mother like the Administrator and a father like Saxton Hale didn't exactly equal a loving, affectionate childhood, or adulthood for that matter.
Though she could kill a man by age three. Two years too young for her mother's preference.
She couldn't ever remember anyone wishing her a good night and to stay safe. Her mother had routinely hired hitmen on her to ensure she was stronger than the other daughters who hadn't survived. Her father had released wild animals for her to wrestle for exactly the same reason. She would pull the covers high and wonder if that night she'd wake up to roars or the sound of gunfire, if she'd manage to survive that night.
Of course, it was probably just some ploy to get in her pants. She knew that. But at four glasses of wine, logic like the fact that Scout only thought with his dick and would flirt with anyone female in a ten mile radius, even grandmothers, was pushed momentarily aside.
"Speakin' of bedbugs, let's talk about the Insect Terrorizor."
The screen went from Bidwell running off the numbers to Scout again. He lifted up a cage with giant spiders in it. they glowed bright green, and let out a hiss. Scout was surprisingly calm around them.
"These special spiders were treated with the finest radiation. Now they eat all bugs around. And if they bite you, you become Spiderman. So win-win."
Scout gestured at the spider.
"Mosquitoes? Friggin' gone. You'll never need another flypaper with these babies around. Now, for four payments of 29.99 you can have a spider sidekick all your own. No more flies ever, and potential superpowers!"
Miss Pauling couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She took another sip of wine, and thought with the foolishness that wine brought that for the first time, she wouldn't be sleeping alone. Even if it was just Scout on the television, doing handstands in hopes she'd notice, and to sell rags and radioactive spiders.
*
She had never seen anybody so happy to get what technically a punishment. Knowing Scout, he'd probably be into that kind of thing. She marked down the price. Scout couldn't sit still, his leg bouncing as he waited for a chance to speak again.
She put him out of his misery--not with a bullet, but by clearing her throat and giving him what he wanted so desperately: her undivided attention. She looked up from the papers.
"You've been really prolific in starring in infomercials lately," she said.
Since these infomercials were widely ignored, the Administrator accepted it. Then Saxton Hale randomly bought the entire industry on a whim--which explained why they were suddenly moving from dishrags to giant radioactive spiders. And why Bidwell was there.
"Yeah, it's a blast! Did you see? Did you see?"
She bit her lower lip. She wasn't sure how he got this information--well, other than Spy selling it to him. She wasn't sure what drastic things confirming or denying would bring about, so she simply changed the subject back to him.
"Did you check your new contracts?"
Scout shrugged carelessly. "I mean, it's my boss. He was just havin' me do somethin' else this time. Ain't really nothin' to check on."
She let out a sigh. "I'll take that as a 'no,' then. He might own your likeness, name and soul for all I know. Bidwell writes a pretty ruthless contract," Miss Pauling said.
"Wait a minute--He can do that? But I'm Catholic! I mean, sorta. I haven't been to confession since I was a teen, but I'm goin' to get around to it. Though when I do, I'll probably turn the priest bald for the kind of things I gotta confess."
She nodded. "He's already done it to Sniper. Show it to me sometime. I can help you renegotiate if he's locked you into a bad deal," she said.
Scout's face was filled with such joy--and a vulnerability. Unlike the other men who showed distrust, Scout was too naive, too full of belief of people he really shouldn't be trusting.
Like her.
"Really? You'd do that for me?"
"It's my job," she said.
"But, isn't Saxton like your boss?"
And her dad, but she wasn't about to let him take advantage of Scout. That'd be like kicking a dog. A very fast running dog who rocketed about all the time, wouldn't stop yapping, and was constantly trying to hump your leg.
A sudden suspicion came to her."Has there been a big change in your paycheck?"
"I don't think so? You tell me. I mean, other than usin' up that BONK...."
"Hmm. I'll have to check the pay stubs. One of your brothers wasn't held ransom by the mafia again for gambling debts, was he?"
Scout scrunched up his nose. "I fuckin' hope not."
"Then, you're just doing them for fun? You did say it was decent pay."
"Oh, that." Scout leaned back in his chair with a smile. "A ways back after we got back late. Somebody turned on a television in the common room. They had this infomercial on and you smiled big the whole time you were watchin'. And I thought, hey, I'd like to make you smile like that, keep you smilin'."
He grinned at her. "So, is it workin'?"
She couldn't stop the blush that filled her cheeks. She stammered out a pathetic response. Then--saved by the bell--the Administrator's voice called for an end.
"See you then, Miss Pauling. Hope you like my latest infomercial. It's a real humdinger!"
He brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. "Is that like a hamburger?"
He burst out laughing. "God, you're somethin' else. The best, really. You're the best."
The alarm sounded again, and the Administrator sounded none too happy.
"You should--"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Seeya later, Miss Pauling. Or maybe I should say Seeya sooner?" He gave her a big smile and ran off towards his job. Miss Pauling sat still for a long moment trying to figure out the prinkling warmth beneath her skin.
*
Miss Pauling took another sip of her wine as she watched the latest infomercials. It'd all started as a lark, really. She would get drunk off her ass and laugh it up to utterly stupid infomercials. It was the one vice she allowed herself.
Okay, two vices. At least she didn't buy anything.
But lately she'd begun to...anticipate it all day. When she was burying bodies, she'd look at her watch and count the hours until she could enjoy her wine and infomercials--and, well, her Scout.
And think, that maybe, this would be so much easier with someone else, that Scout would make her laugh all day long and make the job go so much easier.
And she drank more to forget that night, but it had the opposite effect in making her giggly.
"Listen, it's only six months until Valentine's day. So, it's time to get your ass in gear. You gotta special lady in your life? BOOM. Get on your knees! Okay, not like that. Well you can get on like that before or after or both, I ain't judgin'. But I'm talkin' abotu goin' the whole ten miles, you know? You gotta special dude in your life? Get that locked down! Take this to him or her and show 'em they mean everythin' to you with these exclusive engagement rings!"
Saxton Hale was selling diamond rings now? They looked about big enough to kill someone with. She smiled at the thought of beating someone's head in. Him with his bat, her with her gigantic ring which was a symbol of his undying love. Emphasis on the undying, especially when she expanded Respsawn into a personal immortality machine.
Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Miss Pauling looked to her bottle of wine and took a long swig. She still didn't pass out. She was supposed to pass out and forget and not face the fact that she'd had these thoughts, these feelings when she was sober.
And it all coalesced. Scout smiling on the screen, selling gigantic deadly engagement rings. She got up, swayed out into the dark.
What was she even doing?
Scout was dancing in the moonlight. On a boombox, it played sugar, sugar. Honey, honey.... And why was he in such short shorts?
"Scout.... why arrrre you dancing in the darrrrk?"
"Just windin' down from work. What are you doin' here, Miss Pauling? You wanna dance with me?"
Miss Pauling began to sway a little. "Is this sugar dancinnng because sugarr--on the radio---Oh! The alcohol told me it was a good idea."
"Whoa, you're totally sauced," Scout said. "How many glasses didja have?"
She giggled. Giggled! "Six, maybe. Actually I finished the whole botttle. Did you ever think how bottle is a funny word? Botttttllleeeeeee...."
"That much? Fuck, that's Demo level drinkan."
"Oh, he'd drink far more. He drinks a bottle for breakfast, and then does morrree all through the daaayy."
"Eh, probably," Scout said.
She swayed, and he immediately caught her, steadied her. She leaned into him, breathed in the scent of him. He always wore too much cologne. Someone--probably Spy--probably told him it attracted women.
"So, Miss Pauling. You and Me, eh? Whatcha think?"
"This is a completely s-stupid idea. You...co-could get killed," she said softly.
"I could killed crossin' the road, too. But bein' killed with you is a whole lot more fun."
"A-and you flirtt...with every girl out there..."
"Jeez, I quit that ages ago! You're the only girl for me and have been for like..." Scout counted on his fingers, lost count twice, and frowned. Apparently math wasn't his strong point. "A really friggin' long time, you know!"
She broke out laughing at this.
"And I have no time! None at all! I shouldn't even be here..."
"We can make time. Like now. Dancin' at almost daybreak for the hell of it."
"I like you though," she said softly. "Even though it's a bad idea."
He leaned in. His lips brushed against her forehead. "I like you, too. More than I ever liked anybody in the world. Even my own ma. Though, actually that's a whole different kind of like. Anyways. What I'm tryin' to say is I like you a lot."
It felt so warm and nice in his arms. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling. Not just the physical contact that she was unused to, yet deeply thirsty for, but the thought that somebody out there could care for her despite it all.
Or because of it all.
*
She woke up with a killer headache. The second thing she realized as she shifted in agony was that she wasn't alone. Miss Pauling shot up, and lifted up the covers.
There were BONK posters and baseball posters all about--including one Tom Jones photo with DAD? sharpied on the corner. Even the covers were bright yellow and printed with BONK all over them.
Scout was curled up beside her. He let out a sleepy little groan and smiled at her as his gray eyes opened.
"G'mornin', beautiful."
"Wait, we didn't... Oh, God, we did, didn't we?"
"Nah, you were pretty drunk. You passed out a bit after we started dancin' and I didn't know where to put you. Don't know where your apartment is, didn't wanna put you in the common room in case one of the guys pulled a prank on you like they do with me when I passed out there, and all the hotel rooms were too far away. Figured I'd just let you crash with me until you woke up."
He leaned down to kiss the side of her temple, and got out of bed. She instantly felt her face heat. She touched where he'd kiss, just to feel the contact a little more, a little longer.
"Did I say anything...?"
Oh, fuck. What if she'd gotten drunk and leaked classified nuclear details to Scout? He could never keep a damn secret quiet, ever.
Scout gave her a big grin, and dramatically rubbed at his chin as if he was deep in thought. Oh, that was not comforting at all. "Hmm, lesse. You said you drank a lot. Props, because even Demo would be swaying at that."
That could be used against her, she supposed. But she always checked all her alcohol (and all other drinks) for poison before downing them.
"And you said you were into me. We both agreed it was a stupid and utter dumbass idea, but I'm a dumbass so it works. Okay I'm paraphrasin' here."
Her cheeks turned bright pink at that. Oh, she could believe that.
"You didn't go and forget everythin' we said, didja?"
"I can vaguely remember things....I'll probably remember more details as the day goes on."
Like the scent of his shirt and her head there against him. How his lips had brushed against her as he'd said he'd liked her more than anything.
"Cause you said you and me was a stupid idea, and probably bad for me, but we agreed we'd still go at it even if it's dangerous--that's not just the wine talkin', is it? Oh yeah, and I stopped datin' around because you're the only girl I wanna date. Even if it means I gotta wait, you're worth the wait. That joggin' your memory?"
She rubbed at her temples.
"Don't tell me you changed your mind in between that much wine? Is this gonna be like one of those drunken masters, where you're in love with me, but only six drinks in?"
"Could you lower your voice a bit, please?"
"Oh, right. Lemme help you out."
He tossed a bottle of aspirin and began to dig around in the mini-fridge. Mostly he kept drinks after his work outs. He handed some orange juice. "Drink it down. You'll feel better."
She drank down the juice. If only it'd push back this nausea.
"Listen...I want to try at this, at us, even if it's hard."
"Oh, it's pretty hard." Scout smirked, and gave her a suggestive look. She grabbed a pillow and swatted it at him, but Scout just laughed.
"I'm not kidding, Scout. I almost never have any times, so you'll have to follow me around on jobs and find odd moments of the day. And if we break up, it'd make everything terribly awkward. Especially if I have to watch you date other people. I don't have time to bury that many people."
"Okay," Scout said.
"Okay?"
"If you're tryin' to drive me away, you gotta try harder. I mean, I already work for a Bond Villain or two. I can take whatever gets thrown at me. Even bears."
She chuckled at this. He should be careful what he wished for. "And that'd make you what, Bond?"
He laughed. "Maybe, though if anybody's Bond, it's that asshole Spy."
"So, imagine this. You and me, a date. Probably gotta do it on the base because no time. But I could still get this goin'."
"Tonight? Really?"
"C'mon, Cinderella. I'll turn that pumpkin into a carriage," Scout said. She couldn't tell if this was supposed to be an innuendo. His grin kind of made her think it was, though she couldn't think about what he could be suggesting.
Though, she had to admit, she'd like to find out. As long as the pumpkins weren't literal. Metaphorical pumpkins was fine.
"All right. But it might be canceled--all my days off always do," she said.
"Then we'll just push it later," Scout said.
"And what if it's just an endless stream of pushing our time to another moment
"Then, I figure out time travel," Scout said.
She couldn't help but laugh. It seemed no matter what the world threw at them, Scout had an answer.
*
It always happened like this. She shouldn't have even hoped, even tried. She didn't even know if he was alive, if her mother had wiped his memory or turned him into a cyborg zombie.
Come on, he's only fifteen minutes late, she reminded herself.
She'd give him another half hour. Disappointment hung around her like dark storm clouds that wouldn't go away. She should be so happy--she'd finally found somebody who liked her for more than how many bears she could wrestle or how many hitmen she could survive. (Though she was sure he would appreciate those things, too.)
She'd even changed into a purple dress that didn't have any bloodstains on it. And that was saying something. Come to think of it, she needed to stock up for when she had to go into Teufort. She couldn't claim she'd had a 'terrible tomato accident' every single time she went there.
He'd decorated the spare room with purple streamers and balloons, with one little cafe-worthy circular table and chairs. It was like being caught in some teenage daydream, dancing close for the first time.
Everything she'd never had.
The minutes counted down. She would run out of seconds soon, and go back to work and admit that this whole thing was an utterly stupid idea, blame it on the alcohol.
The door was pushed open so fast that it slammed against the door. Scout bent over in a pant, and it took a lot to make him pant. When it came to running, anyways.
Scout's shirt was definitely torn up, bloodied and was that bullet holes? That was kind of hot, actually.
"Miss Pauling! Oh, thank GOD you're still here! I was comin' back and suddenly, a whole dozen guys with guns were after me. And some of them were ridin' bears!. Of course, I was too fast and too amazin' for them to kill. I had to visit doc because I like my insides on my inside, you know? I figured you would like my guts better in there, too."
"Men on bears? Oh," she said.
"I got us takeouts but--the bears ate it. I had to toss hamburgers at them to get them to stop tryin' to eat my liver. Y'know, typical fightin' bears stuff."
"Naturally," she said.
Looks like her parents already had found out about him. But, he'd survived. And he looked awful good that roughed up, too.
Maybe she'd had a brilliant idea while drinking. After all, he liked to make her smile, enjoyed infomercials, and could survive hitmen riding bears.
"Thanks for waitin' on me. I was so worried you wouldn't be here when I got back. T-That you'd think I bailed on you."
"No problem. You certainly waited on me for a long time."
"You know what I want?" she said.
"A new gun?"
"Actually, now that you mention it--" She cleared her throat. "Okay, what I want other than that."
"TWO new guns?"
She smiled. "Okay, other other than that? I want to watch infomercials with you. That'd be a great date."
"Actually, there's a television in here. Dunno where the remote went, but I can reach it."
And there was. It was hidden behind a lavender colored balloon. She got a nice view as he reached up and fiddled with the station until he got to one with an infomercial on.
On the television screen, Scout did an impressive backflip.
"Pretty good," she said.
"Oh, you think THAT's somethin'? You should see it in person."
Scout turned around and with feline grace, stepped up on the chair and took a flip. He landed with surprising ease, and lifted his arms up as if waiting for applause.
Miss Pauling couldn't help but clap. "That's amazing."
"Oh, Miss P, I got so much more to show you. You will never ever even look at the word amazin' again without thinkin' of me. I'll make you look differently at a whole buncha words, actually."
"I'm looking forward to it," she said.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,872
Summary: Miss Pauling has an infomercial addiction. All bets are off when Scout finds out.
Author's note: Ages ago there was this post on tumblr about a headcanon where she's addicted to watching late night infomercials and how Vince Offer (Shamwow guy) looks like Scout.
I was cleaning out my files and I found this in my drafts from circa...2013? early 2014? Because of that it doesn't feature any comic or Expiration Date canon at all and may entirely precede both.
Also you get Saxton/Admin as Pauling's parents. Just uh, ignore that comic where he hits on her.
Is this connected to Beat The Parents? I wonder.
I also blame this skit (warning, NSFW dirty humor)
There's a reference to one more thing. Take a wild guess what it is.
For Sarah~~~
Miss Pauling never had much time to herself, even after she got off duty, it would be very late into the night, long after the news had already been broadcast. The only thing on at this hour were infomercials, selling a variety of products in bizarre ways. She turned them on for background noise as she poured a glass of wine (or two, or three) to unwind for the day. The noise was her company, and often the only company she'd had.
She'd laugh at their ridiculousness and drink until she passed out on her sand-brown, should've-replaced-it-years-ago couch. (Sometimes she got careless. The next one she got was going to be the color of blood to hide the evidence.)
So tonight was like any other day. She turned on the television for the warm glow in the night, which was the closest she had to having friends. She walked out into the small kitchen and poured out her first glass of comfort, and her only break for the day.
A day like this would probably take three to four glasses, she thought.
And it seemed entirely routine, until she heard an all too familiar voice, and very thick accent.
Boston accent, that was.
Miss Pauling looked up from her wine glass, only to see Scout on the screen. All 5'11 feet of him, lanky and swaggering, his red shirt almost blinding. She really needed to get the brightness on her television fixed. He even still had his baseball cap and ear piece on. Now there was a violation if she ever saw one.
"Wow! The rag that cleans anythin'! Get it for your mama when she says she's tired of cleanin' up your messes!"
He wrung out a cloth into a bowl. Dirty water cascaded down. "Lookit dat! Bet your paper towels can't do that crap! Look at that mess! BAM! Obliterated! Cleanin' is fun. Nobody gonna arrest you when you got one of these."
He gave a big grin. "The Kleen Rag is so cheap, you'd think it's a fake, but it's totally legit! How do I know? I gave one to my ma, and I'd never lie to my ma." He laughed then, and flashed a smile to the camera.
"Oh, shit--"
She had been pouring out wine for so long that the cup began to overflow. After that last hitman debacle, she hadn't had time to get any paper towels. Well, she wasn't about to let good wine to to waste. She lapped up the wine from the counter.
Nobody had to know. Okay, other than her mother who watched everything from her giant technological advanced tower that was one laser away from going full Bond villain.
"Don't tell," she said to the television Scout, whose smile was blinding.
"Pretty neat, eh, Miss Pauling?"
Miss Pauling blinked at the television. "...What?"
Okay, she had to be seriously drunk. Because her television was speaking to her.
Scout on the television was speaking to her.
Or was it on the television? Remembering that at least one of her teammates was adept at mimicking voices, she gripped her gun and began a walkthrough of her apartment. She always did this when she came in, to suss out any hitmen who had been called on her by her employee in the past few days.
She found nothing but dust bunnnies (she really had to actually clean someday when she had free time. Except she never had free time.) And plopped down on the couch with her glass of wine.
This was her one bit of solace in the day. Stupid infomercials and getting drunk enough to forget for a few moments.
Scout winked at the camera and held up the rag thing he was selling. Actually, if it was half as good as Scout claimed (which it probably wasn't, given that Scout exaggerated) it might be good for bloodstains. "Miss Pauling, you are gonna love this!"
Miss Pauling downed her glass of wine.
She might, but her boss sure wasn't.
*
Miss Pauling's office was a tiny room, chilled to nigh arctic temperatures with her constantly air conditioner jacked up to the highest point. Powered by stolen ice crystal from the lost continent of Atlantis cold.
She had little room for decoration with all the metal filing cabinets that she would put away only to have to burn about ten minutes later. No one ever said this company (make that companies) was efficient. Especially when her mother was extremely sadistic and would like to watch her future fired (dead) employees suffer as much as possible.
Often, she even made the mooks they hired do their own taxes, just to see them writhe with pain and unending suffering.
Her desk was wedged in between the cabinets via magic. (No, really) and one chair had been pulled in.
It was entirely too small for Scout's lanky frame, but he didn't let that stop him from sitting in a way he probably thought made him look 'cool' and 'casual' and 'relaxed.'
Scout leaned back in the chair, his legs were spread so far apart they were practically in separate counties. He was trying for casual, she supposed. He looked more like he was begging to be fucked up the ass.
She cleared her throat and stared down at the paper. "Scout, I need to speak with you about your recent, ah, film debut."
Scout burst into a big grin. "Oh, you mean those propygandy videos? The ones that your boss used to blackmail me and threaten my ma and family with?"
He seemed way too cheerful considered the subject matter. Then again, he didn't mention her among the other names. Maybe he thought she wasn't involved.
She'd just let him keep believing that. For now, anyways.
Of course, his view of her being safe to speak to and possibly innocent. (which was laughable, really. There was only a few crimes she hadn't committed in her lifetime, and as her mother always reminded her, there was still time.) But a part of her wanted to not burst that bubble.
She tried not to think too much about what that might mean when she wasn't drunk off her ass, watching pratfalls on an infomercial late at night.
Speaking of which.
"The infomercials," she said, her voice cold and direct.
Scout smiled bright at that. "Oh yeah! That! When that Director Douche was around some of the cameramen said I should audition for it. So I gave it a try and they said I'm perfect for it. So I been doin' by the dozen. Makes a pretty penny--not that I need it, because I'm so rich."
"I know, I give you your paycheck," she said dryly.
"Then you saw? It's great, huh?"
She certainly didn't know New Mexico to be the leading point in the film industry, even the infomercial industry. Wasn't California ('land of the hippies' as Soldier put it) the film hub? Especially Hollywood?
She cleared her throat. "So you've been taking unlisted flights out? I didn't see any mention on your sign out form."
Scout rather cheerfully signed all his time sheets, and was all too happy to detail to her personally all of his time, often with a wink and a suggestion that she join him.
Some of the others were far more troublesome when it came to surrendering all their time to a tyrannical and murderous organization lead by her even more tyrannical and murderous mother.
She was fairly sure that most of the mercenaries were on the no flight list. Well, Scout was questionable. Unlike the rest of the mercenaries, he had more minor crimes under his belt. Assault and battery, attempted robbery, and drunk and disorderliness. As opposed to domestic terrorism and espionage, and first degree murder. The mercenaries loved to tease Scout about his lesser criminal record. Of course, it was his fault for bragging about it in the first place.
"Flights?" He scoffed. "This is me; I just run."
She was used to his random bragging and exaggerating, especially around her. She gave him a skeptical look. "Run? Isn't it in California? That's where those film types congregate. That's several states away."
"Just take a carton of BONK, drink 'em all at once, and BAM. I'm goin' the speed of light. There before the hour is out I rocket over there. It's awesome runnin' so fast."
She grimaced, and pinched at the bridge of her nose. Of course she should've known he'd come up with some utterly dumbass plan. It was Scout after all. "That's very dangerous. That's pure radiation and sugar, and you're out of range of Respawn."
He grinned, and his cheeks even flushed a little as he rubbed at his neck. And it was...dare she say... kind of cute, actually.
Nope, she wasn't having this conversation with herself when she was sober. Moving on.
"Aww, thanks for worryin' about me, but this is really important to me. Besides, forgot to mention, it ain't in California. The filmin' place is about fifty miles away or so. It makes for a nice brisk mornin' run."
"Well, mercenaries are allowed to leave the base... As long as all of you do your sign up sheets. But extra use of weapons and supplements will be knocked off your paycheck."
Scout shrugged. "Eh, it's worth it. I'll be makin' enough to offset anyways. Did I mention how much money this is rakin' in?"
"Yes, Scout. You did," she said dryly.
"But, it's more than the money! I love this job. It's a blast," Scout said.
She hadn't realized that being filmed was so important to him, but it made sense. After all, Scout had an ego bigger than the size of earth and was constantly desperate for attention. He acted as if he would die if nobody saw his 'sick moves' and backflips.
"Please send me the amount of BONK you've been drinking off-duty so I can begin the backlog of paycheck fixing," she said.
Scout's eyes widened at this. "So, I just show up in your office? And talk to you?"
"That's the idea, yes," she said dryly.
Scout shot up from his chair and let out a whoop like his team had just won the pennant. And it was his fault that she even knew that was the name of the prize for winning at baseball.
"Man, if I knew usin' stuff would've gotten me a VIP pass straight to your office, I would've been drinkin' down BONK by the cartonful."
"You already drink BONK by the carton," she said.
"Even more, then!" Scout said. "See you then, Miss Pauling!" He gave her a wink and was out of that door in a burst of speed which could've probably won every gold medal in any Olympics, if he hadn't gotten a criminal record so early on in life.
She turned over her pen. She'd given him a reason, even an excuse to come right to her doorstep at any given moment. And she knew he'd use it, even if he took thousands off his paycheck. Just for a second of her time...
She flipped her pen again. She didn't usually face this kind of feeling when she wasn't four glasses in.
With a shrug, she pulled out a bottle of wine and took a swig. Much better. Now she had an excuse if she did something reckless like think her coworker's smile was appealing, and extremely memorable. As the song went, it was Five o'clock somewhere.
*
Miss Pauling poured her fourth glass of wine for the night. It wasn't drinking alone if the television was on.
Besides, alcoholism was the in thing around here. She'd finally have something in common with her teammates and coworkers.
"How did I get this body? The flexmaster6900!" Scout began to march in place, then did a series of squats. The camera panned and lingered lovingly on his ass. Today he wore some rather high cut running shorts.
His current uniform really hid a lot. Of course logically she knew he was probably the most fit of all the mercenaries with all his exercise, but damn. He could bounce a quarter off that ass.
Finally, he started up in a bouncy aerobics routine.
"Pretty nice, eh, Miss Pauling?" He ripped off his shirt and flexed on the screen.
And she had to admit, that actually, he was kind of cute, kind of attractive, and kind of affecting her. Usually he was just a screaming blur on the battlefield. But up close, with this many glasses of wine in her, it made her think. He had a memorable smile. Especially when he was beating people to death on the battlefield.
Okay, maybe sometimes she caught sight of him there, and maybe she liked what she saw.
Not that she was going to do anything about it. It was stupid, really. Stupid things which she only thought when she was drunk. There was a reason it was 'blame it on the alcohol' and 'in vino veritas' and not 'with wine comes brilliance.'
On the television, Scout did a rather impressive backflip, they lifted up his arms, as if for applause.
"And that's why the Kleen rag should be on everybody's gift list. Buy it for your ma, your friend's ma, your favorite lady--hey, can I get one for Miss Pauling? Oh wait, we're on the Flexmaster 6900. Oh wait, you get a Kleen Rag too if you order in the next ten minutes. That way you can wipe down your Flexmaster 6900 so there's no sweat! The ladies don't like it if you get sweaty. Or dudes, for that matter."
"This rag sucks up sweat, it cleans up blood, even you know--" he gave a wink. And she was so drunk that she didn't know, but thought it was better not to ask.
"Aight, I'm gonna give it over to Bidwell here to give you the details. Hey, sleep well when you do, Miss Pauling. And stay safe! Y'know, from all those bedbugs!" He winked at the camera.
The budget for this had to be beyond shoestring and 'filmed in a dumpster.' But Scout had made it charming with all his kinetic energy.
The worst thing was at four glasses of wine, she was kind of touched.
Sure, he was a dumbass flirt who constantly ran his mouth, but no one had ever wished her a goodnight or to stay safe...pretty much ever. Having a mother like the Administrator and a father like Saxton Hale didn't exactly equal a loving, affectionate childhood, or adulthood for that matter.
Though she could kill a man by age three. Two years too young for her mother's preference.
She couldn't ever remember anyone wishing her a good night and to stay safe. Her mother had routinely hired hitmen on her to ensure she was stronger than the other daughters who hadn't survived. Her father had released wild animals for her to wrestle for exactly the same reason. She would pull the covers high and wonder if that night she'd wake up to roars or the sound of gunfire, if she'd manage to survive that night.
Of course, it was probably just some ploy to get in her pants. She knew that. But at four glasses of wine, logic like the fact that Scout only thought with his dick and would flirt with anyone female in a ten mile radius, even grandmothers, was pushed momentarily aside.
"Speakin' of bedbugs, let's talk about the Insect Terrorizor."
The screen went from Bidwell running off the numbers to Scout again. He lifted up a cage with giant spiders in it. they glowed bright green, and let out a hiss. Scout was surprisingly calm around them.
"These special spiders were treated with the finest radiation. Now they eat all bugs around. And if they bite you, you become Spiderman. So win-win."
Scout gestured at the spider.
"Mosquitoes? Friggin' gone. You'll never need another flypaper with these babies around. Now, for four payments of 29.99 you can have a spider sidekick all your own. No more flies ever, and potential superpowers!"
Miss Pauling couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She took another sip of wine, and thought with the foolishness that wine brought that for the first time, she wouldn't be sleeping alone. Even if it was just Scout on the television, doing handstands in hopes she'd notice, and to sell rags and radioactive spiders.
*
She had never seen anybody so happy to get what technically a punishment. Knowing Scout, he'd probably be into that kind of thing. She marked down the price. Scout couldn't sit still, his leg bouncing as he waited for a chance to speak again.
She put him out of his misery--not with a bullet, but by clearing her throat and giving him what he wanted so desperately: her undivided attention. She looked up from the papers.
"You've been really prolific in starring in infomercials lately," she said.
Since these infomercials were widely ignored, the Administrator accepted it. Then Saxton Hale randomly bought the entire industry on a whim--which explained why they were suddenly moving from dishrags to giant radioactive spiders. And why Bidwell was there.
"Yeah, it's a blast! Did you see? Did you see?"
She bit her lower lip. She wasn't sure how he got this information--well, other than Spy selling it to him. She wasn't sure what drastic things confirming or denying would bring about, so she simply changed the subject back to him.
"Did you check your new contracts?"
Scout shrugged carelessly. "I mean, it's my boss. He was just havin' me do somethin' else this time. Ain't really nothin' to check on."
She let out a sigh. "I'll take that as a 'no,' then. He might own your likeness, name and soul for all I know. Bidwell writes a pretty ruthless contract," Miss Pauling said.
"Wait a minute--He can do that? But I'm Catholic! I mean, sorta. I haven't been to confession since I was a teen, but I'm goin' to get around to it. Though when I do, I'll probably turn the priest bald for the kind of things I gotta confess."
She nodded. "He's already done it to Sniper. Show it to me sometime. I can help you renegotiate if he's locked you into a bad deal," she said.
Scout's face was filled with such joy--and a vulnerability. Unlike the other men who showed distrust, Scout was too naive, too full of belief of people he really shouldn't be trusting.
Like her.
"Really? You'd do that for me?"
"It's my job," she said.
"But, isn't Saxton like your boss?"
And her dad, but she wasn't about to let him take advantage of Scout. That'd be like kicking a dog. A very fast running dog who rocketed about all the time, wouldn't stop yapping, and was constantly trying to hump your leg.
A sudden suspicion came to her."Has there been a big change in your paycheck?"
"I don't think so? You tell me. I mean, other than usin' up that BONK...."
"Hmm. I'll have to check the pay stubs. One of your brothers wasn't held ransom by the mafia again for gambling debts, was he?"
Scout scrunched up his nose. "I fuckin' hope not."
"Then, you're just doing them for fun? You did say it was decent pay."
"Oh, that." Scout leaned back in his chair with a smile. "A ways back after we got back late. Somebody turned on a television in the common room. They had this infomercial on and you smiled big the whole time you were watchin'. And I thought, hey, I'd like to make you smile like that, keep you smilin'."
He grinned at her. "So, is it workin'?"
She couldn't stop the blush that filled her cheeks. She stammered out a pathetic response. Then--saved by the bell--the Administrator's voice called for an end.
"See you then, Miss Pauling. Hope you like my latest infomercial. It's a real humdinger!"
He brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. "Is that like a hamburger?"
He burst out laughing. "God, you're somethin' else. The best, really. You're the best."
The alarm sounded again, and the Administrator sounded none too happy.
"You should--"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Seeya later, Miss Pauling. Or maybe I should say Seeya sooner?" He gave her a big smile and ran off towards his job. Miss Pauling sat still for a long moment trying to figure out the prinkling warmth beneath her skin.
*
Miss Pauling took another sip of her wine as she watched the latest infomercials. It'd all started as a lark, really. She would get drunk off her ass and laugh it up to utterly stupid infomercials. It was the one vice she allowed herself.
Okay, two vices. At least she didn't buy anything.
But lately she'd begun to...anticipate it all day. When she was burying bodies, she'd look at her watch and count the hours until she could enjoy her wine and infomercials--and, well, her Scout.
And think, that maybe, this would be so much easier with someone else, that Scout would make her laugh all day long and make the job go so much easier.
And she drank more to forget that night, but it had the opposite effect in making her giggly.
"Listen, it's only six months until Valentine's day. So, it's time to get your ass in gear. You gotta special lady in your life? BOOM. Get on your knees! Okay, not like that. Well you can get on like that before or after or both, I ain't judgin'. But I'm talkin' abotu goin' the whole ten miles, you know? You gotta special dude in your life? Get that locked down! Take this to him or her and show 'em they mean everythin' to you with these exclusive engagement rings!"
Saxton Hale was selling diamond rings now? They looked about big enough to kill someone with. She smiled at the thought of beating someone's head in. Him with his bat, her with her gigantic ring which was a symbol of his undying love. Emphasis on the undying, especially when she expanded Respsawn into a personal immortality machine.
Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Miss Pauling looked to her bottle of wine and took a long swig. She still didn't pass out. She was supposed to pass out and forget and not face the fact that she'd had these thoughts, these feelings when she was sober.
And it all coalesced. Scout smiling on the screen, selling gigantic deadly engagement rings. She got up, swayed out into the dark.
What was she even doing?
Scout was dancing in the moonlight. On a boombox, it played sugar, sugar. Honey, honey.... And why was he in such short shorts?
"Scout.... why arrrre you dancing in the darrrrk?"
"Just windin' down from work. What are you doin' here, Miss Pauling? You wanna dance with me?"
Miss Pauling began to sway a little. "Is this sugar dancinnng because sugarr--on the radio---Oh! The alcohol told me it was a good idea."
"Whoa, you're totally sauced," Scout said. "How many glasses didja have?"
She giggled. Giggled! "Six, maybe. Actually I finished the whole botttle. Did you ever think how bottle is a funny word? Botttttllleeeeeee...."
"That much? Fuck, that's Demo level drinkan."
"Oh, he'd drink far more. He drinks a bottle for breakfast, and then does morrree all through the daaayy."
"Eh, probably," Scout said.
She swayed, and he immediately caught her, steadied her. She leaned into him, breathed in the scent of him. He always wore too much cologne. Someone--probably Spy--probably told him it attracted women.
"So, Miss Pauling. You and Me, eh? Whatcha think?"
"This is a completely s-stupid idea. You...co-could get killed," she said softly.
"I could killed crossin' the road, too. But bein' killed with you is a whole lot more fun."
"A-and you flirtt...with every girl out there..."
"Jeez, I quit that ages ago! You're the only girl for me and have been for like..." Scout counted on his fingers, lost count twice, and frowned. Apparently math wasn't his strong point. "A really friggin' long time, you know!"
She broke out laughing at this.
"And I have no time! None at all! I shouldn't even be here..."
"We can make time. Like now. Dancin' at almost daybreak for the hell of it."
"I like you though," she said softly. "Even though it's a bad idea."
He leaned in. His lips brushed against her forehead. "I like you, too. More than I ever liked anybody in the world. Even my own ma. Though, actually that's a whole different kind of like. Anyways. What I'm tryin' to say is I like you a lot."
It felt so warm and nice in his arms. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling. Not just the physical contact that she was unused to, yet deeply thirsty for, but the thought that somebody out there could care for her despite it all.
Or because of it all.
*
She woke up with a killer headache. The second thing she realized as she shifted in agony was that she wasn't alone. Miss Pauling shot up, and lifted up the covers.
There were BONK posters and baseball posters all about--including one Tom Jones photo with DAD? sharpied on the corner. Even the covers were bright yellow and printed with BONK all over them.
Scout was curled up beside her. He let out a sleepy little groan and smiled at her as his gray eyes opened.
"G'mornin', beautiful."
"Wait, we didn't... Oh, God, we did, didn't we?"
"Nah, you were pretty drunk. You passed out a bit after we started dancin' and I didn't know where to put you. Don't know where your apartment is, didn't wanna put you in the common room in case one of the guys pulled a prank on you like they do with me when I passed out there, and all the hotel rooms were too far away. Figured I'd just let you crash with me until you woke up."
He leaned down to kiss the side of her temple, and got out of bed. She instantly felt her face heat. She touched where he'd kiss, just to feel the contact a little more, a little longer.
"Did I say anything...?"
Oh, fuck. What if she'd gotten drunk and leaked classified nuclear details to Scout? He could never keep a damn secret quiet, ever.
Scout gave her a big grin, and dramatically rubbed at his chin as if he was deep in thought. Oh, that was not comforting at all. "Hmm, lesse. You said you drank a lot. Props, because even Demo would be swaying at that."
That could be used against her, she supposed. But she always checked all her alcohol (and all other drinks) for poison before downing them.
"And you said you were into me. We both agreed it was a stupid and utter dumbass idea, but I'm a dumbass so it works. Okay I'm paraphrasin' here."
Her cheeks turned bright pink at that. Oh, she could believe that.
"You didn't go and forget everythin' we said, didja?"
"I can vaguely remember things....I'll probably remember more details as the day goes on."
Like the scent of his shirt and her head there against him. How his lips had brushed against her as he'd said he'd liked her more than anything.
"Cause you said you and me was a stupid idea, and probably bad for me, but we agreed we'd still go at it even if it's dangerous--that's not just the wine talkin', is it? Oh yeah, and I stopped datin' around because you're the only girl I wanna date. Even if it means I gotta wait, you're worth the wait. That joggin' your memory?"
She rubbed at her temples.
"Don't tell me you changed your mind in between that much wine? Is this gonna be like one of those drunken masters, where you're in love with me, but only six drinks in?"
"Could you lower your voice a bit, please?"
"Oh, right. Lemme help you out."
He tossed a bottle of aspirin and began to dig around in the mini-fridge. Mostly he kept drinks after his work outs. He handed some orange juice. "Drink it down. You'll feel better."
She drank down the juice. If only it'd push back this nausea.
"Listen...I want to try at this, at us, even if it's hard."
"Oh, it's pretty hard." Scout smirked, and gave her a suggestive look. She grabbed a pillow and swatted it at him, but Scout just laughed.
"I'm not kidding, Scout. I almost never have any times, so you'll have to follow me around on jobs and find odd moments of the day. And if we break up, it'd make everything terribly awkward. Especially if I have to watch you date other people. I don't have time to bury that many people."
"Okay," Scout said.
"Okay?"
"If you're tryin' to drive me away, you gotta try harder. I mean, I already work for a Bond Villain or two. I can take whatever gets thrown at me. Even bears."
She chuckled at this. He should be careful what he wished for. "And that'd make you what, Bond?"
He laughed. "Maybe, though if anybody's Bond, it's that asshole Spy."
"So, imagine this. You and me, a date. Probably gotta do it on the base because no time. But I could still get this goin'."
"Tonight? Really?"
"C'mon, Cinderella. I'll turn that pumpkin into a carriage," Scout said. She couldn't tell if this was supposed to be an innuendo. His grin kind of made her think it was, though she couldn't think about what he could be suggesting.
Though, she had to admit, she'd like to find out. As long as the pumpkins weren't literal. Metaphorical pumpkins was fine.
"All right. But it might be canceled--all my days off always do," she said.
"Then we'll just push it later," Scout said.
"And what if it's just an endless stream of pushing our time to another moment
"Then, I figure out time travel," Scout said.
She couldn't help but laugh. It seemed no matter what the world threw at them, Scout had an answer.
*
It always happened like this. She shouldn't have even hoped, even tried. She didn't even know if he was alive, if her mother had wiped his memory or turned him into a cyborg zombie.
Come on, he's only fifteen minutes late, she reminded herself.
She'd give him another half hour. Disappointment hung around her like dark storm clouds that wouldn't go away. She should be so happy--she'd finally found somebody who liked her for more than how many bears she could wrestle or how many hitmen she could survive. (Though she was sure he would appreciate those things, too.)
She'd even changed into a purple dress that didn't have any bloodstains on it. And that was saying something. Come to think of it, she needed to stock up for when she had to go into Teufort. She couldn't claim she'd had a 'terrible tomato accident' every single time she went there.
He'd decorated the spare room with purple streamers and balloons, with one little cafe-worthy circular table and chairs. It was like being caught in some teenage daydream, dancing close for the first time.
Everything she'd never had.
The minutes counted down. She would run out of seconds soon, and go back to work and admit that this whole thing was an utterly stupid idea, blame it on the alcohol.
The door was pushed open so fast that it slammed against the door. Scout bent over in a pant, and it took a lot to make him pant. When it came to running, anyways.
Scout's shirt was definitely torn up, bloodied and was that bullet holes? That was kind of hot, actually.
"Miss Pauling! Oh, thank GOD you're still here! I was comin' back and suddenly, a whole dozen guys with guns were after me. And some of them were ridin' bears!. Of course, I was too fast and too amazin' for them to kill. I had to visit doc because I like my insides on my inside, you know? I figured you would like my guts better in there, too."
"Men on bears? Oh," she said.
"I got us takeouts but--the bears ate it. I had to toss hamburgers at them to get them to stop tryin' to eat my liver. Y'know, typical fightin' bears stuff."
"Naturally," she said.
Looks like her parents already had found out about him. But, he'd survived. And he looked awful good that roughed up, too.
Maybe she'd had a brilliant idea while drinking. After all, he liked to make her smile, enjoyed infomercials, and could survive hitmen riding bears.
"Thanks for waitin' on me. I was so worried you wouldn't be here when I got back. T-That you'd think I bailed on you."
"No problem. You certainly waited on me for a long time."
"You know what I want?" she said.
"A new gun?"
"Actually, now that you mention it--" She cleared her throat. "Okay, what I want other than that."
"TWO new guns?"
She smiled. "Okay, other other than that? I want to watch infomercials with you. That'd be a great date."
"Actually, there's a television in here. Dunno where the remote went, but I can reach it."
And there was. It was hidden behind a lavender colored balloon. She got a nice view as he reached up and fiddled with the station until he got to one with an infomercial on.
On the television screen, Scout did an impressive backflip.
"Pretty good," she said.
"Oh, you think THAT's somethin'? You should see it in person."
Scout turned around and with feline grace, stepped up on the chair and took a flip. He landed with surprising ease, and lifted his arms up as if waiting for applause.
Miss Pauling couldn't help but clap. "That's amazing."
"Oh, Miss P, I got so much more to show you. You will never ever even look at the word amazin' again without thinkin' of me. I'll make you look differently at a whole buncha words, actually."
"I'm looking forward to it," she said.
