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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
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After a week of watching the man on the battle field and observing his interactions with his other team mates, the nature of the RED Engineer's problem was still unknown. The man continued to fumble his job and only put on a half hearted attempt to socialize when his teammates approached him - the problem didn't seem to work oriented. His personnel file, which the Spy had acquired through rather dubious means, had little to no interest or value. The man's past was as unremarkable as his own team's Engineer, no past secrets or traumas to possibly haunt him like that of some of the other mercenaries in RED and BLU's employ. Just another trigger happy Texan far away from his precious cows and beloved range.
It seemed something more hands on would be required, though he was hardly complaining; as boring as the Engineer was, investigating his problems were still a break from the monotony.
The Spy had infiltrated the RED base multiple times, but never during the off hours. This provided much more challenge and entertainment. He decided Friday evening would be the best time to try this. With the weekend ceasefire both teams scattered to the four winds. This meant confusion to cover his tracks, less people to avoid and less members of his own team to miss him if his excursion took longer than expected.
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The Frenchman made his way quietly across the vast obstacle course turned battle field that marked the invisible boundary between BLU and RED territory. Darting from shadow to shadow - using his cloak to further ensure his passing through was not noticed - he crossed the field. To his relief the patch of forbidden territory was seemingly quiet and abandoned. Some summer nights, snipers from both sides were known to watch the area from their nests and fire warning shots at any civilians from the local town who got too inquisitive or too close. He had little desire for either of the sharpshooters to catch him out of bounds after hours.
Once crossed, getting inside the base was easy. The base's security system was state of the art, though it was as temperamental and easy to evade as BLU's own. Besides the Sniper's occasional devotion to duty, the rest of RED team also seemed to keep security as lax during ceasefires as BLU did. So it was simply a matter of picking a pad lock and entering through a side door he had used occasionally in the past to enter the base during daylight hours. The door led into a side corridor that housed various long forgotten utility closest and rooms of computers and equipment of mysterious purpose that none of the mercenaries had any business with or interest in. He snuck down the dim corridor to the main hallway.
"DO YOU CALL THAT A CLEAN POT? THAT IS THE SORRIEST EXCUSE FOR A CLEAN POT I HAVE EVER SEEN!" Even from here the unmistakable rants of the RED team's Soldier could be heard quite clearly from the Mess Hall at the very end the main corridor.
"YOU KIDDIN' ME? LOOKIT THIS! I CAN SEE MY FACE IN THIS!" while not as practiced at shouting as the older man, the Scout's voice carried almost as well. "I DO NOT-" the young man's voice was cut off by a loud crash which set the Soldier off again.
"SON YOU BETTER STOP MUMBLING TO YOURSELF AND LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING. YOU LADIES ARE BOTH INSULTS TO THIS OUTFIT!"
Pressing against the wall, his cloak activated he crept down the main hall way. Placing his weight with care as he stepped so not to make a sound on the worn floorboards. He turned into another hall, that led into the wing which housed the living quarters. He passed the Armory, the large community showers and bathroom, and turned a corner to the sleeping quarters.
  There was a faint sound of a record playing making its way down the hall -it seemed the Doctor had already retired to his quarters - as he slunk past the medics door he could hear the soft sounds of a conversation and the loud creak of bed springs above the chords of violins. So the Russian was accounted for as well and from the sound of their conversation they were settled and content and unlikely to part soon. He wouldn't be noticed, at least not for the moment.
Making his way down the hall, he passed the doors to each team members rooms, just like BLU, no names were on the doors just the symbol for their job. A couple doors down from the Medic he found the Engineer's room, trying the doorknob, he found that it was, quite sensibly, locked. The music stopped playing just as he pulled his lock picks out of his jacket pocket. He froze for a moment his hand on his watch activating his cloak, only to relax when the music resumed - a new song this time, someone had flipped the record over. He made short work of the lock on the door and he quickly slipped inside the door, shutting it behind him and switching the cloak off to allow it to recharge.
The room was dark, but he did not use the light switch since it would be seen from the hallway should anyone walk by. Instead, he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and swept it across his surroundings. The furnishings were basic issue, nearly identical to furniture that Spy might find in any room of the RED or BLU base: a bed, night stand, writing desk, chair and wardrobe, all plain and unfinished wood, dating back to times no one remembered. No windows; glass cost money and windows were likely to be broken from any stray bullets or rockets. There were however some personal touches about the room, some framed photos hung above the desk, a quilt on the unmade bed, a well used guitar propped up against the wardrobe.
A quick glance at the contents of the wardrobe revealed no surprises: laborer's clothes, work boots, a pair of ridiculous pointed boots, and something that some people, -though certainly not him- might call a suit. The thing was a sickening shade of tan and brown, it was checkered and - he cringed - it had leather patches on the elbows. Turning away from the wardrobe in disgust, he investigated the desk.   The chair next to it looked like something the man had probably built himself. It at least looked more comfortable than anything company issued. Careful not to hit the chair or move it he leaned in closer to study the photos above the desk.
Some men would hang up pictures of vacation destinations or places they intended to retire to, others hung up pictures of friends and family. It seemed the Engineer was one of the latter. The first image showed a group of people, the Engineer smiling among them, standing on the steps of a small white farm house. Judging from the resemblance between most of them it was taken at a family gathering. The second was an older, tattered photograph showing a much younger Engineer wearing an academic cap and gown and grinning from ear to ear; on either side of him stood an older man and woman smiling just as widely. Another photo showed smiling enthusiastically the Engineer gripping a fishing pole while another man, a friend the Spy guessed, stood next to him holding a large fish. There were a few other images; another of his parents, another photo involving fish, a photo of a group of young men, the Texan among them in, some military uniform, with large artillery guns in the background. Spy frowned, noticing the arrangement of the photos - they were all in precise rows, evenly spaced.... Except for a couple of spaces that seemed empty. There had been more pictures hanging here but they had been removed, and fairly recently he'd guess, since the man hadn't taken time to rearrange things.
The contents of the desk were plentiful if trivial. It seemed there had been some organization in place with trays to separate the mail and other paper work. But whatever organization had been in place was forgotten recently with most of the recent mail just thrown carelessly on the desk. He skimmed through several letters from RED's head office rejecting recommended upgrades or changes, flipped through a dog-eared scientific journal with various notes and equations scribbled in the margins correcting the articles, or at least he assumed they were corrections. At the bottom of the debris he found scraps of paper covered in half sketched devices that seemingly did nothing and finally a postcard from someone named Sam from exotic "Branson, MO."
But he found no sign of what could be troubling the man. He replaced the contents of the desktop, attempting to keep them in their original order- or lack thereof- and began opening the desk drawers. The top drawer had nothing more troubling in it than an old pocket knife and some pencil stubs. The second drawer was filled with more scientific journals and sketches of artillery. He finally found something of note in the very bottom drawer. In here on top of everything he found framed photos laying face down in the drawer. Picking one up and holding it up, he noted where it would have fit on the wall. He removed the rest of the photos from the drawer and examined them. In the first picture the Spy recognized to his chagrin the Engineer in his horrible suit and on his arm a disgustingly plump woman wearing makeup that was as thick as her waist. The same woman made an appearance in the next one, her short hair messy, and her smile too broad revealing gapped teeth. The next was the Engineer and the woman again arm in arm laughing at some inane thing off camera. As he moved to return them to the drawer he noticed the photographs had been covering a large envelope.
Setting the photos delicately on the desk he removed the envelope from the drawer, it had been torn open the return address indicating it was from a lawyer in Texas. He removed and unfolded the letter, noting the expensive quality of the paper even through his gloves, and as he read the letter's contents the reason for the Engineer's current condition became crystal clear.
He was disappointed by how mundane the problem was, the Texan had merely been having marital problems and was getting a divorce. He was disappointed but he couldn't say he was surprised. Mercenary work wasn't usually suited to family men, the distance and secrecy had a tendency to strain even the most loving of marriages - he imagined - his own relationships rarely lasted long enough to decide on breakfast much less a life together. He remembered last Spring when his own team's Medic discovered his wife had been sleeping with another man, the German had been seething. When it was revealed that the man she'd been seeing was in RED's employ the doctor had lost what grip he had on the situation and raged and screamed at everyone and everything in German until he went hoarse. Even now he seemed angry and bitter, snapping at everyone over the slightest of indiscretions.
The Spy's musings were interrupted by the sound of someone fumbling outside the door. Quickly tossing the envelope and photos back in the desk drawer he kicked it shut. Once the documents were back in their places he activated his cloak and glanced around the room for some escape, some exit. But none appeared or presented themselves. The Texan fumbled to get his key in the door, and the Spy dove under the bed, as the laborer finally hit his target.
Opening the door with a clatter, the man stumbled into the room with an ungainly lurch and smelling like a brewery. The Spy now unhappily covered in dust and sharing space with some stray socks, warily watched as the man wobbled further into the room, muttering unintelligibly to himself. He swayed awkwardly in front of the wardrobe and the Spy's vision from under the bed was limited to nothing but the man's scuffed up and filthy work boots . The Spy turned his gaze from the Texan to the bright patch of light behind him, the door that the Texan had neglected to shut in his drunken entrance - his exit. If only he could reach it. Leaning on the wardrobe for support the Engineer turned and shambled toward the bed landing on it roughly with a loud creak of the mattress.
The room now was silent except for the occasional mumbled words from the Texan. Taking the opportunity the Spy with his cloak activated slipped out from under the bed and resisting the urge to dust himself off slipped through the open door, letting it swing shut behind him as he crept invisibly down the hall.
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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes