fic: Through the Snow And Static
Sep. 21st, 2020 12:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Through the Snow And Static
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling,
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,523
Author's note: Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1968.
The sound of the radio filled the drowsy late night. It wasn't Sinatra on the station, or Ella Fitzgerald, but a little security detail.
It wasn't enough to deal with the murdering, the burying--and of course, the torturing, she often had to keep the respective mercenaries from blowing up the whole place in a drunken rage--or perhaps glee.
At least they were all drunkenly passed out. Except Scout, who'd drank nothing but canned soda all night. Root beers were crushed among the beers, until they were almost hidden--though he'd sure be teased for it later.
Unless she cleared up the evidence.)
(Well, Scout and Pyro. But Pyro didn't drink. Alcohol, at least.)
The static crackled. "Jeez, with this much, I'm goin' to be pissin' until Christmas. Who thought that many root beers was a good idea? Me, I guess. Well, fuck me," he said.
She covered her mouth, but the laughter still escaped. Maybe she'd slipped up along the way, and left on a switch that should've been turned off, and turned one way. Maybe it was the fatigue that got to her in the end.
"Wait--Miss Pauling? You're there? You still up? Do you ever sleep?"
"In theory," she said.
"I didn't know you were callin' in to me. I didn't even hear the ring!"
"You left your ear piece on," she said. "I thought it had set it to one way, but I can't turn it off from here and you must've initiated a complete call."
"None of that makes any sense but..anyways.... Wait, you heard what I was sayin'? Mother Mary of Christ--oh shit, don't tell my ma I said that. She'd be real pissed. She's always sayin' 'Liam, don't be takin' the Lord's name in vain, not when you keep pushin' it. The last thing you need is to go to hell on a technicality.'"
"No worries I, um, don't make a habit of sharing what goes on here. You could say that your secret is safe with me."
Though, tattling to someone's mother would be a good way to keep some of them in line. Scout, at least. Some of them didn't seem to have mothers. And Scout was convinced that Pyro actually hatched out of an egg and was secretly a dragon.
Miss Pauling knew the truth, but she was sworn to secrecy. Also, his theories were pretty outlandish and funny to hear.
"Yeah, she'd wash my mouth out and send me straight to the confessional booth. I'd get in so much trouble! I can just see her now..."
But even as much as Miss Pauling tried, she couldn't picture what a mother would be like.
"Um, Scout..." She cleared her throat "What's it like to have a big family like that?"
"What, you ain't got no brothers or sisters?"
Technically, given who her father was, she wouldn't be surprised if she did have some. Not that she'd ever really thought of him as a father. The Administrator never seemed to have told him, which ended up with some rather awkward moments over the phone.
To put it mildly.
"Not that I personally know, anyways."
"So, you're an only child, huh. I gotta say, sometimes I wondered what that would be like, but I wouldn't trade what I got for anythin'. It's--really frickin' loud, and a constant battle. You love 'em, you hate 'em, you'd die for 'em, you can't stand 'em most of the time. And I cannot stress how much fightin' there is. Why you askin'? Dontcha got family to spend with?"
"Not really," she said.
"This will be the first holidays I spend away from my family. No snow, no seein' my family, just a call and sendin' out presents and big checks. Ma's pretty down about it, and me too. The holidays just ain't the same with all this sand and crap."
"The holidays are that important to you?"
"Yeah, it's all about family. Well, technically they're about Jesus, except for Thanksgivin', which is about eatin' turkey until it feels like your gut is gonna bust, and be damn thankful for it, or ma will be angry because she spent all day over a hot stove."
"You really ain't never had that?"
"I'd invite you, but it looks like I'm workin' that day. But I bet the guys got somethin' planned. Hopefully it ain't blowin' up friggin' Teufort again. I keep tellin' 'em that eventually the people are goin' to hate us."
"Oh, I'm quite sure they hate you."
"Me? Nah, they love me. Sure, I been thrown out of a few bars, but only for bein' too good lookin'. Well, that an bein' an accessory to murder. You seriously can't take Soldier anywhere."
"Er, at least some of you mercenaries."
"Oh yeah. You can't take Soldier anywhere. Once, I was out on this double--"
He suddenly stopped in his story and cleared his throat. He must've realized that he'd almost told her a story of a date gone wrong.
"You mean the double date where he stole your date as well, and then they went on a charge against the hippie commune in Sedona?"
"Shit, how did you know about that?"
"It's my job to know about things, Scout."
"So that's what they got under your official listin'? Miss Pauling: she knows about things?"
Miss Pauling laughed despite herself. "Not quite. The company isn't much for actually keeping records. They tend have unfortunate fire-related accidents every month or so."
"Pyro again? I swear, that Pyro is gonna burn down this whole place one day."
She wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the main reason the Administrator hired them.
"What time is it even?"
"Time to be working," Miss Pauling responded without a beat.
"Seriously? You're still workin'? Go on home."
"Technically I am home."
Actually, calling the bases home seemed like a misnomer. It was more a place she resided. Which was technically a home, but it didn't make her feel any better to return to her empty apartment. She had little furniture, even less in the way of decorations. It might as well have been nothing but a closet.
"Or...the closest I ever get to it, anyways," she mumbled under her breath.
"You workin' overtime? I hope they're payin' you well for this."
"Oh, I get paid."
She didn't really do anything with that money, except buy replacements for more work. What would she even pay for? A vacation? The thought was laughable. She worked 364 days a year in theory, because she'd never gotten that day off. Every single time an emergency had sprung up and ensured that she didn't have even a moment to herself.
"Good, good." Scout let out a yawn. "It's been nice talkin' to you, Miss P. But if I stay up any longer, I'm gonna collapse in the battlefield and it won't be pretty. I mean, metaphorically. It's me, so it''d be pretty handsome. At this rate, I'll probably fall asleep on the crapper, pissin' the night away."
She bit her lower lip, but could barely hold back her laughter.
"We should do this sometime. If you're lonely working late, just gimme a ring. Or a switch board press, whatever."
Lonely? She paused on the thought. Of course that word filled the lyrics of songs on the radio. But as a concept applied to her?
She was alone, that was how it always had been.
"I'll think about it," she said.
He had already drifted off, and she could hear the gentle sound of his even breaths. She found the sound surprisingly soothing. She left it like that for a few more minutes, just the static and them.
*
Miss Pauling hummed as she finished off the report. It is my belief that the mercenaries should get a prolonged break in the holidays for the following reasons:
The holidays are apparently important for morale and several mercenaries are expressing disappointment about not being to visit their families.
They will be less likely to be troublesome and uncooperative if they are given this one minor concession.
If we are attacked by any so-called spirits of Smissmas, they're more likely to be a bunch of drunken liabilities than help.
The people of Teufort will be celebrating, and the unfortunate side effects (blowing up of their monuments, burying of bodies, constant gunfire and explosions) may cause unwarranted annoyance and even bring some to us.
Besides, the mainframe needs repairs and the games would have to be delayed regardless of what happens.
She glanced over what she'd written. No typos, so she put it on the clipboard to join the other reports.
Maybe it'd even get read. Really, it was a long shot to even try this. But something inside her pushed her on.
The thought of him being sad...bothered her, like a bit of sand against her skin, grating and grating until she could think of little else. And of course, if she singled him out, the Administrator would suspect her of favoring him, and that was no good. So, she'd just have to be on the side of all the mercenaries for now.
*
"Miss Pauling! Miss Pauling! It's a Smissmass miracle! I'm headed out, they even got us airplane tickets and everythin'!"
Miss Pauling turned from the wall socket she'd been inspecting. An errant bullet had almost completely knocked out power in this hallway. Engineer muttered to himself and continued fixing the wall.
Scout's gray eyes were filled with glee. "I can't believe it! I got some time off for the holidays! You want to come out with me? My ma makes a real good Thanksgivin' turkey."
She felt her cheeks heat, and quickly glanced away. "Oh no, I'm working that day."
"What? How can you be the only one not gettin' time off? Where's that complaint box? I'm gonna fill that fucker full until it's friggin' overflowin'!"
"It's down the hall," she said. "The box filled with bullet holes and with a very vile smell coming from it. I wouldn't look inside it. I think someone used it for a toilet."
Except she knew that Saxton Hale personally gave all the complaints to Pyro to burn. It was in fact, Pyro's main job. Outside of burning things--and burning people and--burning everything, basically.
And Pyro's gas mask ensured that the stench of anything left there that wasn't paper wouldn't suffocate them.
"You sure you can't get in a quick holiday? Like, it seems downright criminal that you'd be out here."
She gave him a look.
"I mean, even more criminal than usual."
"No, I'm definitely busy. But, uh, feel free to enjoy yourself."
His smile disappeared at that. "Workin' Smissmass seems wrong. Smissmass is all about family--and punchin' Santa. Together as a family, uou know?" Scout said.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll do plenty of that. Punching, that is."
Scout gave her an appraising look at that.
"You part of some underground fight club or somethin'? C'mon, you wouldn't be holdin' out on me! I always wanted to be in a boxin' club!"
She laughed. "A f-fight club? Where do you even get these ideas?"
"Well, you kick everyone's ass and probably have a set of brass knuckles in your purse, so it just makes sense."
"Well, you're right on one, but not on the fight club. I don't have time to give away a 'beatin' for free' as you would say."
He broke into a big smile. "You did it! You did the accent!"
"Probably a poor rendition, but you're kind of larger than life, so that makes you hard to mimick," she said.
Scout broke into a big smile. "And you think I'm larger than life, too?"
"That's just a fact," she said.
"You really sure you can't even take a little time off? I'll pay for the ticket if it's a problem," Scout said.
"Oh, trust me: money isn't a problem. It's just time."
"So, I gotta figure out how to stop time so you can have a break. But who to hit with a baseball for that? Father Time or the New Year's Baby?"
"Beats me. If the Administrator knew, trust me, that person would've been beaten long ago."
"I'll--send you a postcard. Multiple postcards, even. I promise I won't forget!"
A light flashed at the end of the hallway, calling the rest of the mercenaries back to the games. "Oh, crap, that's for me! I'll see you after the break, Miss P!" He waved back, and almost ran into a wall in the process.
She watched him go, even though she knew these precious seconds would mean she probably would lose out on sleep.
She looked to Engineer. "Aren't you going?"
"Somebody has to fix this damn wall," he muttered, and smacked the wall with a wrench.
*
Scout stretched out his arms. His duffel bag was filled with most of his belongings, as he waited for the rest of the mercenaries to assemble. Some poor soul had been tasked with driving them all to the airport.
For once, it wasn't Miss Pauling--much to Scout's disappointment.
"It's a real cryin' shame that Miss Pauling can't come."
Spy gave him an incredulous grimace. "You invited Miss Pauling to meet your mother?"
"Of course I would--why wouldn't I? I mean, it's Miss Pauling!" he said, as if that remotely vindicated or explained his reasoning.
Spy pinched the bridge of his nose. Merde. The boy was outright inviting a fox into the hen house. Still, Scout was so unsettled, he would be lovesick his entire holiday season.
"But, I promised that I'd send her a postcards, lots and lots of postcards. I'll buy out every damn store I find," Scout said.
"She likes photos. Do you have a Polaroid camera?"
"Nah, I don't got one. Should I?"
"I would," Spy said.
Scout gave him a narrow-eyed, suspicious glance. "Wait, how do you know that about Miss Pauling? You plannin' somethin'? I called dibs, you know. You better not be backstabbin' and tryin' to beat me to her. Because--I run fast. You can't beat me in a race!"
"I have known her since she a child," Spy said flatly.
"That ain't an answer! Age don't mean nothin', in fact, I think older women are hot!"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes it is, you fool. And that was nothing I needed to know."
Considering he already knew it anyways. Scout was horrible at keeping any kind of secret, especially when it came to whoever he was attracted to.
Scout looked at him with renewed interest. "Knew her since she was a child, huh? She your kid?"
"Certainly not."
Had she been his, maybe she would've had a happy life. But then, he'd never been able to fully give that to Liam, so maybe that was just wishful thinking. The delusions of a madman.
"If she's not your gal or your kid, then..."
Scout looked as if he were putting the pieces together, even when there were no pieces to find. He had failed little Miss Pauling far worse than he even failed Liam. For Liam, he was the absent father, a shadow in the wake of Jack Dempsey.
But, instead of freeing Miss Pauling, he taught her how to kill more effectively.
"Everyone else is here. They'll leave without you, you know," Spy said. He climbed into the car.
"Crap! I gotta bounce!" Scout managed to fit into the back.
"Jeez, stop crushing me."
Spy lit a cigarette as the sound of bickering was lost in the sound of the engine.
*
Scout pulled his coat collar up. The cold wind bit at his cheeks. Snow crunched under his feet as he came up that cracked pavement, covered in salt to break the ice. There'd be more cracks soon, that's how it always was. How it'd always be in Southie. How it probably always would be.
Unless he became a bajillionaire and bought up the whole place and made it really cool. Fixed all the houses and maybe bought Fenway park too, for the hell of it.
Well, Scout had a bit to go before he hit bajillionaire, but he was pretty damn rich.
He had a new Polaroid camera in his bag. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier. He could send ma tons of pictures to let her know he was doing okay, too.
Okay, not the top secret stuff. Miss Pauling wouldn't be pleased at all if he got that. But, he could show her the desert sunsets that stretched blood red across the canyon, and he could show her bits and pieces of Teufort. And maybe he could get Miss P to pose a bit, not just so ma could see the Miss Pauling, but also so he could look at her, maybe put it in his locker.
All until he could bring her down there as well.
But, he'd fix it up a bit. Sure, he loved the place he'd been in--even though the projects were a rat and cockroach infested mess--but she might not see it with the nostalgic way he did.
Then again, she'd seen the common room after the guys had been drinking, so probably nothing could scare her at this point.
*
A package lay in on her desk. She knew the signs of tampering. First, she poked it. No white powder, no sound of ticking. She dared to feel it, and felt no wires, nothing sharp.
She took a letter opener (which also doubled as a weapon, if she ever got attacked in her office) and cut open the top. The package was completely full, almost to the point of bursting. Photos and cards spilled out.
She instantly turned the package over. She'd been so preoccupied with finding out whether it was filled with a trap, she hadn't even paid attention to the address at first. She'd simply assumed at first it was a forged name, another trial sent from above.
Liam Dempsey, South Boston... Numbers and facts she knew by heart.
Each photo had a message in sharpie at the back.
The first one had Liam posing in front of the harbor. He must've asked someone else to work it, given that his hands were free. The sky behind him was gray and cloudy, and flurries filled the air. He wore a thick red scarf she hadn't seen before.
A picture of a delicious looking dinner spread out. The long table was crowded with many men she recognized as his brothers from the dossier. I wanted to mail you some leftovers, but ma said it would spoil in the mail. Ma makes the best Thanksgiving feast ever. You gotta have some sometime. Wish you were here.
Each postcard and photo ended with that. Wish you were here.
Another was a picture of a plant hanging from the eaves.
She smiled softly, and put the pictures back in the package. That night, all her photos that she couldn't bring herself to throw away gained quite a few more additions.
All pictures of a family she had accidentally crossed orbit years ago.
*
1969.
"Hey, Miss Pauling! Did you enjoy your holidays?"
Scout leaned in the door of the file room. Miss Pauling had just been figuring out the next files to be given to Pyro for fire accidents. She set aside the next to burn, and glanced back at him.
The room was full of rows and rows of filing cabinets and little else, but Scout easily managed to slip past them until he got closer.
In striking distance.
(She really needed to think of better, non-violent metaphors. But none came to her. Maybe she had to expand her vocabulary, because the last thing she wanted to do was think of him as dead again.)
"The holidays don't really come to Teufort. But, it was...actually decently quiet. So that was nice. No attacks by so-called spirits of Smissmass. Though Engineer's guns did go off at some point, so maybe we got some feral elves."
Without the mercenaries constantly making a mess of everything, she'd actually gotten a whole thirty more minutes of sleep than usual one night.
"Good, good. Not about elves, but at least they're swiss cheese now." He pulled out a a box wrapped in colorful paper from behind his back.
"I thought about sendin' it in the mail, but I thought it might break. And I wasn't about to send you a package full of wet broken glass and glitter. Might get the wrong idea, you know? Go on, open it. Careful; it's fragile."
She put the box on one of the smaller filing cabinets, and peeled back the paper. It was too pretty to tear into pieces. Finally she got enough off the reveal the box inside, which she opened up. She drew back the tissue paper only to find out some kind of...orb with glitter in it? Wasn't that the thing psychics told their fortunes on?
Did Scout think she was the kind of person who got her palm read and paid attention to astrology?
She tilted her head as she looked it over. On the inside was white sparkles all over a bunch of cottages.
"I'm sorry, but what is this exactly?"
"It's a snow globe! If I could've mailed the whole city of Boston in the winter time to you, I would've. So, I got the next best thing."
"Oh, I've never seen one of these before."
"Seriously? Every tourist trap and gas station got one. I was afraid you'd already have one and it'd seem kitschy. Here, lemme show you."
He gave it a shake and the sparkles filled the inside, like a flurry of snowfall. Now that she looked deeper, she saw little villagers skating.
She reached out and took it from him.
"It's so beautiful..." She said softly. She turned it this way and that to catch the light.
Inside the scene was caught in an endless happy moment.
"Next time, I hope we're in the same place. It'll be 1970! Imagine, a whole new decade."
"You don't want to see your family again?"
"Of course; I'm talkin' about you comin' along," Scout said.
A protest died in her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose anything is possible..."
"Seriously? You'd consider it?"
"It's only January third. You're already planning for next holiday season?"
"Oh yeah," he said.
"A lot of things can happen in a year. We could be dead by then."
"Oh, you know what they say. 'only the good die young.' That means, we're gonna live forever."
She cleared her throat. "Um, I didn't realize we were exchanging gifts, so I didn't get you anything."
He smiled. "That's all right. Just bein' around you feels like a gift in itself."
She hardly knew what to say about that. With heated cheeks, she got up and started to go through the files again.
"Need any help, Miss Pauling?" Scout said.
She should say no. She should send him on his way, back to the games and to the other side of the screen.
But she did none of those things.
"If you could help carry these to the burn pile, it would be really helpful," she said instead.
"Sure, I gotcha," Scout said.
She left the snow globe on the filing cabinet as she worked. A happy world captured far away in the low light. Here, sifting files with company, Miss Pauling almost thought she understood that happy little family caught beneath the dome of falling snow.
*
Miss Pauling made sure to laminated the pictures as soon as possible, to prevent any accidents. Coffee or vodka spilled, matches, or radioactive waste. Though, one confused her. It was a door, with a little sprig of some plant hung up. Scout stood beneath it. The caption on the back said wish you were here.
With a few seconds to herself, Miss Pauling headed to the lunch room. Not the mercenary's lunch room, which usually looked like a war zone--especially since Soldier kept making toilets out of sinks.
But the staff room for the higher ranked employees. The room had one lonely off-white fridge, and black and white chessboard like tiles. There was one small table through it all that never had enough room for everyone.
Then again, not many people used this room, considering that she kept having to kill them.
She pulled out a sandwich and bottled water from the fridge, and sat down. With a glance back to the door, she pulled out the one laminated photo she had brought with her. She had to get some book on plants to figure out the reference, she supposed. But when would she find time for that?
"Hmm...."
"Somethin' the matter, Miss Pauling?"
Miss Pauling shoved the photo under the table, and craned her neck back to see the new arrival. Engineer's large overalls were especially dusty, and his hard hat slung low enough that she could barely see his face. Engineer was one of the few mercenaries with high enough clearance to enter this area. After all, his family had worked with them for generations.
Also, he'd never made a toilet out of a kitchen sink.
"Now, no need to be hidin'. I ain't about to share any top secret things. Leave it to you to be workin' while you eat."
He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, and took a sip.
"Ah, hits the spot. I get mighty parched working in the desert."
"It wasn't work," she said. "You just....startled me."
"A bad habit, I'm afraid. At least you ain't shot me yet for it," he said.
"Sorry about that," she said.
"No harm done. Yet, at least."
She slowly brought the picture out from under the desk.
"Do you know what this is? I got given a picture of it, and I don't really understand why anyone would take a picture of a door with a plant hung up on it."
Then again, there had been plenty of grainy pictures that she'd had to squint to figure out. She wasn't about to submit this picture to the kinds of devices she used to go over surveillance and blackmail photographs, however.
Engineer walked from the fridge and looked over her shoulder.
Engineer smiled. "You never seen mistletoe before?"
She shook her head.
"Guess not. It's never been put up here, anyways. Would probably cause way too much trouble round these parts."
Engineer chuckled. "There's some old tradition--people hang it up during the holidays and kiss underneath it."
"--Kiss?"
"Yup."
Engineer smiled. "Wait, isn't that Scout in that picture?"
She blushed. "I--ahem, I need to get back to work. Thank you for explaining."
Miss Pauling headed to her office. She'd moved the snow globe there, hidden away safe in a corner. The snow globe glowed faintly in the reflection of the light. She lifted up the recreation of a city, of a family and stared down in. Glittery snow fell about a skating couple.
They looked so happy, she thought.
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling,
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,523
Author's note: Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1968.
The sound of the radio filled the drowsy late night. It wasn't Sinatra on the station, or Ella Fitzgerald, but a little security detail.
It wasn't enough to deal with the murdering, the burying--and of course, the torturing, she often had to keep the respective mercenaries from blowing up the whole place in a drunken rage--or perhaps glee.
At least they were all drunkenly passed out. Except Scout, who'd drank nothing but canned soda all night. Root beers were crushed among the beers, until they were almost hidden--though he'd sure be teased for it later.
Unless she cleared up the evidence.)
(Well, Scout and Pyro. But Pyro didn't drink. Alcohol, at least.)
The static crackled. "Jeez, with this much, I'm goin' to be pissin' until Christmas. Who thought that many root beers was a good idea? Me, I guess. Well, fuck me," he said.
She covered her mouth, but the laughter still escaped. Maybe she'd slipped up along the way, and left on a switch that should've been turned off, and turned one way. Maybe it was the fatigue that got to her in the end.
"Wait--Miss Pauling? You're there? You still up? Do you ever sleep?"
"In theory," she said.
"I didn't know you were callin' in to me. I didn't even hear the ring!"
"You left your ear piece on," she said. "I thought it had set it to one way, but I can't turn it off from here and you must've initiated a complete call."
"None of that makes any sense but..anyways.... Wait, you heard what I was sayin'? Mother Mary of Christ--oh shit, don't tell my ma I said that. She'd be real pissed. She's always sayin' 'Liam, don't be takin' the Lord's name in vain, not when you keep pushin' it. The last thing you need is to go to hell on a technicality.'"
"No worries I, um, don't make a habit of sharing what goes on here. You could say that your secret is safe with me."
Though, tattling to someone's mother would be a good way to keep some of them in line. Scout, at least. Some of them didn't seem to have mothers. And Scout was convinced that Pyro actually hatched out of an egg and was secretly a dragon.
Miss Pauling knew the truth, but she was sworn to secrecy. Also, his theories were pretty outlandish and funny to hear.
"Yeah, she'd wash my mouth out and send me straight to the confessional booth. I'd get in so much trouble! I can just see her now..."
But even as much as Miss Pauling tried, she couldn't picture what a mother would be like.
"Um, Scout..." She cleared her throat "What's it like to have a big family like that?"
"What, you ain't got no brothers or sisters?"
Technically, given who her father was, she wouldn't be surprised if she did have some. Not that she'd ever really thought of him as a father. The Administrator never seemed to have told him, which ended up with some rather awkward moments over the phone.
To put it mildly.
"Not that I personally know, anyways."
"So, you're an only child, huh. I gotta say, sometimes I wondered what that would be like, but I wouldn't trade what I got for anythin'. It's--really frickin' loud, and a constant battle. You love 'em, you hate 'em, you'd die for 'em, you can't stand 'em most of the time. And I cannot stress how much fightin' there is. Why you askin'? Dontcha got family to spend with?"
"Not really," she said.
"This will be the first holidays I spend away from my family. No snow, no seein' my family, just a call and sendin' out presents and big checks. Ma's pretty down about it, and me too. The holidays just ain't the same with all this sand and crap."
"The holidays are that important to you?"
"Yeah, it's all about family. Well, technically they're about Jesus, except for Thanksgivin', which is about eatin' turkey until it feels like your gut is gonna bust, and be damn thankful for it, or ma will be angry because she spent all day over a hot stove."
"You really ain't never had that?"
"I'd invite you, but it looks like I'm workin' that day. But I bet the guys got somethin' planned. Hopefully it ain't blowin' up friggin' Teufort again. I keep tellin' 'em that eventually the people are goin' to hate us."
"Oh, I'm quite sure they hate you."
"Me? Nah, they love me. Sure, I been thrown out of a few bars, but only for bein' too good lookin'. Well, that an bein' an accessory to murder. You seriously can't take Soldier anywhere."
"Er, at least some of you mercenaries."
"Oh yeah. You can't take Soldier anywhere. Once, I was out on this double--"
He suddenly stopped in his story and cleared his throat. He must've realized that he'd almost told her a story of a date gone wrong.
"You mean the double date where he stole your date as well, and then they went on a charge against the hippie commune in Sedona?"
"Shit, how did you know about that?"
"It's my job to know about things, Scout."
"So that's what they got under your official listin'? Miss Pauling: she knows about things?"
Miss Pauling laughed despite herself. "Not quite. The company isn't much for actually keeping records. They tend have unfortunate fire-related accidents every month or so."
"Pyro again? I swear, that Pyro is gonna burn down this whole place one day."
She wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the main reason the Administrator hired them.
"What time is it even?"
"Time to be working," Miss Pauling responded without a beat.
"Seriously? You're still workin'? Go on home."
"Technically I am home."
Actually, calling the bases home seemed like a misnomer. It was more a place she resided. Which was technically a home, but it didn't make her feel any better to return to her empty apartment. She had little furniture, even less in the way of decorations. It might as well have been nothing but a closet.
"Or...the closest I ever get to it, anyways," she mumbled under her breath.
"You workin' overtime? I hope they're payin' you well for this."
"Oh, I get paid."
She didn't really do anything with that money, except buy replacements for more work. What would she even pay for? A vacation? The thought was laughable. She worked 364 days a year in theory, because she'd never gotten that day off. Every single time an emergency had sprung up and ensured that she didn't have even a moment to herself.
"Good, good." Scout let out a yawn. "It's been nice talkin' to you, Miss P. But if I stay up any longer, I'm gonna collapse in the battlefield and it won't be pretty. I mean, metaphorically. It's me, so it''d be pretty handsome. At this rate, I'll probably fall asleep on the crapper, pissin' the night away."
She bit her lower lip, but could barely hold back her laughter.
"We should do this sometime. If you're lonely working late, just gimme a ring. Or a switch board press, whatever."
Lonely? She paused on the thought. Of course that word filled the lyrics of songs on the radio. But as a concept applied to her?
She was alone, that was how it always had been.
"I'll think about it," she said.
He had already drifted off, and she could hear the gentle sound of his even breaths. She found the sound surprisingly soothing. She left it like that for a few more minutes, just the static and them.
*
Miss Pauling hummed as she finished off the report. It is my belief that the mercenaries should get a prolonged break in the holidays for the following reasons:
The holidays are apparently important for morale and several mercenaries are expressing disappointment about not being to visit their families.
They will be less likely to be troublesome and uncooperative if they are given this one minor concession.
If we are attacked by any so-called spirits of Smissmas, they're more likely to be a bunch of drunken liabilities than help.
The people of Teufort will be celebrating, and the unfortunate side effects (blowing up of their monuments, burying of bodies, constant gunfire and explosions) may cause unwarranted annoyance and even bring some to us.
Besides, the mainframe needs repairs and the games would have to be delayed regardless of what happens.
She glanced over what she'd written. No typos, so she put it on the clipboard to join the other reports.
Maybe it'd even get read. Really, it was a long shot to even try this. But something inside her pushed her on.
The thought of him being sad...bothered her, like a bit of sand against her skin, grating and grating until she could think of little else. And of course, if she singled him out, the Administrator would suspect her of favoring him, and that was no good. So, she'd just have to be on the side of all the mercenaries for now.
*
"Miss Pauling! Miss Pauling! It's a Smissmass miracle! I'm headed out, they even got us airplane tickets and everythin'!"
Miss Pauling turned from the wall socket she'd been inspecting. An errant bullet had almost completely knocked out power in this hallway. Engineer muttered to himself and continued fixing the wall.
Scout's gray eyes were filled with glee. "I can't believe it! I got some time off for the holidays! You want to come out with me? My ma makes a real good Thanksgivin' turkey."
She felt her cheeks heat, and quickly glanced away. "Oh no, I'm working that day."
"What? How can you be the only one not gettin' time off? Where's that complaint box? I'm gonna fill that fucker full until it's friggin' overflowin'!"
"It's down the hall," she said. "The box filled with bullet holes and with a very vile smell coming from it. I wouldn't look inside it. I think someone used it for a toilet."
Except she knew that Saxton Hale personally gave all the complaints to Pyro to burn. It was in fact, Pyro's main job. Outside of burning things--and burning people and--burning everything, basically.
And Pyro's gas mask ensured that the stench of anything left there that wasn't paper wouldn't suffocate them.
"You sure you can't get in a quick holiday? Like, it seems downright criminal that you'd be out here."
She gave him a look.
"I mean, even more criminal than usual."
"No, I'm definitely busy. But, uh, feel free to enjoy yourself."
His smile disappeared at that. "Workin' Smissmass seems wrong. Smissmass is all about family--and punchin' Santa. Together as a family, uou know?" Scout said.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll do plenty of that. Punching, that is."
Scout gave her an appraising look at that.
"You part of some underground fight club or somethin'? C'mon, you wouldn't be holdin' out on me! I always wanted to be in a boxin' club!"
She laughed. "A f-fight club? Where do you even get these ideas?"
"Well, you kick everyone's ass and probably have a set of brass knuckles in your purse, so it just makes sense."
"Well, you're right on one, but not on the fight club. I don't have time to give away a 'beatin' for free' as you would say."
He broke into a big smile. "You did it! You did the accent!"
"Probably a poor rendition, but you're kind of larger than life, so that makes you hard to mimick," she said.
Scout broke into a big smile. "And you think I'm larger than life, too?"
"That's just a fact," she said.
"You really sure you can't even take a little time off? I'll pay for the ticket if it's a problem," Scout said.
"Oh, trust me: money isn't a problem. It's just time."
"So, I gotta figure out how to stop time so you can have a break. But who to hit with a baseball for that? Father Time or the New Year's Baby?"
"Beats me. If the Administrator knew, trust me, that person would've been beaten long ago."
"I'll--send you a postcard. Multiple postcards, even. I promise I won't forget!"
A light flashed at the end of the hallway, calling the rest of the mercenaries back to the games. "Oh, crap, that's for me! I'll see you after the break, Miss P!" He waved back, and almost ran into a wall in the process.
She watched him go, even though she knew these precious seconds would mean she probably would lose out on sleep.
She looked to Engineer. "Aren't you going?"
"Somebody has to fix this damn wall," he muttered, and smacked the wall with a wrench.
*
Scout stretched out his arms. His duffel bag was filled with most of his belongings, as he waited for the rest of the mercenaries to assemble. Some poor soul had been tasked with driving them all to the airport.
For once, it wasn't Miss Pauling--much to Scout's disappointment.
"It's a real cryin' shame that Miss Pauling can't come."
Spy gave him an incredulous grimace. "You invited Miss Pauling to meet your mother?"
"Of course I would--why wouldn't I? I mean, it's Miss Pauling!" he said, as if that remotely vindicated or explained his reasoning.
Spy pinched the bridge of his nose. Merde. The boy was outright inviting a fox into the hen house. Still, Scout was so unsettled, he would be lovesick his entire holiday season.
"But, I promised that I'd send her a postcards, lots and lots of postcards. I'll buy out every damn store I find," Scout said.
"She likes photos. Do you have a Polaroid camera?"
"Nah, I don't got one. Should I?"
"I would," Spy said.
Scout gave him a narrow-eyed, suspicious glance. "Wait, how do you know that about Miss Pauling? You plannin' somethin'? I called dibs, you know. You better not be backstabbin' and tryin' to beat me to her. Because--I run fast. You can't beat me in a race!"
"I have known her since she a child," Spy said flatly.
"That ain't an answer! Age don't mean nothin', in fact, I think older women are hot!"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes it is, you fool. And that was nothing I needed to know."
Considering he already knew it anyways. Scout was horrible at keeping any kind of secret, especially when it came to whoever he was attracted to.
Scout looked at him with renewed interest. "Knew her since she was a child, huh? She your kid?"
"Certainly not."
Had she been his, maybe she would've had a happy life. But then, he'd never been able to fully give that to Liam, so maybe that was just wishful thinking. The delusions of a madman.
"If she's not your gal or your kid, then..."
Scout looked as if he were putting the pieces together, even when there were no pieces to find. He had failed little Miss Pauling far worse than he even failed Liam. For Liam, he was the absent father, a shadow in the wake of Jack Dempsey.
But, instead of freeing Miss Pauling, he taught her how to kill more effectively.
"Everyone else is here. They'll leave without you, you know," Spy said. He climbed into the car.
"Crap! I gotta bounce!" Scout managed to fit into the back.
"Jeez, stop crushing me."
Spy lit a cigarette as the sound of bickering was lost in the sound of the engine.
*
Scout pulled his coat collar up. The cold wind bit at his cheeks. Snow crunched under his feet as he came up that cracked pavement, covered in salt to break the ice. There'd be more cracks soon, that's how it always was. How it'd always be in Southie. How it probably always would be.
Unless he became a bajillionaire and bought up the whole place and made it really cool. Fixed all the houses and maybe bought Fenway park too, for the hell of it.
Well, Scout had a bit to go before he hit bajillionaire, but he was pretty damn rich.
He had a new Polaroid camera in his bag. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier. He could send ma tons of pictures to let her know he was doing okay, too.
Okay, not the top secret stuff. Miss Pauling wouldn't be pleased at all if he got that. But, he could show her the desert sunsets that stretched blood red across the canyon, and he could show her bits and pieces of Teufort. And maybe he could get Miss P to pose a bit, not just so ma could see the Miss Pauling, but also so he could look at her, maybe put it in his locker.
All until he could bring her down there as well.
But, he'd fix it up a bit. Sure, he loved the place he'd been in--even though the projects were a rat and cockroach infested mess--but she might not see it with the nostalgic way he did.
Then again, she'd seen the common room after the guys had been drinking, so probably nothing could scare her at this point.
*
A package lay in on her desk. She knew the signs of tampering. First, she poked it. No white powder, no sound of ticking. She dared to feel it, and felt no wires, nothing sharp.
She took a letter opener (which also doubled as a weapon, if she ever got attacked in her office) and cut open the top. The package was completely full, almost to the point of bursting. Photos and cards spilled out.
She instantly turned the package over. She'd been so preoccupied with finding out whether it was filled with a trap, she hadn't even paid attention to the address at first. She'd simply assumed at first it was a forged name, another trial sent from above.
Liam Dempsey, South Boston... Numbers and facts she knew by heart.
Each photo had a message in sharpie at the back.
The first one had Liam posing in front of the harbor. He must've asked someone else to work it, given that his hands were free. The sky behind him was gray and cloudy, and flurries filled the air. He wore a thick red scarf she hadn't seen before.
A picture of a delicious looking dinner spread out. The long table was crowded with many men she recognized as his brothers from the dossier. I wanted to mail you some leftovers, but ma said it would spoil in the mail. Ma makes the best Thanksgiving feast ever. You gotta have some sometime. Wish you were here.
Each postcard and photo ended with that. Wish you were here.
Another was a picture of a plant hanging from the eaves.
She smiled softly, and put the pictures back in the package. That night, all her photos that she couldn't bring herself to throw away gained quite a few more additions.
All pictures of a family she had accidentally crossed orbit years ago.
*
1969.
"Hey, Miss Pauling! Did you enjoy your holidays?"
Scout leaned in the door of the file room. Miss Pauling had just been figuring out the next files to be given to Pyro for fire accidents. She set aside the next to burn, and glanced back at him.
The room was full of rows and rows of filing cabinets and little else, but Scout easily managed to slip past them until he got closer.
In striking distance.
(She really needed to think of better, non-violent metaphors. But none came to her. Maybe she had to expand her vocabulary, because the last thing she wanted to do was think of him as dead again.)
"The holidays don't really come to Teufort. But, it was...actually decently quiet. So that was nice. No attacks by so-called spirits of Smissmass. Though Engineer's guns did go off at some point, so maybe we got some feral elves."
Without the mercenaries constantly making a mess of everything, she'd actually gotten a whole thirty more minutes of sleep than usual one night.
"Good, good. Not about elves, but at least they're swiss cheese now." He pulled out a a box wrapped in colorful paper from behind his back.
"I thought about sendin' it in the mail, but I thought it might break. And I wasn't about to send you a package full of wet broken glass and glitter. Might get the wrong idea, you know? Go on, open it. Careful; it's fragile."
She put the box on one of the smaller filing cabinets, and peeled back the paper. It was too pretty to tear into pieces. Finally she got enough off the reveal the box inside, which she opened up. She drew back the tissue paper only to find out some kind of...orb with glitter in it? Wasn't that the thing psychics told their fortunes on?
Did Scout think she was the kind of person who got her palm read and paid attention to astrology?
She tilted her head as she looked it over. On the inside was white sparkles all over a bunch of cottages.
"I'm sorry, but what is this exactly?"
"It's a snow globe! If I could've mailed the whole city of Boston in the winter time to you, I would've. So, I got the next best thing."
"Oh, I've never seen one of these before."
"Seriously? Every tourist trap and gas station got one. I was afraid you'd already have one and it'd seem kitschy. Here, lemme show you."
He gave it a shake and the sparkles filled the inside, like a flurry of snowfall. Now that she looked deeper, she saw little villagers skating.
She reached out and took it from him.
"It's so beautiful..." She said softly. She turned it this way and that to catch the light.
Inside the scene was caught in an endless happy moment.
"Next time, I hope we're in the same place. It'll be 1970! Imagine, a whole new decade."
"You don't want to see your family again?"
"Of course; I'm talkin' about you comin' along," Scout said.
A protest died in her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose anything is possible..."
"Seriously? You'd consider it?"
"It's only January third. You're already planning for next holiday season?"
"Oh yeah," he said.
"A lot of things can happen in a year. We could be dead by then."
"Oh, you know what they say. 'only the good die young.' That means, we're gonna live forever."
She cleared her throat. "Um, I didn't realize we were exchanging gifts, so I didn't get you anything."
He smiled. "That's all right. Just bein' around you feels like a gift in itself."
She hardly knew what to say about that. With heated cheeks, she got up and started to go through the files again.
"Need any help, Miss Pauling?" Scout said.
She should say no. She should send him on his way, back to the games and to the other side of the screen.
But she did none of those things.
"If you could help carry these to the burn pile, it would be really helpful," she said instead.
"Sure, I gotcha," Scout said.
She left the snow globe on the filing cabinet as she worked. A happy world captured far away in the low light. Here, sifting files with company, Miss Pauling almost thought she understood that happy little family caught beneath the dome of falling snow.
*
Miss Pauling made sure to laminated the pictures as soon as possible, to prevent any accidents. Coffee or vodka spilled, matches, or radioactive waste. Though, one confused her. It was a door, with a little sprig of some plant hung up. Scout stood beneath it. The caption on the back said wish you were here.
With a few seconds to herself, Miss Pauling headed to the lunch room. Not the mercenary's lunch room, which usually looked like a war zone--especially since Soldier kept making toilets out of sinks.
But the staff room for the higher ranked employees. The room had one lonely off-white fridge, and black and white chessboard like tiles. There was one small table through it all that never had enough room for everyone.
Then again, not many people used this room, considering that she kept having to kill them.
She pulled out a sandwich and bottled water from the fridge, and sat down. With a glance back to the door, she pulled out the one laminated photo she had brought with her. She had to get some book on plants to figure out the reference, she supposed. But when would she find time for that?
"Hmm...."
"Somethin' the matter, Miss Pauling?"
Miss Pauling shoved the photo under the table, and craned her neck back to see the new arrival. Engineer's large overalls were especially dusty, and his hard hat slung low enough that she could barely see his face. Engineer was one of the few mercenaries with high enough clearance to enter this area. After all, his family had worked with them for generations.
Also, he'd never made a toilet out of a kitchen sink.
"Now, no need to be hidin'. I ain't about to share any top secret things. Leave it to you to be workin' while you eat."
He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, and took a sip.
"Ah, hits the spot. I get mighty parched working in the desert."
"It wasn't work," she said. "You just....startled me."
"A bad habit, I'm afraid. At least you ain't shot me yet for it," he said.
"Sorry about that," she said.
"No harm done. Yet, at least."
She slowly brought the picture out from under the desk.
"Do you know what this is? I got given a picture of it, and I don't really understand why anyone would take a picture of a door with a plant hung up on it."
Then again, there had been plenty of grainy pictures that she'd had to squint to figure out. She wasn't about to submit this picture to the kinds of devices she used to go over surveillance and blackmail photographs, however.
Engineer walked from the fridge and looked over her shoulder.
Engineer smiled. "You never seen mistletoe before?"
She shook her head.
"Guess not. It's never been put up here, anyways. Would probably cause way too much trouble round these parts."
Engineer chuckled. "There's some old tradition--people hang it up during the holidays and kiss underneath it."
"--Kiss?"
"Yup."
Engineer smiled. "Wait, isn't that Scout in that picture?"
She blushed. "I--ahem, I need to get back to work. Thank you for explaining."
Miss Pauling headed to her office. She'd moved the snow globe there, hidden away safe in a corner. The snow globe glowed faintly in the reflection of the light. She lifted up the recreation of a city, of a family and stared down in. Glittery snow fell about a skating couple.
They looked so happy, she thought.
