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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes	By : No-Capes Category: +S through Z > Team Fortress 2 Views: 1652 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or anyone in it and do not make money from this writing

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
Sorry for the delay on this one folks! I've been on the road most of this summer and hadn't had much chance to get work done on writing.
If you were following this story on here, the fic will be not be updated on this site after this chapter. I'm moving it to smoke-eyes-fic.tumblr.com.
With an inaudible sigh of relief the Spy turned the key and killed the rumble of the truck's engine. Opening the door, he slid out of the driver's seat to stand in the parking lot and gratefully stretched his legs.
Texas was too large, Spy fumed to himself. He was used to America being overgrown and sprawling, taking up more land than anyone had any business with. But Texas was ridiculous. He'd been driving for hours, through an eternity of wide open fields and cows. But at least the drive was over.
The Frenchman took one last drag of his cigarette before grinding it into the concrete. He walked around the truck to survey the clamor and bustle of the crowd. The Texan's old truck, as ridiculous as the Frenchman found it, didn't seem at all out of place in the sea of cars and press of people. The parking lot was filled with various trucks and such in various states of beat up filth. There were some nicer cars, expensive and shining, but they looked out of place. Perhaps the drivers got lost. He had taken the man's antiquated vehicle for convenience but it also seemed quite suited for camouflage. Blending in hadn't been a concern for this particular trip, but it could never hurt. And if he couldn't find the Engineer's truck again he could always hotwire another one.
He frowned across the cab to the unconscious Texan in the passenger seat. The man had slept soundly all the way here without requiring any assistance remaining that way. Though he had assumed the Engineer would have awakened by now. Climbing back in the truck, he casually reached over to the inert man and pressed two fingers against the inside of a wrist. The Texan mumbled softly as the Frenchman counted. His pulse was steady. Spy released his grip and the Texan, still out cold, pulled his arm back. So he was alive. Good.
"Monsieur," he shook his shoulder to little avail. The ungrateful lump didn't respond.
He pulled the keys out of the ignition and slid back out of the truck, slamming the door shut and walking to the passenger side. Jerking the door open, Spy prodded the man which earned him a grunt but no sign of movement.
"Reveillez-vous!" he demanded, roughly shaking the man's arm. The Engineer jerked it back but showed no sign of actually waking. There wasn't time for this. He glared at the crowd of people, streaming past the truck and heading towards the stadium. Where they needed to be going!
Previous experience had proven the Texan rather difficult for him to transport. He was beginning to regret not bringing the wheelbarrow along for this. Spy doubted anyone here in this God forsaken state would bat a grubby eyelash at someone being wheeled about in farm equipment.
He had no wheelbarrow, no cart, no moving dolly. But he refused to be beaten. Straightening his tie, taking a deep breath and reaching up into the truck cab, he leaned the sluggish Texan forward. He braced himself as he pulled the man out of the cab. If he supported the man he could stand, though it was rather awkward and uncomfortable. Gingerly, he shut the truck door with a hip and began to stagger with the lethargic farmhand towards the stadium. Thankfully, with a crowd this size it was unlikely anyone would notice anything overly unusual.
As they walked, the Texan began mumbling incomprehensibly and started trying to stumble along. It wasn't much, but it lessened the strain on Spy's back as he hunched to haul the man along with him.
"Hey hoss," a large, unshaven man asked in concern, "Your friend alright?"
"He's just had bit too much to drink," Spy answered easily with a disarming smile.
"Started the celebrating' early?" the man asked, chuckling and not waiting for an answer before he walked on.
At the stadium entrance he told the same story, no further questions were asked, the tickets were taken and they were directed to their seats. Now the Engineer just needed to wake up and everything would be going according to plan.
The path to their seats was blessedly short and soon the Texan was dumped onto the metal bench. The man voiced a protest that might have almost been words but they were lost in the noise and clamor of the frankly, massive crowd. With a stretch, Spy sat down next to the unconscious Engineer, ignored the noisy cretin sitting on his other side, and lit a cigarette.
He exhaled the smoke slowly, leisurely enjoying the taste as he surveyed the large stadium and the mass of people. It looked like everyone in this backwards state was here tonight.
There was a bleary mutter next to him. It seemed the man was waking up just in time.
"Wha-where?"
Spy smirked over at the Engineer who was grimacing and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Quickly, the smaller man took in the field and the packed stadium, staring ahead in confusion and then rubbing his eyes again. He grunted something that sounded like a swear and groped at his shirt and pants as if checking for a tie and cufflinks. He visibly relaxed once he apparently realized he was in his own clothes. Looking to his side, the man spotted him and narrowed his eyes.
"YOU." The man seethed, grabbing Spy roughly by his lapels, "YOU!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
Just then the band started playing, the Frenchman thought he recognized the opening bars of the American anthem, and the crowd reverently rose as one to their feet. "Show some respect!" Spy hissed in admonition. The Texan froze, his grip loosening as he turned to the field in bafflement.
The Engineer, apparently recognizing the decorum required, hastily shoved the Frenchman aside, nearly into the others sitting on the bleacher. Spy, in turn, rose calmly to his own feet and straightened his tie and lapels as the American stood at attention, saluting the flag. At last the anthem finished and the teams began to line up on the field. The Engineer exclaimed something but was cut off by the loud cheers and whoops that erupted on all sides. Spy warily glanced over at the Texan to see if his jacket was going to come under assault once again, but the man appeared too busy gaping at the field as the players ran out onto the field to a fanfare of bands and the cheer of crowds.
Turning his own attention to the football field, Spy frowned, now able to get a good look at the players. They were wearing padded armor and… helmets? What was the purpose of that? Now that he was paying attention, the field was also strange; marked off in strips and numbers and no goal box, just two strange structures on either end of the field. This didn't resemble football at all. At least no version of the game he knew.
Cheers erupted from everyone in the stadium, including the Engineer as the one team grouped on the field and the other stood back. A strangely misshapen ball was placed on the field. There was a moment of reverential silence as one man rushed to kick it and then an explosion of noise from the crowd and an onslaught of men on the field as the ball sailed up in the air. For just a moment: and then one man was ploughed into by half of the other team, slamming him and the deformed ball to the ground. Then the rush stopped and the two teams lined up on the field again. Spy raised an eyebrow, assuming the Americans were going to kick the ball again. Instead they… didn't. They crouched in rows and then the ball was passed off to someone else - they were touching the ball with their hands and it took him a second to register this. There was another swarm as both teams pushed into each other and another man was dragged to the ground.
Well… that explained the need for the padding, he mused as the teams regrouped and crouched again. Was this all there was to the game? Lots of crouching and rolling around in the grass and a frantic amount of violence? He glanced to the Engineer who stood there in rapt attention. Spy snorted; he supposed if you grew up with nothing to look at but cows and tractors and watching corn grow this sort of thing would be stimulating entertainment. With nothing else of interest to see he was about to sit back down when he noticed no one in their section was sitting. He had a feeling if he did he might not survive. He turned back to the field just in time to see one of the players bolt across the field out of reach of the other team - causing the Engineer and others around him to roar and whoop. The deafening celebration was cut blessedly short as the man was jumped and thrown to the ground just like the end of every other round.
Spy lit his third cigarette and blankly watched as the players pushed and chased and crouched around their half deflated ball. He lost count of how many times the players moved and regrouped. It seemed he had been there for hours, but his watch told him barely twenty minutes had passed. He still couldn't make much sense out of the game but he was at least starting to see a general pattern. One team was trying to push the other team to stop them from gaining ground. He flicked some ash off his cigarette and congratulated himself on making this much sense from the chaos. A player in burgundy had the ball and started running and dodging around the field - the crowd again began whooping and hollering, and flapping their arms about madly.
"GO GO GO!" the Engineer roared next to him, nearly into his ear. His instructions, however, were lost in the swell of noise generated by the rest of the crowd.
Spy gaped in confusion, why was everyone cheering? "He's going the wrong way," he said quietly at first. "He's going the wrong way!" he said more loudly. This made no sense! "HE'S GOING THE WRONG WAY!" he insisted, despite the roar of the crowd. The player made it to the end of the field and the crowd erupted in whoops and boos punctuated by the brass band beginning to play.
"What was that?" the Texan asked still grinning from ear to ear, turning to him as the cheers started to die down.
The Frenchman sputtered, "He went the wrong way." He didn't care about the game, but the least these simpletons could do was be consistent.
"No he didn'," the Engineer looked at him confused, "It's the second quarter." Spy silently glared at him, refusing to admit ignorance. "They switched end zones." the Texan explained.
"Quoi?"
A look of realization passed across the Engineer's face. "They don' have football in France, do they?"
"This, is not football," he hissed. "This is nothing like football!" Football had goals and you kicked the ball, you didn't use your hands, you didn't toss it around. "Football makes sense," he added irritably.
"This makes sense," the Engineer said defensively, "Aggies just got a touchdown, so they are trying for an extra point by kicking a field goal," the man pointed his sausage like finger at the structure at the end of the field and at the players grouping on the field. "They also could have gone for a two point conversion by trying to run the ball across the end zone."
"That's ridiculous," Spy blurted, unable to contain his opinion. "It's simple!" the Texan insisted, leaning closer to be heard as the crowd erupted in more noise. "Okay there - that's the line of scrimmage. At the twenty yard line." he said, pointing out to the field. "Well, now it's at the twenty yard line," the man amended, "it moves around when-" a player on the field ran with the ball and was run over by another player who grabbed the ball. "Now UT has the ball and Aggies are on defense."
The players repeated their dance on the field but despite the Engineer's insistence it still made no more sense than it did ten minutes before. The ball was passed, kicked, dropped, and thrown around with the Texan haphazardly narrating the events. The explanations got more and more abrupt, interrupted with cheers and exclamations of surprise. Finally, after a long series of attempts for the teams to gain ground and failing a player in burgundy managed to kick the ball though the end posts and the Texan and the rest of the row made a jubilant yell. The narration trailed off after that. The game went on and Spy's feet had begun to hurt from standing in one place for too long and he was fairly certain he was going to be partially deaf from all the yelling and screaming.
After an eternity of idiots roaring and cheering and clamoring over the events unfolding there was a whistle blow, and the armored madmen on the field filed off to the side lines. Nearly dropping his cigarette in surprise, there was no way the game was over. Could he be that lucky? Spy gaped as a marching band came out on the field.
Was it finally over? He dared to hope as he noticed some of the people walking towards the stairs.
"It's halftime," the Engineer explained helpfully, cruelly shattering his dreams of freedom, "Gotta take a leak, I'll be back." With that, the Texan quickly disappeared into the crowd. Gratefully, Spy sat down on the cold metal bench and smoked his cigarette, resting his aching feet. The band on the field marched around and played and until it was replaced by another. People started returning to their seats and finally the Texan came back holding a partially eaten frankfurter on a bun and wearing a burgundy baseball cap.
"W-what are you wearing?" he asked in horror. The hat was even more ridiculous than the overalls the man normally wore.
"I got it at the souvenir stand!" the Texan explained with a smile, missing the Frenchman's disgust as he sat down. "Can't go to a game and not wear any maroon. 'Specially this one."
"Mmhmm," Spy murmured noncommittally, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
" I got yah one too. Help blend in." the Engineer said pulling another one of the ridiculous hats out of his pocket. The farmhand was deranged. Did he think he was Scout?
"I am not going to wear that… thing," he spat. What was the man thinking?
"You're the only one here not wearing a team color," the man insisted.
"So?"
The Texan leaned in, "A lot of folks get riled up at these games, a lotta drinking folks, might start trouble if they think you aren't on their side."
Spy snorted, rolling his eyes, "I can take care of myself Monsieur." The imbecile shouldn’t need reminding of his skills since he was the on the receiving end of them majority of the time.
"How good are yah against a lotta drunks?"
Spy fumed under his breath, snatching the offensive object from the Texan's hand and grudgingly placed it on his head. He shot a withering glare at the Engineer, which was wasted on the man since he was occupied eating his "meal". Spy frowned at the concoction oozing ketchup and onions on the paper plate. It looked like an unappetizing mess and smelled even worse.
The man took another bite out of it before he noticed Spy watching him, "Did you want one?"
The Frenchman cringed in reply.
"Suit yourself," the smaller man shrugged then began to devour the rest. Cautiously, Spy continued to watch him, but the sedative apparently hadn't affected his appetite or stomach any. The man didn't seem to be ill, at least not yet.
Wiping the ketchup and relish off his mouth with a napkin, the Engineer sat back and looked around the stadium at the spectators making their way back to their seats, "How did you get these spots anyhow?"
"Hm?" Spy flicked some ash off his cigarette.
"These seats… this game…" he hesitated, "Did…did you… kill someone?" he whispered horror creeping into his voice.
"Did I murder someone for tickets?" he arched a sardonic brow. "No." Killing was so messy; blackmail was much easier and often accomplished more.
"So why are we h-" the Engineer started to ask, but was cut off by the roar of the crowd as the players jogged back onto the field and the game began again. The Texan, the question cast aside for the moment, jumped to his feet and yelled with the rest of the enthusiastic crowd as the players lined up in their strange formations and the deformed ball was kicked into the air again. With a sigh, Spy stood back up and pulled another cigarette from his case. With any luck, he would still have some cigarettes left before the game was over.
As the game went on, the Engineer would occasionally remember him and try to explain the plays. Strange words like "turn over", "safety" and "downs" were used and rather than try to make sense of them, Spy simply nodded. Soon enough something would stir the crowd up again and the Texan would forget about him.
But for all his ignorance of the game, the score boards were at least the same. By process of elimination he was able to figure out which was the home team and which was the away. The score was close, nearly a draw. Then a player in orange made it to the end zone. All around Spy furious hissing erupted and the home team went up a few more points.
The minutes counted down and the Spy burned through more cigarettes as the game went on with the spectators becoming increasingly excited. Players were slammed to the ground, others stopped in their tracks. A burst of mad cheers as the ball was thrown through the field goal was shortly followed by hissing as another player fumbled the ball. The time on the clock was running out and judging from the disappointed look on the Engineer's face his team was losing.
The clock was down to two minutes and the tension in the air was nearly palpable. The Frenchman didn't have to know the game to sense the anticipation. This would have to be the last play of the game. The yells and whoops and cheers rose as the players crouched on the field and the ball was handed off. The noise increased to a fever pitch as the player ran for the end zone. The ball passed off again. And again. Just out of reach of the other team. Diving out of another opponent's attack, the player in burgundy dashed to the end zone. A deafening roar erupted from the stadium.
The Spy was jostled violently, suddenly finding himself standing in the middle of a sea of cheers, whoops, and tossed hats.
"HOOWEE!" the Engineer whooped waving his ridiculous hat in the air. "WE WON!" he turned to Spy grinning madly.
"Yes, yes they did," Spy said, not sure what else there was to say.
"WE WON!" the Texan repeated gleefully, grabbing the Frenchman by the shoulders and shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. "WE WON!" he exclaimed and suddenly jerked Spy forward in a spine cracking hug, squeezing the breath out of him before he could protest or process what was happening. "WE WON!" the Engineer repeated, dropping the Spy to his feet as abruptly as he'd been scooped up.
Spy sputtered to catch his breath just in time to see the drunken lout to his right turning to offer him another celebratory embrace. Too winded to speak he glared at the man, and however many beers he had had, the drunk was not too far gone to recognize the eyes of a man who would not hesitate to slit his throat. Turning quickly away, the man went down the row to molest someone else.
Everyone around him was celebrating and congratulating themselves as if they were the ones who'd been on the field. Spy decided to take this opportunity to sink down onto the metal bench and light another cigarette and wait for the revelry to die down so that they could leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When they finally started heading back, exiting the stadium proved a perilous task in and of itself. Spy could have easily slipped through the crush of people himself but that would mean losing the Engineer. Finding him again in this crowd would be trying to find a needle in a hay stack. As a last resort he grabbed the man by a strap of his overalls so not to be separated from him. The man was in too good a mood to notice or protest.
The sea of people flowed through the gates and parted into different directions in the parking lot. Once out of the tight press of the crowd the Frenchman let go of the Engineer and began leading the way to where he had left the borrowed vehicle. The smaller man spotted it before he did, somehow able to recognize it among other farm vehicles in the rows.
As they approached the truck, Spy dug in his pocket for the truck keys. Engineer moved in front of him, glaring reproachfully, the Frenchman froze in his tracks.
"Give me th' keys"
"What?"
"Give me th' keys" the farmhand repeated firmly, blocking the driver side door, one hand on his hip the other held out in expectation. Spy scowled, about to protest when the man cut him off.
"It's my truck, and I know these roads better than you do," he insisted, stubbornly jutting out his massive jaw.
He could resist, but in close quarters the Engineer was stronger than him and they both knew it. It was a plain fact that had been illustrated on the battlefield many times. Weapons would give him an added edge but there was no respawn to fix any… fatalities that might occur.
There was a moment, a tiny eternity, as he debated his options; he could knock the man unconscious again -a drugged needle waited in his pocket for the right opportunity. But he didn't really want to haul the man's heavy frame around again. Additionally, hauling around an unconscious man was bound to attract attention, making stopping for anything on the road precarious, and he needed to eat soon. Finally, grudgingly, he dug into a jacket pocket and produced the truck keys. They dangled from a fingertip before he reluctantly dropped them in the Texan's open palm.
"Thank you." Engineer replied tersely. The man turned to unlock the truck door and squinted over his shoulder at the Frenchman. "Ya gonna git in the passenger side?"
Spy straightened his tie and briskly walked around the truck to the passenger side, covering anything that might be misconstrued as hesitation. He opened the passenger door and climbed inside, suppressing a chuckle at the Engineer grumbling and adjusting the seats and mirrors before starting the engine up.
The rumble of the engine and the silence in the cab was abruptly broken by excited blather about the game from the Texan. This touchdown, that play, and that final touchdown. With a team this good they might have a chance to go on to one of the championships. And the final touchdown! Having nothing to add to the conversation, Spy remained silent and tried not to think about how hungry he was. His stomach growled but the noise was lost under the chatter of the Texan. When was the last time he'd eaten? He'd had a cup of coffee at the last gas station - that had been hours ago.
He looked out the window at the city as they crawled forward, caught in the current of truck, cars and more trucks leaving the stadium. Many of the buildings were dark and closed up, no sign of activity. No sign of a place to eat. Spy grimaced, imagining the long drive back to Tuefort on an empty stomach. Suddenly, he spotted a café that looked open. He was dubious of what Texans might call food, but the parking lot was full of cars. That seemed a promising sign.
"Pull over there." he demanded.
"What? Why?"
"So I can eat something." Spy answered irritably. Why was the farmhand asking stupid questions?
"Yah know, you could have just gotten a hot dog at the stadium," the Texan countered annoyed.
"I do not eat garbage." the Frenchman snapped back, his lip curled at the very suggestion.
"Woulda been easier than drivin' out after the game on Thanksgivin' - that place'll be packed to the gills, starve to death before yah get served and then they'll be out of everything when they serve ya." the Engineer grumbled speaking with a tone of experience.
Spy was about to balk when the Texan continued. "Let's get further down the road. I know a place, they should be open."
~~~~
They had driven nearly out of town when the Engineer finally turned off the highway to a small squat building with a flickering neon sign. Spy stood next to the truck giving the establishment a wary look. It didn't look like much, there were few cars in the lot and the building looked it had been here for decades. He'd eaten in worse places, true, but only when he had no other choice.
The Engineer snorted as he walked toward the door. "I thought you were hungry."
"I told you I don't eat trash."
"And I ain't makin' ya eat any," the Texan insisted indignantly, "Used to stop here on the way back from the fair."
He didn't have much choice at this point, the Frenchman realized; it was this or starve. Tossing his cigarette on the pavement, he ground it into the worn cement with a grumble before following the farmhand inside.
The inside was clean and the floors and counters well scrubbed. That was at least reassuring. The jukebox was in the corner warbling some nonsense song. There were a few people seated at the counter but for the most part the restaurant was empty.
"So… uh, anywhere you wanna sit?" the Engineer asked awkwardly. Now that the game was over it seemed the fact that he was taking the man who regularly, literally stabbed him in the back, to dinner, was starting to sink in. Before the man could think too hard about it, Spy gestured to a table in the corner. From there he had his back to a wall and a good view of most of the comings and goings in the diner. This was mainly habit, he didn't expect any sort of trouble or attack, but he felt more comfortable taking these precautions.
As they settled in the table, the Frenchman glanced around taking assessment of the entrances and exits to the room.
"Good evenin', ya'll," a girl's voice caused him to turn back to the table. The waitress was a rather willowy girl in her late teens, if he had to guess, just starting to grow into her looks. "What can I do for ya?"
"Howdy," the Texan smiled warmly at her, "I am I-I just -" he suddenly remembered his manners, " I mean we," he hastily gestured to include Spy in this statement, "we just came in to see the game. We're on our way out of town and need some grub."
"Well yah came to the right place," the girl chirped giving a lopsided smile as she handed them menus "What can I get ya'll ta drink?".
"Sweet tea," the Texan answered without any hesitation.
"Coffee, if you please."
The girl grinned and left them to get their drinks and an awkward silence descended on the table.
"So…" the Texan finally spoke, "Why are we here?"
"Because I needed to eat and you were being difficult." Spy replied offhandedly as he skimmed the menu. The man had needed to get out. Stop being useless. But there was no sense in telling the Engineer that. It would only upset him, causing him to lose his temper and thus defeating the whole purpose of this trip.
"I meant why are-"
"Here yah are," the waitress, cutting him off without realizing it, cheerily set their drinks on the table. "Have you figured out your order?"
Giving the menu one final disparaging look, Spy sighed, "I'll start with a salad and..." he looked back at the menu before closing it. "Just the salad."
"Just a salad?" the Texan frowned skeptically across the table at him, "Thought yah said you were hungry." He turned to the girl, "Please forgive 'm, he's not from around here. He'll also have the chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes-"
"Pardon-" Spy cut in irritably.
"If ya don't like it you can eat your salad. But yah can't come to Texas and not eat some of the cookin'." the man insisted.
"Our chicken fried steak is good." the waitress joined in helpfully, "The best in the county."
"Alright. For you mademoiselle, I'll try it." Spy said with a false smile, too hungry to argue.
"I'll have the same," the Texan added with a wide grin.
The girl took the menus and went to check on the other customers at the counter.
"So why did you take me to the game?" the Engineer persisted once the girl was out of earshot.
"I couldn't go to a game by myself could I?" Spy responded cooly, taking a sip of his coffee.
"A game that you hated."
"Nonsense, I love football."
"You were confused the entire time."
"That was not football," the Frenchman grimaced. "That was an insult to football."
"If that wasn't football, then just what is football to yah?"
"Real football is a sport for gentleman, not a bunch of buffoons in padding crouching around a field tossing a ball around."
The Texan's mouth became a thin frown, "So what do gentlemen do in this real football?" he asked icily.
"Move the ball across the field without using their hands to get it in the opponents goal." he explained irritably. It was a simple concept, what sort of idiots couldn't get that right?
"Wait…" the disdain in the Engineer's voice was replaced with confusion, "are you talkin' about… soccer?"
"What?"
"That's not football you're talkin' about, that’s soccer."
"That's ridiculous, why-"
"Alright here we are!" a chipper voice cut him off and steaming plates of food were placed in front of them.
"Thank yah, miss," the Texan said with a smile. Spy nodded own his thanks as he cautiously prodded contents of his plate with his fork. Potatoes were simple enough to recognize, the meat, however, was buried under a layer of thick gravy and breading.
"Is everything alright?" the girl asked in concern, watching the Frenchman grab his knife and cut into the food with a critical eye. He was loathe to admit, it smelled appetizing. It looked more promising than the salad that sat limply on its plate. Though he was so hungry, nearly anything would look good.
"He's fine," the smaller man insisted waving a hand. "Can you get me some more tea?" he asked, sending the girl away to fetch the pitcher. "It ain't poisoned," the Texan said rolling his eyes at the Frenchman. "If I wanted yah dead I woulda dumped ya on the side of the road and not bothered to feed ya." Deciding not to allow his own meal to grow any colder, the Engineer started cutting into his steak..
Spy took a dubious bite of potato and was surprised to find it tasted like food. He had eaten at five star expensive restaurants and gourmet places that a man could wait months to get into; this wasn't as good as those. But now, in this moment, none of that mattered and this was the most delicious thing he'd eaten. He swallowed his first bite, realized how hungry he was, and quickly ate the rest of the potatoes.
"Told ya it wasn't garbarge," the Texan said smugly as the girl refilled his tea glass.
The Frenchman took a sip of coffee, "How did you find this place?" he asked curiously.
"Stopped here one time after the fair, ages back. The woman who owns it is real nice, I helped fix their jukebox last time I was here. Used to make a point to stop here when I was in the area with Ev-" the name crumbled in the air and the Texan trailed off, sawing his steak like it had suddenly developed the texture of shoe leather.
“I ended up stranded in Prague, beautiful city, I found an amazing bistro there .” Spy said quickly changing the subject, “Their steak tartare was a masterpiece. I would stop there whenever I found myself nearby.” At least until the last time he was in town, the owner ran him off with a shotgun after catching him in bed with his daughter.
“What were yah doin' in Prague?” the Engineer asked despite himself. While the man was still visibly disheartened he at least was allowing himself to be distracted.
“Business.” he answered vaguely, not offering any more details.
“Well shoot, the farthest business ever took me was California.” the Texan chuckled wistfully, “Spent six months in Bakersfield looking after pipelines.”
“Sounds exciting.” Spy remarked dryly.
"It wasn't running around in fancy suits murdering folks, but it was decent work.” the Engineer stated defensively.
"I'm sure it was." the Frenchman replied in a tone that bordered on mocking.
"Always figured I'd get to travel and see the exciting parts of the world when I retired, but…" he trailed off again. Spy cleared his throat trying to think of another topic when the young waitress came back.
"You findin' everything alright?" the girl asked, picking up the empty plates.
"Yes!" the Texan recovered quickly with a false smile "delicious as always." As she picked up his clean plate Spy was surprised to realize how much he had eaten. He supposed it was due to not having eaten for so long, but the meal had been quite good. Not that he was going to tell that to the Engineer.
"Glad to hear it, ya'll save any room for dessert?"
"Of course we did," the Engineer added, shooting Spy a glare before he could protest. "They make some of the best pies here."
"Well tonight, since it's Thanksgiving we got sweet potato pie, and pecan."
"We'll take two of each."
Spy snorted but said nothing, no wonder the man was so chubby.
"It's Thanksgiving," the Engineer pointed out irritably as if reading his mind.
Their order was taken with another cheery smile and soon the girl returned with the desserts and they were placed on the table.
"Oh, I forgot to ask," the Texan said to the girl before she left. "How is the jukebox working? Been givin' yah any trouble lately?" Spy studied the pies dubiously before taking a small bite of one. He instantly picked up the strong taste of pecans and sugar.
The girl frowned, "The jukebox?"
"Last time I came in here it had a short in it and kept skippin' around. Was wonderin' if the fuse I replaced was workin' out"
"Oh, you're the one that fixed it this summer!" the girl's smile returned "No, it's been workin' great since then, no problem at all."
"Glad to hear it." the farmhand beamed as he started eating one of his own slices.
"Yea, it's so nice having it working again. We kept trying to get someone to come out here and fix it for us but they kept wanting to charge us extra for the trip. Nan didn' wanna, said the jukebox wasn't necessary." Wonderful. It seemed once the girl had started talking there wasn't much hope in her being quiet.
"It wasn't any problem at all, I happened to have the parts handy."
Why was the farmhand encouraging her?
"Now if only I could get Nanny to get some new records in there! I tried to get her to get some of The Doors in but she said 'no'. Said it was too racy. " The Frenchman tuned her out as the Engineer kept talking to her. At this rate she was going to prattle on all night and they wouldn't get back to base until tommorow night.
Spy cleared his throat, cutting through the chatter, "Pardon moi, if I could get some more coffee?" he held up his empty mug.
"Oh, of course!" the girl said taking his mug form him and then paused "Say just where are yah from anyhow? I can't place your accent."
"France."
The girl blushed and goggled at him, "Really? you're from France? What are ya doin' all the way out here? Could...yah say something in French for me?"
"Oui, que tu es bete, Mademoiselle!" he purred, offering his most charming smile.
The girl blushed brighter, giggled and cheerfully left to refill his coffee. Turning his attention back to his dessert, he paused when he saw the Texan glowering at him.
"What?" he asked in mild interest before taking another bite of pie.
"That wasn't very nice," the smaller man said quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Maybe the girl don't know a lot, but she doesn't deserve you insulting her like that."
The Frenchman furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what he was going on about. Glancing up, he spotted the girl behind the counter refilling his mug, blissfully unaware. He had been perfectly civil, it's not like she spoke any French or understood what he said. How did the Engineer know what he- horrified, he looked back to the annoyed Texan. Did the man speak French?
"Tu parles français?" he asked incredulously. How had he missed that? He had gone over all the man's information, how could he not know this?
The Engineer hesitantly cleared his throat and then in grammatically correct French; "[We are not all stupid hicks in Texas.]" Grammatically correct, however his Texas drawl warped every word.
Spy gaped at the man for a moment before collapsing into half-choked laughter, slapping the table while he tried to breathe. "Your accent!,” he snorted, "Mon Dieu!" he broke down laughing again.
"Are yah finished?" Engineer asked dryly, his face turning red, but he received only more chortles in response. "Ah don' laugh when you speak English."
"My accent is charming," he insisted, wiping a tear from his eye, "I don't murder innocent words like you do." He chuckled again. "So tell me," he inquired as the young lady handed him his refilled coffee mug, "Where did you learn to torture my language?"
"Had to take some electives while working on the PhDs." the Texan replied with a hasty shrug.
The Frenchman remembered the surprisingly long list that had made up the man's educational record in his file. He had tried to read it, but gave up after one page and hadn't even bothered to skim the rest. It occurred to him now that he shouldn't have been surprised that he had missed this somewhat important information.
"Did you learn any other languages?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Just a bit of German," Engineer said with a sudden hint of unease, "i-it comes in handy reading schematics. "
Spy was tempted to ask the man to say something for him, but his glare informed him that would be unwise. Instead he settled for taking another swig of coffee and finishing up the pie on his plate.
Engineer nudged the empty pie plate to the end of the table with a satisfied sigh and glanced at his watch . His smile faded, "We best be leavin' if we want to get back." Spy checked his own watch and nodded in agreement. Tossing a large bill on the table for the tab he drained the last dregs out of coffee from his mug and stood up.
Saying their good byes to the waitress, they left the diner and got back into the truck to start the long tedious drive back to Tuefort.
It didn't take long for the flickering sign of the diner to fade in the distance behind them. Ahead of them the road stretched on into darkness - marked only by a few lines of paint and the occasional sign counting down the miles they had gone from civilization and the miles it would take to find it again."Your state is too large," Spy grumbled as they past another sign citing how many hundred miles until they reached the next city.
"It ain't that bad," the Texan replied stalwartly defending his bloated homeland.”Any other state that slice of pie would have been half that size.”
"I've driven through countries smaller than this." the Frenchman complained, suppressing a yawn. The coffee hadn't kept him as alert as he had hoped and now he was glad that he wasn't the one driving. Not that he would admit that.
"We used ta be a country."
"Hmm?"
"Back before the Civil Wars, Texas used to be its own country."
Apparently taking the Frenchman's silence for interest, Engineer started going into a detailed explanation of the history of the oversized cow pasture he called home. Spy leaned his head against the truck window fighting to keep his eyelids open. The rumble of the engine with the combination of the man's voice started to lull him to sleep. He tried to resist the temptation to nod off, but found little of interest out of his window to focus on and soon he shut his eyes. Just to rest them…
~~~~~~~~
"Spook." A strong hand on his shoulder gently shook Spy awake. Groggily, he opened his eyes, rubbing them to mask his confusion. When had he fallen asleep? He shouldn't have done that. Falling asleep in a car with someone, that was foolish - sloppy. Left him vulnerable, it was as good as turning your back to an enemy. In this case it was literally turning his back to an enemy. A beginner's mistake.
Sitting up, he looked out the truck window to see the edge of the town of Tuefort. It was still early, the sky just barely showing the first hints of sunrise. How long had he been asleep?
"This is as close as I dare take you," the Texan said quietly. This was a good quarter mile away from No Man's Land and the bases. A sensible place to drop him off - away from prying eyes - just inconvenient. "Don' suppose you left that uh- scooter of yours anywhere nearby." he added hopefully.
Spy opened the truck door without answering. His Vespa was where he left it, back at his base. It looked like he was going to have to walk back. At least it was still early and the fresh morning air was cool. With a stretch, he slid out of the cab and readjusted his jacket.
"Hey Spook," Engineer blurted, causing the Frenchman to turn back. "Why di-wh-" his words trailed off as Spy yawned. "Thanks," he said finally.
"[You're Welcome]" Spy nodded and shut the door. Suppressing another yawn, he watched the truck drive down the dirt road. Longfingers reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cigarette case only to for him to discover it empty. "Merde," he swore, covering his face with his free hand only to find that he was still wearing the silly hat. "Damn," he muttered taking the absurd item off his head and tucking it under his arm as he set out down the dirt road to his own base.
- 10
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