fic: Dusk/Dawn
Feb. 14th, 2022 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Dusk/Dawn
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Spy/Scout's mother, Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,600
Author's note:
Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1969
The doors opened. She waited for the Administrator to turn around. The seconds dragged.
When The Administrator turned around, her expression was even colder than usual.
"Miss Pauling, your conduct leaves something to be desired."
"...What?"
The wars on the screens turned to static. The Administrator clicked a remote, with a large red button. She'd seen it so many times, and so often it meant certain death for whoever had been set in her sights.
On one large screen, she saw an image like a memory. Her lifting the gun, the Sniper felled. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry.
"I...." she cleared her throat. "I had a gun malfunction. I was trying to fix it and it was--an accident."
"A gun malfunction. Really?"
"Yes," she said.
The Administrator turned to the keyboard. She pressed a few buttons. The image became larger. She rewound it and played it over and over.
"According to the footage, the gun certainly worked well enough to kill a Sniper."
Her lips parted, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her mind raced with so many memories. Had those gotten on camera too? Scout giving her a gift, or so many small talks.
But, would something so small really damn her? It was just a snowglobe.
"The mercenaries are entirely expendable. If you feel the need to kill them, then do so on your own terms. But, if you were protecting one..."
"N-No, not at all."
Her momentary stutter didn't exactly help her situation.
"You do know what happens to those that betray the company, yes?"
Miss Pauling knew all too well. She'd buried countless bodies in the New Mexico sands. In the back of her mind was always the knowledge that she could end up there, with the wrong move. That the birth certificate she'd unearthed was no guard to what could happen if she faltered too many times.
"You know how I feel about such things as friendship."
"There is no time for such things," Miss Pauling echoed.
"Correct. Now, you do not have time for anymore 'weapon malfunctions.' Understand? You kill who you are tasked to kill. You'll be able to kill the mercenaries soon enough when I have no use for them any longer."
There never was any time for anyone else. Her world had to be the limits of the base and the tasks given her. She numbly nodded, and repeated, "Yes, there is no time."
"Your last review was unsatisfactory. A Spy defeated the hired men."
Of course the Administrator would find out.
"I didn't ask him to. He was just....causing trouble. Like he does."
"This is about you. I will deal with him separately. It was your job review and a mere hired mercenary finished your task for you. Your review will have to be redone."
She usually wasn't warned. Her stomach twisted. What would happen now?
Would she hire one of the mercenaries to go against her? Would she hire Spy, or even Scout?
As she left the room, her mind went back to that little piece of paper she had found. If she hadn't found it, she never would've guessed that The Administrator was her mother.
*
Her shovel dragged behind her. At least it was getting cooler, though the scent of death would be rank in the air. All she had to do was gather up these body parts. Some would be incinerated, some would be buried, some would be fed to hogs, other buried in concrete. Oh, and not to forget the parts put in a meat grinder and sold as feed.
She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, and had nothing but coffee. To say she was 'drained' was an understatement
Sudden gunfire drowned out all sounds. She drew back in pain. She hadn't even heard it, and suddenly--there was a flash of black. A man in a long coat, his face hidden away by a scarf which was far too hot for the weather.
She'd been warned.
Miss Pauling clutched at her arm. She'd been careless. Far too careless. But, she didn't think he'd hit an artery.
If she kept up being this careless, she'd be the next body buried in the desert. And if she wasn't useful to the Administrator, then she wouldn't be coming back from this.
She let go of the shovel. It clattered against the pavement, as she took cover behind the wall. Gunfire hit where she'd been just moments before, attracted by the sound of the falling shovel.
There was more than one of them, she could see now. Was she surrounded?
The noise of the battle made it difficult to tell one gun from another. She dared to look around the corner, and ducked back from machine gun fire.
Damn, the Administrator, of course, only hired the best.
"So, where's our target? I don't see nobody out here."
She recognized that voice. Only Scout would be so loud, so brash, especially during a mission.
The Administrator had hired him against her?
She knew that one day she'd have to turn against them, and clean up the evidence, but she didn't think it would be so soon.
"What? You a fuckin' dumbass or somethin'? That's Miss Pauling! She works with us!"
She couldn't hear what the other hired gun said.
"No, fuck you!"
She heard a gun discharge. Had Scout been removed from Respawn? Was this the revenge all along? For her to watch him die, as he was hired to kill her?
The lesson that she couldn't quite learn, to leave him alone and go back to the before. When Liam Dempsey was just a photograph that she couldn't stop dreaming about. A world where she had friends, and knew a boy with a big, crooked smile.
She took shelter against the cliffs and tried to catch her breath. She clutched to her gun too tight.
She couldn't let her emotions get the best of her. She had to take the threat out, or she'd be the one buried in a shallow grave.
If he was still alive, she might kill him. And this time, there might not be a second (or third, fourth, fifth) chance.
If she didn't eliminate them, they might kill her. And she might not be in Respawn anymore, either.
She had to steady her hand. Never point a gun at someone unless you intend on firing it.
Spy had been the one to teach her that.
She fired, and heard a groan, and a body hit the floor.
She fired, and fired, and fired. Each time she drew back with a smoking gun. Did she have enough ammo?
Only when things grew quiet did she dare to leave her outcropping. A body of a goon the Administrator had hired was sprawled out there. Was it just a trick of the light, or had the corpse moved? She fired one last bullet in, just to be sure.
She numbly limped off to the truck, where a first-aid kit was under the seat. (Right next to two guns, a knife, and an old candy bar that had to be melted into oblivion by now. She'd forgotten to refill the peroxide, so she simply wrapped it in gauze. Instantly red seeped through.
She'd have to see Medic before this was all over. She didn't have time to deal with things like infected wounds.
Did she pass this test? Would there ever be a point where she didn't take a moment's rest, only to find a gun trained on her to prove she was really worthy to be here, that she was really loyal?
The Administrator had never claimed her as her own, as anything but a worker. But she was loyal, and always had been. But was it ever enough?
Miss Pauling already knew the answer to that, and yet she still kept asking it, as if there could be any other answer.
She looked up and saw him. She felt the utter relief that she hadn't killed him. He hadn't killed her. It was like her heart finally started beating again. Her breath caught at the sight of his bloody clothes. He closed the distance in seconds.
And here they were, face to face again. She forgot all the reasons why she wasn't supposed to be close to the mercenaries, to him. It was all lost in his crooked smile.
*
Dried blood ran down her face. He'd never seen her this exhausted, or this hurt. She was the one who stayed back, who looked over their matches and buried the bodies. She always held everything together, even at the cost of herself.
"Miss Pauling!"
"Scout? You--you're..."
"You were with them. I thought you..."
"Yeah, what the fuck was that? Some mistake? The idiots thought we were supposed to What the hell happened? Did somebody come for you??"
"Who gave you the orders?"
"Uh, some guy I don't know. A new guy. Name started with a G I think. I tried to call you to make sure, because I usually get my marchin' orders from you, but this time it just rang."
"Oh, that. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. They aren't an issue any longer," she said.
"Anymore? Any-frickin'-more? What the hell even happened? You're bleedin'!"
"You say that, and your shirt is covered in blood," she said.
"Oh, it ain't mine," he said flippantly.
He touched to her collar where most of the dried blood had gathered. She had bandages wrapped about her arm, that were already soaked with blood.
"Who did this? Who did this to you? I'll friggin' kill them--"
"As you can see, they're already dead."
"Well, put 'em in Respawn so I get a chance at killin' them, and makin' it real painful. Wait, you got scars. What the hell happened?"
"Oh, these? Old wounds. Medic healed them long time ago. Today wasn't too bad. I was surprised, though."
"What happened? Was it the BLUs? I'll kill those fuckers dead--"
"Oh, no. None of the mercenaries. Well, it's simple, really. They're paid to kill me and tried to fulfill their contract, and I stopped them."
"What? Hitmen?"
"It's not a big deal, really. It's like a performance check. I've been having it happen since I was a child."
"What the hell, literally everything you said was insane! You been fightin' people off since you were a kid? I mean, that's badass, but are you okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, that's normal."
"No, it's not! And they attacked while Spy was on the battlegrounds, so he was no help--"
"You took a contract out with Spy," she said.
So much for the old man keeping his trap shut.
"Wait, he told you? That wasn't part of the deal--" He mentally cursed himself as he opened his mouth.
"I figured it out," she said.
"Oh, ahh. Well, it wasn't like there was any paperwork or nothin'. I just asked him to keep an eye out. He said it'd already been paid. Dunno why, but hey, maybe he owed me a favor for all the times I've been a complete awesome guy on the battlefield."
Maybe he could've bluffed it more, but he was never good at lying to her. All the things he didn't want to say always just spilled out around her, until he'd gone and ruined the grand romantic moment he'd been rehearsing in his mind for months.
"Look, I just worried, is all. The thought of you bein' hurt--really fucks me up. I wanted to be there, but you had a job for me. So I asked him to just do this one thing for me. I tried to pay him, and he said it was already paid. When I couldn't get ahold of you on the phone, I worried tons. Guess I was right," he said. He traced his thumb across the scar on her arm.
She blushed deep as she stared down.
"I guess I have something to own up to as well," she said.
She pulled something out of her pocket. The paper had gotten spotted with water damage and crinkled all to hell along the way. But the words weren't completely illegible. For a second, he wanted to believe it was some kind of love letter, or token from her. He'd kill for something like that, and he didn't mean that figuratively.
But the date 1945 cut off his daydreams before they even got started. He had to squint to make sense of it all. And even as he read the words, and everything fell into place, he could only read them again and try and make sense of it all.
"It's a copy," she said. "The original was destroyed. And I was the one who did it. I don't even know why I kept it. Or why I keep it around. Actually, I do know, but..."
Colleen Dempsey. Father was listed as Henri LeCroix.
He remembered his mother's words: "Remember, you need help, you ask for LeCroix. He'll understand. He owes you plenty."
"You'll know him when you meet him. Tell him I sent you, and he'll help you. I know it."
Even though it was right before him, Scout still clung to the tales of a man named Jack Dempsey. A hero, to be sure.
"No, I got a dad, he died overseas. None of us remember him, but he was a hero. I mean, the rest remember him, but I was too young. I mean, we had ghosts hangin' around, but my real dad was dead and buried."
"Jack Dempsey died overseas in 1943. You were born in 1945," she said.
"I never had a dad because the war took 'em, not because...wait, what? That ain't right."
"Women aren't pregnant for that long, Scout. It's impossible that Jack Dempsey could be your father."
His brow furrowed. "When I left, ma said somethin' about that. I didn't think about it. She told me...to find a man named LeCroix if I was in trouble. Honestly, I never saw any LeCroix and it never made any sense. I kind of pushed it to the back of my mind before this."
"Henri LeCroix is one of the many names of the man you know as Spy. In fact, nobody knows if this is his real name except maybe himself. I'm not sure the Administrator even knows. It's one he's used many times over his life, though. It must have some significance for him to cling to it despite everything."
She pulled out a little Polaroid from the folder. Unlike the paper, this one hadn't been crushed. He nearly dropped it right off, because he'd recognize that overpriced suit, those angles, but not that smile. He'd wanted so many times to punch that smug grin off of Spy's face, but this wasn't self-satisfied at all. He looked content like Scout had never seen him.
Another Polaroid showed his ma looking up at Spy with all the happiness he thought she'd never had, and another with him playing peekaboo.
Memories so familiar that Scout had pushed them down and called them dreams.
"This is--no, no, it's not right. My dad he---he died," Scout's expression was full of desperate hope. "He couldn't help it. He wanted so bad to be with us, but he had to go be a hero and... You're smart, you know all about us. You totally know this is some trick...right, Miss Pauling? T-there was some mistake on the birth certificate! I knew this girl that had that. She ended up with the wrong day. She just went 'fuck it' and had two birthdays and everythin'."
She shook her head slowly. "It's no trick. These are your real records before I falsified them."
"Oh…" he said. All the hope deflated out of him.
"On his request," she said.
Scout clenched his fist. The paper crinkled, until the lines and truth were unreadable. His fist shook slightly.
"I used to listen to the stories about my dad, Jack Dempsey. And through of all of them, I had kinda picked him out. Like some dream father. Not my real dad, but the what-if dad. Yeah, I had a dad, but he was a secret spy. Like James Bond. He couldn't be with us because he was too busy savin' the world, but he loved us very much."
"That son of a bitch….and I fuckin' contracted him to take care of you and ma. I fuckin' trusted him with you and he just went and stabbed me in the back. Not literally this time, but I wouldn't put it past him---"
"You can't trust anyone in this business. You're always thinking the other men are your friends, but they're all dangerous criminals who'd betray you for anyone who'd pay them. I thought you would know this by now, but you just keep trusting them.. and me," she said.
"They're my friends. Sure, sometimes Soldier breaks my arms, but---"
"No, he isn't. None of them are your friends. You can't trust anyone, and I mean it. You're just going to get hurt if you go around thinking everyone has your best interests in mind or cares about you. You're a mercenary, we kill for money. Do you know the other meaning of the word mercenary? It means someone who would do anything for money. Betray their friends, kill their family. Anything. That's what you are, Scout. You need to accept it."
"Nah, you got it all wrong. You can trust me," Scout said.
"You're being a fool again. Look to your hands. I helped with that. This is the kind of person you're chasing after. I kill for a living, I blackmail and bury bodies. And I'm not going to stop for you, so don't even ask. If you have some barefoot and pregnant fantasy about me, you can just toss that away. You can't trust me, and I can't trust you--So why are we even pretending and deluding ourselves?"
Emotion had made her words run together.
"Why are we even hoping for something which is just going to be hopeless and hurt in the end? Why can't I burn the pictures or forget you?"
"Miss P, you--You into me too?"
She looked down.
"I shouldn't be. I'm a killer, Scout."
This didn't get a rise out of Scout.
"Uh, yeah, I know. I kill for a livin' too. It's a pretty good livin'. I don't go into the clink, I get to bash some skulls in---but what I'm tryin' to say is that I don't care about all of that. You gotta do what you gotta do, and I wanna be right there. Even if it means draggin' bodies in a hundred degree weather or doin' all that other gross stuff you gotta do. I'd rather take you out, but I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."
She looked up with a pained expression.
"Don't idealize me. You'll just be disappointed and blame me for not living up to what you made of me," she said.
"But, I like the dark and awkward parts too. I think you're cute all around and even if I gotta wait for the scraps, the once a year bullshit...I'd do it for you. Because I'd rather be outside your door waitin' than out with any other girl."
"You're such a stupid romantic, the stupidest brave thing just to wait---"
He would've pulled her to him, but she beat him to it. Her head fit just right at his chest, so that she could hear his heart without even trying. If only she could learn some heart-speak, and hear how he felt about her through his skin, he could cut through the stuttering mess of trying to confess to her.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get ourselves into?" Miss Pauling said.
"I don't know, I dance with death every day, and I like these odds. I've beat worse ones by far," Scout said.
"You deserve so much better, Scout."
"Maybe, but I want you. And nobody else even compares to you."
She laced her fingers through his. He leaned close enough just to kiss her new scar. If he had it his way, she never would've gotten that mark. But he didn't have any time machines handy, so he'd have to settle for never letting her get another one.
"You and me?" he said.
"Yes," she cut in. "This is about as crazy as hurtling straight into a monster's mouth. We could be threatened, we could be fired, or much, much worse."
"God help anyone who threatens you, hell would be better than that," he said.
"I thought you'd be angrier," she said.
"I can never stay too mad at you, no matter what you done," he said.
"I've done horrible and awful things. It's funny...None of them ever bothered me until I met you. For real. Face to face."
She leaned into him, suddenly woozy. "Hey, Miss Pauling--Miss Pauling, are you all right?"
"I haven't been sleeping well. That's why they caught me off guard," she said.
"Jeez! Here, lean into me," he said.
"Scout... You should really be angrier with me. I betrayed you. And this isn't the first time."
"You ain't done nothin' wrong. You were just doin' your job. I'll save all my bein' angry for him," Scout said.
"I've done some really bad things, Scout. I'm sorry about your mother. I didn't want to do it."
"The blackmail thing?"
He said it so casually, like she'd just accidentally wrecked his skateboard, and not blackmailed his family.
She nodded. "I tried to reason with her--it didn't really work. I still don't fully know why it was. A power play, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, you already said. I don't give a shit, I love you, okay? I'll drive the getaway car, be the Clyde to your Bonnie."
"You'd--really--"
She clung to his shirt. "Hey, I ain't goin' nowhere. Let's go back."
"Back..."
Would they even be safe there? She'd finished her assignment, though she'd been helped by a mercenary again.
"Yeah. You need to be carried back?"
"I have a truck," she said.
"You even good to drive?"
"I'll make it," she said.
"You ain't a robot, Miss Pauling. Or, at least I think you ain't. And if you are...well, we can make it work."
"What? I'm not a robot," she said.
"See, that's what I mean. You're not made to just push and push yourself. You gotta take care of yourself."
"I'm no good at things like that," she said.
"Then I'll be the one to take care of you," he said.
*
She was quiet as they made the drive back. The games were over now, though she didn't run into any other mercenaries along the way. They all had their own separate lives.
"You want me to haul you up to your place? I don't even know where you live. You can crash in my place if you want. It's small, though."
She nodded.
His room was small and plastered with posters of Tom Jones and promotional BONK pictures. A baseball, mitt and baseball bat leaned against his red BONK-themed blanket.
"...Just stay," she said.
"Miss Pauling..."
"I'm too tired to even think about...but I want you to stay. Is that selfish? Probably."
"Naw," Scout said. "I'd stay here even if you asked. Just to watch your back and make sure none of them come back."
He climbed in the rest of the way and pulled the covers in around them. She rested her forehead against his chest. She fit him so well, his chin pressed just to the top of her head. He could feel warmth in the echoes of her breath.
"You do this all the time. It's a lot harder than it looks," she said.
"What, dyin'? You didn't even go all the way through, you made it like a champ."
"No, trusting. Dying is easy. Trusting is the hardest thing I've ever done."
Hesitantly, he rested his arm about her back. She let out a content sigh and buried her face deeper against him.
"I'm glad. Even if I wasn't there, wouldn't want you to go through that."
She didn't respond. He looked down, and heard several snorting noises, then a long snore. He chuckled. "You sound like a chainsaw. A real cute chainsaw. Cutest chainsaw I ever saw, that's for damn sure."
She didn't respond, but that was okay. She needed the rest, and they'd have plenty of time to talk later. God willing, as his ma would say.
*
"Oh, you're up. Good mornin'. Feelin' any better? You were pretty out of it last night. You want a coffee or somethin'?"
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. When she stretched, her elbows went straight into his chest, but if snoring and elbow jabs was the price he had to pay to stay near her, he'd gladly pay it.
"We didn't.... I mean, last night--"
"Kinda hard to fuck with your clothes on. Not impossible, though, but nah, you conked right out a bit after you told me about all that. You wanted me to stay around, so I did," Scout said.
He made finger guns at her, and waited for her response.
"This would probably be much funnier if I could see you. At the moment you're a red, particularly talkative skinny blob," she said.
"Finger guns! See, there's like your reverse closed captioning."
He reached for her glasses and handed them to her.
"There, that way you aren't deprived of seein' all this handsome hunk."
He plucked up his cap from the bedside. Something fell to the floor, and he bent to lift up a faded picture.
"Hey, that's a picture of me," Scout said. He frowned, and thoughtfully turned the Polaroid over.
"Oh," she said. She took the picture from him, and put it back in her bag.
"You bribe ma for pictures of me? Wait a minute, you had a crush on me! You've been moonin' over me for years!"
"What? I--N-no," she said.
"Uh-huh, then why else you carryin' around pictures of me. Baby pictures, no less. Pretty sneaky, gettin' info from my Ma. Though you could've come straight to the source, you know," Scout said.
"No, you see... Spy gave it to me a long time ago," she said.
"A long time ago?"
"Like when this picture was new," she said.
"You knew him all the way back then?" Scout said.
"He's worked on base the longest, outside of Engineer, before even all the mercenaries were gathered."
She took the Polaroid, and looked over it with wistful remembrance.
"What I'm hearin' is you fell in love at first sight," Scout said. "I can feel that. The minute I saw you, everythin' changed. Also, I got out of prison, so win/win."
"That's a bit of a stretch," she said.
She stared down at the picture.
"Well....Actually, I guess I did have a little bit of a crush on you. Though honestly, you fascinated me. I never had a family like that. I was raised on base. I used to look at the picture and try and piece to together what a life like that would be like. Pretend I was there and that I'd had something like that, I guess. My fantasies sound pretty dull, now that I think about it," she said. She laughed, a little. "You were like the one friend I had then, and more. Pretty pathetic, huh?"
He gave her a disbelieving look.
"Never? You mean you never got to wake up early on a Christmas morning and try and beat out your brothers to sit under the tree? Or snuck bits of turkey for a later snack, then got in trouble for forgetting it when the smell got too bad in your closet? No hangin' around the radio for games and dreamin' about the day you'd get to go for real?"
"No. I've worked ever since I can remember. My entire life. I guess silly things like love and family and friendship just get in the way of all I've built. I sound like some cliche out of a novel--and I don't even have time for novels."
"Look, you're great and all Miss P, but all that sounds fuckin' boring. You gotta live a little sometimes."
"It wasn't a bad life, I guess," she said.
"But you had to want more," Scout said.
"I suppose that I just wanted to go on a date for once. It wasn't that much to ask, just a little something for myself," she said.
"I'll take you on one. Dunno how, but we'll figure it out. On your day off, or in-between jobs. You name the date and place, and I'll give you a good time--the best time."
"I really only have time when I'm burying bodies. I mean, you could help me with that if you want," Miss Pauling said.
"Totally," he said. "I'll get the shovel and the shotgun."
"So you really do want the whole work forever thing? If that's what you want, I'll be here waitin' on your breaks just like now, but day in and day out, you make money you don't have time to spend. And this is gonna hurt but, I don't think anybody's beyond being expendable to the Administrator, not even you."
She tensed at this. Not a lot of people got to say anything bad about the Administrator and live to tell about it.
"Quitting isn't an option. And, I don't know... It's all I've known. I don't hate work, but I'd like to actually sleep sometimes. Except, I don't know how to not be working. It's all I've ever known, working and killing. There's a lot I don't know, now that I think about it."
Scout looked concerned.
"Were you lonely? Does this mean you never even went to school, or went to dances and stuff?"
"I was tutored, mostly in murder. And no, there weren't any other children on the bases. I was too busy working, or studying," she said.
"Fuck, even as a kid you were runnin' around with your clipboard? And I guess that answers your question without even sayin' it," he said.
She smiled grimly.
"I filled up my space with work and study until I didn't have to deal with things like loneliness," she said. "And it wasn't all bad. Sometimes I got to draw silly faces on the corpses before I helped bury them, but usually I didn't have enough time."
"I didn't have a dad, but I had my ma, and my brothers there. But sometimes, I'd watch shows and just feel jealous of those kids who got to have dads, who didn't have this space in pictures and their lives. Didn't get called bastards or the sad looks when no dad showed up."
Scout shook his head.
"I used to have to tell people right out that he was a war hero who died overseas, and they'd still treat ma like she was something dangerous. Like she was some kind of homewrecker waitin' to happen."
"You too? I...didn't really have much of a family when I grew up. Spy taught me some things, and The Administrator taught me others," she said.
Like how to kill properly, and how to hide the evidence.
"That's your ma? I mean, I guess it takes all kinds, but I figure she'd go prayin' mantis on anyone who got that far."
"The word doesn't quite fit, but it's true. I found...a paper of it once."
He put his arms about her, hesitant, as if he might break her by accident, or reopen a wound. Her head tucked just under his chin. Just where she could lean against him and hear his heartbeat.
"I'll give you all that and more. As soon as all this mess is cleaned up, you'll have it all. Family dinners, holidays of all kinds. We'll even celebrate the ones nobody but the postal service celebrates, like President's day."
"How would we celebrate that? Reciting facts? P-putting on wigs and pretending to be George Washington---" She couldn't continue from the laughter that was slipping out. She covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders shook with concealed.
"Or we could make out on a bunch of Franklins. Thanks for the freedom and the dough, and the stairs, mister Lincoln," Scout said.
"He was never president. Though Washingtons, Lincolns, Jacksons and Grants will work," Miss Pauling said.
She pulled on his shirt until he bent enough that she could reach him. Her lips were softer and warmer than any of his daydreams ever could touch.
"I am goin' to spoil you so hard, you won't even be able to deal. You are goin' to every family gatherin'--hell, we'll gatecrash other people's family gatherin's for fun!"
When she pulled back, it was with reluctance. She tucked her dark wisps of hair behind one ear. "I have to go check on everyone very soon," she said.
He breathed in the scent of her and leaned in for one last kiss. Her hands lingered at the back of his neck as they parted that one last time.
"I really...."
Like? Love? Something?
"I know. I've waited this long, a little more ain't goin' to kill me," Scout said.
She brushed her tangled black hair back behind her ear.
"Actually...I was saying I l-love...would love to dress up like dead presidents with you," she said.
"Only if we get to make out on some Franklins while we do it," Scout said.
"Deal," she said.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Spy/Scout's mother, Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,600
Author's note:
Part of Loving Ghosts. For Sarah.
1969
The doors opened. She waited for the Administrator to turn around. The seconds dragged.
When The Administrator turned around, her expression was even colder than usual.
"Miss Pauling, your conduct leaves something to be desired."
"...What?"
The wars on the screens turned to static. The Administrator clicked a remote, with a large red button. She'd seen it so many times, and so often it meant certain death for whoever had been set in her sights.
On one large screen, she saw an image like a memory. Her lifting the gun, the Sniper felled. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry.
"I...." she cleared her throat. "I had a gun malfunction. I was trying to fix it and it was--an accident."
"A gun malfunction. Really?"
"Yes," she said.
The Administrator turned to the keyboard. She pressed a few buttons. The image became larger. She rewound it and played it over and over.
"According to the footage, the gun certainly worked well enough to kill a Sniper."
Her lips parted, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her mind raced with so many memories. Had those gotten on camera too? Scout giving her a gift, or so many small talks.
But, would something so small really damn her? It was just a snowglobe.
"The mercenaries are entirely expendable. If you feel the need to kill them, then do so on your own terms. But, if you were protecting one..."
"N-No, not at all."
Her momentary stutter didn't exactly help her situation.
"You do know what happens to those that betray the company, yes?"
Miss Pauling knew all too well. She'd buried countless bodies in the New Mexico sands. In the back of her mind was always the knowledge that she could end up there, with the wrong move. That the birth certificate she'd unearthed was no guard to what could happen if she faltered too many times.
"You know how I feel about such things as friendship."
"There is no time for such things," Miss Pauling echoed.
"Correct. Now, you do not have time for anymore 'weapon malfunctions.' Understand? You kill who you are tasked to kill. You'll be able to kill the mercenaries soon enough when I have no use for them any longer."
There never was any time for anyone else. Her world had to be the limits of the base and the tasks given her. She numbly nodded, and repeated, "Yes, there is no time."
"Your last review was unsatisfactory. A Spy defeated the hired men."
Of course the Administrator would find out.
"I didn't ask him to. He was just....causing trouble. Like he does."
"This is about you. I will deal with him separately. It was your job review and a mere hired mercenary finished your task for you. Your review will have to be redone."
She usually wasn't warned. Her stomach twisted. What would happen now?
Would she hire one of the mercenaries to go against her? Would she hire Spy, or even Scout?
As she left the room, her mind went back to that little piece of paper she had found. If she hadn't found it, she never would've guessed that The Administrator was her mother.
*
Her shovel dragged behind her. At least it was getting cooler, though the scent of death would be rank in the air. All she had to do was gather up these body parts. Some would be incinerated, some would be buried, some would be fed to hogs, other buried in concrete. Oh, and not to forget the parts put in a meat grinder and sold as feed.
She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, and had nothing but coffee. To say she was 'drained' was an understatement
Sudden gunfire drowned out all sounds. She drew back in pain. She hadn't even heard it, and suddenly--there was a flash of black. A man in a long coat, his face hidden away by a scarf which was far too hot for the weather.
She'd been warned.
Miss Pauling clutched at her arm. She'd been careless. Far too careless. But, she didn't think he'd hit an artery.
If she kept up being this careless, she'd be the next body buried in the desert. And if she wasn't useful to the Administrator, then she wouldn't be coming back from this.
She let go of the shovel. It clattered against the pavement, as she took cover behind the wall. Gunfire hit where she'd been just moments before, attracted by the sound of the falling shovel.
There was more than one of them, she could see now. Was she surrounded?
The noise of the battle made it difficult to tell one gun from another. She dared to look around the corner, and ducked back from machine gun fire.
Damn, the Administrator, of course, only hired the best.
"So, where's our target? I don't see nobody out here."
She recognized that voice. Only Scout would be so loud, so brash, especially during a mission.
The Administrator had hired him against her?
She knew that one day she'd have to turn against them, and clean up the evidence, but she didn't think it would be so soon.
"What? You a fuckin' dumbass or somethin'? That's Miss Pauling! She works with us!"
She couldn't hear what the other hired gun said.
"No, fuck you!"
She heard a gun discharge. Had Scout been removed from Respawn? Was this the revenge all along? For her to watch him die, as he was hired to kill her?
The lesson that she couldn't quite learn, to leave him alone and go back to the before. When Liam Dempsey was just a photograph that she couldn't stop dreaming about. A world where she had friends, and knew a boy with a big, crooked smile.
She took shelter against the cliffs and tried to catch her breath. She clutched to her gun too tight.
She couldn't let her emotions get the best of her. She had to take the threat out, or she'd be the one buried in a shallow grave.
If he was still alive, she might kill him. And this time, there might not be a second (or third, fourth, fifth) chance.
If she didn't eliminate them, they might kill her. And she might not be in Respawn anymore, either.
She had to steady her hand. Never point a gun at someone unless you intend on firing it.
Spy had been the one to teach her that.
She fired, and heard a groan, and a body hit the floor.
She fired, and fired, and fired. Each time she drew back with a smoking gun. Did she have enough ammo?
Only when things grew quiet did she dare to leave her outcropping. A body of a goon the Administrator had hired was sprawled out there. Was it just a trick of the light, or had the corpse moved? She fired one last bullet in, just to be sure.
She numbly limped off to the truck, where a first-aid kit was under the seat. (Right next to two guns, a knife, and an old candy bar that had to be melted into oblivion by now. She'd forgotten to refill the peroxide, so she simply wrapped it in gauze. Instantly red seeped through.
She'd have to see Medic before this was all over. She didn't have time to deal with things like infected wounds.
Did she pass this test? Would there ever be a point where she didn't take a moment's rest, only to find a gun trained on her to prove she was really worthy to be here, that she was really loyal?
The Administrator had never claimed her as her own, as anything but a worker. But she was loyal, and always had been. But was it ever enough?
Miss Pauling already knew the answer to that, and yet she still kept asking it, as if there could be any other answer.
She looked up and saw him. She felt the utter relief that she hadn't killed him. He hadn't killed her. It was like her heart finally started beating again. Her breath caught at the sight of his bloody clothes. He closed the distance in seconds.
And here they were, face to face again. She forgot all the reasons why she wasn't supposed to be close to the mercenaries, to him. It was all lost in his crooked smile.
*
Dried blood ran down her face. He'd never seen her this exhausted, or this hurt. She was the one who stayed back, who looked over their matches and buried the bodies. She always held everything together, even at the cost of herself.
"Miss Pauling!"
"Scout? You--you're..."
"You were with them. I thought you..."
"Yeah, what the fuck was that? Some mistake? The idiots thought we were supposed to What the hell happened? Did somebody come for you??"
"Who gave you the orders?"
"Uh, some guy I don't know. A new guy. Name started with a G I think. I tried to call you to make sure, because I usually get my marchin' orders from you, but this time it just rang."
"Oh, that. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. They aren't an issue any longer," she said.
"Anymore? Any-frickin'-more? What the hell even happened? You're bleedin'!"
"You say that, and your shirt is covered in blood," she said.
"Oh, it ain't mine," he said flippantly.
He touched to her collar where most of the dried blood had gathered. She had bandages wrapped about her arm, that were already soaked with blood.
"Who did this? Who did this to you? I'll friggin' kill them--"
"As you can see, they're already dead."
"Well, put 'em in Respawn so I get a chance at killin' them, and makin' it real painful. Wait, you got scars. What the hell happened?"
"Oh, these? Old wounds. Medic healed them long time ago. Today wasn't too bad. I was surprised, though."
"What happened? Was it the BLUs? I'll kill those fuckers dead--"
"Oh, no. None of the mercenaries. Well, it's simple, really. They're paid to kill me and tried to fulfill their contract, and I stopped them."
"What? Hitmen?"
"It's not a big deal, really. It's like a performance check. I've been having it happen since I was a child."
"What the hell, literally everything you said was insane! You been fightin' people off since you were a kid? I mean, that's badass, but are you okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, that's normal."
"No, it's not! And they attacked while Spy was on the battlegrounds, so he was no help--"
"You took a contract out with Spy," she said.
So much for the old man keeping his trap shut.
"Wait, he told you? That wasn't part of the deal--" He mentally cursed himself as he opened his mouth.
"I figured it out," she said.
"Oh, ahh. Well, it wasn't like there was any paperwork or nothin'. I just asked him to keep an eye out. He said it'd already been paid. Dunno why, but hey, maybe he owed me a favor for all the times I've been a complete awesome guy on the battlefield."
Maybe he could've bluffed it more, but he was never good at lying to her. All the things he didn't want to say always just spilled out around her, until he'd gone and ruined the grand romantic moment he'd been rehearsing in his mind for months.
"Look, I just worried, is all. The thought of you bein' hurt--really fucks me up. I wanted to be there, but you had a job for me. So I asked him to just do this one thing for me. I tried to pay him, and he said it was already paid. When I couldn't get ahold of you on the phone, I worried tons. Guess I was right," he said. He traced his thumb across the scar on her arm.
She blushed deep as she stared down.
"I guess I have something to own up to as well," she said.
She pulled something out of her pocket. The paper had gotten spotted with water damage and crinkled all to hell along the way. But the words weren't completely illegible. For a second, he wanted to believe it was some kind of love letter, or token from her. He'd kill for something like that, and he didn't mean that figuratively.
But the date 1945 cut off his daydreams before they even got started. He had to squint to make sense of it all. And even as he read the words, and everything fell into place, he could only read them again and try and make sense of it all.
"It's a copy," she said. "The original was destroyed. And I was the one who did it. I don't even know why I kept it. Or why I keep it around. Actually, I do know, but..."
Colleen Dempsey. Father was listed as Henri LeCroix.
He remembered his mother's words: "Remember, you need help, you ask for LeCroix. He'll understand. He owes you plenty."
"You'll know him when you meet him. Tell him I sent you, and he'll help you. I know it."
Even though it was right before him, Scout still clung to the tales of a man named Jack Dempsey. A hero, to be sure.
"No, I got a dad, he died overseas. None of us remember him, but he was a hero. I mean, the rest remember him, but I was too young. I mean, we had ghosts hangin' around, but my real dad was dead and buried."
"Jack Dempsey died overseas in 1943. You were born in 1945," she said.
"I never had a dad because the war took 'em, not because...wait, what? That ain't right."
"Women aren't pregnant for that long, Scout. It's impossible that Jack Dempsey could be your father."
His brow furrowed. "When I left, ma said somethin' about that. I didn't think about it. She told me...to find a man named LeCroix if I was in trouble. Honestly, I never saw any LeCroix and it never made any sense. I kind of pushed it to the back of my mind before this."
"Henri LeCroix is one of the many names of the man you know as Spy. In fact, nobody knows if this is his real name except maybe himself. I'm not sure the Administrator even knows. It's one he's used many times over his life, though. It must have some significance for him to cling to it despite everything."
She pulled out a little Polaroid from the folder. Unlike the paper, this one hadn't been crushed. He nearly dropped it right off, because he'd recognize that overpriced suit, those angles, but not that smile. He'd wanted so many times to punch that smug grin off of Spy's face, but this wasn't self-satisfied at all. He looked content like Scout had never seen him.
Another Polaroid showed his ma looking up at Spy with all the happiness he thought she'd never had, and another with him playing peekaboo.
Memories so familiar that Scout had pushed them down and called them dreams.
"This is--no, no, it's not right. My dad he---he died," Scout's expression was full of desperate hope. "He couldn't help it. He wanted so bad to be with us, but he had to go be a hero and... You're smart, you know all about us. You totally know this is some trick...right, Miss Pauling? T-there was some mistake on the birth certificate! I knew this girl that had that. She ended up with the wrong day. She just went 'fuck it' and had two birthdays and everythin'."
She shook her head slowly. "It's no trick. These are your real records before I falsified them."
"Oh…" he said. All the hope deflated out of him.
"On his request," she said.
Scout clenched his fist. The paper crinkled, until the lines and truth were unreadable. His fist shook slightly.
"I used to listen to the stories about my dad, Jack Dempsey. And through of all of them, I had kinda picked him out. Like some dream father. Not my real dad, but the what-if dad. Yeah, I had a dad, but he was a secret spy. Like James Bond. He couldn't be with us because he was too busy savin' the world, but he loved us very much."
"That son of a bitch….and I fuckin' contracted him to take care of you and ma. I fuckin' trusted him with you and he just went and stabbed me in the back. Not literally this time, but I wouldn't put it past him---"
"You can't trust anyone in this business. You're always thinking the other men are your friends, but they're all dangerous criminals who'd betray you for anyone who'd pay them. I thought you would know this by now, but you just keep trusting them.. and me," she said.
"They're my friends. Sure, sometimes Soldier breaks my arms, but---"
"No, he isn't. None of them are your friends. You can't trust anyone, and I mean it. You're just going to get hurt if you go around thinking everyone has your best interests in mind or cares about you. You're a mercenary, we kill for money. Do you know the other meaning of the word mercenary? It means someone who would do anything for money. Betray their friends, kill their family. Anything. That's what you are, Scout. You need to accept it."
"Nah, you got it all wrong. You can trust me," Scout said.
"You're being a fool again. Look to your hands. I helped with that. This is the kind of person you're chasing after. I kill for a living, I blackmail and bury bodies. And I'm not going to stop for you, so don't even ask. If you have some barefoot and pregnant fantasy about me, you can just toss that away. You can't trust me, and I can't trust you--So why are we even pretending and deluding ourselves?"
Emotion had made her words run together.
"Why are we even hoping for something which is just going to be hopeless and hurt in the end? Why can't I burn the pictures or forget you?"
"Miss P, you--You into me too?"
She looked down.
"I shouldn't be. I'm a killer, Scout."
This didn't get a rise out of Scout.
"Uh, yeah, I know. I kill for a livin' too. It's a pretty good livin'. I don't go into the clink, I get to bash some skulls in---but what I'm tryin' to say is that I don't care about all of that. You gotta do what you gotta do, and I wanna be right there. Even if it means draggin' bodies in a hundred degree weather or doin' all that other gross stuff you gotta do. I'd rather take you out, but I'll do whatever it takes to be with you."
She looked up with a pained expression.
"Don't idealize me. You'll just be disappointed and blame me for not living up to what you made of me," she said.
"But, I like the dark and awkward parts too. I think you're cute all around and even if I gotta wait for the scraps, the once a year bullshit...I'd do it for you. Because I'd rather be outside your door waitin' than out with any other girl."
"You're such a stupid romantic, the stupidest brave thing just to wait---"
He would've pulled her to him, but she beat him to it. Her head fit just right at his chest, so that she could hear his heart without even trying. If only she could learn some heart-speak, and hear how he felt about her through his skin, he could cut through the stuttering mess of trying to confess to her.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get ourselves into?" Miss Pauling said.
"I don't know, I dance with death every day, and I like these odds. I've beat worse ones by far," Scout said.
"You deserve so much better, Scout."
"Maybe, but I want you. And nobody else even compares to you."
She laced her fingers through his. He leaned close enough just to kiss her new scar. If he had it his way, she never would've gotten that mark. But he didn't have any time machines handy, so he'd have to settle for never letting her get another one.
"You and me?" he said.
"Yes," she cut in. "This is about as crazy as hurtling straight into a monster's mouth. We could be threatened, we could be fired, or much, much worse."
"God help anyone who threatens you, hell would be better than that," he said.
"I thought you'd be angrier," she said.
"I can never stay too mad at you, no matter what you done," he said.
"I've done horrible and awful things. It's funny...None of them ever bothered me until I met you. For real. Face to face."
She leaned into him, suddenly woozy. "Hey, Miss Pauling--Miss Pauling, are you all right?"
"I haven't been sleeping well. That's why they caught me off guard," she said.
"Jeez! Here, lean into me," he said.
"Scout... You should really be angrier with me. I betrayed you. And this isn't the first time."
"You ain't done nothin' wrong. You were just doin' your job. I'll save all my bein' angry for him," Scout said.
"I've done some really bad things, Scout. I'm sorry about your mother. I didn't want to do it."
"The blackmail thing?"
He said it so casually, like she'd just accidentally wrecked his skateboard, and not blackmailed his family.
She nodded. "I tried to reason with her--it didn't really work. I still don't fully know why it was. A power play, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, you already said. I don't give a shit, I love you, okay? I'll drive the getaway car, be the Clyde to your Bonnie."
"You'd--really--"
She clung to his shirt. "Hey, I ain't goin' nowhere. Let's go back."
"Back..."
Would they even be safe there? She'd finished her assignment, though she'd been helped by a mercenary again.
"Yeah. You need to be carried back?"
"I have a truck," she said.
"You even good to drive?"
"I'll make it," she said.
"You ain't a robot, Miss Pauling. Or, at least I think you ain't. And if you are...well, we can make it work."
"What? I'm not a robot," she said.
"See, that's what I mean. You're not made to just push and push yourself. You gotta take care of yourself."
"I'm no good at things like that," she said.
"Then I'll be the one to take care of you," he said.
*
She was quiet as they made the drive back. The games were over now, though she didn't run into any other mercenaries along the way. They all had their own separate lives.
"You want me to haul you up to your place? I don't even know where you live. You can crash in my place if you want. It's small, though."
She nodded.
His room was small and plastered with posters of Tom Jones and promotional BONK pictures. A baseball, mitt and baseball bat leaned against his red BONK-themed blanket.
"...Just stay," she said.
"Miss Pauling..."
"I'm too tired to even think about...but I want you to stay. Is that selfish? Probably."
"Naw," Scout said. "I'd stay here even if you asked. Just to watch your back and make sure none of them come back."
He climbed in the rest of the way and pulled the covers in around them. She rested her forehead against his chest. She fit him so well, his chin pressed just to the top of her head. He could feel warmth in the echoes of her breath.
"You do this all the time. It's a lot harder than it looks," she said.
"What, dyin'? You didn't even go all the way through, you made it like a champ."
"No, trusting. Dying is easy. Trusting is the hardest thing I've ever done."
Hesitantly, he rested his arm about her back. She let out a content sigh and buried her face deeper against him.
"I'm glad. Even if I wasn't there, wouldn't want you to go through that."
She didn't respond. He looked down, and heard several snorting noises, then a long snore. He chuckled. "You sound like a chainsaw. A real cute chainsaw. Cutest chainsaw I ever saw, that's for damn sure."
She didn't respond, but that was okay. She needed the rest, and they'd have plenty of time to talk later. God willing, as his ma would say.
*
"Oh, you're up. Good mornin'. Feelin' any better? You were pretty out of it last night. You want a coffee or somethin'?"
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. When she stretched, her elbows went straight into his chest, but if snoring and elbow jabs was the price he had to pay to stay near her, he'd gladly pay it.
"We didn't.... I mean, last night--"
"Kinda hard to fuck with your clothes on. Not impossible, though, but nah, you conked right out a bit after you told me about all that. You wanted me to stay around, so I did," Scout said.
He made finger guns at her, and waited for her response.
"This would probably be much funnier if I could see you. At the moment you're a red, particularly talkative skinny blob," she said.
"Finger guns! See, there's like your reverse closed captioning."
He reached for her glasses and handed them to her.
"There, that way you aren't deprived of seein' all this handsome hunk."
He plucked up his cap from the bedside. Something fell to the floor, and he bent to lift up a faded picture.
"Hey, that's a picture of me," Scout said. He frowned, and thoughtfully turned the Polaroid over.
"Oh," she said. She took the picture from him, and put it back in her bag.
"You bribe ma for pictures of me? Wait a minute, you had a crush on me! You've been moonin' over me for years!"
"What? I--N-no," she said.
"Uh-huh, then why else you carryin' around pictures of me. Baby pictures, no less. Pretty sneaky, gettin' info from my Ma. Though you could've come straight to the source, you know," Scout said.
"No, you see... Spy gave it to me a long time ago," she said.
"A long time ago?"
"Like when this picture was new," she said.
"You knew him all the way back then?" Scout said.
"He's worked on base the longest, outside of Engineer, before even all the mercenaries were gathered."
She took the Polaroid, and looked over it with wistful remembrance.
"What I'm hearin' is you fell in love at first sight," Scout said. "I can feel that. The minute I saw you, everythin' changed. Also, I got out of prison, so win/win."
"That's a bit of a stretch," she said.
She stared down at the picture.
"Well....Actually, I guess I did have a little bit of a crush on you. Though honestly, you fascinated me. I never had a family like that. I was raised on base. I used to look at the picture and try and piece to together what a life like that would be like. Pretend I was there and that I'd had something like that, I guess. My fantasies sound pretty dull, now that I think about it," she said. She laughed, a little. "You were like the one friend I had then, and more. Pretty pathetic, huh?"
He gave her a disbelieving look.
"Never? You mean you never got to wake up early on a Christmas morning and try and beat out your brothers to sit under the tree? Or snuck bits of turkey for a later snack, then got in trouble for forgetting it when the smell got too bad in your closet? No hangin' around the radio for games and dreamin' about the day you'd get to go for real?"
"No. I've worked ever since I can remember. My entire life. I guess silly things like love and family and friendship just get in the way of all I've built. I sound like some cliche out of a novel--and I don't even have time for novels."
"Look, you're great and all Miss P, but all that sounds fuckin' boring. You gotta live a little sometimes."
"It wasn't a bad life, I guess," she said.
"But you had to want more," Scout said.
"I suppose that I just wanted to go on a date for once. It wasn't that much to ask, just a little something for myself," she said.
"I'll take you on one. Dunno how, but we'll figure it out. On your day off, or in-between jobs. You name the date and place, and I'll give you a good time--the best time."
"I really only have time when I'm burying bodies. I mean, you could help me with that if you want," Miss Pauling said.
"Totally," he said. "I'll get the shovel and the shotgun."
"So you really do want the whole work forever thing? If that's what you want, I'll be here waitin' on your breaks just like now, but day in and day out, you make money you don't have time to spend. And this is gonna hurt but, I don't think anybody's beyond being expendable to the Administrator, not even you."
She tensed at this. Not a lot of people got to say anything bad about the Administrator and live to tell about it.
"Quitting isn't an option. And, I don't know... It's all I've known. I don't hate work, but I'd like to actually sleep sometimes. Except, I don't know how to not be working. It's all I've ever known, working and killing. There's a lot I don't know, now that I think about it."
Scout looked concerned.
"Were you lonely? Does this mean you never even went to school, or went to dances and stuff?"
"I was tutored, mostly in murder. And no, there weren't any other children on the bases. I was too busy working, or studying," she said.
"Fuck, even as a kid you were runnin' around with your clipboard? And I guess that answers your question without even sayin' it," he said.
She smiled grimly.
"I filled up my space with work and study until I didn't have to deal with things like loneliness," she said. "And it wasn't all bad. Sometimes I got to draw silly faces on the corpses before I helped bury them, but usually I didn't have enough time."
"I didn't have a dad, but I had my ma, and my brothers there. But sometimes, I'd watch shows and just feel jealous of those kids who got to have dads, who didn't have this space in pictures and their lives. Didn't get called bastards or the sad looks when no dad showed up."
Scout shook his head.
"I used to have to tell people right out that he was a war hero who died overseas, and they'd still treat ma like she was something dangerous. Like she was some kind of homewrecker waitin' to happen."
"You too? I...didn't really have much of a family when I grew up. Spy taught me some things, and The Administrator taught me others," she said.
Like how to kill properly, and how to hide the evidence.
"That's your ma? I mean, I guess it takes all kinds, but I figure she'd go prayin' mantis on anyone who got that far."
"The word doesn't quite fit, but it's true. I found...a paper of it once."
He put his arms about her, hesitant, as if he might break her by accident, or reopen a wound. Her head tucked just under his chin. Just where she could lean against him and hear his heartbeat.
"I'll give you all that and more. As soon as all this mess is cleaned up, you'll have it all. Family dinners, holidays of all kinds. We'll even celebrate the ones nobody but the postal service celebrates, like President's day."
"How would we celebrate that? Reciting facts? P-putting on wigs and pretending to be George Washington---" She couldn't continue from the laughter that was slipping out. She covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders shook with concealed.
"Or we could make out on a bunch of Franklins. Thanks for the freedom and the dough, and the stairs, mister Lincoln," Scout said.
"He was never president. Though Washingtons, Lincolns, Jacksons and Grants will work," Miss Pauling said.
She pulled on his shirt until he bent enough that she could reach him. Her lips were softer and warmer than any of his daydreams ever could touch.
"I am goin' to spoil you so hard, you won't even be able to deal. You are goin' to every family gatherin'--hell, we'll gatecrash other people's family gatherin's for fun!"
When she pulled back, it was with reluctance. She tucked her dark wisps of hair behind one ear. "I have to go check on everyone very soon," she said.
He breathed in the scent of her and leaned in for one last kiss. Her hands lingered at the back of his neck as they parted that one last time.
"I really...."
Like? Love? Something?
"I know. I've waited this long, a little more ain't goin' to kill me," Scout said.
She brushed her tangled black hair back behind her ear.
"Actually...I was saying I l-love...would love to dress up like dead presidents with you," she said.
"Only if we get to make out on some Franklins while we do it," Scout said.
"Deal," she said.
