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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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The Engineer awakened to the sound of applause and whistles. Groaning, he slowly lifted his head off the table where his forehead had been resting as raucous music began to play. His head was throbbing and he ached all over. He rubbed the back of his head - was that a lump? His shoulder was throbbing like someone had tried to pull his arm out of joint and his right knee had a twinge. But after a quick check, it seemed there was no blood or sign of anything seriously wrong...besides the lump. He just ached. He was also in a suit. That was odd. Had he been drinking? He didn't remember drinking. Besides, when he drank he normally woke up in his room on the base. In his clothes, not a suit. And though his eyes were still having trouble focusing, this... didn't look anything like his room.
He was in a large open space, sitting at a table by himself. In a suit. There was an empty chair next to him and a half extinguished cigarette in the ash tray in front of him, a ribbon of smoke lazily drifting up to add to the general haze of the room. Glancing around the dim room he could make out tables and other people, who didn't seem to notice him. There was music, so he was in a club? A bar? He looked forward and noticed a stage. How did he miss that before? Was this a theater? Though, he thought to himself as his eyes focused, in most theaters the dancers tended to wear more clothes than just some fishnets and a few carefully placed sequins.
He was dreaming, he decided to himself, watching a girl sway across the stage and slowly peel off the strategically placed sequins revealing another patch of bare flesh . This sort of thing happened when you were on base too long without any ladies around. Why he would dream up what was probably a concussion was a mystery, but now the rest of it made sense. He had been alone for far too long. His last trip home had been months ago - and now he was dreaming about strange theaters and naked ladies. Perfectly normal. Though the fishnets were new. His subconscious didn't normally bother with niceties like fishnets or sequins. Or theaters. Or suits. His head still throbbed. Maybe he'd hit his head and this was a dream he was having while he was unconscious. He tried to shake the unpleasant thought and mental image of him laying on the floor of his quarters maybe bleeding out, with no one to help him. Spending his last moments... dreaming of naked ladies.
"Good, you're awake." an accented voice behind him interrupted his thoughts. The Texan looked over the back of his chair to see....The BLU Spy!? It had to be him, few people could get away with wearing a mask in public. Though, if he was dreaming why was this guy here of all people? Evelyn had accused him of being too obsessed with his work, that it was the only thing on his mind. She... might have had a point, given this. He briefly wondered if his Sentry was going show up soon. If it did, he could only hope it wasn't going to wind up on stage wearing garters.
The enemy Frenchman placed a drink in front of the Texan and pulled out the empty chair next to him and sat down. "Enjoying the show?" he asked as he set his own drink down on the table.
"The show?" the Texan repeated in confusion.
"Oui," the man said in a tone like he was talking to a child, gesturing to the stage with a smirk. "The show."
The Texan frowned - the dream was now asking if he was enjoying it? Unable to think of anything to say he turned his attention to the drink in front of him. He picked up the glass and examined it. The Spy had a martini, but the drink he'd placed in front of the Engineer appeared to be whiskey. At least it smelled like good whiskey. He sipped it cautiously. Odd, it even tasted like decent whiskey. Not amazing, but decent none the less. For a dream this was very detailed. Very realistic.
But this was very much a dream. Wasn't it? Surely, it was a dream. A strange dream, to be sure. An incredibly detailed, realistic dream. But a dream. It had to be a dream. If it wasn't a dream.... He set the glass gently back down on the table, and slapped the side of his face. Wincing in pain, he swore under his breath.
"Dare I ask why you did that?" the Spy asked, one eye brow raised. The Texan said nothing to the Frenchman who watched him in silence, cautiously leaning away from him in case he decided to hit someone else. The Engineer just stared blankly in front of him, not paying attention to the stage, processing this new information in mute horror. His face hurt, his head was throbbing, and he was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming. He was at a strip show. With the enemy Spy. And he was not dreaming. He was in a club. In a suit. With the enemy Spy. And he was not dreaming.... He needed a drink.
Reflexively, he picked up the whiskey in front of him and was about to take a sip when he noticed the Spy out of the corner of his eye. Watching him. He hurriedly slammed the glass back on the table before the drink could pass his lips.
"Bit late to be worried about poison," the Spy said still eyeing him suspiciously.
"What? "
"The drink, you are worried I put something in it. But you already drank from it."
There was an embarrassed pause as the Engineer gazed into the glass not wanting to see the pitying look on the other man's face.
"I didn't, by the way" the Spy smugly added. Now that the Frenchman brought it up he felt silly. Of course the man wouldn't drug his drink. There was no need to. What would he accomplish that he hadn't already?
"Where are we?" he asked uneasily looking at the Frenchman again.
"Off base." came the obvious sardonic, yet vague answer.
"How did I get here?"
"I brought you." the Spy said before going back to sip on his martini. The Texan hesitated, opening his mouth to ask why the man would do that in the first place, when another horrifying thought occurred to him.
"Why am I in this suit?"
"I refuse to be seen in public with a farmhand." was the withering reply.
"But this suit?" He persisted as he gestured at the lapels. The suit was a dark brown, well tailored - he hesitated to say stylish... he wasn't sure what was fashionable. It certainly fit him better than anything he had worn before in his life. It was also clothing he had never seen before in his life. "H-" he opened his mouth and closed it again trying to figure out if he wanted to ask exactly how the Spy had managed it. He suppressed a shudder as he pictured the possible answers, the possible actions the man could have taken to get his measurements, or to get him in the suit in the first place. Better not to ask. "B-But I have a suit" he finally managed to say feebly.
"Not anymore." the Frenchman said coolly as he pulled out his cigarette holder.
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I burned it." he smirked as he lit cigarette.
"WHAT?" he stood up from his chair, "You can't just barge into my room and- and burn my property!"
"It was a public service. An act of charity if you will." the Spy said with a sigh. "Now sit down-" he added sharply "you'll interrupt the show."
The Texan hesitated, glancing around the room, ignoring the odd looks some of the surrounding attendees were now giving him. If he walked away what would the Frenchman do? Would he follow? Maybe he could get away, get away and-
"Where would you go?" the Spy asked as if reading his mind. "Do you even know where you are? Where the base is from here?"
"I can figure it out" he shot back - in what he hoped would pass for a determined tone.
"Really? So tell me, how will you do that? Use the stars to navigate?"
"N-"
"-Or ask someone where you are?" the Spy cut him off, "What state you are in? Surely no one will think that odd."
"You're just messin' with me," he retorted as he stormed off, determined not to let the snake have the last word. He was lying. Bluffing. They couldn't be that far away from base. Could they? What sort of maniac would kidnap a man and travel miles away across state lines just to take him to a strip club? He realized that was a stupid question, he already knew the answer ....Had anyone back on base even noticed he was gone?
He angrily picked his way among the tables, towards the direction of what he assumed was the bar. It had bottles behind it at least. Manning the bar was an older, curvy woman. She was mixing a drink and talking to a large gentleman with a moustache. After handing the drink over to man she turned her attention to the Texan.
"Hey Sugar, what can I get you?" she asked with a wide smile. He opened his mouth to speak and tried to think of what exactly he was going to say.
"Uh..." I've been kidnapped by an insane Frenchman and was brought here and I have no idea where I am. Or what day it is. And I'm in a suit. But not my suit. This one's tailored. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to get even half way through that line before she dialed for the police. Or a white van.
"You alright?" she asked her smile had faded into a confused frown. He stood there in awkward silence.
"Never mind." he mumbled finally with a defeated sigh, and turned away from the bar to figure out his next move. He could ask to use the phone to call the base. Maybe get someone to come get him. But that would require knowing where he was. Besides what would he say? The same thing he would have told the woman at the bar? No one would believe him. Maybe he could find a newspaper somewhere, that might answer some questions. Though he would have to probably leave this place to find one, he thought bitterly to himself as he walked away.
"So, Monsieur," a familiar voice purred in his ear. The Texan froze in surprise - he should have expected the Spy to follow. The Frenchman materialized out of thin air. "Have you figured out where we are?" the man asked smirking over his shoulder. The only response he received was a glare. The Spy chuckled," Come now, this isn't so bad... is it?"
"Yes." he growled through grit teeth.
The Spy tsked, "Such a shame," he said shaking his head in mock concern. "Oh well, if you are hating it this much I'll take you back to your base."
"You will, will you?" the Texan frowned, turning to face the man - he felt uncomfortable with the snake at his back - he added, "What's the catch?"
The Frenchman smiled, it wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of someone who knew he was going to win no matter what cards were played.
"The catch, as you so crudely put it," the Spy answer rolling his eyes. "is that we go back to our table. You sit down, and enjoy the show. Then I take you back when it is over." Taking the angry silence for agreement he placed a gloved hand on the Texan's shoulder and forcibly walked him back to the abandoned table.
Back at the table the Texan was seething silently to himself. What was the Frenchman's game? He asked himself, staring ahead and not really focusing on the song and dance playing out onstage on stage. Why had he been brought here? Why was the Spy so insistent that he "enjoy himself"? What business was it of his? Knock him unconscious, drag him to strange clubs, put him in strange, well tailored suits, break into his room and destroy his property. The Texan grit his teeth, glancing over at the side winder, who sat there cooly watching the show with that damn smug smirk on his face. When this was all over and he was back on base he was going to kill the man. Repeatedly.
Setting the man on fire, that might be an option he mused to himself. But Pyro tended to look after and guard his weapons, so getting a hold of those would be difficult. Maybe he could use a welding torch. Wringing that scrawny French neck with bare hands also held some appeal. That would be simpler. Though that might take a bit too long to happen in a skirmish. Provided he could catch the bastard, lately the Spy seemed to always find holes in his defenses. Or he could just beat the man senseless, that was simple enough and would almost be as satisfying as strangling.
"Cigars? Cigarettes?" A soft feminine voice interrupted his train of thought. Turning, he found himself face to...breasts. They had tassels on them. The tassels were red.
"P-Pardon?" He hastily moved his gaze upward and found himself looking up at the smiling face of a young woman.
"Cigars? Cigarettes?" she repeated. He frowned, he wasn't good at judging anyone's age but she was young. Too young for a man his age to be looking at her...tassels. . He squinted trying to hazard a guess of how old the girl was when he noticed with a pang the splash of freckles across her nose. Suddenly he was reminded of Evie. He shouldn't be here anymore than this girl should be here. He was a married man. Or something close to it anyway..
"Darlin' does your Daddy know you're here?" he found himself asking.
"Sir?" the girl frowned.
"How old are ya, darlin'? Ya in school?"
"Uh.."
"You're young, you can have a future. This ain't a place for any young lady like yourself."
"Erm-"
"You can do better with your life than just catchin' cold selling cigarettes to a bunch of rowdy menfolk"
"I'm not sure I-"
"Even if your grades aren't that good there's always trade scho-"
"Ta gueule " the Spy irritably cut him off "let the girl go about her business"
"I'm just sayin' th-" he began to turn to argue with the Frenchman when he suddenly felt something hit his head and everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Texan woke with a groan and slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head, wincing as his hand hit the series of lumps. He glanced around his surroundings. It was his room back at RED base. According to the clock it was six in the morning, or at night. He wasn't quite sure.
At least it looked like his room. He was on his bed, with the old quilt from home. His guitar leaned against the wardrobe which was still spilling dirty clothes out onto the floor. The room appeared to be exactly as he left it. He would happily accept the whole thing as a dream. A strange dream of strip clubs and enemy Spies.
Sadly there was too much evidence to the contrary for him to ignore. The lamp by his bed was missing, his work clothes were folded into a bundle on his desk chair, with the address of a laundry service pinned to it. And he was still wearing the tailored suit... He would panic and dwell on that later. After he got something for his head which was now throbbing even worse than before. And then some sleep. Real sleep. Maybe he could wake up in the same room he fell asleep in.
He cringed as he hauled himself to his feet and walked out the open door to the hallway. The barracks were blissfully quiet for once. It made a nice contrast to the constant noise of the club. He'd go to the Infirmary for his head, he'd decided. He'd sleep after that.
Making his way to the Infirmary he began to wonder about the silence of the base. Usually there was some sort of clatter or noise. As he got closer to Infirmary realized he could hear the phone ringing.
One ring, two rings, three. Odd. Normally by now someone would have answered it by now. "Anyone goin' to get that?" he called down the hall. Silence was the only answer. Where was everybody? Surely not everyone could have been kidnapped by insane Frenchmen. It soon became apparent that no one was going to answer the phone. He sighed and trudged to the phone.
"Yea?" he growled into the receiver. There was a pause, "Speak up boy, I can hardly hear ya." The Scouts voice was hard to make out with all the clatter in the background. "I've been...busy." he hesitantly replied as the young man began yelling at him. Apparently they'd been trying to reach him for most of the night. "Wait...what happened?" He should have known better as the Scout started rambling on. "Alright, alright - never mind that now... You're calling from where?" he could not be hearing that right. "Whatdya mean you're ALL IN JAIL!?"
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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes