fic: The Super Date

[bonnefois]

Title: The Super Date
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 11242
Summary: After over a year of waiting for her next vacation day, Scout finally gets Miss Pauling out on a date with him. He decides to try and pull the best date that ever was.
Author's note: for Medacris as a treat for the TF2promptfest secret santa. Here's a mix for it

this inspired some parts, also How I Met Your Mother's episode Super Date.

and some more Tom Jones Dancing and the famous Carlton scene which inspired that part of Expiration Date.

The fur / glass debate is actually very lively. I personally heard it in a course I was taking at the time. here for debunking and other theories

Guns and Sensible Haircuts magazine is a magazine Soldier is canonly subscribed to as of the WAR! Comic.

There is art for the piece Here and here by Multiversecafe and Hazmad respectively!

Thanks to Multiversecafe for betaing.



Scout had replaced the pin ups on his walls with calendars. With each day, he counted down towards that one day when he'd be able to take her out. Like back in school, when he'd write stuff on his arms. Bring her flowers, don't look at her tits, even though they're amazing, only glance at her ass when she's busy, meet her gaze, compliment her, only check out her ass when you're sure she can't see. Yes, the last one required two reminders, because her ass was that good.

He'd been grilling his ma day after day on how to treat a girl, and she'd actually been a whole lot nicer than Spy. He hadn't even gotten verbally smacked down once, though she'd laughed for a real long time when he told her about Spy helping out. He still didn't get the joke, and she wouldn't explain it to him.

Over and over, the best point in the day was just knowing that she'd said yes. Now every glance, every time he passed her in the hallway, he'd feel that rush all over again.

She said yes, she said yes.

And the days on that calender turned down, until it was months of nothing but x's, with a big star on her vacation day.

When he finally got to the day, he drew a little heart inside, then crossed it out because it was sappy. He dressed up in the same date gear he'd done the previous year. She hadn't really gotten a chance to see how good he looked like this, not with the whole tentacle bread, and them almost dying, and bombs, though he had some damn fine memories of her on his chest.

But this time, he'd planned weeks in advance. Killed a few cooks, installed some of his own, and pulled out his argyle socks and hair pomade out. She hadn't exactly gotten a good look at how fine he'd been last year, and he wanted to remind her.

Then all that left was the waiting. And after so long, he thought he would've gotten a hang of the it, like he was a frigging expert by now, but somehow, that didn't help the restless feeling. So he paced, broke his clock by accident from checking it too much, and found he still had hours to go.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have gotten up at 4AM.

To pass the time, he ordered a drink at a corner, but just root beer, because he wanted to be completely sober when he saw her come around that corner. He was going to memorize that moment until he could repeat it backwards.

Scout stood on tiptoe, checking the window again, and then back to his arm. He might have broken his wristwatch, but he'd written down the time on his arm. The ink was starting to smudge, but he could still make out the jist of it. She was definitely not going to stand him up. Well, at least not unless there was some missile crisis or something. Which was all in a day's work for her.

But this year, that wasn't happening. He'd made sure nobody teleported bread, stole from the morgue, or blown up any refineries. In fact, he kept a few of them busy with making sure that this went smoothly. A few Grants, Jacksons and Franklins and he had some wingmen ensuring that if any Bread did attack, it'd be curb stomped quick enough for them to still get their restaurant reservation.

Still, Scout let out a happy sigh as she came around the corner. All that wondering if she really did have to clean up a mess on her vacation day was just idle worrying. She'd dressed up, and was in decked out in a cute little purple sundress with flowers, and matching purple heels. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back into a lose ponytail with a purple scrunchie. He'd never seen her wear it down before, nor the way wind caught it, all shiny and soft looking down her back.

He nearly knocked over the table and several chairs in his hurry to meet her outside. The door crashed behind him.

"There you are," she said.

"Damn, girl, just... Daamn," Scout said.

"It's just a dress," she said. She smoothed down her skirt self-consciously.

"Just a sundress? That's like sayin' the Mona Lisa is just a work of art! Like, like, sayin' James Bond is just a spy, like Tom Jones is just a singer! Yeah, you're a walkin' work of art and---and--You're seriously messin' with my game," he said.

She took his arm in hers, and leaned against him just a little. Oh yeah, bring on the cute date stuff. He was withering away for the cute date stuff. "Good. Your game is horrible."

"Hey, I got you to come out with me, so it can't be that bad."

"I went out with you in spite of your 'game,' not because of it."

He just shrugged. You take what you can get.

"What's first on the list?" she said.

"Oh, yeah, just follow my lead, we're pretty close," Scout said.

He took her hand and led her to his little glass and metal frame masterpiece, right in the middle of town.

"Hey, boss," the guy on duty said. His head-to-toe black ensemble and glasses sort of made him look like a secret service guy. It also made the employees hard to tell apart, but it was worth it to feel like he was the president for a few minutes a day.

"Got a time for two, expect it to take long," he said with a wink. He should really put more work into public projects, just so he could have the VIP treatment once in a while. People were surprisingly polite if you threw enough money at them.

Scout had made sure that with all his boss stuff, he had pictures all over of him giving a real charming smile for everyone to know that he was really awesome, and check out the fish he bought.

"Boss?" she said.

"I got plenty of secrets. In fact, you could call me a Mr. Secret Man, like a Secret Agent," Scout said. He couldn't stop grinning at that. It sure took something to put one over on Miss Pauling. It was so hard to plan surprise birthday parties for her with her always finding out everything. She was the best there was at surveillance work, at least other than the big boss lady.

They walked down the metallic corridor together, just into the bridge where the aquarium looked like an arbor. She looked up in wonder at the fish above them. Shiny fish, pretty fish, what the hell, he wasn't a fish scientist, he didn't know names. He just basically pointed and threw money and bam, fish appeared. He called the one with the pretty long fins Finny, and the long one Barbra, though.

Her eyes widened as she leaned in to look at the latest fish tank. Teufort wasn't exactly good for bright shiny fish, it was more "the scary crap in the ocean–CHECK OUT THESE TEETH!" But he'd insisted they put some nice fish for date purposes. Sure, a Shark tank is great and all, but sometimes a guy had to just put on his Argyle and pomade and show his girl some fancy underwater show.

A couple years ago he'd thrown some money their way, and got himself a date tank. He did that sometimes, put up ball parks so kids wouldn't have to grow up like him, with a pile of broken glass for third base and rusty nails for second. He was thinking next he'd put up a park next with his paycheck of the month. Besides, chicks dug that. Okay, he hadn't gotten a date out of it, though once a mother had given him chocolate cookies and patted his head.

And yeah, it wasn't quite as nice as sitting on a beach with Miss Pauling in a cute two-piece and cuddled next to him, but he could deal. She grinned wide at one of those pretty bright schools of fish. Yellow and black stripes, all sailing around in a lit-up field of coral and little floppy pretty flower like things. Like hell if he knew the name, but he'd ordered a bunch, and then been disappointed when he realized he couldn't send them to her in a bouquet. He'd even made them do fancy architecture stuff to make a tunnel, which completely paid out as she looked up in wonder at the fish swimming over them. She had such a pretty smile, but he didn't get to see it near enough. Most of the time she was rushing off to bury corpses, or kill some poor bastard.

He leaned against the glass and coughed. "Pretty nice, eh?" He coughed and pointed to the big old plaque, right with his name in big, bold letters, in case she hadn't figured it out yet.

"It's lovely. I hadn't even gotten a chance to see the Aquarium, though I'd heard it was built a while back. I always get off work when it's closed," she said.

"Really? I can fix that. Just go with me. Hell, they'll let you in at 5AM. I own the place, so I call all the shots. And yeah, I do that. Buy aquariums for kids in inner cities. I ain't even made a dent in my bank account," he said.

"But do you volunteer in soup kitchens and tutor underprivileged kids?" she said.

"—I could over next Smissmas break. Send me some friggin' orphans and I'll play ball with them all friggin' day—!"

She laughed as she pushed herself away from the glass.

"It's sweet of you to do so. Of course, you only did it to get laid..." she said.

"Hey, gettin' laid is a good cause!"

She raised her eyebrows at that. "Oh, really now?"

"Um, I mean—that was a joke—I—"

He scrambled to finish the sentence in a way which wouldn't be one of his big feet right in his big old mouth. If he had a dollar for every time his mouth got him in trouble, he'd be an even richer man.

"—I did brought you here cause I thought it'd make you smile. I ain't taken nobody else here," he said. He'd taken up speed, and now his mouth was moving faster than his brain. "And I won't take anybody else here. It can be our own special spot."

"It's really peaceful. I'd love to come here again," she said.

Light flowed in from the clear windows at the top. The coral seemed brighter, a slice of beautiful color. For all his talk about bringing tons of girls here, when he picked out each one, like a flower, he'd thought of her.

"I'll have 'em put a bench in here. We could take lunches around here and even feed the fish."

A sea turtle floating by caught her attention, and she turned around fast enough that her purple skirt twirled.

"I'd like that. I really would."

"Oh man, there's sharks in the next room. Put up some bills and people will totally look the other way. Next time, we can spice up killin' that sorry bastard slated to have a bullet in the head," Scout said, brimming with enthusiasm.

"Shark tank..I hadn't thought of that, though I'm honestly surprised that the Administrator doesn't have one. Saxton probably would just try and wrestle them all the time---you know how he is."

"Yeah, shark tank buddies! We can name 'em, even. Chompers and Jaws. Wait, bullet or feedin' the guy in face first and smeared with blood?" Scout asked.

"Bullet, probably. The screams might attract a crowd," she said.

A little disappointing, but still, shark tank date! He caught the time on a shark-shaped clock on the wall. So much to fit into just a few hours, and so little time to do it in.

"Next up, more surprises! I'm just full of surprises today. Unless you found them out, then at least pretend to be a little surprised, could you?"

"Next thing already? We haven't even been here fifteen minutes," she said.

"I got a hell of a lot to fit into just a couple hours," Scout said.

Even on her day off she'd had to settle some things, get some groceries, replenish her wine stocks, so they didn't get out until it was already seven. He couldn't even get a whole day with her, just a couple hours. Limited time or not, he was going to make it count for every time he missed her, every time he had to watch her walk away.

It was going to be a date to end all dates, and only the beginning. Because each date would only be better, more epic, more amazing until he got some kind of new award for the best dates ever. Like the Nobel, but better. Maybe the Morebell? For all the times he'd be ringing her door bell and holding flowers like a perfect fucking gentleman.

"All right, show me the way. If what you've got planned is half as good as this, it's bound to be an interesting night," Miss Pauling said.

"Hell, it'll be even better," Scout said.

He waved off to the guy on the front desk, and led her out a couple streets down from the aquarium. Just outside one of the dirtier alleys, a saxophone solo played. His wingmen and fellow mercenaries were already waiting for him, warming up their instruments.

He didn't even hire Demoman and Sniper to play the sax and keytaur on street corners, they did it for free when they were drunk enough. Soldier had even grabbed a trash can to make his own drum, or possibly temporary apartment for him and his many raccoons---Scout could never tell.

"Care for a dance, Miss Pauling?"

"Yes, dancing in the alley is my favorite thing...is that raccoon droppings?" She stepped away in disgust. "Nothing as romantic as Baylisascaris Procyonis."

"Whata whatis?" Scout said.

"Raccoon Roundworm. Trust me, I've seen a lot of gory things, and you really don't want to know more about this."

"Soldier got any of that?" Scout said. Suddenly he regretted all the times he'd arm-wrestled with Soldier, or wrestled with him for the last sandwich in the communal fridge.

"He has a freakish immunity to infectious diseases. Either Medic has been experimenting on him again," she said.

Soldier brofisted his raccoon friend.

"Either way, I'm scheduling rabies shots for everyone," she said.

Scout took a moment to imagine how that would go. Highly idealized pin up nurse outfits definitely made a showing. He put that mental image away for when he had more time to truly appreciate the beauty of Miss Pauling in a lacy little nurse dress and lacy thigh highs. Maybe one day he'd even convince her to let it become a reality...just without the needles.

"Scout, you still there?" She said, breaking through his wonderful mental images. "Needles aren't that bad. It'll only take a few minutes at most."

"Yeah, needles were what I was thinkin' about," Scout said.

"Let me guess, a highly stylized nurse outfit, and an idealized infirmary setting where we play a rather unorthdox game of nurse and patient?"

Damn, she saw right through him. He shrugged, only a little sheepish that apparently she could read minds.

"I suppose if you pay me back in shirtless pictures and I'll forgive you and call it even," she said.

Scout about laughed in relief. She wasn't going to storm off just because his mind wandered. Though he'd probably have to be in heels again to make it up before the night was over. That's just how his life was.

"Have I mentioned that you're perfect today? Because you friggin' are. Seriously, get over here, we're goin' to cut a rug."

"That's not a rug, that's raccoon hair. Oh, wait, it is a rug. Soldier apparently has a talent for weaving raccoon fur," she said.

He tapped his foot, mentally getting into the beat. This kind of music didn't call for waltzes, but Tom Jones had his back. Scout started moving, sure that was exactly what he needed to really impress her. He didn't just move his hips, he was swaying with his whole body. And if anyone thought it was an elaborate mating dance, they'd be half right, but mostly he was just dancing for all the ass shaking Tom Jones would never get in. He did a dramatic slide forward, and held his arms out, waiting for applause.

She broke out in a laugh. "Oh, Scout."

"Awesome, right?" he said. Somewhere in the great hip-shaking beyond, Tom Jones was giving him the thumbs up. He was sure of it.

"I'm not going to let you make a fool of yourself alone," she said.

She stepped right up and started dancing with him. She caught on fast. Maybe she had some secret records of Tom Jones in her room? If so, then she'd somehow managed to be even more perfect than before, if that was even possible.

Sniper did a killer solo. As they danced along to the music, their hips bumped together with a little misstep. Every time she touched him, every time she gave him just a scrap of her attention, he felt a wonderful tingle. That sort of almost drunk buzz where he felt like doing really stupid things. Jumping off of a roof, or pulling her out dancing until his feet bled.

She laughed as they both slid in tandem, arms waving, and hips shaking to that sexy alto beat. When his ma saw him dancing like this ages ago, she referred to it as 'that wannabe sexy chicken dance.' Which totally belied the genius of it. Tom Jones didn't just dance, he shimmied. Also, he kissed the girls as he got on stage, and that pretty much cemented him as Scout's hero.

Scout lifted up his arm, wondering if she'd leave him hanging, but she high-fived him just as the music came to a close.

"You know, Miss Pauling, you're real different off-duty," Scout said.

"Is it surprising that I actually have a sense of humor and know how to have fun sometimes? Or do you think I'm secretly a robot with no emotions who couldn't possibly get excited or happy about anything?" Miss Pauling said.

"Nah, I just thought you were hot librarian, but you're also cute librarian. Cuter librarian, anyways," Scout said.

"Hot librarian?" she said, unable to keep from laughing.

"Totally hot," Scout said. "Yeah, but the clock is tickin', princess. We gotta get to the next place before it closes up!"

He'd rented a Scooter just for today. The company had left it right out front, which happened to be just a few streets away. Technically he could've bought one, but he always preferred running or riding shotgun. Sure, he could've had her drive, but then he wouldn't have her wrapped around him. And he wasn't missing that for anything.

"Check this out. See, you aren't the only one who can scoot around. Scooting with Scout," he said, and chuckled. Sometimes he just said the most brilliant things. People should follow him around and write all that crap down for his memoirs. That shit was quotable.

"A scooter, huh? What, no 'save a scooter, ride a runner'? I'm surprised," she said.

He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that one. Damn, the woman was a friggging genius.

"That can be arranged!"

"Not on the first date it can't," she said.

It took him a second, but when he finally got the subtext, he about fell off the scooter. He couldn't even come up with a decent comeback.

She climbed on, and he handed her the white-striped helmet. It was a bit too big for her, but he'd gotten one strong enough to withstand Heavy firing right into it. He'd even taken it to make sure, and it'd survived the whole ordeal.

"You should have a helmet," she said.

"Fff, if I crash, then I'll just Respawn in a sec. I'll be fine," he said.

"I don't want my new dress to be stained with your brains," she said.

"Braaiiins~!" He turned around and reached back, mimicking a zombie. She laughed as he caught her, one arm slipped about her waist.

"You're messing up my hair," she said.

"Mmmrgh, good brains. Tasty brains. Smart, readin' brains. Cute hair, too," he said.

"Okay, Romeo. You said you had plans?"

"Oh, yeah! Have I got plans. These plans are goin' to drive you wild, trust me."

He started up the scooter, which was actually his second choice. He would've gone with the slicked back hair, black leather jacket and motorcycle if all the motorcycles hadn't been rented by the local hippie punching club. Soldier wouldn't even let him join until he got a beard, which was seriously unfair—he bought one from Mann co. and everything. Stupid regulations.

She held tight about his waist as he drove on fast until the city lights stretched out, long and bright. Probably the best distraction he ever had was her against him, and the rush of being so close to the passing cars. There wasn't any framework to save him if he crashed.

Maybe he'd even get his driver's license one of these days.

He navigated the side-streets, past the brick buildings, the cracking wood and all those dead end dirt beauties of Teufort. The scooter was kind of growing on him, even if he had to put away that dream of popping a sick wheelie and making her swoon at his sheer radness.

This time, there was a real band on the corner, not a random raccoon ensemble. He threw a ten in the hat and pulled her up, just to show the steps his ma had showed him.

"Are we going to take me dancing on every street corner now? I didn't realize we'd fallen into Singin' In The Rain," she said.

"Just try me, I am goin' to be so romantic, you will be floored and be all who is this dashing man, and what happened to the handsome hardcore mercenary I know and I will tell you boom, I'm both, baby!"

This time, it was a damn classy waltz, with some cello and violinist and everything. He took her hand, and spun her around in time to the music. Okay, it was more like a marriage of swing meets waltz, meets all that other classy footwork. He couldn't have her getting bored.

He twirled her around, but she kept chatting with him, something that never failed to lift his mood. Just having her notice him was enough to keep his fires burning all day long.

"You can waltz as well?" she said.

"Well, yeah, of course I can waltz. I wasn't born in a friggin' barn. But, Tom Jones dancing is the sexiest thing around, so I start with the best."

"Like a sexy chicken dance," she said.

"You been talkin' to my ma?" Scout said.

"Occasionally, she always wants to check on you."

"Hope you've been tellin' her good things."

"Actually, she does most of the talking. I can tell you're related," she said.

He couldn't help but snicker at this. "Yeah, everyone says I take after ma."

"I can see it," she said. "She talked about having me over for dinner next year. She moves pretty fast."

"Yeah, I been talkin' about nothin' else for six months. Guess she's been makin' plans of her own," Scout said.

The music came to a crescendo---hey, he could learn damn fancy words, too---and he got to dip her, really dip her. Okay, that was more improvisation than waltzing, but it didn't matter. He'd never seen her smile this much, and the mere thought that it was his work, that he might be able to make her smile all the time just left him feeling like he was flying high.

"All these dance styles...I never knew you knew any of them. It's my job to learn your secrets, you know," she said.

"Gimme an hour and I'll show them to you all," Scout said.

He ignored the fact that it was probably her job to learn the secrets of everybody else, too. Whatever, his mattered the most, obviously, or she wouldn't be here.

At the final rush of violent and cello, he spun her one last time. The sun was almost down entirely, now. Steet lights were flickering on in the new dusk. He put one last ten in the hat for a good time, and just hoped the rest of his team weren't in a bar and leaving him high and dry.

"C'mon, beautiful. We got another alley just callin' our name," Scout said. He spread his arms out, showing the grandiose night that was just waiting for them.

"Because nothing says romance like breathing in car exhaust and getting mugged," she said.

"Please, like anybody would survive muggin' you. Between these guns and the one you keep in your holster, any robber would regret it. In fact, we could beat him together. Guns and Sensible Haircuts magazine suggests beating hippies down with an American flag for a second date," Scout said.

"Beating a night mugger together in an abandoned alley, now there's some romance," she said.

"Nah, I got somethin' even better planned, though if I find any muggers, I'll punch 'em extra hard, just for you," Scout said.

"Not alone, you won't," she said.

He took her by the wrist and led her deeper into a back alley. There was one table laid out there in blue and white checkers. Dramatic Gaelic singing was in the back room, along with more explosions than the average restaurant kitchen.

"So, I could've gotten a table inside, but the night's so nice, thought you might want to...enjoy the scenery," Scout said.

Demoman pushed the door open with his hip. He wore a large apron over his usual armor, which was covered with either blood, spaghetti sauce, or both. Scout couldn't quite tell.

"Ye'll pay extra for this," Demoman muttered under his breath.

"You were supposed to come with the menu first," Scout said under his breath.

"Sniper used the menu as target practice. That's what ye get for dawdlin'," Demoman said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyways, look, dramatic spaghetti! Even better, dramatic spaghetti with meatballs!"

"I should punch ye for sayin' I should fake an Italian accent," Demoman said.

"I offered you a fifty and a six pack," Scout said under his breath.

"Not enough, laddie boy. Not nearly enough."

Demoman doused the meal in Parmesan. "Ye'll have to fork over five fifties for an accordion solo. Also, all I have are bagpipes, and I'm not nearly drunk enough to play a decent bagpipe."

Maybe Spy would've done a better accent, but then again, he'd probably have to pay in humiliation. And at this point, it was hard to imagine where he'd go to making Scout yell over the loudspeakers that Spy was better than him. Tutus might be involved, and that was just something Scout didn't even want to fathom.

"That's fine," Miss Pauling said. "You've done enough already."

There was a shuddering explosion in the back.

"Ugh, I told ye, Sniper, those were me chemicals, not the booze!"

He rushed in, and there was the sound of something like a rush of wind. A fire extinguisher, maybe?

"Yeah, I bet he's fine. Stuff blows up in his face all the time."

Another explosion sounded inside, this time with louder and more insistent swearing above the crackle of flames.

"Totally fine," Scout said.

"Did you blackmail the chef just for me?" she said, sounding very touched.

"Please! You're way better than just a blackmailin'! I replaced him. Except next time, I gotta pick someone who can pull a better Italian accent. Also, I disposed of the body before 3:30, a whole hour earlier than I needed to!"

"With Quicklime? And did you remember to cut it into small, easily disposed of pieces?" She said.

"Oh yeah, you gave me some damn fine tips. I can dispose of bodies like a pro nowadays, thanks to you," Scout said.

She lifted her glass. It took him a second to realize she was frigging toasting him. And he just basked in that moment, because yeah, he was that awesome.

She chuckled, and shook her head. "This is Lady and the Tramp. You're recreating that exact scene," she said.

"Never, what, me watching cartoons? Never, I mean, this is totally a coincidence---"

"I know about the comic book stash. I also know about the time you and Demoman got drunk and cried over Disney movies. Times, I should say," she said.

Scout shrugged. "Alcohol. Could be worse. Like remember all those times Demoman and Soldier got drunk and destroyed Teufort? Good old Demoman and Soldier," Scout said.

"You didn't drink anything that night except a root beer," she said.

Scout shifted in his seat. How the hell was he going to get out of that one? The thing about dating a girl who worked surveillance was he could never lie or bluff his way out of anything. Oh, yes, brilliant light bulb moment. "Yeah, but it had rum in it. Demoman doesn't let people watch Disney movies sober, especially not Bambi. Not like I cried at Bambi and Lady and the Tramp or anythin'."

"Lady and the Tramp was my favorite movie when I was a child," she said.

Scout leaned forward on the table, almost tipping it for a second in his enthusiasm. He righted it before the dish could fall off.

"–-Really? Mine too! It was the first time I saw a movie like that where there was a guy like me. Or a dog, but anyways, he was scruffy and he knew the streets. People looked down on him for bein' poor and a mutt, but he was charmin', and the girls just loved him."

"I just really liked dogs," she said.

"Yeah, me too. Way better than fancy ass princesses with poor shoe choices. A mean, a slipper of glass? You can't go runnin' around in that!" Scout said.

"Actually, some sources argue that the original translation was squirrel fur, but someone botched it along the way. The thought of a glass slipper was so striking that it became entrenched in retellings. It was a key case in my paper for that class," she said. She pushed up her glasses, which just made her braininess that much hotter.

I wish I was your homework so you'd do me on your desk all night long, he thought. Hey, that one was a winner. He'd have to save it for later.

"Squirrel fur, really? I didn't know that. Guess the original had more sense than glass girl. You just can't go runnin' in heels, trust me I've tried. I mean, heels and a dress." Scout said.

Miss Pauling looked less surprised than he would've thought at the flub.

"I lost a bet, okay," Scout said.

"I remember," she said. "To be fair, you did pull those heels off pretty well."

"Yeah, I did," Scout said, grinning at the memory. Time had made it sort of funny, even if it'd been humiliating and horrible when it actually happened and he'd had to sprint across the wet grass with explosions behind him in an ensemble she would've looked really cute in.

He cleared his throat. He really had to get ahold of this train of thought and get it back from how good he looked in that dress, to how good she looked in this dress.

"Yeah, but, anyways, that's really awesome! Papers and everythin'? Did you ace 'em all? I bet you did, I bet you came out with like, A's and stuff. A's with pluses on 'em."

She laughed despite herself. "It's nothing special, just an essay. Nothing special, really."

"Essays are hard! They're like...fightin' a dragon! Though I'd take the dragon any day, as I already fought a Bread thing, my friend's evil eyeball, and a Wizard in a dress. And I gotta say, they were all wayyy less scarier than the nuns back in school."

She laughed again, though it wasn't a joke. He took it that she'd never been through Catholic school.

"The closest I ever got to one of those is a B on gym—I always got demerits and shit. Couldn't afford the uniform," Scout said.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore, with a 5 million a year paycheck," she said.

"Yeah, bein' rich is great. After spendin' so much time strugglin' to make ends meet, knowin' I can bring home the bacon for ma extra, extra cripsy and full of green bills, that's just awesome."

If it was his choice, he'd keep up this banter with her all night, and damn, was she good with her words, she could cut through any bullshit charm of his so easily. But his stomach said otherwise, loudly, at that.

"Pally, I'm on a date, chill out," Scout muttered under his breath. The grumbling only got louder.

"The food's going to get cold," she said.

"Pretty sure Demoman will kill us if we don't enjoy it to the fullest. Me, anyways. And knowin' me, he'll make it painful."

"That's right, ye skinny legged dolly boy!" Demoman slapped the side of the building, rattling at the door to get their attention. His apron was still steaming, and this time Scout was pretty sure the splatters weren't tomato juice. "I got the fire under control---not that any of ye care!"

"Hey, it sounded like you had it under control, besides, last time we got involved in stuff, Miss Pauling here lost her only day off that year. Face it, if you saw me fall into a well on your mornin' off, you wouldn't even lift a finger to help me out," Scout said.

"Ye got me there," Demoman said. "I'd probably even throw bottlecaps at ye head."

Scout and Miss Pauling both nodded knowingly at this. "And bombs," Scout added.

"And bombs, many of them," Demoman said. He pushed up his chef hat, which didn't quite fit. "If ye live through the spaghetti, I got some ice cream for ye both. But the fridge blew up again, so ye best get onto it."

"Thanks, man, you're a pal when you ain't blowin' me up," Scout said.

He had to admit, Demoman was a pretty good cook when his food wasn't exploding. The spaghetti had a tangy edge to the sauce, and the meat balls were just the right mix of spicy, with a hint of sweetness. Except his traditional stuff was some of the weirdest stuff Scout had ever eaten. He still wasn't over the nightmare of being dared to eat Haggis. And Scout never turned down a dare, because that'd make him chicken. And Scout wasn't chicken, he was prime beefsteak.

First noodle turned out to be a loner. But if Scout knew anything, he had to just keep trying. Two more noodles, and he finally caught one long enough. He couldn't bear to look away shyly, like the scene, because he was too caught up in the moment. The kiss was just slightly tangy and sweet. So very sweet, he didn't quite want to stop. Her knees bumped against his. Even though the noodle was long gone, he stayed there, just a hint of tongue as he cupped her face.

He broke apart only because it'd be a frigging tragedy to knock that damn fine food on the floor with their making out. Also, ice cream.

"So," Scout said. "We still got lots of spaghetti. I bet some of it is goin' to stick together."

"Here's hoping," she said.

He looked for the long noodles with the enthusiasm of someone hunting for treasure, a glint of gold underneath the river.

He edged the last meatball her way with his fork. She ate so daintily, not even dripping the food down her dress. She could even make stuffing her face look like a work of art, she was just that...amazing and put together and classy.

"Scout, you're staring again," she said.

"What can I say? I can't help it when you're bein' so cute over there," Scout said.

"I'm just eating," she said. She rolled her eyes, but not like 'I'm about to take this gun to your stomach' eye roll, but more like 'yeah, check out our sexual tension, Scout you are the bomb' eye roll.

The top of the door detached and slammed against the wall again. Demoman looked none too amused. "Come on, I've seen toddlers eat faster than that, and most of the food was on their foreheads!"

"Race you to the finish?" Scout said.

"You're bound to beat me; racing against you is always a bad idea...but it sounds like a fun ride," she said.

He slurped up several single noodles at once. "Wook, 'm cwuthu!"

She dabbed the corner of her lips. "I didn't think you were a Lovecraft fan."

"Told you I'm full of surprises," Scout said.

They caught another noodle together, or as he thought of it, a cute excuse to make out and play out that Lady and Tramp scene over and over, just like he'd always wanted to. She laughed into his lips, pulling him down for one last kiss after they cleaned off almost the rest of the bowl.

Before he could get those last few noodles, and the chance at another kiss, Demoman lifted up the plate and put down the dessert. It was was more like a root beer float, but with some kind of other syrup poured in as well. The first sip was foamy and sweet, but not too sweet.

"It would be harder if ye hurried up. Also if the kitchen hadn't blown up," Demoman said.

"And the glass didn't even get cracked," she said. She looked wonderingly over the glass. It was thick cut, but hadn't a single nick or spot of damage from the explosions.

"I always only buy blast-proof dishes. Nothin' less will do," Demoman said.

"It's a really smart move. You should list me your maker—I can't even count the number of times I've had my coffee cups blown up or shot out of my hand," she said.

"When I was younger, I used to imagine going on a date like this," she said.

"Seriously? Me too! Though I'd figured you were the type of girl who dreamed of bein' a cute evil overlord or somethin'. Maleficent, but with a cuter dress and matching heels, but with hidden knife-spikes."

"That too," she said. "I want it all. The evil overlord gig, and the cute dates. Haven't figured a way to combine them, though."

"Hey, I can help you with that! But not the evil overlord stuff, you gotta do that on your own. Wait, I can...wait for it....run really fast. Errands, or showin' those punk ass heroes who would steal your castles who's boss with these guns."

He flexed for her, showing off the goods, just to remind her that yeah, he was hot stuff.

"An exclusive show, just for me?" Miss Pauling said, with amusement in her voice.

"Hell yeah," Scout said. He even stopped flexing enough to roll up his shirt for her to see. She covered her mouth with her well-manicured, dainty hand, but her eyes, her beautiful green eyes were full of happiness.

She shifted on her chair to lean in. The metal back creaked as she scooted in, just close enough to kiss his cheek.

"I've had a lot of fun tonight," she said.

"The night ain't over yet," Scout said.

"My watch went. I have no idea what time it is, except that I'm exhausted from all that dancing, and I have to work tomorrow," she said.

Oh yeah, work. That thing which kept getting in the way of all his dramatic plans, which may or may not have contained spaghetti. But after waiting so long, he wasn't ready to give up, not just yet.

"Just a little longer. I promise I'll make it worth your while," Scout said.

"All right, just a little longer. But I mean it when I say little," she said.

"I'm the gift that just keeps givin', and I promise that I'll make it worth your while," Scout said.

They cut through alleys and streets, until they hit the grassy expanse of the one tiny park. Enough water had been diverted to keep it somewhat green, if only because hard-packed dirt and cacti weren't exactly the best cushions for a bunch of kids tumbling around and chasing each other.

"Slow down a bit, one of my heels broke," she said.

"Lemme help you with that."

He scooped her up in his arms, bridal style. The shoe was loose as he carried her out, but it didn't drop off.

"You could say I swept you off your feet," Scout said. He mentally high-fived himself for that. What a great line. Classic Scout.

"You could say that," she said. She clutched at his shirt. He wove through that empty playground. Not too fast, as tumbling face first into concrete would be a real shitty way to end a perfect night like this. And he was going to ensure it was perfect, even if he had to kill somebody. Er, more people, anyways.

"Right there, see the glitter?"

"You wanna ride the bouncy kittens?" Scout said. He couldn't quite keep the excitement out of his voice. It was like she was psychic in the best way!

He set her down with flourish, like she was on a classy ass date and they hadn't just done Tom Jones drunk dancing with an accompaniment on trash cans.

"Let's just rest for a while. I feel like I've had about fifty dates with you tonight," she said.

"What can I say? I go hardcore," Scout said.

"Scout, you're sitting on a pink metal bouncy kitten covered in glitter," she said.

Scout looked down at his ride. He patted the top of the cat. People just didn't understand Miss Fluffles.

"Hardcore," he said.

"I've never done anything like this," she said.

"What, princess? You kept in a tower so long that no boys took you out at all?"

"A tower of books and finals, which led to long hours and almost no vacation days," she said.

"You're such a square," Scout said.

"Guilty as charged," she said. She patted the top of the pink ride with a sigh.

"No, no, it's good. I can't imagine doin' somethin' like that. You probably got as many of those fancy degrees as Engie," Scout said.

"Not quite, he has eleven of them. What I meant isn't that I've never been on a date before...just never on one like this," she said.

"There's plenty more where that came from. Seriously, this is only the beginnin'. You're goin' to have to hang on for date two, because that is goin' to be a roller coaster of a ride, possibly involving actual roller coasters, I ain't decided yet."

He patted Miss Fluffles on the head once before he got off. The thing was, the park was near the big clock in the middle, with the Teufort founder hiding and all. And he knew midnight when it came.

"Well, princess, it's midnight. You gotta put your squirrel fur shoes on and haul ass," Scout said.

She nodded sleepily. "I should've been in bed hours ago."

"A few late nights ain't goin' to kill you. Probably. I mean, definitely not. It builds character!"

"I'm not sure being ready to kill everyone because the coffee machine is broken counts as character," she said.

She climbed off, and up into his arms. Mentally, he did a high-five meets happy dance. He'd gotten to kiss and hold her close. What could be better? And the night wasn't even over yet.

However, when they came back to the street corner, it was empty. Where the Scooter should've been, there was a note. This is for making me try and speak in a bad Italian accent! with a little smiley face drawn on.

"Didn't you get the keys?" Miss Pauling said.

"I guess I forgot," Scout said sheepishly.

"Then be glad it was Demoman and Sniper who stole it for a drunken spree, and not someone else."

"Still would've been worth it for today, even if I had to pay. But, yeah, I guess we're hoofin' it," Scout said.

"It's a pretty long walk. But, I'm pretty sure there's one last bus if we hurry," she said.

It'd be kind of awkward to tell them to just drop them off by that cluster of rocks which was in no way actually a secret base of bread which was actually a secret base of death. But, he trusted Miss Pauling, and her knowledge about random crap like bus schedules and how to get them to drop them off in the middle of nowhere.

He scooped her up again, and they made their way to the bus terminal, which wasn't too far. He felt like he really had fallen into Singin' In The Rain and all that euphoria just might make them float away to dirty dance up there in the clouds.

Hey, if they stole a couple rocket launchers, they just might manage to do some explosive waltzing up there.

He only put her down when she had to made the transaction, and only because he had to. If he could, he would've carried her the whole way home, even though it made his arms ache. It was a perfect ache, one that kept her close to him.

They climbed up on the near-empty bus together. The interior and seats were blue, with a bright pattern that looked like a kindergartener had doodled all over them. He let her have the window seat, because he could be a damn fine gentleman when he wanted to. Even if it made him kind of want to punch himself in the face for being half a dandy.

She leaned against him and closed her eyes. For seconds, he didn't talk or move, because he was too distracted about the cute girl body contact alert. A few minutes passed, and she didn't say anything at all. He kind of wondered if he was supposed to maybe keep the conversation going, a dirty joke or a line or anecdote because she was too tired to add anything. But, she rested her head on his shoulder, her hair spilling out loose from her bun. She looked so peaceful.

Then she began to snore. And not a cute, little snore, either. She was sawing logs enough to challenge the big guy. He'd probably have to get ear plugs if he wanted to curl up with her at night.

"Wow, you really are worn out," he said, as low as he could muster. Which wasn't that low, but she still didn't stir.

He eased down, just enough to rest his head against hers, breathe in a little higher. He smiled against her skin, soft hair tickling his nose as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She probably wasn't used to that much dancing. No wonder she was tuckered out. Of course, and girl would be tired out having to just be near his awesomeness. Looking at him was like looking at the damn sun with all that handsomeness. Yeah, it was a curse, but he held on pretty well, as far as he was concerned.

The bus driver had on some talk radio turned low enough that he couldn't hear it beyond white noise static. The mountains were different in moonlight, craggy corners hidden by shadows and painted by light.

He'd rarely felt anything so calming than her asleep against him. He knew deep down, even to his bones, that he wanted this. The easy banter, the stolen kisses, the feel of her asleep against him. Each breath made her hair slightly tickle his skin. Each time he thought he'd found the limit, where he couldn't find something new and cute about her to adore, she'd just go and prove him wrong. So what, everyone slept and ate and filed papers and most of them read. But she did it better, until even little things were endearing.

Minutes passed until he lost track of anything but her. It could've been hours for all he knew, or cared. Only when the bus came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road was the moment broken. He clutched her tight to him, so she wouldn't fall over, face first into the seats above.

"Here's your stop," the bus driver said.

"I....what?" Miss Pauling said groggily.

"You were drooling over me, and sawin' those logs like a lumberjack. I didn't think anyone could conk out that fast," Scout said.

"I've taught myself to be able to sleep at any opportunity. Too many long, restless nights and people might end up dead. Well, people who weren't supposed to end up dead, anyways," she said.

"Oh, Oh, you're a super sleeper! I bet your code name is the Zs," Scout said. "Wait, wait, Miss Zeez. Perfect, that's just the name for you."

The bus driver cleared his throat. "Your stop."

"Yeah, yeah, we're comin'," Scout said. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Mostly because he'd gone and chickened out at kissing her lips.

"That's a wake up kiss," he said.

"As opposed to?"

"The good night kiss," Scout said.

She slipped her hand in his as they got up. Down the steps, and out into the distinctly colder night. Somewhere out there, a Coyote howled. The bus lights flashed in their faces, little red specks of light. He hung close because he could. Even when the bus left, he stayed hand in hand with her. No hiding anymore here.

She was still too groggy to talk much, but he just enjoyed the feel of her fingers all twined up in his. It wasn't a long walk, which was good, given that her heel was about ready to fall off completely. He would've carried her again, but his sense of direction sucked on ice, even though it wasn't too far.

It all came too soon. The Red Bread base, the moonlight shining off of the metal building, and the knowledge that he was grasping for time he didn't have. What he wouldn't give for a way to extend this night on and on. Just put a pause button so they could spend little forevers locked under glass.

"Speakin' of which, we're back," Scout said. He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Look on the bright side, there's always next year," she said.

Trying to be hopeful when he had a whole three-hundred and sixty-five days to go was pretty hard, even for him.

"There's also the good night kiss," she said.

He leaned in, his thumb across her lower lip. Strands of hair had come undone across her eyes. He pushed her dark hair behind her eyes.

"You are incredible. Just...incredible," he said.

"And you keep surprising me, you're really different than I thought," Miss Pauling said. Her lips parted, purple lipstick rubbed off on her front teeth.

"You too---you're better than even I thought, and do you have any idea how high I think of you? Sky high, space high, galaxy high."

He held his hand high above his head, as if to symbolize just how high her throne should be in his opinion.

"I'm goin' to keep surprisin' you. Each year. No, every damn day," Scout said.

"I hope you do," she said. She stood on tip toe, her fingers stroking his cheeks. Just as he was sinking into her, heat and comfort, she pulled back.

"Cramp in my back," she said.

As cute as they seemed, height differences could be a major pain in the ass at times. Or neck, to be more more precise. Maybe he could fit a stool in his bag for all kissing opportunities.

"There's a bench just over there. It'll make things easier," she said.

She all but pushed him back on it, until the metal designs dug into his back even more. She climbed up onto him, pushing up her dress to reveal the tops of her lace stockings. He didn't get to ogle long because seconds later she was kissing him so hard he lost all semblance of thought, until he was just following her moves. His hands though her dark, thick soft hair, her mouth so warm and sweet against his. He savored every second close to her, every soft inch of her pressed up against his body.

She broke away from him far too soon. All he wanted was more seconds, more minutes of breathing her in.

"Oh, jeez, it's probably almost three AM, isn't it?" She brushed her dark hair out of her face again. "It's not that bad, I got a nap on the way. I had a lot of fun, Scout. More than I've had in years."

He honestly couldn't remember a time he'd been happier. It'd been like, like going to Fenway park and seeing the Red Sox win, then coming home to find out that he'd won the lottery.

No, it was even better.

"I think it's the best day I ever had," he said.

"Better that the day you got hired, even?" Miss Pauling asked.

"Well, about equal. That was the day I met you, after all. This one is a bit better, though. I got to finally kiss you, and no needles and incredibly painful medical exam," Scout said.

"Always a plus," she said.

"So, Miss Pauling. You free tomorrow?" Scout asked. He leaned up against the back of the bench. Maybe if he flexed enough, she'd be so overcome with lust that she'd have to come back and give him another good night kiss.

"This date isn't even over yet," she said.

"Yeah, you caught me. I don't want it to end. I wanna keep seein' you and kissin' you and talkin' to you and...."

He cleared his throat. He'd been cockblocked by her schedule again. A part of him wondered if Administrator wasn't just up there rubbing her hands together and going now how will I prevent Scout from being laid today? and laughing a super evil villain laugh. He was sure this a totally accurate representation of her, right down to the scribbly devil horns peeking out of her hair.

"We could do this longer. Not like sex longer, unless you want to do it, then definitely sex longer. But if you don't want to, then we don't gotta do anythin', in fact, I'd put on handcuffs and sit in a corner, and we can just uh, watch the stars!"

"Handcuffs, huh?" She smiled in a way which was almost sly. It took him a few seconds to get that it sounded like more of an innuendo than he meant. Before he could say anything, she continued on. "You can't really see the stars that well this close to the city. Once we're further in the country, though."

"Then, stars painted on the wall. Except we'll probably gotta paint them there--"

He was scrambling, babbling, doing anything just for a few more seconds of her time. The clock had already struck midnight; the magic was already fading. By the next time he saw her, he'd be fighting for scraps of her attention between papers.

"One more for the road," she said.

He broke off when her lips met his once more. A countdown of perfect seconds, warmth and moisture. Softness like he'd never known before, because all other kisses and girls were a distant memory just at the touch and feel of her. He'd given them up long ago, but this just solidified that he'd made the best damn choice of his life, even if he had to waste years between each kiss.

She was edged in orange dark light in the sky behind her, a light sprinkling of stars, and the faint lights of the base beyond them. He didn't want the night to end, he didn't want it to end.

"I'll see you tomorrow? Maybe for buryin' duty? Or lunch?" Scout said.

"I'd like that. Goodnight, Scout."

"Goodnight, Miss Pauling," he said.

He watched her walk up into her apartment, but stayed on the bench until she disappeared. Minutes passed, and even though it was cold, he didn't go in. His slicked back hair was messy, his new argyle socks all nicked and run from all that dancing. The date was done, but he just felt the long shiver of goosebumps and the memories of a kiss.

"Next year, huh? Bring on the Auld Lang Syne," Scout said to himself, to the night and all the other days and years he'd have with her. He got up, whistling to himself She's A Lady, A Tom Jones tune he'd listened so many times that he'd memorized every part.

*

He smoothed back his hair before he knocked. He heard a phone set down through the crack in the door. "Miss Pauling?"

"Come in, Scout," she said.

"I got chocolate," he said. He lifted it up, softer than expected in his hands. In fact, it was practically liquid in the package.

"Sorry, babe, I was too hot. The chocolate took one look at me and melted all over the place."

"It's the thought that counts. Besides, put it in the freezer and it'll be almost as good as new," she said.

"So, you free for lunch?" Scout said.

"It hasn't even been a whole day since then," she said.

"What, there's rules to these kinda things? Well, screw 'em. I'm hungry, you're hungry. We should go eat together," Scout said. He held up the chocolate goo in the package for good measure.

"—actually, I just ate," she said.

"You'll be hungry. I mean, eventually. Anyways, I'm just gettin' in line before anyone takes.

"No one else is calling," she said.

"Really? Then I got here fast enough to save a spot, because the rest of the world is gonna realize what a damn fine catch you are sooner or later. Then I'm goin' to have to beat them down with my bare hands—and my superior speed, charm and good looks," he said.

He flashed her a winning buck-toothed smile.

"You're the only one who seems to think I'm this goddess. Wait until you see me with bedhead, then see if you think I'm so hot," she said. She instinctively straightened her desk, putting the pens in the little silver cup of a holder to rights.

"I bet you'll be frickin' adorable. You drooled on my shoulder and snored like a friggin' bear and that was awesome, too," he said.

"I don't think there's anything you dislike about me at all," she said.

"Your lack of vacation time, that gets to me, but that's about it," Scout said.

She took off her glasses and cleaned them on her purple blouse. "I was ready to find flaws which would either be dealbreakers or things I overlooked, but you keep surprising me. At this rate, you're going to get all my free days," she said.

He just barely resisted doing a dance right there in the office, and only because she hated her desk being messy.

"Wait, you gave it to me. Your one day off. What about your folks?"

"My family lives near Teufort, so I still see them quite often," she said.

"Oh, good. Can't forget your parents," Scout said. "So, Miss Pauling--"

"–I can give you a few hours here and there, but I'm afraid a date like that isn't going to happen more than once a year," Miss Pauling said.

He leaned down on her desk. "You got room on that schedule? I mean, more than five minutes?"

"If you're willing to wait until 1973, yes," she said.

He knew it was coming, but he still had to ask. Even as there was a full body cringe, and even more irritation at the boss lady for her epic cockblock, he already knew the answer. He'd made it long ago.

"I'll wait as long as it takes," he said.

"Uh-huh," she said. She looked over her glasses at him in this stern hot librarian way. "How much of it can you wait without chasing after other girls?"

"All of it?" Scout said. It came out as more of a question. He squared his shoulders and all but bellowed "All of it!"

"I won't tolerate anyone sneaking around on me—and trust me, I will find out."

She'd taken on this look which was somewhere between terrifying mini-Administrator in training and the hottest thing he'd ever seen. At least, since the last time she broke the scale of hotness.

"Too late, I already forgot every other girl in the world," Scout said. '

"Good," she said.

He cracked up. Really, he couldn't help it, or keep the laughter in. Just that point, the resemblance hadn't been to terrifying boss lady, it was more like a certain fluffy eared dog from a Disney picture.

"You sound just like Lady," he said.

"Fitting, considering that you're my Tramp," she said.

He'd never been so happy, so touched to get a nickname. Or a sort of nickname. He was going to count it as his, anyways. He took her hands in his across the desk, and held them tight.

"I'm your Tramp, and that's the only tramp I'll be," he said.

If he calculated that right, it'd be about five years before he got to second base, probably ten years before he could even think about getting laid. But even as he sunk into waiting and back to just him and his hand, he knew this was the choice he wanted.

"So, I'm goin' to wait, though at least give me a kiss or two, because man, my bed is super cold and not that comfy."

"I said I don't sleep with anyone on the first date, not that I was a nun. Besides, that counted for about ten dates when you put together all the things we did," she said.

"Wait, does that bread thing count as a date or not? Just for reference," Scout said.

"Lying inside a bread monster doesn't count as buying me dinner," she said.

"Not even you lying on top of me inside a bread monster?" Scout said suggestively.

"Close, but not quite," she said.

"And if I leaned over this desk and kiss you now, would that count as a date? Just for reference. Well, that's a lie, because I want to. I've wanted to since I woke up. I wanted to since you walked away from that bench last night," Scout said.

"I guess it could if we redefine what a date is...but then what would that make was last night?" Miss Pauling said.

"A Super Date, all the things I've been wantin' to do with you packed tight into one night. And every time I get to hold your hand, or sneak a kiss, that's a date too. Dozens of dates, from dawn to dusk," Scout said. His voice took on a dreamy tinge, a bit of wonder as he couldn't stop all these hopes and wants trickling in past his facade of coolness.

"I think that's just called being in a relationship," she said.

He gaped as the seconds passed by. It felt like if he hadn't been holding her hands, he would've just drifted away from all the happiness inside his chest.

"And before you ask, yes we are. That's why I just read you the riot act about other girls," she said.

Before he could say anything stupid, she kissed him silent. Only a few seconds, but oh they were perfect seconds. Skin to skin and faint warmth. Scout was pretty sure he could spend an entire Super Date day doing nothing but making out with her until his lips went numb.

Before she let go, she stroked his face. He just couldn't take that satisfied smile, or the way it lit up her green eyes. Literally, send him to Respawn, he just died from that amount of cuteness.

"I still have thirty minutes of lunch break left," she said.

Scout grinned wide. Speed was his middle name. Well, not literally, it was actually Patrick.

"So, there's this bistro that just happened to be installed downstairs," Scout began.

"Is it run by angry Scottish Demolition experts? Inquiring minds need to know," she said.

"No, some French asshole runs this one. Anyways, I can get a seat for two. You up for some coffee, Lady of mine?"

"You know he's not going to be satisfied with a fifty and a six pack," she said.

"Whatever he asks will be worth it for lunch with you. You're always worth it, no matter the price," Scout said.

She offered her arm to be escorted, the height of classiness. He kissed the back of her hand, then her palm before he fitted their fingers together again.

"Don't get yourself entangled in something Respawn can't fix, Tramp of mine," she said.

He flushed with pleasure at his new moniker. "Naw, it's nothin' like that. More like me havin' to put a dunce cap on, or maybe a tutu, stuff like that."

"Ah, a normal day at work, then," she said.

They went down the stairs together, arm in arm, hand in hand. He couldn't stop smiling. Thirty whole minutes, and the promise of whole hours every day of the year between their Super Dates.

And for Spy's payment, even if it involved running screaming through the field in heels and a dress again, and mocking him for looking worse in that red dress than he did. Besides, Miss Pauling thought he'd been cute like that, so Spy would have to try a lot harder to find anything she wouldn't like. If it meant even a few seconds with her, he'd take whatever tutus, mountains or whatever other challenges and humiliations came his way.