fic: Before & Aftermath

[bonnefois]

Title: Before & Aftermath
Series: TF2
Character/Pairing: Spy, Miss Pauling, Medic mentions of Scout/Miss Pauling and Spy/Scout's mother.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 4,894
Author's note: Part of Loving Ghosts.

Note, that parts of this piece takes place both before and after the events of Wolf and Lamb, and are labeled as before and after.



1969

Before.
"Are you sure? They did follow orders," Miss Pauling said.

The Administrator looked up from the console.

"This is an order, Miss Pauling. I thought you would understand that by now. Are you implying that you care about the mercenary's well being?"

"Of course not...they're just expendable workers. More useful than most," Miss Pauling said quickly.

Could the Administrator sense it on her? Had she seen? Did she know?

What was there to know? A gift of a snow globe and some pictures didn't change things.

He was still just another coworker. Someone who one day, she'd have to kill.

Her throat was dry. She tried to swallow.

"I see. I'll, um, get right to it right away."

She took the stack of photos and placed them into a small cardboard box. For such a light box, it sure felt heavy.

A screen flickered behind the Administrator. Someone died, someone lived, someone came back, reformed from the jaws of death.

"They shared information. They know their contract well, and they broke it."

"We asked them to, and brought along the Director," Miss Pauling said.

"Are you defending the mercenaries, Miss Pauling?"

"No..."

"Then what? Are you questioning your orders? Your work? You are quite talkative today."

"I guess, I just don't understand the point of this whole endeavor. Have they done something to deserve it?"

"It isn't about 'deserving,' it's about holding power. To remind them of what they could lose, should they betray us. They're far more powerful than mere office grunts, and far less disposable. Instead of simply destroying them when they've gotten too deep, the mercenaries must be properly controlled."

She remembered that paper. The Administrator had never once hinted what that paper said. Never for a moment had she ever called her 'my daughter.' At times, Miss Pauling thought it might be a forgery, a sick prank.

But when she looked into the documents, she found corroborating evidence. And even if she hadn't, she could've easily seen just how much she looked like the Administrator.

Am I like her inside completely, too? Is this what I'm going to be like? Isn't that what I want? What I've wanted for my entire life?

Somehow, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"You know what to do, Miss Pauling."

She stared down at the instructions. She'd done so much worse. Why would she falter for even a moment?

How had a few touches, smiles and a snowglobe changed so much?

"Don't tell me you've started to be soft for these mercenaries? You know that one day you'll have to kill them, too, when they no longer have any use," The Administrator said.

Would she, too, be like that? Cast aside when she wasn't useful?

"Of course," she said softly. "Just like I've killed the others."

She cleared her throat. "I know what to do. I'll get to this right away."

*


She had nothing but a low light as she put on the gloves and placed them in each manila envelope. A sample was already ready for her to write up, with threatening letters she'd written herself.

It was easy work. She couldn't fathom why she was reacting like this. She knew the weaknesses of the targets. Their close families, and valuable possessions. She hadn't even had to hunt down reasons.

She took another sip of a mix of vodka and coffee. One to numb her senses and the other to keep her awake throughout this long night. However, she couldn't risk too much vodka, or she'd start to get sloppy.

Over and over a thought kept going through her mind.

Why is this so hard? I've killed people, tortured people. What is even happening to me?

She couldn't even bear to look at the manila envelope as she slipped in a picture of Scout's mother in. The same picture was used for Spy's folder.

And in Spy's, there'd been a photo of Scout too. She held at the edges for far too long. Scout smiled cockily in conversation.

He didn't look like Spy at all, except for his eyes.

It must be the late hour. By morning everything would right itself. She wouldn't feel this--regret? Even guilt?

None of it made sense. She'd stared down as her victims begged for their lives and killed them anyways. But one boy from Boston, and suddenly she was facing down feelings she'd never had before. To think she'd feel bad for something as inconsequential as blackmail.

She took another swig of the coffee and alcohol mix as she sealed the manila envelope. It didn't matter how blackout drunk she got. The feelings still remained.

The words kept going through her mind You know that one day you'll have to kill them, too, when they no longer have any use. That includes him, you know? Spy knew what he was bargaining with when he brought Scout here..

One day she wouldn't be able to see Scout's smile anyone, would no longer have Spy's guidance.

And there were so many others: Demoman's sense of humor, however dark, Heavy's insight, Medic's ah, creativity, Sniper's professionalism, Soldier's exuberance, Pyro's childlike nature.

Do I really have to?

She knew the answer, and yet...

The Administrator was right. She had to remember who she was truly loyal to. And it was the Administrator, always. This was her reason for living.

It was just that now, there was a flicker of distraction, of hesitation before she affirmed that.

She took a swig of whiskey in the low light. It did nothing to lift her mood as she put on the gloves to hide any fingerprints, and put each photograph within the manila envelopes. She typed out the threatening letters just as the example provided.

She'd saved them for last. A picture of the same woman was in both of them. A smiling widow, and her many sons. In the lower corner, Liam's big, crooked smile could be seen as well.

Her first thought was to put it with her things, like so many other photos. But she forced herself to put it in the manila instead, just like all the rest.

She'd never thought it'd come to this.

Miss Pauling took another long swig of the alcohol. She must be getting rusty if a simple blackmailing would cause her to feel like this. She'd done so much worse to people. Killed and tortured and mutilated people beyond recognition. All for the Administrator's wants and wills and whims.

And now, the mere thought of having to do that to Scout left her wanting to empty this entire bottle in a single sitting.

*

If she put off the visit until she was no longer busy, she'd never go. However, Miss Pauling did wait until the waiting room wasn't full of mercenaries and staff members, missing limbs, and other extremities.

A dove was perched on his bloodstained, gloved finger. He glanced back as she came in.

"Did the Administrator need something?"

"Oh, no. Not this minute at least. It's about me."

"You? What seems to be the issue?"

"Well, I've been feeling weird."

Medic studied her. "Weird? Please elaborate."

"Yes, that's the best way I can put it. Maybe bad is better? Or awful, or horrible, if we're going through adjectives. Okay, maybe not quite that drastic....but certainly not great."

"Are you hungover?"

"Trust me, I'm familiar with hangovers, and this isn't that," she said.

"Ja, you learned from the best, I suppose," he said.

He motioned to her.

"Sit down, sit down."

She took a seat on the infirmary table, which at least was recently changed, even if there was blood and bird shit on the floor.

The room was full of shelves, old implements which probably should've long ago been thrown out, and jars. So many jars of things.

It was the kind of infirmary which someone came out with some kind of extra disease just by visiting.

"This 'weird' feeling, is it in the morning?"

What a strange thing the ask. Then again, he was a doctor. Of sorts. He had gone to school at some point before he lost his medical license. He knew something, at least. Even if he put most of that medical knowledge to dangerous experiments which nearly killed them all at any given moment.

She frowned. "In the morning? Well, sometimes, I guess..." Miss Pauling said.

"And this weird feeling, does it come with a side of nausea? Especially in the mornings?"

"Sure, but that's the hangover talking," she said.

"Are you having increased hunger and thirst, as well as increased fatigue?"

"I always feel like that. I think it's part of being in the desert," she said.

"Are you finding yourself more sensitive to smells?"

She furrowed her brow in thought. The fact that she could smell at all after the kinds of things her nose was subjected to was surprising.

"No, I don't think so. If I did, I'd never survive a day in this job."

"I see. And how would you describe this feeling that is bothering you?"

She rested her hand on her stomach.

"There's a tightness in my chest. I guess it does in my stomach, but more of a clenching feeling than a vomit-y feeling, if that makes any sense."

"Hmm, ja, ja.... When was your last period?"

"I don't--" she cleared her throat. "How is that relevant to this? Why would you even ask that?"

Medic looked up from his gloves with a sigh. "Don't tell me I have to teach you the facts of life, too," Medic said. "I'm trying to figure out how far along you are. You should be taking prenatal vitamins, or find you a clinic that discreetly takes care of such things."

She blushed as the realization hit her. "Wait, you thought I was pregnant?"

"You have been hanging out with that noisy boy. I figured it would only be a matter of time. He doesn't seem smart enough to use any precautions at all. He seems to have all of maybe one brain cell in his entire body."

"This isn't about Scout. At all. It has nothing to do about him in the least. I feel this way when I'm working."

It used to be so easy to follow the Administrator's commands. Only when Scout came here did these tasks become harder.

At least, the thought of having to inflict such violence on the mercenaries. On him.

"Working? What exactly brought this about?"

"I can't talk about my work," she said. "You know that."

"That sounds normal. Well, not normal for us. How humans usually react. It sounds as if you feel guilty. Not a good fit for your particular line of work. Thankfully, I was born without that troublesome thing."

"Guilty?"

Medic pushed up his small glasses.

"Yes. Unfortunately, there's no surgical procedure for me to remove a conscience. At least, none that I know of. I could look in my medical texts, some dark magic texts to be sure."

"Dark magic texts?"

Medic shrugged. "A second opinion."

And she couldn't even begin to fathom what the hell was happening with her. She'd killed enough to fill mass graves, and didn't even feel a twinge as they begged for their lives. But as took each picture and put it in the manila envelopes, a feeling had come over her. All at once she had felt lethargic, drained, and morose all at once.

And worse, emotions she barely even knew how to label.

"I've done far worse things that that. It can't be me feeling guilty. It has to be something else."

"Well, I can take some blood and do some tests, but I do not think medical science can do much in terms of the heart."

"You implanted baboon hearts in the men, I think you know a thing or two," she said.

"Not cardiology. Love is what I am speaking of."

"I don't know anything about that," she said.

"Probably for the best, given your job."

He held out a thermometer. A blood pressure test was clamped about her arm. He squeezed the little black ball to tighten the cuff.

"No fever. Blood pressure is normal."

She didn't say more, about those other feelings. Because she knew what they were: trouble.

But the part of her that drew back at mere blackmail, the one that couldn't handle watching a mercenary get killed over and over on the television screen--that was the part of her she didn't understand anymore.

"It's like...I don't know who I am anymore. Just a year ago, this wouldn't even have been a problem. Everything was normal. I knew what I was going to do with my life and then...."

She didn't say the words. I met a boy from Boston, whose smile changed everything. He was definitely the deciding point. Now here I am, feeling...whatever the hell this is.

Regret? Guilt?

"That's actually quite normal at your age. By the time you're my age, you'll have gone through enough of those crises. It's easier if you just laugh at the absurdity of life. Remember: sanity is relative."

He pulled some white pills. She looked at the suspiciously.

"Just aspirin. Take two and don't call me in the morning," Medic said.

A dove flew overhead.

"Um, thanks. I'll go get back to work now."

Medic already turned his attention to his bird.

*

Miss Pauling had learned from the best. Whenever something was wrong, drown it with alcohol and work until it withered like a neglected plant.

Except, that wasn't working. Not when she kept running into him, and the conflict within her kept happening.

So, she would just have to take drastic measures.

Measures that for once didn't involve shallow graves in the desert.

"I think the base up north has some very key structural issues that need to be addressed," Miss Pauling said.

"You're requesting being transferred?"

"No, I just think I should oversee it. None of the staff there is remotely trustworthy or capable. I'll likely have to kill the whole lot, clean up. It should take a few weeks at least."

Did she the Administrator see it on her? The way somehow, through it all, a weakness had sprung up. Nothing escaped the Administrator's eye, she knew all too well. But, maybe, somehow, this feeling had come in a whisper so quiet that even all the videos missed it.

No, it'd been growing for some time. And she simply hadn't realized what this would do to her.

"I'll grant this. That base should be dismantled, anyways. The cold makes it difficult for the machines to work well."

She nodded. "Understood."

*

She wore a thick down jacket, with a fur-lined hood pulled tight about her face. Her glasses fogged up with every breath. Even through these unwieldy gloves, her fingers still felt numb.

Except, her thoughts kept going back to pictures and postcards sent to a holiday she would never have, and never know. Was this as bad as the Nor'easters he always spoke of, so fondly that they seemed like an old friend, but the kind he couldn't stop fighting with.

She'd gone even this far and he was still constantly in her thoughts. She wondered how many miles she would have to drive until she was untethered from this feeling.

*


After

Scout had been restless for weeks. Spy, however, did not allow himself comfort at Miss Pauling's absence. She had something planned, surely. Perhaps all of this was the Administrator forcing her hand, but no matter. The outcome was the same.

"Oh, Spy! There you are! You know classified and spy stuff, right? You sure you ain't seen Miss Pauling? Like with your spy gadgets and stuff? Maybe you--"

Spy cut him off. "Positive."

"You didn't even let me finish. Miss P ain't been answerin'. I been callin' and callin' and nothin'. I ain't even gotten any jobs from her."

"There is only one answer, Scout."

"Yeah?"

"Alcohol," he said.

"Seriously? You sound like Demo," he said.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," he said.

"Ehh, We hit every bar in this area. Every single night. Ain't you gettin' tired? I mean, I like a good beer after work like any guy, but hangovers are friggin' hell. I'm sick and tired of wakin' up sick and tired. Plus, you're pretty old. Drinkin' all this can't be good for your liver, right?"

Spy gave him a sharp glance. "If Demo can survive, my liver will surely be fine," he said.

"If you say so," Scout said.

In fact, he was. They were noisy, and not to his enjoyment. But somewhere in this damn sand-filled state, there had to be one woman who could distract Scout. It wouldn't solve everything. The Administrator had them by the throat, as always.

"Your lady angry about this?" Scout said.

"She would understand if she knew. Thankfully, she does not."

"Really? I told ma about how nice you been bein', takin' me all over. She was real interested in the bars. Kinda surprised, actually. She wanted every single detail."

He let out a long sigh. He should've known better to think that Scout could ever keep a single secret. Still, he couldn't allow Scout to mope and fall a little more in love.

"I hear it is 'Ladies night' again," Spy said.

One day, he'd have to explain to Colleen that he had to break his son's heart to save their lives. Until then, he would pull the strings at the edge.

For a moment, he thought Scout would give in. But, he shook his head finally.

"Nah, man. I think I'm going to stay in tonight."

"Next week, then," he said.

"Think I'm just stayin' in for a while. If I head out, then I might miss Miss Pauling when she comes back."

Scout always had to make things difficult. And of all people, he had to fall in love with a killer. Spy lit a cigarette. He was about out of plans, and now the situation was hurtling well into a train wreck.

And this time, he wasn't even distant enough to laugh at the wreck, for it'd be his son's life, his wife's life.

Add this to yet another regret in his life. He had enough to make a mountain of.

*

Transcribing audio as just part of her job....her many jobs. She'd been working in a haze since...that had happened. No amount of coffee or alcohol (or alcohol mixed with coffee) helped. She'd thought a change of scenery, the distance, and the sheer amount of work would make her feel less muddled.

She kept telling herself this was for the best. Really, this was a foolish thing to even consider. When she'd been young, there'd been something of an excuse. But, she was an adult. Time to put away such immature things as friendship and...love.

As a child, she'd daydreamed of Boston a friend, but now the thought was pitiful, pathetic. To think that she'd been caught up on things he'd said, that she'd looked forward to catching him over the radio--she knew there was no room for any mercy or kindness in her life.

She still hadn't been able to bring herself to destroy the photos, even though she knew she should. One day, she'd drink down enough vodka and finally be rid of them once and for all. Maybe she'd even blank out parts of her memory, until she could be rid of this guilt, these feelings and be back to normal.

Back to the killer she'd been born to be.

And then what? The way Scout smiled at her...she knew Spy was right. She was walking a fine line. Even the thought was laughable.

Someone like her, in love with someone like him. It was unthinkable. Nothing but disaster.

She furrowed her brow as she looked at this one. Three, three, had she done three? No, this was the part in the bar. The loud atmosphere of the bar made it difficult for her to hear, and what she did manage to make out made something inside her feel like it someone had squeezed their hand right over her heart.

She had to record and listen over the audio of all workers, to ensure that none of them were planning some kind of backstabbing. At this point, she was desensitized to any horrible things she heard--even about herself. (There was always the satisfaction of seeing the face on her victims when she got to take out the men who'd made such comments about her.)

She put it into the machine. The background noise was still loud, so she isolated it one by one until all she could hear was Spy and Scout.


"I keep tryin', but it's like, I got a Pauling on my shoulder and she's starin' me down and askin' why I'd ever even give another gal a glance than her. And I agree, why the hell would I? She's just so.... I can't stop thinkin' about her. The way her glasses fall down her nose like so....her green eyes she's just...special, you know? I ain't ever felt anythin' like this before. Even when I try and flirt with ladies, it feels weird and wrong. Because the only one I wanna be flirtin' with...is Miss Pauling."


The tape went on. Spy spoke something about Scout not being married, but Miss Pauling paused it suddenly. She rubbed at temples. Her head was throbbing, and she wasn't even hungover. Her heartbeat was electric, constant. She turned the tape back on.

"After this, I'm headed home. I'd rather be alone there waitin' for her than out here. Feels less lonely somehow. I don't know. I never felt like this before, but I'm still breathin', so I must be doin' somethin' right."


The tape came to a stop.

"What do you expect me to do...?" she said softly. "This is what I was born to do. Serve the Administrator. It's all I ever had, all I've ever known. Even if I could...."

Spy was right. Scout deserved more than a girl who knew how to kill in a million different ways, but couldn't even figure her way out into a single friendship, let alone how to love someone. Honestly, it'd be merciful to break his heart now before she did it later.

She was a murderer to her core, what did someone like her know about something like love? Honestly, what was she even thinking? What would she do when he was the next one slated to be taken out?

She'd almost destroyed these photos so many times, but she'd always rescued them from the flames. She still remembered Spy's cold gaze then. And it still hurt, even though it shouldn't. None of this should affect her. Love, friendship--these were things that happened to other people, not her. She was a killer, through and through. That's all she was, all she had inside her.

That was the Administrator had molded her to be, after all.

She pulled free another photo. This one wasn't from Spy's collection, but a new one. Liam smiled at something someone said. And it made her smile, too.

She should burn the memories. She should destroy the evidence. If only deleting these memories of him were as easy as erasing the tracks, like she'd done so many times.

Instead, she saved the voice file onto a tape, and put it among the things she shouldn't have, shouldn't feel.

*

Her down jackets were packed away for the next inevitable arctic excursion. The sand beneath her feet, she began to oversee the base, and all its new bullet holes.

"Miss Pauling!"

She turned back. His face lit up with happiness when he saw her. He said her name with such softness, like no one ever had. Like she was important, like she was loved.

And no matter how many times that she had to tell herself that she wouldn't feel this way, it was familiar, the heartbeat, the way her pulse pounded. She wondered if he felt the same way.

It would be a complete disaster. But she wanted it, wanted him. And the wanting overwhelmed all the reason.

She was surprised Spy hadn't shepherded him away. Since that last confrontation, Spy had always ensured they weren't anywhere near each other. The minute she'd be in her office, Spy would suddenly gain a deep interest in baseball, or whatever else it took to keep Scout away.

It was easier that way.

But, not even Spy could keep an eye on Scout all the time.

"Holy crap, you're back!"

His face was flushed. He must've been off on a run. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"I mean, I work here. Being around the base is kind of the point," she said.

"Yeah, but you ain't been around. You okay?"

"I...well." She cleared her throat. He was a mercenary. He didn't get to have details. She shouldn't even be talking with him. Only trouble would come from this.

"I've been real busy."

"Seriously? We didn't cross paths at all? That's kind of incredible because I been everywhere lately. You got the ability to teleport, Miss Pauling?"

"I don't use teleporters much. Only the mercenaries really have the fortitude to withstand them," she said.

"Really? I would've totally thought you could that any teleporter your bitch," Scout said.

"I was um, working in another base for a while. That's all."

Scout looked alarmed. "Another base? You ain't movin', are you?"

"No, it was a temporary assignment," she said.

She'd already said too much. But he was so persistent, he'd never give up if she didn't at least give a reasonable excuse.

She wanted so much to ask him do you mean it? Do you really mean it? But the words just wouldn't come out.

She shouldn't even be thinking this, let alone asking him something. Spy was right; it'd just cause trouble.

"I'm glad. I mean, not that you're busy, you need a frickin' vacation, but that you're alive and well and happy. You were gone so long. Like long long! What was it, a month?"

"Three weeks," she said.

"Almost a month, but it felt like six months more like. Are you happy?" Scout said suddenly.

"...Happy? Happy about what?"

"To be back where you belong!"

"Ah, I suppose."

A shadow came across his face. "Wait, you ain't happy? Okay who I gotta kill to make you happy again?"

"I'd just never heard that part. I thought the saying was 'alive and well.'"

"Well, happiness certainly should be up there with bein' alive and well, right?"

"Right," she said.

Not that she knew much about happiness. She had routine, she had work, she had the satisfaction of doing all the tasks the Administrator gave her. That was happiness, right?

Wasn't there a lyric that went happiness is a warm gun? Or had she misheard them again, on the near broken stereo in any of the many shot up vehicles?

But, when she looked at Scout, sometimes she thought there just might be more.

"Scout I...." It was on the tip of her tongue. I heard the tape. I know. I don't know what to do with this. I know that I want you, that I might even need you. I just don't understand anything anymore. Except that I feel drawn to you like I never have before. I know I should push you away as far as I can, but I'm selfish.

"Yeah?"

His face was full of such hope. Something within her ached at the thought of dashing those hopes.

(And who was this? The person who couldn't even take disappointing a mercenary? She'd murdered countless people. Who was this person who believed, who hoped? Who felt so deeply that even the distance and arctic wastelands couldn't freeze away from her?)

"I have to get back to work," she said finally.

Work was routine. She could fit her hours in little boxes, like coffins. Over and over, and then drown her nights with alcohol before she collapsed. This must be what happiness was. It had to be.

His expression turned markedly sad, and even that was a cut deeper than she'd like to admit. "Already? You just got here--"

"I have a lot to do," she said.

"Yeah, it's always like that, isn't it--I mean, um, good luck, Miss Pauling. Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

The strange sensation still filled her. Except, instead of the kind of emptiness that even alcohol did nothing to fill the void. It was fluttery, almost like danger but something softer, lighter. She took one last glance back at Scout.

It didn't disappear, and neither did he.

*

Spy may have won the battle, but as he watched from the fort, he knew he'd lost the war.