fic: You Could Be The Star Of My Comic Book Life

[bonnefois]

Title: You Could Be The Star Of My Comic Book Life
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling, ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 12,500
Summary: Miss Pauling finds her own face looking back at her in a comic book while checking out at the grocery store. Which leads her straight to the one who got away--from her bullet. It turns ourt she was the unwitting muse to an almost ex-con turned comic book artist who never forgot her. Though Miss Pauling heads back to Boston to eradicate the witness, she finds herself reluctant for the time spent with him to end.
Author's note:

AU in the fact that Scout was never recruited, but has come into contact with Miss Pauling at some point. This came from one of those AU bots on twitter but I forget the exact prompt wording, and lost the link. Except that I do remember that it involved one being a comic book artist and drawing a comic of the other.

And being AU, it's not related to anything past the original gravel wars stuff. Apparently Scout not being around turns her into a "I know no love, only guns" type, huh.

The title is a silly paraphrase of a lyric from Blessid Union of Souls - Storybook Life.

For Sarah.


"I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"
-Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift.



1972.
Annoyingly catchy muzak played on a boombox in the corner as Miss Pauling mentally crossed milk off her grocery list. She'd grown used to not using paper lists, and stuck to keeping it in her head, as it meant less evidence to destroy later. Even her grocery habits could be used against her. Someone might be waiting by the dairy aisle, right by her favorite brand of chocolate milk with a knife.

With her line of work, there were no second chances. Discounting Respawn, of course.

Yet again, she'd gotten chocolate, as opposed to skim, because her job made her ever so aware that she could die any moment. And she'd be damned if she died with tasteless milk.

Miss Pauling idly glanced at the magazines. The usual gossip rags she couldn't care about, the women's magazines, and some meathead magazine that Saxton Hale starred on the cover of.

She already had this month's copy of Better Guns And Gardens, but she was tempted to glance through it just to pass the time. But just as she was about to pick it up, she caught sight of her own face staring back at her. With a frown, Miss Pauling reached behind, where a comic book was wedged.

The face that caught her attention looked somewhat familiar.

The Adventures of Stiletto and Scout! Drama! Action! An Incredibly Hot Hero and Heroine! We got friggin' everything! was written over the covers.

And excessive exclamation marks, no less.

She flipped through the pages. A few similarities she could ignore. They said everyone had a twin, so perhaps it was just a trick of the light. It wasn't as if she was the only woman in the world with dark hair and glasses who wore a lot of purple.

The first thing she realized was the artist had to be male; no one else would believe it was a good idea to be running in heels. The second was that there was no possibility that it was a mistake. The heroine turned out to be named Missy Pauling, of all things.

She wore the exact same kind of dress Miss Pauling did, the same shade, the same bun, even the same gun she'd used before.

Though Miss Pauling certainly didn't have a leather catsuit in her wardrobe. And even if she did, she wouldn't be fighting crime with it. It was definitely more suited for a bedroom. Not that she'd had a boyfriend or girlfriend in the past...ever.

She looked on the back for Saxton Hale's handiwork, only to find no mention of he employers. That meant she'd accidentally been someone's muse--and she'd let someone live who shouldn't have.

The cashier cleared his throat. "Hey lady, you going, or what? This ain't a library; don't hold of the damn line!"

Her hands twitched towards her thigh holster. It would be so easy to shut his mouth. His brains would be splattered across the wall. No, that'd be too easy a death.

But there would be witnesses who she would also have to kill and then clean up.

She tossed the comic book in her basket. She was tempted to buy out everything, just to keep him waiting. She was tempted to take out her knife and twist it into his stomach.

But instead, she just paid for her things and left. He wasn't worth the trouble. She already had her hands full taking care of this new mess.

*

In the end, she came to the same conclusion over and over. Someone must've seen her. The resemblance was too close. Even worse, now she would be familiar to both comic book readers and the occasional shoppers idly perusing the magazine stack while waiting in line. He might've as well put a 'wanted' with her face posted on the wall of every grocery store in the country.

Finding Scout Dash wouldn't be hard, though. The bio was so detailed that it even left a home address, and phone number for 'all the pretty and lonely ladies out there. At the end was a note: Especially the real life Missy. I miss you.

If the bio didn't clue her in about Scout Dash's ego, the fact that he'd made his own superhero, an extremely quick, fast-talking guy with the same exact name.

But she recognized those gray eyes and that smile, even in ink.

He was the one who got away--literally. She'd should've shot him down. But he never thought any of their hired guns would be stupid enough to fall in love with her.

So it was that she headed to South Boston, where this whole shit show had begun.

She left a message back to her boss, and got only the answering machine.

"Administrator, I've got to kill a witness. I'll be back a little later than usual."

She must've been getting her yearly allotted hour of sleep. Lucky for her. The last thing Miss Pauling needed right now was more people sent to help.

She hung up and stared at the phone.

"Well, I've royally fucked this up now," she said to herself.

*

Once she hit Boston, She stepped into the crowded and claustrophobic comic book store. There were posters of men in brightly colored spandex fighting space creatures, and large-breasted heroines/love interests/side kickers who seriously could not fight in those heels.

She didn't bother looking through the stacks, and instead went straight for the front desk. The receptionist at the book store was tall, with clothes much too big, like his mother had boughten them large enough to grow into. He broke into a smile as she came closer.

"Wow, you look just like Missy Pauling. Mind if I snap a picture?"

"I'd rather not," Miss Pauling said. She held up the comic book. "Do you have the rest of this? It says it's only issue one."

"They're pretty popular, but I gotta make an exception for you. You're her spitting image, after all."

He dug around in the back and returned with a whole stack of more of the adventures of Stiletto and Scout.

Popular? Ugh, don't tell me I have to go kill thousands of comic book fans, too. At this rate, her one misstep would end up in a massacre.

"All you need to complete the costume is a whip. I'd be glad to let you try it out on me--"

Miss Pauling narrowed her eyes. "If you ever say that again to me, I will personally ensure that you never are able to speak again."

He blushed. "Wow, you really are just like her."

A glare shut him up. She tossed a five and change and got the whole stack.

She headed back to her cheap hotel. She'd chosen something low class that she passed several working ladies, and others probably peddling drugs.

She'd preferred the crime-ridden rathole hotels rather than high class. A place like this didn't ask any questions. If she had to kill someone here, she wouldn't even have to bother burying it. The staff were too used to taking out the bodies. Johns who didn't pay, overdoses, and people who found themselves on the wrong side of the mob.

Though she couldn't done without the noises coming through the walls.

In her line of work, she couldn't do with headphones to dull out the noise, not when she never knew when the next assassin would break through the door--or out the closet.

With a grimace, she ignored those fake moans coming from the room next door and began to flip through the comic.

At least the moans faded quickly. He'd lasted barely a minute. No wonder he had to pay for sex.

She flipped through the comic while she waited. It started with the hero, also named Scout, meeting the heroine, Missy at a drop off by local mafia. He'd flirted with her, and guarded her, much like real life had gone.

Except in this version, they met back up together on the same docks.

A dramatic sunset shone behind them. Missy stared out at the waves. In the next panel there was a sound behind her. She turned, and Missy's face was filled with shock. You're alive!

Of course, you think they could hit somebody as fast and awesome and handsome and charmin' as me? And besides...I wanted to come back to you. I know we just met, and this is crazy but--you and me, huh?

It showed a dramatic cinematic worthy shot of Scout pulling her into an embrace and kissing. The kiss took up the entire page, panel by panel. She lingered at that panel a long time. There was a moment of shock, in Missy's face, then in the next panel she held him tight. After the kiss he cradled her face. I'm so glad you came back. We really got somethin', you know. I might've failed science class, but I know chemistry when I see it.

And that was how the issue ended. Miss Pauling took a stunned moment to linger at that kiss scene. It was so dramatic and passionate and so many other words which even thinking about would probably get her fired.

She flipped to the next one. While the first issue had simply been Missy and Scout meeting and reuniting, by the second they formed some kind of vigilante group together after a few people in Southie and Roxy were assaulted by the police. In fact, the villains were a very corrupt band of cops associated with the mafia. At least for this arc. Her Alter Ego's superhero name was Stiletto, and she had very questionable choices of a costume, more suited for an issue of Playboy than any kind of fight.

She didn't know enough about comics to tell if these large sudden sound effects were standard, though they made each scene seem awful silly when each punch would be punctuated by a biff! blammo! crunch!

But then, it gave the comic a kind of... charm.

On the page, Scout smiled bright at Missy. Pretty good hit, baby. You should show me your moves...later.

Stiletto smirked. You couldn't handle my moves. Now keep your focus on those bastards, before you get hurt again.

I can focus on both!

They were back to back, beating back nameless mooks. The exchange left her almost wistful. She always had to fight her fights alone, and then take care of the remains herself.

And she was a big girl, she could bury her own bodies. But it was hard to drag a corpse and a shovel at the same time. Sometimes, a girl just wanted someone there to offer a helping hand--preferably with a bag of quicklime in it.

In another scene that she was surprised didn't get cut by the censors, Missy and Scout were half-undressed, and kissing again in a darkened room. She blushed, and squirmed at the sight of someone who was supposed to be her in such an amorous state. Miss Pauling had never even managed to finish a date without having to kill them. Missy's lips were parted, and she had what was best described as 'bedroom eyes.' Scout was covered in her lipstick.

On panel, he broke apart to speak again. Which seemed quite typical, considering what she remembered of him.

I-I know this is fast, but everythin' about me is fast--except one thing--and I totally love you, y'know! I've been freakin' head over heels ever since I first saw you. I mean I know love at first sight crap seems bullshit but I could totally sense it, we had somethin' from that first time. And I'm so glad we found each other again--

In the next panel, Missy gripped his face and said Shut up, Scout. Scout blushed as Missy climbed up on top of him and kissed him hard.

Really, he was telling a lot here. Missy completely called the shots in this relationship and Scout (the character) seemed blissful about it.

And so did Missy, too.

And it wasn't merely the uncanny feeling of watching her alter ego live a wild life, but how happy she was. It was...well, she couldn't quite explain it, not really.

It wasn't as if she was unhappy, not really. Every time she had feelings either alcohol or more work shoved it down. She'd tried to put a single's ad in a wizard magazine once, but the answers had been so crass she'd just moved on from that.

(I'd put on my robe and wizard hat, if you know what I mean one had said. She didn't and didn't want to. But at least she'd gotten to kill him in the end.)

She lingered on that last image of the book. Missy was in Scout's arms, obviously post coital.

You and me, we're a good team.

After the last page, there were some extra drawings the artist had included. In many of them Missy was in various pin up poses, except she didn't have the come-hither look, but instead looked like she was going to kill someone for the indignity.

Well, that one was perfectly in character, at least.

In the very same ones, Scout was in a state of undress, his hand on her shoulder, or leaning to kiss her neck. It was almost as if the camera had caught them in a state of just about to climb into bed, and Missy wasn't too happy about it.

Though Scout seemed happy about it. Apparently he was into that, too.

The next issue ended partway. They were just headed to take down the massively corrupt cop group. Scout reached out and gave Missy a dramatic kiss.

Missy's hand lingered on his cheek. Be careful out there, okay? This one's gonna be tough.

With you by my side, nothin's tough. Well, almost nothin'...

Missy playfully cuffed him, and it had a giant, glaring To Be Continued sign at the end.

She frowned and looked at the date. It'd been quite some time since the last update. Was it canceled?

Frustration rose in her. It couldn't just end there. With the final battle undone and a hint at what was to come.

She sat back and blinked. Was she really this invested in fiction? Somehow, she'd

Somehow, she'd gotten caught up in this reconnisaince. She'd enjoyed herself, even if it was looking in the window at her life. Or an ideal life she could've had.

She wasn't an expert on art, let alone comics, but he was actually really good. Or he would've, if she hadn't had to do this. A shame he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Had picked literally any woman--right down to someone he met at a chicken joint--as his muse, he would've been able to live.

She lingered at his bio one last time.

Hey, real life Missy, out there in the world... I Miss you. Hit me up sometime. Really, this whole thing was a love letter to her, thrown out into the wilds like a message in a bottle. Almost a shame.

She knew that number at the end by heart. She had kept the number all this time, memorized and repeated in her mind, though she couldn't tell why.

Maybe because...she'd felt something the first time he'd smiled at her. And she hadn't felt anything in a very long time.

No, be realistic, she reminded herself. She'd kept the number because she could then check in and ensure he'd gotten killed. And she'd been too busy to actually check on it.

(Not because a part of her kind of hoped that he really had managed to dodge every bullet there, that he was still smiling somewhere far off, as stupid a fantasy that was.)

She still had a few more hours before twilight. She set the comics aside and headed to the shower. As she turned on the water, she couldn't help but remember one year ago.

The first time she'd met Scout Dash.

*

One year ago.

The waves crashed against the docks, full of frothy white foam. She pulled her coat closer. It was supposed to be spring, but apparently Boston hadn't gotten the message. The scent of cigarette smoke wafted across to her. She glanced back, where there was nothing but a slight trace of gray smoke in the air.

"You'll betray your position like that," she said.

"This is Southie. The scent is commonplace here. They will not question it," Spy said.

"Mmhmm. They have imported French cigarettes here?"

"As if they could discern the scent," he muttered.

He faded away. "Here comes the delivery."

Miss Pauling touched to the gun at her hip, concealed by her purple overcoat as he came into view. He was lanky, tall, with a jean jacket covered in patches.

A black bandanna was tied around his mouth, but even then, she could see the smile in his gray eyes. A Red Sox cap peeked out of his black hood.

He looked way too happy for a man about to die.

"Didn't think they'd send somebody so cute. Usually it's all unwashed dock dudes here. You got a name, or should I call you mine?"

He pulled down his bandana, and gave her a smile. Miss Pauling lifted her eyebrows. Really, this was who they sent? Some guy who only thought with his dick, to the point where he'd hit on a client in a risky business like this?

"C'mon, I gotta call you something. Guess I could call you gorgeous, though I'd rather call you mine."

"Pauling," she said, and she was surprised at the words. Obviously he'd startled her out of--something. Normalcy, that was it. She was used to easily disposable deliverers who never took down their mask, and certainly never gave her a smile like that.

"Pauling, huh? I like it. Is that a first or last name?" He burst into a big grin.

She blushed--blushed! "That's--t-that's all you're getting."

She cleared her throat. Now she had to kill him. She hadn't planned on this, but his smile had suddenly made her feel--weird. Kind of warm, but not like heat stroke. Her heart was beating faster. She reached to touch to her gun.

"Oh, you got one? Good, I got one too, see?" He lifted up his gun. "I named mine Betsy. Yours got any names?"

Beside her, she heard a mutter of you utter imbecile.

"Hey, I don't judge. This is America. Ma takes one in her purse to go to the store. My grandma takes a shotgun to Mass with her. Oh yeah, I got somethin' for you."

He handed the shipment, with a wink. Somehow in that amount of time, he managed to jot down a number. How, she had no idea. But then, he was full force, always moving.

Was he even for real, or was this just some ploy? Would they really put out someone this--unprofessional--to represent them?

"Hey, nice smile," he said.

"I'm not..."

Before she could finish, his smile disappeared into shock. He stared out behind her at something behind her.

"Shit! Watch out, Pauling!"

She pulled out her gun and fired off a shot. It hit one of the dockside warehouses.

"Ooh, nice shot!"

He grabbed her by the arm wrist, and with surprising strength for his thin frame, pulled her to cover.

The heat of his rough, calloused hands seared her wrist. She found her cheeks flushed, not just from cold. When was the last time someone had touched her?

"Ugh, there's a bunch. I'll distract 'em. You get out of here. And--don't forget to call me! He blew her a kiss, gave her a wink and was off."

He was quite fast and nimble, dodging every bullet with a laugh. She felt weirdly dizzy and warm. It must've been something in the air. The whole drop off had made her feel almost buzzed, except she hadn't had a single drink.

She took one last look at the docks. The sunset had faded. There was no more gunfire. He was surely dead by now. "...Let's go," she said.

"I'll be back later," he said.

She frowned."What, enjoying the mood?"

"Unfinished business."

"Don't let your loyalty stray," she said.

"Loyalty? What loyalty?" His voice was flippant. She heard his footsteps go towards the gunfire. If he wanted a piece of the action, and his bloodlust was too much, then so be it.

She left, but the strange feeling remained long after she'd left Boston behind.

*

Back in the hotel, she kept rubbing her wrist.

"Did you get hurt?"

Miss Pauling flinched. "What?"

"Your wrist."

She immediately pulled away, as if she'd been caught in the act.

The act of what? Remembering?

"You choked back there," Spy said.

"I didn't expect it to be---" She cleared her throat. "He was faster than expected. I guess it put me off balance."

Miss Pauling considered her options. Leaving a witness was never a good idea. But, there was little chance he'd survived that distraction. Even that possibility, which should have comforted her, left her uneasy. Though she couldn't fathom why.

Maybe she just needed to sleep more.

"That's one way to put it. You told him your real name."

"Only my last name. And it isn't even my real last name," she said.

She'd had so many identities that they blurred together. But Pauling had been the second one she'd taken on, and the longest. So, it'd stuck. Even when her identity said something like Susan Smith, she was still 'Pauling.'

Spy's eyebrows lifted. "You revealed information and let him live. Either you're losing your touch or...you're sweet on him."

Miss Pauling's cheeks turned red. She felt the deep discomfort, like something inside being rubbed raw inside her. "That's not--"

She took a deep breath. Of course, Spy was just needling her as usual.

"I wouldn't worry. Here in Southie there is a deep code of ethics." He took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Never go to the cops. Settle all issues with your own two hands."

"It almost sounds like you know him," she said.

"I had to do a job here once. The people are close-knit, and easily recognize outsiders. I had to acclimate myself or fail."

Spy smiled. "Besides, you caught his eye. He's not about to do anything to earn your ire."

"It doesn't matter, he's surely dead by now anyways," she said flatly. She should feel relieved, but all she felt was that--weird feeling. The further away she went, the faster it would go and she could put it behind her. Like that time she got takeout and got food poisoning.

"Oho, you aren't going to check? You've truly fallen for him then," Spy said.

She gave him a withering glance. "Shut up."

As if she had time for something like that.

*

And that should've been it. A strange, flirty delivery boy who probably died. But for many days after, she found herself remembering his smile and kinetic energy, and the feeling of that touch.

At times she'd even had moments--drunken, definitely--where she thought about calling that number he'd given her. She'd always come to her senses by morning.

The truth was, she'd never been touched, or cared about other than her gift for killing. The thought that she could be affected so by a smile was surprising and unsettling and something else she couldn't quite define. Because she'd never felt it before, never even knew it existed.

Present day.

Miss Pauling returned from her late shower to find all the comic books were floating.

"I see you made an impression on him." Spy slowly flipped through the pages.

Miss Pauling grabbed for her gun. Spy lifted his own to match her in a Mexican standoff in almost a bored gesture. He didn't even look up from the comics.

"You could have at least knocked."

"On what, the shower door?"

"Don't even joke! If you take up that kind of attitude, you're going to get shot. And if you even think about ever trying anything--"

He gave a derisive laugh. "You aren't my type," he said.

"Good, because you aren't either," she said.

"Who knew Miss Pauling even had a type other than an AK-27? The way you look at guns makes me think you would marry one if you could."

"And?" She said.

He flipped the page to where Missy and Scout had that dockside kiss. At least he wasn't at the point where Missy and Scout were in bed.

"So I suppose you settled for the closest thing, and went for a son-of-a-gun..."

"He's nothing to me," she spat out.

"And yet, you let him live. How utterly careless of you. Or perhaps, something else. Maybe you have a type after all."

"First, I wasn't even aware he was still living. Secondly, I thought you said the Southies didn't talk," Miss Pauling said.

"To be fair, he isn't talking. I can see a definite resemblance here," he said. "Except the part where Missy Pauling fights villains. Very uncharacteristic."

She lifted one eyebrow. Missy Pauling wore some quasi-bondage get up. Even Scout Dash's costume had a pair of cuff links that resembled bondage gear. The artist definitely had some huge kink, especially with those bed scenes where she--er--Missy climbed up on top and kissed him. Maybe she could make use of this.

Then again, he hadn't exactly been difficult to convince. Just at the sight of her he'd pulled down his mask and given her his number. All she'd have to do was say she would be fine with going on a date with him, right after she bought this shovel, tarp, and package of quicklime.

"So, you are his muse. What of it?"

"Headquarters isn't going to like it."

"They like very little," he said.

He closed the comic book. "I've never cared for that medium of art. Even the Belgian comics are meaningless to me. But, even so, he isn't that bad. Had he chosen a better muse, he wouldn't even be in this amount of trouble."

Spy couldn't bring himself to insult the guy. There had to be a connection there. She mentally filed that away for later investigation. The blackmail potential could be priceless. Especially as Spy was their least trustworthy employee.

"Not because it's bad--because it's me."

"There's always denial," he said.

"Maybe that would work if this idiot hadn't named her Missy Pauling."

"That sounds like something he'd do," Spy muttered.

"When this is over, it won't matter. Even if I have to kill every editor and reader of this damn thing."

He closed the comic and tossed it on the bed. "I see."

All mirth had gone from his voice. His gaze was sharper, harsher now.

"Well then, get to your job. I must get to mine."

He disappeared and left without a goodbye. Miss Pauling sat on the bed. She suddenly felt dizzy. It was all his damn fault. If this Scout had just stuck to the script, then she wouldn't be taking time off work to kill countless more people.

She already had enough to do. She couldn't even imagine the kind of backlog that would happen with a couple days of missed work taking care of this.

All he'd had to do was forget she ever existed and move on with his life.

But neither of them had been able to do that, now had they?

*


She'd staked out the road he lived on, but she wanted to wait until dark to make her plan of attack. It'd be much easier to fade into the shadows.

Then she could just go back to burying bodies alone all day in the desert heat.

She knocked on the door on apartment 35.

She heard a woman's voice rise above the television. "Who the fuck would be callin' at this hour? Any of you been runnin' with the boys?"

"Nah, ma. That jail scare scared me clean!"

"if only. Well, then go get the damn door. Here, here. You know better than to answer the door unarmed, especially at friggin' damn night!"

"Aww, ma, you worry too much."

He had spiked baseball bat in hand. "Dafaq you friggin' wan---" His gray eyes widened, and filled with joy. "It--it's you! It's really you!"

"Scout Dash?"

"--Liam Dempsey, actually. But you're free to call me Scout if you want. You know what else you can call me? Yours!"

Before she could even respond to that, he kept on, rapid-fire, with rather astonishing speed. He closed the door behind him, muffling the loud, thickly accented arguments by several relatives. Brothers, perhaps?

"You found me! I been waitin' on the phone for you to call. I keep tellin' myself that you just got a broken phone or were too busy, but I knew you'd--"

She cleared her throat and held up the comic. "You're the one who wrote this, right?"

"Oh yeah! You read that? Holy c-crap! W-what do you think? Pretty cool, eh? Oh shit, I didn't even invite you in. Come in--come in! I can go tell my brothers to fuck off, because otherwise we won't got any room in here."

"I'll pass," she said. She cleared her throat. "Actually, I saw this and remembered you and..."

Miss Pauling blushed as she desperately fumbled for another word. Fuck, what was she supposed to say that was vaguely romantic? She had no experience with anything but killing and burying bodies and preventing nuclear meltdowns and personally making weapons and blackmailing senators and helping build complex machinery and running a business and babysitting several grown-ass men who continually got themselves in trouble. But a date? Flirting? How the fuck was she supposed to do that?

She cleared her throat and blushed. "I just thought since I was in the area...I could...we could..." Wait, fuck. She'd already said that. Now she was babbling and repeating herself. And his smile was making her feel weird again.

This fake romance thing was more difficult than it looked. Missy Pauling made it look so easy, with the way they moved in tandem, whether swing dancing in comic three, or fighting mooks in every issue.

His face lit up. She was reminded of how Scout Dash (the comic character, that was) would be surrounded by hearts when he looked at Missy so much of the time. "--Y-you're sayin' you wanna go on a date?" He looked about the same way now, his face filled with sheer joy.

She'd honestly thought getting him alone would be much more difficult.

"Yes. Tonight, if possible. Actually, make that this very second."

"R-really? I've been thinkin' about you. I knew we had a moment there."

He opened the door a crack.

"Hey ma! The girl of my dreams just finally called! I told you she existed! So, we're goin' out on the town. Don't wait up on me!"

An almost freakishly youthful looking woman pushed the door open a bit more. The look she gave Miss Pauling was pure critical skepticism, with a side of Michael, get my shotgun.

She could certainly see a resemblance, from the gray eyes and he definitely had her nose. But that was where the resemblance ended. She wore a red sheath, and a critical gaze that told Miss Pauling this woman wouldn't hesitate to put a gun in her face.

All good qualities in a woman.

"You know anythin' about this girl? She could be a hired killer for the maifa for all you know. Did you meet her back when you were runnin' with the boys?"

"C'mon, ma! That was ages ago! Besides, she ain't--er, right?"

"I don't work for the mafia," she said stiffly.

"See?"

"I'm leaving soon," she said.

"L-Leavin'? Well, maybe I can convince you to stay. Once you go Boston, you never go back."

"I suppose I can't exactly stop you from trying," she said.

Well, she could. With a bullet. But not right here with witnesses.

"All right. But you know the rules on this house. 'Don't go to any dates unarmed. I gotta make a phone call anyways."

"Ma, don't tell me you're gonna have me tailed by my brothers. Don't embarrass me."

"Please, I'm callin' in a higher power."

"You callin' god on the phone now?" He said.

"I already called Jesus and Mary and all the saints. Now I'm callin' in a ghost."

"Aight, you have fun with your seance, ma."

He gave Miss Pauling a blinding smile that made her feel funny.

"Aight just give me a few. D-Don't go. Just stay right there. T-trust me. It'll take a few seconds at most. Maybe less."

As if she'd go back the long drive to New Mexico without absolute confirmation that all witnesses were dead or otherwise neutralized.

He returned mere seconds later, with his arm in one side of his coat. It was faded and covered with many patches, including a Boston Red Sox one.

"I'll drive," she said coolly.

"Which is good, because I ain't got my license anymore. It ain't like that, I wasn't drinkin' and drivin'. Just drivin' the getaway car, y'know? I almost got a decade behind bars for that, but ma managed to get this big shot French lawyer. Although he didn't do much lawyering. But a lot of people involved in prosecuting suddenly died of knife wounds, so we got a new prosecutor who was also French and he agreed that I shouldn't be in jail. Ain't really been drivin' since, though. No real reason to."

She'd remembered that. And it'd had Spy's fingerprints all over it. Not literally, as he was always fastidious to wear gloves. And not simply as a fashion statement. Though he'd long before burned off his fingerprints with acid. An excruciating exercise to prevent more pain from being caught in espionage.

She had to remember to be actually warm and friendly and what--flirtatious? Thankfully, he was too starry-eyed to notice her constant lapses that came with only being good at killing.

(And blackmail, and threatening uncooperative clients, and torture, and making things and people disappear. Creative methods of body burying she had. Creative flirting? Not so much.)

She found she didn't have to force a smile as they came up to her truck. He kicked the tire and let out a low whistle. "Oh, wow. This is some quality beat up truck. I knew you weren't like--rich fuck, drivin' around in some hot rod kinda gal."

"It's a work vehicle. It was chosen mostly for utility," she said.

And likely stolen at that. For all their wealth, her employers could be complete cheapskates at times. Especially when it came to equipment for their employees. She'd put in requests for new equipment so many times, and she still found herself being forced to buy her own ammo.

And patch her own bullet holes.

At least she got a company discount.

"Really? So, your job--"

She cleared her throat. She couldn't run forever. But by that time, he'd be gone. Her smile disappeared at that thought.

"Ahem, the date--"

His eyes lit up at this. He was very easy to distract, it seemed. He didn't even notice how grave her expression had become.

"I have been plannin' this forever."

"Good, because I have no idea where to even start with restaurants." Her brow furrowed. She tried to imagine what exactly a date would entail. Swinging at the soda shop and then her date trying to get handsy at make out point? Dinner and a movie? It was pretty late to catch any shows.

Knowing him, even for less than a day altogether, she had a feeling it might just be all of the above.

*

The diner had neon colors, formica, and a whole lot of loving pictures of Elvis. Elvis crooned over the speakers. Wise men said, only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you..

She glanced at the large oversized menu. The moment she looked away, he began to shift, almost as if he had to desperately take a piss.

"Hey, Miss Pauling! Miss Pauling!"

She folded the menu and gave him a glance. "Hmm?"

"Lemme tell you, go for the burgers. This place has got great burgers. So-so spaghetti. You want Italian food, you go to the Italians. Of course, some of the mafia around here like those places. Italian mafia, that is. They don't run in Southie so much, you'd have to go down another bunch of streets. Not quite Beacon Hill or Roxbury. Though, probably not a good idea to be seen considerin' I done some runnin' with the boys before ma basically pulled me out by my ear when I almost got in for robbery charges. I was just a lookout. So if you were lookin' for me and pinin' away, sorry for makin' you sad. I just couldn't go back there or make ma cry."

Apparently even a second of not being paid attention to and he started acting as if he was in physical pain. Or at least, if it was her attention which had gone away.

"I'd rather not go out to eat somewhere else when we just got here. The waiting time could be quite a bit, and I'm rather hungry."

"I mean, for next time!"

He was already planning the next time? Oh, the thought of his face crumpling as he realized the gun to the back of his head was hers felt like a knife shoved between her ribs.

Actually, the knife would hurt less. And she'd know.

She shook her head. What the hell? Spy had said she'd choked then, and maybe she had. But that was due to his strange behavior towards her. Pulling down his mask and smiling like that.

That weird warm feeling wasn't supposed to still be here.

"What's up?"

"Oh, just--a fly, um, landed on me and I was--dislodging it."

"Ah, that sucks. I'll smash that fucker if I see 'em, okay?"

"Um, I think it flew out the window," she said.

"Great. Don't need anybody interruptin' my date with this goddess of a gal. So, where you come from?"

This was the part she went actually, I can't talk about anything related to my job and my life is my job, so--look over there, baseball! and then put arsenic in his drink. Just enough that he would die after she'd planted evidence at the restaurant and already left the city.

Except, she didn't. Instead, she responded--choked like she kept doing around him.

"The southwest, actually," she said.

"Southwest, huh? No wonder I ain't been able to find you. I've been all over this firiggin' city, even up in Beacon Hill and Harvard Square with all those fuckin' nerdy rich fucks."

"Should've known. You don't got the accent."

He pronounced Harvard like HA-VAHd., and many other words with a very hard H and a very heavy ah to match.

She'd been in so many bases, so many places in her life, no discernible accent had ever come. No place had ever left its trace upon her, and it was for the best. An accent would be just another thing potential witnesses would remember about her.

An older redhead waitress came, and Liam gave her an easy smile. "Hey, Mary, I'm here with the neatest gal in the entire world. I'm goin' for a cheeseburger, you goin' burgers too, Pauling?"

"Sure," she said.

"I gotcha," the waitress said, and gave him a wink. "Good luck with that. You certainly need it."

"Yeah, they call it the luck of the Irish, but I ain't seen any pots of gold lately. Except her."

He beamed. Miss Pauling looked down to the menu. Her cheeks were flushed and hot again.

Right. Back to the date. Miss Pauling mentally tried to remember what exactly dates entailed from various pop culture things. Except in that moment, her mind was completely blanking.

He tapped a coin on the red formica booth top, and gave her a completely captivating, crooked smile.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She cleared her throat. "I was just thinking that...burgers sound delicious."

And, actually, for once it wasn't a lie. She'd been so caught up in her reconnaissance that she hadn't eaten much.
Which was one way to put sitting around a cheap hotel room, surrounded by drug addicts and working women and reading comics.

Okay, maybe she enjoyed the comics. He was talented. A shame he'd chosen the wrong muse all along. Any other girl he'd passed along the way would probably be flattered. She'd take one look at the character created as a love letter to them and want to date him endlessly, forever, even.

Except, Miss Pauling wasn't that person. And never would be.

She took a bite of her burger with a fork, and took a delicate bite.

"Aww, that's cute."

She gave him a confused look. The last thing they'd spoke about was where she was from. "The southwest?" She'd never particularly thought to a section of the united states and went 'wow, how cute' but maybe that was a thing she'd missed.

"No! You just over there, usin' forks and napkins and stuff." He rested his chin on his palm and gave her a dreamy look. "So cute."

Note to self: you can turn on men by using utensils. Or at least him. She had a feeling that he was turned on by everything. Or at least, he was when it was her.

"Greasy hands makes it hard to hold onto a gun," she said.

Shit, she shouldn't have revealed that much. Then again, this was America. She'd noticed five concealed handguns on the grandmother ahead of them.

He quickly grabbed a napkin and started to jot something down.

"Craaaap, that's such a good line! I am totally goin' to draw that later."

Liam returned to taking rapid bites of food. There was something kinetic and magnetic about him. Was he handsome? She hardly knew what would count. Spy's assessment had stung, but it had been quite true. She didn't know a damn thing about a love.

Maybe this line would work on her other marks, she thought.

And then she felt a sudden pang of sadness, though she couldn't place it. Sad that this was over?

It hadn't even begun. Even under the awning, bullets all about them, his hand so warm about her wrist. She thought in that moment that he would kiss her.

He wouldn't come back like the eight idiots who managed to blow themselves up on a regular basis. He'd never smile again. She clutched tighter to her fork at the very thought.

Was she drunk? How the hell had feelings slipped past the fortress of her stone heart and steel ribs?

The obvious answer was they hadn't. Or maybe watching her alter ego kiss him so many times had just--transferred to her. She'd somehow identified with Missy Pauling because they looked alike and had almost the same name. Simple.

"Wow, you're a slow eater. It's pretty cute."

He seemed to find everything she did appealing, even the damn basic things.

She leaned in like she was telling him a grand secret. "You see, I'm really into not choking and dying on hamburgers."

He broke out laughing. "G-God, you're so brilliant. I am just swimmin' in material here." He quickly jotted that down too.

She wasn't really used to being seen as quotable. Quotable meant memorable which meant witnesses. Also, it would imply some form of familiarity, which she didn't really have.

Liam had inhaled his hamburger in two massive bites. Somewhere along the line, he had already finished out the fries.

"See, where I am, you gotta eat fast or somebody's gonna steal it. That's what you get when you get as many brothers I do. But that's fine, that means I got time."

He pulled out something from his bag, and she realized it was paper. He began a surprisingly quick sketch, so much that his hands seemed to fly over the paper.

Before she'd even gotten halfway through her meal, he lifted it up with pride.

"Yeah, I work fast, but it's good. My brothers call me a pussy for drawin', but who's the best-sellin' comic book artist rakin' in the dough? Me, that's who."

It was stylized, like all his work. It seemed to capture something that wasn't there. A soft smile, a flush in the cheeks. She almost looked like Disney princess with the way he drew her, full of love and light.

Was this how he saw her all along?

"I work pretty fast, huh? I've had to squeeze some comics out at the deadline. Boil a pot of coffee and work all night. The only time I can get some peace and quiet."

He broke into a big grin.

"Hey, you wanna take that to go? I wanna show you the docks before sundown."

"The docks where we first met?"

"Yeah! You remembered! Hopefully there'll be less cockblockin' bullets hangin' around."

Indeed. The last thing she needed was more witnesses.

*

"Phew, we got here just in time."

It'd been difficult to keep him from jogging off on ahead. "Speedy McGee," she muttered.

She was in decent shape, certainly, with all the outdoors activity that her job had. Still, he managed to easily outpace her, even walking normally. She stared out into a sprawling red gold sunset across the harbor. Boats rocked on the waves, and she pulled her coat closer from the chilly wind.

It'd been a while since she'd been in a colder place. He, however, seemed fine even in his jean jacket, covered in various patches, most related to baseball.

A lot of their more emotional moments were backlit by the docks.

"Do you come here often? It features often in your comics."

"Oh, every day. Just in case you ever came back. Sure, some people tried to rob me or kill me, but I kicked their ass. Now most of them leave me alone."

He stared out at the sunset, his back to her.

"Ain't that gorgeous? Sure, people would call me a pussy for sayin' that, but I'm glad I got to spend this moment with you. "

This was just the moment she was waiting for. She reached to her thigh.

He continued on, oblivious to how close she was.

There's so many moments I wish somebody was there for them. My dad died in the great war. Never knew him. All my brothers remember him, but I don't got nothin'. Sometimes I just wish I had somethin' to remember him by. I spent so many father's days wishin' I had somebody to go to Fenway with. And when I met you, I really wished he was there to just--give me a man to man, you know? Help me not fuck up."

She pulled away from her gun, as if she'd touched a hot coal.

"It affected you that much?"

"Yeah, changed my whole life. One look in those green eyes and I just felt like I never had before."

She reached out, for once, without a single murderous thought, and rested her palm against his back. This was how people comforted each other, right?

She didn't exactly have a lot of experience.

"Miss Pauling?"

Behind her, a shot ricocheted off the docks.

Miss Pauling flinched and drew away.

"Aw, come the fuck on! Seriously, on my date! Hey asshole, I've been waitin' on this for a friggin' year! Hell, I've been waitin' for this all my friggin' life! Have some friggin' mercy for once!"

Another shot hit the steel walls of the warehouses around them.

"You know what? Fuck you!" Liam grabbed a hand gun out from his big duffle bag, and fired back. She heard no cry of pain, so she doubted that he'd hit. Still, there were no shots for that moment.

"C'mon, let's leave these creeps in the dust."

As he came closer, a shot glanced off the pavement.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her under an awning.

"Stay near me. I'll keep you safe."

Just like he had, one year ago. That one touch which had left her confused and...warm. Like she had been freezing all her life and only just then had felt heat.

That one touch had stayed her hand, and kept him alive this long.

She pulled out her gun. She wasn't about to reveal her hand this early, but it wasn't like she had any choice.

Had the Administrator hired hitmen to make this endeavor more challenging? Miss Pauling wouldn't put it past her.

"You're packin'? Awesome, then you can keep me safe too. Watch my back and all. Enjoy the view." He winked.

There hadn't been a shot for a while. Maybe it was just some gun-happy American, firing off at anything that moved.

Or, they were being stalked.

As the wind shifted, she caught the scent of cigarettes.

French cigarettes.

So, her the Administrator had hired someone to tail her.And him no less.

She always told him his habit would give him away. He always ignored her comments, however.

This was all just a reminder of what she came here for. She held resolutely more tightly to her gun.

She could make it painless. An instant, gone. Of course, his mother had seen her, which would leave more witnesses to take care of.

Suddenly, she felt weary.

"....We should stay near the water. I have to get back. It's a long drive," she said flatly.

"What? Already? You wanna stop the date already? B-because there's so many places I could show you! So many!" he said. His voice had started out flat, but was pitched up to desperate by the end.

She'd gotten him alone. They were even near the water. Weighed down, it could provide a good means of disposing a body.

He was distracted. If she was going to do it, now was the time. She moved her hand towards her gun. It was simple. There were so many ways to kill a person, and even more to make it look like an accident.

She knew what she had to do, but she couldn't make herself do it.

She didn't pull the trigger. In fact, she drew back. What was wrong with her? Ever since she'd met him, it was like her heart and head were malfunctioning. It'd be great if she could get Engineer to remove it and replace it with a mechanical one that had no conscience or feelings.

And even with the hitmen near, to remind her of her post, that she couldn't afford to let a witness live, she couldn't do it.

She'd never felt sadness at having to kill a person before, even the ones who begged and sobbed and tried to show her pictures of their children to convince her to spare them.

It didn't matter, not a single time had she even faltered.

But ever since he smiled at her, and touched her, everything had been different.

He leaned in. "Gotta admit, I wanna make this date keep on and on. All night, then the next morning--just three-hundred and sixty-five days of datin'. I'd be so down for that, you have no idea. But, if we gotta stop here, I'll make it super memorable. More than it is already, I mean."

His hands brushed her cheeks. Her heartbeat rose at the warmth of his skin, seeping into her. She knew exactly what was happening, just as Missy had been kissed. She could pull back, she could stop, or take advantage of his distracted.

She did none of those things.

He smiled, and pulled her close. She leaned up, lips parted, welcoming him. And for once, it wasn't a ruse with a knife hidden away. She felt a shock at the first brush of his lips. She clutched his jacket as he brushed his tongue over her lower lip.

All her responsibilities and shoulds fell away at this heat, this contact. She was surprised at how intense it felt.

"Whoa," Liam said. He had quite a bit of her lipstick smeared on him.

She touched to her tingling lips, uncaring if it smeared her lipstick more. Whoa indeed.

"That's the best kiss I ever had, bar none. Makes me wanna just--do it all over again.

"I've never been kissed before," she said.

"Seriously? Nobody's been kissin' you? What the fuck is wrong with the southwest? I would've dated you so hard a whole year if you hadn't run off."

"If anyone else tried, I'd kill them," she said. "But not you."

And even as she said the words she knew it was true.

He let out a low whistle and grabbed his pen. He grabbed a pen and began to jot down that on one of his endless saved napkins and papers.

She let out a soft sigh. "The truth is.... I wanted to see how it ends," she said.

He turned around, her chance at an easy kill lost for good. She'd never been happier to have her mark escape her bullet.

"My comics? Holy crap, that means you're a big fan? I guess I wasn't sure where to go with it. I only got a limited run, but there's so many more stories I wanna tell about you and me. Or I should say Missy and Scout. But, that's the same, really. All that time I was dreamin' up what you and me could be."

And he'd had some pretty risque dreams, considering those panels where Missy kissed him and it implied she topped him rather enthusiastically.

"The last episode was such a cliffhanger. I have to admit...I want to see them happy more than anything."

He grinned. "Oh trust me, they end up happy. I'd never break it off. Seriously, just tonight probably has inspired about 200 more issues. Thanks to you, these comics are gonna keep comin' until I die. But I can tell you one thing: It ends the same way it began. A guy, a gal, a sunset, and a bunch of bodies. Except this time, they're drivin' off together into that sunset."

As much as she wanted to accept this answer, it just wasn't logical that something could form between them like this.

She let out a sigh. "People don't just fall in love at first sight. That only happens in Disney cartoons. And they especially don't fall in love at a botched smuggling shipment!"

He smiled, wistful and nostalgic all at once. "I didn't fall at first sight. I been fallin' all along as I wrote about Missy."

"She's a fictional character. She has my name and face, but she's not me," Miss Pauling said. "I don't smile like that, for one."

"Sure you do. I based it on you when I saw you that first time. I'd never forget."

Or maybe, I don't smile like that around anyone else?

"She's a possibility. I fell in love with a possibility. Of what you could be, of what we could be."

And she had to admit, she was too.

Not that she'd let the words 'love' cross her lips so carelessly. It was just a malfunction of her heart--and trigger finger. A warmth she couldn't quite describe, and yes, possibilities.

The possibility of his smile and stolen kisses and a partner and something beyond the emptiness of her days. The fact that she was even considering this, when she should've eradicate the witness ages ago was a testament to how much she'd been compromised.

"I can't believe that I'm even considering this. It's like when I get around you, I get suddenly--stupid. All logic and reason thrown out the window."

Liam's whole face lit up in sheer joy. He sat down beside her, and took her hands in his and kissed them once, twice, three times. "Me too! Actually, I'm like that always." He laughed. "A total dumbass. Never thought anything through."

"You pulled down a bandanna on a mission! I mean, who does that?"

"I know, right? Totally fuckin' stupid, but I wanted you to see me."

"And then you were--hitting on me. Horribly, I might add."

He chuckled. "Aww, I wasn't that bad."

"Oh, no. You were worse. It totally--how would you have put it? 'Knocked me offa my game'?"

"That's exactly how I would've put it. You're already gettin' the hang of me!"

She chuckled. "Maybe."

"You really were going for a kiss then, weren't you?" she said softly.

"Actually, yeah, I was. It felt right. But, I got cockblocked by guns. Maybe it was for the best. Had I gone for it, you probably would've kneed me in the groin and Stiletto never would've existed. And even if it did, I would've been a jerk and probably lost you. A year of rememberin' you did me good. Put all that missin' you into Missy. That's why I called her that."

He reached out, dared to touch her, his fingertips to her cheek. The heat of his touch never failed to surprise her, and leave her breathless in a way she couldn't quite explain. No one ever touched her. They never lived long enough to.

He chuckled. "It's like ma says. 'Liam, cut the dumbassin' down a notch. you have any ideas how much time I had to spend on my knees to get you out of the last dumbass thing you done?' And I said 'in prayer?' and she said 'sure, that too.' She's real religious."

Oh, that one went right over his head. She wasn't about to be the one who clue him in.

But she smiled, even at that.

She heard a footstep behind them and lifted up her gun. His eyes widened.

"It's not for you. We're not alone."

This time, at least.

"Who's there? Come any closer and I'll shoot," Miss Pauling said, in her most threatening voice. Except even then she sounded like a hissing kitten with a fluffed out coat.

"A ghost, nothing more," came an all too familiar voice, with an all too familiar French accent.

"Oh, yeah. That happens," Liam said nonchalantly.

She gave him an incredulous look.

"It's Boston. We're old as fuck. We know ghosts. Oh, you a ghost hunter too?"

She gave one last glance into the night. "I will be tonight," she said.

"Coooool. Am I comin' too?"

"No," she said.

"Awww, maybe next time. I can bring my Crucifix! What? I'm Catholic. Sorta Catholic. The type that only gets dragged into mass on Easter and Christmas. So, you know, the usual kind."

"Let's go, before the 'ghost' comes back," she said.

"Eh, most of 'em are harmless. Like this one ghost top hat I ran into. He was fun, and dapper as fuck. Loved that guy, but he only comes around at the full moon."

She heard no more footsteps as they walked back from the dock, towards where she'd parked. She still took occasional glances over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed.

She stopped partway, the last dock before the parking lot. A sudden gust of wind pulled at her bun. She brushed her dark hair back behind her ears.

He smiled under those streetlights, with slight buck teeth, a crooked grin which captivated her in a way which defied all logic.

"So, maybe you thinkin' about stayin' in another day? Because I know this friggin' great ice cream place down near the Orange Line..."

She already knew the answer. "I'm thinking," she said.

Liam put his hands in his pockets. "I could show you it all. All the way up to Beacon Hill. You'd probably even fit in up there. And for once, I don't blame those rich fucks. Who wouldn't want you around?"

Plenty of people. Her victims, their families.

Yet he wanted her around.

She one last look off the docks. The boat lights were a haunting vision over the darkening water. He was everything she couldn't have. And his smile, and the stacks of comic books of adventures of them, a world where she was blissfully happy haunted her.

Haunted her so much that she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger for the first time in her life.

"Maybe. That's all I can give you for now. If I do, I'll be in front of your apartment complex tomorrow evening."

"I-I'll be there. Right away. At the asscrack of dawn. I probably won't even sleep."

He leaned in, and brushed her cheek with his hands as his lips claimed hers.

And she already knew there was no way she could kill him. Maybe she had known for over a year and never faced it until now.

*

The scent of cigarettes filled her hotel room. She held up her gun. "Show yourself."

"Hmm. I'd rather not."

She narrowed her eyes. "I outrank you, you know. Even if you are taking orders from the Administrator. You're playing with fire by taking this assignment."

He didn't respond.

"She's hired hitmen on me plenty of times. This time, she just used you, right? Were you the one firing that gun at me all along?"

He chuckled. "You're quite cold in your search. Is this the part where I say 'Marco Polo?'"

"Making me angry isn't a good idea, you know. You're so cocky because you're in Respawn. But, I help control Respawn. I could make your DNA there 'disappear.'"

She heard him step closer. She had means of revealing him from the ether. But she might burn the whole place down, and she wasn't going to take that chance.

"You could, but you won't."

She lifted her gun. "If you weren't hired by her, then why were you there?!"

"We all have secrets. Keep mine, I will keep yours."

He was the last ally she ever would've wanted. Untrustworthy, coarse and sarcastic, and he always smelled like an ash tray.

"You were trying to keep him alive, weren't you? He's a witness. Witnesses have to be killed," she said flatly. "I'm only making it hurt more by prolonging it. I'm just....getting attached."

Saying it aloud made this random fit of throwing logic out the window for a bit of warmth seem real.

"So was I. You didn't kill me," he said.

She let out a disgusted sigh. "Of course I didn't, even if I was tempted at times. You work for the company. That's different."

She heard rustling, and something opening. His face appeared in the flame of his matches as he lit another cigarette. She saw hints of him. His harsh, fashionable edges and angles. An aquiline nose, sharp gray eyes,

He smirked, so sure, and lifted his eyebrows. "Is it now? Hmmm, I wonder."

Oh. She saw exactly where this was going.

"Then that means....You were protecting him all along. That's why you were there."

"So were you. You just didn't realize it."

"Protecting him? Are you kidding me? I nearly killed him so many times. I came all the way here just to do that and then...I couldn't."

She looked for any change in expression. A flinch, a sign of weakness.

Instead, he laughed until he snorted. "Oh, Miss Pauling. There is no 'almost' killed with you. You are the most ruthless killer I have ever met. You put the Bushman and yes, me, to utter shame. Had you truly intended to kill him, he would've been dead a full year ago. You always were sweet on him, even from that first sight. Which is something, considering how poorly he wooed you. But there was something undefinable there. And you knew it all along, even if you wouldn't admit it to yourself."

She fucking hated it when Spy was right. He'd never let her hear the end of it.

He disappeared again. In the moment the clouds enveloped him completely.

"Just because we've both decided to keep him alive doesn't mean we're friends," she said.

"I should hope not. A woman like you tends to kill any 'friends' that aren't her weapons. I'd question what he's thinking, but he never thinks before he does anything. I have no idea where he got that. Certainly not from me or Colleen."

So that was it, then. Liam was his child? She had already met both of Liam's parents, and neither had too good an opinion of her.

"You're revealing a weakness," she said slowly.

He chuckled. "No, you're simply meeting the parents early."

He tossed away the last of his cigarette into the trash can. "Don't be too hard on him. That's my job."

"He doesn't know about you, does he?"

"It's for the best," he said.

He closed the door without another word. And Miss Pauling was left with the weight of her choices in the long night.

*

A voice in the back of her mind reminded her of all the ways this could go wrong, and all the reasons why she shouldn't be here.

But she was.

Liam outright leapt over that stairwell, in a kind of feat that would've landed him a dozen gold medals in a different life. His smile was so bright, an warmed her through."

"You came! God, I was half afraid you wouldn't be here! I been waitin' right here all day!"

"So did I," she said.

"Oh, I would've come. No matter what, I would've been here. That's the one sure thing in the world."

She let out a laugh. "Yeah, that's for sure."

Her fingers were cold from the morning air in her pockets. She rubbed them against the fiber. "Listen, I know you love your city, but what if I offered another option?"

Liam put his hands in his pockets. "I'm listenin'."

"The southwest," she said simply.

"What, on a road trip? That could be good inspiration for those comics."

"A job--"

His gray eyes lit up at this. She half expected him to do a backflip in sheer joy. "A job? Neat! My ma will be so happy! Wait, it ain't mafia, is it?"

"Not remotely--Ahem, what I was saying was this job is going to have to involve you being quiet."

"A challenge, but I can do it. FYI, gags might be involved."

No surprise there. "Or I could employ a Missy Pauling and shut you up in other ways."

He blushed deep at that, and took a sharp intake of breath. "F-feel free to do that anytime. I mean any time. Okay maybe not when my ma or brothers are there, or in church, because I already got enough reasons to go to confession, but pretty much any other time is fine!"

She could only laugh at that. Before she had a chance to say anything else, Liam went on.

"Deal deal deal mcdeal! Just gimme a few to pack and say my goodbyes. I can send in my next comic in by mail. The comic book place is in California, anyways, so that'd help. We'll be out of town by sunset. So like how long this gonna be? Temp job? You need somethin' done fast, I'm your man."

"You didn't even hear the pay or what it would entail," she said.

"Baby, I would follow you to hell and back."

"Good, because that's where the next job is."

"Seriously? Hell? That's a new one," Liam said.

"Phoenix, Arizona, Hell. Same difference, really. Except Phoenix is hotter."

"But not as hot as you," he said.

"I won't give you a sunburn or heatstroke."

"I don't know, you just might," Liam said.

She smiled.

He brushed his fingertips across her lower lip. All in once, it was such an intense gesture, she felt a dizzying tingle spread thought her. "There it is, my favorite smile in the world."

"It's your fault, you know," she said.

"Really now? I've never been so happy to be the culprit since friggin', ever. Friggin' take me to space jail in the crime of makin' you smile and maybe even stealin' your heart, eh? eh?"

"Don't you have to pack your things? ...And tell your mother?"

"Aw, crap. Don't go anywhere. I-I'll be right back. Maybe ten minutes. I'd invite you in, but my brothers are animals. They'd probably scare you off, thinkin' we're related."

He rushed back up the stairs in way which would either put him in the hospital or win him awards. She glanced down back to the comics, the ending that had yet to be. It wasn't long before she heard loud noise, and looked up. He did a backflip off those stairs. She knew he was showing off, and that it was kind of ridiculous. The kind of thing that could get him killed.

And it still made her smile. Something she was still getting used to feeling--happiness, and more.

He tossed a couple bags into the back of her truck.

"I figure I'll buy a new draftin' table when I get there anyways. Mine's a mess; my brothers keep drawin' dicks on it."

"Your brothers? Uh-huh," she said, both teasing and skeptical all in one.

"Okay, some of the doodles I drew on there were mine."

"Thought so. You seem pretty wired this morning," she said.

"Oh, god, I am SO wired. I dranken the coffee. I been dranken that coffee all damn night. Sleep? Don't even fuckin' know 'em. But I drafted so many plotlines! I wanna spoil them so bad! Like it turns out that Scout meets his dad, who actually never died but was lost in a war space portal and left for dead and lost his memories and became a villain, but all this time he was also keepin' Scout safe. Thinkin' maybe a plot with Missy's parents, too. I wanna spoil you on these deets but also I want to see your reaction when you see 'em."

"That's--unexpected."

Had he realized how much Spy had crossed his life--and double-crossed those who might hurt him? Or was it just pure dumb luck?

The smile on his face made her think dumb luck.

"Trust me, it'll blow your socks off when you see it. You--you're just so inspirin', you know? Also unexpected--ma already knew I was comin' and was surprisin' not pissed about it. She said--and I quote: 'invite me to the weddin'.'"

He rubbed at the back of his neck, awkwardly, his cheeks flushed--and laughed.

"There is gonna be SO much more of this comic. And you'll be the first to read it. That's what makes me really happy. All that time I was tossin' out those comics out there,, like a letter in a bottle thrown into the sea. All just hopin' I could reach you. And I did. That's the friggin' amazin' part. I found you."

She'd never had anyone so excited just to see her before. He'd even drafted the last pages of the comic in his frenzy. "I work in reverse, sometimes. I rush ahead to the excitin' parts and get bogged down in the middle and have to figure out how to get back to that. Usually I just toss in some aliens and ninjas to fill in the space and I'm good."

"Wouldn't a plan help with that?" She said.

He looked up from the page, of Scout and Missy by the docks in a car. "A what now?" he said.

"You know, a plan. Something to follow for your plots? Thinking before you just rush in?"

"Never heard of it. But you, you know all about plans? Maybe you could help, make it a collaboration."

Where she'd find time in her hectic schedule, she had no idea. But the thought still made her happy. Maybe with his assistance, she'd be able to shave critical seconds off.

Both the comic and their journey ended where it started, to quote him. It ends the same way it began. A guy, a gal, a sunset, and a bunch of bodies. Except this time, they're drivin' off together into that sunset."

"So it ends with a beginning," she said softly.

"Yeah! It mirrors the very start!"

"Like an Ouroboros."

"A whata-boros?"

"A mythical snake that eats its own tail."

"Guess it takes all kinds, though you'd have to be pretty flexible to do somethin' like that," Liam said.

She lifted her eyebrows. Leave it to him to graphically misunderstand mythology. He continued on, chattering away happily.

"Yeah, it's the end of that comic run, but then there's even better stuff comin'. And it'll just keep comin' until I die. Or until my hands fall off, whichever comes first."

Little did he know, he was headed straight for Respawn, so neither would ever happen as long as she got her way. Something she fully intended to do.

She took one last look at the comic book page which mirrored her own life. Not just an ending, but a beginning. She closed the book, and gave him a smile.

"Are you ready?"

"Baby, I been ready since the second I met you," he said.

She lifted her eyebrows. "Really now?"

"Okay, I was, I just didn't realize it yet. Who gives a crap about semantics?"

He had a point there. She put the truck in reverse and headed out towards a new chapter of their life.