fic: Accidental Allies
Sep. 19th, 2020 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Accidental Allies
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Pauling, Spy
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,878
Author's note:
cw: canon typical blood and gore. Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1968.
It happened again.
She flinched as on the screen she saw the rocket explode, the blood and pieces of flesh left in the rubble. Scout was nothing but bloodied pieces of meat that would have to be bagged up and buried in shallow graves in the many caves.
And she knew this, she'd seen it countless times. Even since she'd been a child, she'd seen millions of deaths, and killed many herself, but she never got used to seeing Scout die. It was completely illogical--caring, about the life or death of someone, let alone a mercenary.
She'd learned from a young age, when the Administrator had brought her into the torture rooms, taught her how to be what she was. Mercenaries were disposable. That was what had been drilled into her mind over and over. Do not sympathize with them. They're temporary, a liability.
And all too often, she'd been called to 'deal with' them.
But, she still hadn't gotten used to this, to him in pieces, his blood soaking into the New Mexico sand.
It didn't make any sense, but it kept happening.
The games were almost done for the day. Soon, she would have to perform the clean up. She'd gotten used to the scent of death, the bloat, the maggots. All it would take was one more briefcase to win this pointless match full of pointless death.
Scout leapt to the forefront, the briefcase strapped to his back. He laughed, and taunted the enemy Soldier he had been quite literally running circles about. Out of rockets, and shotgun ammo, the Soldier had been forced to pursue with only rage and his shovel alone. The only thing was, Scout severely underestimated just how much rage Soldier had.
"Too~! slow~! I'm literally runnin' circles around you~"
He didn't see the Sniper just behind him. A dot hovered on his cap as Scout stopped to throw taunts at the other team.
It wasn't her job to interfere in the games. He job was merely to clean up afterwards. It wasn't her place to care whether a mercenary lived or died. Eventually, they'd all die by her hand as she was called to dispose of them when they no longer became useful. This was what had been drilled into her head time and time again since she was a child. She always had a gun ready--to say nothing of knives at the thigh holsters and bronze knuckles in her truck, a knife hidden in her purse, poison in her pocket, and more.
And she was always ready to add another employee (make that former employee) to the many mass graves she'd made over the years.
Scout laughed, and stuck his tongue out at someone on the enemy team. Over the gunfire, the thick clouds of gunpowder and sulphur in the air, she couldn't hear who he had taunted now. It blended together. What had started as a taunt to an opposing Heavy class mercenary, now went on to an opposing Soldier.
He didn't see the dot on his cap, or hear the rifle reloaded with certain focus.
But she saw. She'd been trained to take in the details, and clean up, but never interfere.
She could hear the blood rush to her head, and without another thought, she lifted her gun up and took aim. The sound of her own gun firing was lost in the chaos of battle. The enemy Sniper fell forward, his rifle still clutched tightly in his hands. A bullet hole between his eyes dripped blood onto the sand.
All in all, it'd be more work for her. But, the noise made Scout finally stop his taunting game.
"Crap, I gotta get this to the HQ! Friggin' hell, I'm late!" He ran off without another word, dodging bullets and rockets with ease.
She rubbed at her temples. A tension headache felt like a vice there. As she stared down at the gun, she didn't understand it any better than when it happened. She had to get back to work, she had to.... Shit, she was on camera. Deep breaths. It was a gun malfunction. An organ malfunction where her own body suddenly reacted to a mercenary dying and--protected him?
She mentally scratched that out. She couldn't even explain it to herself, let alone the Administrator. Go with gun malfunction. It was perfectly likely and perfectly explainable and almost fit.
As she turned away, Miss Pauling bumped into nothing. A very tall nothing. She saw the edges of a cloaked spy. If only because of her practice in finding cloaking devices.
Or, because Spy was one of the few people in her life that meant something. She couldn't quite define what exactly that was. He wasn't her family (though he was old enough to be her father). He wasn't technically an ally, as no mercenary could ever be more than a temporary ally to her, even though she kept messing up and thinking of him as such. Not quite a friend, but something similar. Not exactly an enemy, anyways. He'd helped her out throughout the years, for seeming no reason she could figure out. He'd certainly never asked her for a favor or a way to get closer to the Administrator through her.
He'd bandaged her wounds and taught her how to defend herself, how to drive and much more over the years. In that, she was grateful that she'd never had to kill him.
But, even through the Administrator had always instilled wariness about the mercenaries, Spy had always been kind to her. Even when she was more weak, as a child.
And she couldn't help but be thankful for that, throughout it all.
Though thankfulness wasn't the emotion that filled her this very moment at the sight of him. More barefaced shame, and surpise at that.
"Spy? W-What are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you," Spy said dryly.
"I-I'm cleaning up. It's my job. The match is almost over, so I came here to get started. It went into overtime. So now my schedule will be completely ruined. Again."
"Yes....his mouth does tend to get him into trouble. However, there is still some time before the match ends. You could be hurt at this rate. Did the Voice truly send you out into a firefight to pick up bodies? There's surely more to come before the match is over."
"It'd take far more than some clumsy firing by men who can't even read to take me down," she said.
"Yes, most of the men would not willingly attack you. But there are stray bullets to worry about."
"No one ever claimed they were smart," she said.
"Except for the mad doctor and the bear of Siberia and the laborer, no? And of course, myself...or is this the moment when you claim we all can't read again?"
Miss Pauling bristled, and gave him a sharp look. "If you want to chat, save it for for I have time. Except I never have time so--there's that."
"I believe we are here for the same reason," Spy said low, and meaningfully.
"I wouldn't know what you mean. I'm just here on a job," Miss Pauling said flatly.
"A job which requires you kill a Sniper? I thought you didn't take sides, Miss Pauling. The only side you were on was the Voice."
She swallowed, and clutched tighter to her bag.
"I don't have to explain the Administrator's orders to you," she said. "T-they're far beyond what you could comprehend. Besides, they're classified."
"Hmmm. The Voice wishes you to kill a Sniper to ensure that Scout remains safe a little longer? Perhaps it is a mere fever dream, a rosy, idealistic thought--but could we be allies with the same goal?"
She didn't respond. Gunfire and explosions rage on outside of this small, broken down tunnel that had been long abandoned by miners. If Spy had so easily seen through her, how would she explain this to the Administrator?
"He always thinks he's the hero of every story, and he just might be right," Spy mused.
For a moment, she could see him in the shifting shadows. He gave her a wry, masked smile.
"If you'll excuse me, I have a fool to save."
Spy went back into the fray, cloaked again as he followed after Scout.
She was just tired, that was all. Everyone missed a shot sometimes. And she'd just missed a shot right into a Sniper. It happened. She'd simply say her gun was faulty, rusty, caught up with blood and bits of teeth, perhaps.
She'd get some sleep--no, no time for that. It'd have to be coffee. Coffee would make this disappear. She'd just have to drink enough so she'd forget the way it felt when he smiled, when he said she was important, classy, and looked at her like that.
Maybe she'd have to pour some vodka in it for good measure. It'd take a lot to quell the way she felt when Scout smiled at her.
She brushed the dark hair that had sprung free from her bun and pulled out her supplies. Trash bags were clutched tight in her hands.
The match was called, Scout had gotten the briefcase through. The points were meaningless, in this endless war held by two old men over gravel. Despite what she told Spy, even she didn't understand the motives of the Administrator, or why. She followed orders. She killed whenever it was commanded. That was it.
She was a killing machine, the Administrator's secret weapon. Ever since she was a child she'd been learning the art of murder. Someone like her didn't have friends, or even.... love. She would always serve the Administrator, as long as she lived. She had been born to do this. It was what the Administrator instilled in her day after day until she could repeat it word for word. Until she could follow the commands perfectly, without any feeling or a hint of conscience.
She didn't take sides, and there certainly wasn't any room in her heart for a mercenary, who'd once been a boy named Liam who had a buck-toothed smile and she had known and not known through stolen pictures all her life.
She didn't have a heart to begin with. Theoretically, speaking. She still pumped blood, of course. Though she could certainly go for those robotic upgrades. One to get rid of feelings, one to make her able to work with less sleep...things like that.
She came upon the corpse of the Sniper she'd felled. She felt nothing, and it calmed the noise in her mind momentarily.
See, it was a fluke. Nothing has changed. Maybe I'm drinking too much coffee. Or not enough.
She collected each body part, until she came upon a bloodied, familiar baseball cap. She clutched it to her chest tight enough that the fabric bunched in her grip.
You're being a fool. A complete fool.
She shoved the hat back in the garbage bag and got back to work.
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Pauling, Spy
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,878
Author's note:
cw: canon typical blood and gore. Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1968.
It happened again.
She flinched as on the screen she saw the rocket explode, the blood and pieces of flesh left in the rubble. Scout was nothing but bloodied pieces of meat that would have to be bagged up and buried in shallow graves in the many caves.
And she knew this, she'd seen it countless times. Even since she'd been a child, she'd seen millions of deaths, and killed many herself, but she never got used to seeing Scout die. It was completely illogical--caring, about the life or death of someone, let alone a mercenary.
She'd learned from a young age, when the Administrator had brought her into the torture rooms, taught her how to be what she was. Mercenaries were disposable. That was what had been drilled into her mind over and over. Do not sympathize with them. They're temporary, a liability.
And all too often, she'd been called to 'deal with' them.
But, she still hadn't gotten used to this, to him in pieces, his blood soaking into the New Mexico sand.
It didn't make any sense, but it kept happening.
The games were almost done for the day. Soon, she would have to perform the clean up. She'd gotten used to the scent of death, the bloat, the maggots. All it would take was one more briefcase to win this pointless match full of pointless death.
Scout leapt to the forefront, the briefcase strapped to his back. He laughed, and taunted the enemy Soldier he had been quite literally running circles about. Out of rockets, and shotgun ammo, the Soldier had been forced to pursue with only rage and his shovel alone. The only thing was, Scout severely underestimated just how much rage Soldier had.
"Too~! slow~! I'm literally runnin' circles around you~"
He didn't see the Sniper just behind him. A dot hovered on his cap as Scout stopped to throw taunts at the other team.
It wasn't her job to interfere in the games. He job was merely to clean up afterwards. It wasn't her place to care whether a mercenary lived or died. Eventually, they'd all die by her hand as she was called to dispose of them when they no longer became useful. This was what had been drilled into her head time and time again since she was a child. She always had a gun ready--to say nothing of knives at the thigh holsters and bronze knuckles in her truck, a knife hidden in her purse, poison in her pocket, and more.
And she was always ready to add another employee (make that former employee) to the many mass graves she'd made over the years.
Scout laughed, and stuck his tongue out at someone on the enemy team. Over the gunfire, the thick clouds of gunpowder and sulphur in the air, she couldn't hear who he had taunted now. It blended together. What had started as a taunt to an opposing Heavy class mercenary, now went on to an opposing Soldier.
He didn't see the dot on his cap, or hear the rifle reloaded with certain focus.
But she saw. She'd been trained to take in the details, and clean up, but never interfere.
She could hear the blood rush to her head, and without another thought, she lifted her gun up and took aim. The sound of her own gun firing was lost in the chaos of battle. The enemy Sniper fell forward, his rifle still clutched tightly in his hands. A bullet hole between his eyes dripped blood onto the sand.
All in all, it'd be more work for her. But, the noise made Scout finally stop his taunting game.
"Crap, I gotta get this to the HQ! Friggin' hell, I'm late!" He ran off without another word, dodging bullets and rockets with ease.
She rubbed at her temples. A tension headache felt like a vice there. As she stared down at the gun, she didn't understand it any better than when it happened. She had to get back to work, she had to.... Shit, she was on camera. Deep breaths. It was a gun malfunction. An organ malfunction where her own body suddenly reacted to a mercenary dying and--protected him?
She mentally scratched that out. She couldn't even explain it to herself, let alone the Administrator. Go with gun malfunction. It was perfectly likely and perfectly explainable and almost fit.
As she turned away, Miss Pauling bumped into nothing. A very tall nothing. She saw the edges of a cloaked spy. If only because of her practice in finding cloaking devices.
Or, because Spy was one of the few people in her life that meant something. She couldn't quite define what exactly that was. He wasn't her family (though he was old enough to be her father). He wasn't technically an ally, as no mercenary could ever be more than a temporary ally to her, even though she kept messing up and thinking of him as such. Not quite a friend, but something similar. Not exactly an enemy, anyways. He'd helped her out throughout the years, for seeming no reason she could figure out. He'd certainly never asked her for a favor or a way to get closer to the Administrator through her.
He'd bandaged her wounds and taught her how to defend herself, how to drive and much more over the years. In that, she was grateful that she'd never had to kill him.
But, even through the Administrator had always instilled wariness about the mercenaries, Spy had always been kind to her. Even when she was more weak, as a child.
And she couldn't help but be thankful for that, throughout it all.
Though thankfulness wasn't the emotion that filled her this very moment at the sight of him. More barefaced shame, and surpise at that.
"Spy? W-What are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same of you," Spy said dryly.
"I-I'm cleaning up. It's my job. The match is almost over, so I came here to get started. It went into overtime. So now my schedule will be completely ruined. Again."
"Yes....his mouth does tend to get him into trouble. However, there is still some time before the match ends. You could be hurt at this rate. Did the Voice truly send you out into a firefight to pick up bodies? There's surely more to come before the match is over."
"It'd take far more than some clumsy firing by men who can't even read to take me down," she said.
"Yes, most of the men would not willingly attack you. But there are stray bullets to worry about."
"No one ever claimed they were smart," she said.
"Except for the mad doctor and the bear of Siberia and the laborer, no? And of course, myself...or is this the moment when you claim we all can't read again?"
Miss Pauling bristled, and gave him a sharp look. "If you want to chat, save it for for I have time. Except I never have time so--there's that."
"I believe we are here for the same reason," Spy said low, and meaningfully.
"I wouldn't know what you mean. I'm just here on a job," Miss Pauling said flatly.
"A job which requires you kill a Sniper? I thought you didn't take sides, Miss Pauling. The only side you were on was the Voice."
She swallowed, and clutched tighter to her bag.
"I don't have to explain the Administrator's orders to you," she said. "T-they're far beyond what you could comprehend. Besides, they're classified."
"Hmmm. The Voice wishes you to kill a Sniper to ensure that Scout remains safe a little longer? Perhaps it is a mere fever dream, a rosy, idealistic thought--but could we be allies with the same goal?"
She didn't respond. Gunfire and explosions rage on outside of this small, broken down tunnel that had been long abandoned by miners. If Spy had so easily seen through her, how would she explain this to the Administrator?
"He always thinks he's the hero of every story, and he just might be right," Spy mused.
For a moment, she could see him in the shifting shadows. He gave her a wry, masked smile.
"If you'll excuse me, I have a fool to save."
Spy went back into the fray, cloaked again as he followed after Scout.
She was just tired, that was all. Everyone missed a shot sometimes. And she'd just missed a shot right into a Sniper. It happened. She'd simply say her gun was faulty, rusty, caught up with blood and bits of teeth, perhaps.
She'd get some sleep--no, no time for that. It'd have to be coffee. Coffee would make this disappear. She'd just have to drink enough so she'd forget the way it felt when he smiled, when he said she was important, classy, and looked at her like that.
Maybe she'd have to pour some vodka in it for good measure. It'd take a lot to quell the way she felt when Scout smiled at her.
She brushed the dark hair that had sprung free from her bun and pulled out her supplies. Trash bags were clutched tight in her hands.
The match was called, Scout had gotten the briefcase through. The points were meaningless, in this endless war held by two old men over gravel. Despite what she told Spy, even she didn't understand the motives of the Administrator, or why. She followed orders. She killed whenever it was commanded. That was it.
She was a killing machine, the Administrator's secret weapon. Ever since she was a child she'd been learning the art of murder. Someone like her didn't have friends, or even.... love. She would always serve the Administrator, as long as she lived. She had been born to do this. It was what the Administrator instilled in her day after day until she could repeat it word for word. Until she could follow the commands perfectly, without any feeling or a hint of conscience.
She didn't take sides, and there certainly wasn't any room in her heart for a mercenary, who'd once been a boy named Liam who had a buck-toothed smile and she had known and not known through stolen pictures all her life.
She didn't have a heart to begin with. Theoretically, speaking. She still pumped blood, of course. Though she could certainly go for those robotic upgrades. One to get rid of feelings, one to make her able to work with less sleep...things like that.
She came upon the corpse of the Sniper she'd felled. She felt nothing, and it calmed the noise in her mind momentarily.
See, it was a fluke. Nothing has changed. Maybe I'm drinking too much coffee. Or not enough.
She collected each body part, until she came upon a bloodied, familiar baseball cap. She clutched it to her chest tight enough that the fabric bunched in her grip.
You're being a fool. A complete fool.
She shoved the hat back in the garbage bag and got back to work.
