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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
It wasn't stealing, Engineer told himself prying the security camera off its mount on the wall. It was only borrowing. When it was working, the camera was supposed to be monitoring the base for intruders and security breaches. It was reappropriating really, he tried to assure himself as he walked swiftly down the hall with the device tucked under his arm.
The camera, which had been in one of the less frequented portions of the base, had been broken for months. The Texan had a few theories on how it could be fixed, but RED frowned on their equipment being tampered with so until now he had left it alone. It was unlikely the camera would be missed until RED sent in a maintenance crew for the annual round of repairs and upgrades. Even then, if its absence was noticed it could probably be blamed on a stray grenade or rocket.
He took the long way to his workshop to avoid anyone who'd ask questions like why exactly he had stolen- borrowed- a security camera or what he intended to do with it. There was no lie he could devise that would provide adequate explanation for it. And the truth was ... he didn't really feel like explaining.
For reasons he would not even try to understand, the enemy Spy had taken an interest in him. He had originally thought that the night at the strip club had simply been some sort of strange prank. A very elaborate prank by someone with a rather odd sense of humor, but still a prank. Something the Spy had done for… whatever reasons nosy French bastards do anything. Just a onetime joke and that was it. The Texan had been prepared to accept it at that, and take the knowledge that he'd been attacked by a floor lamp, dumped into a broken down scooter, dressed without his consent into a perfectly tailored suit, and hauled away to a strip club, to his grave.
He had assumed- hoped, really - that the Frenchman, having achieved whatever he was after, would go on to… lurking in shadows, listening through key holes, buying more expensive ties, spending small fortunes on cigarettes, puttering around on arthritic Vespas. Anything that wasn't bothering him.
Gritting his teeth, he stomped down the basement steps; but the Spy apparently hadn't finished with him. What was the man playing at? Why bail him out? How had Spy found him? Had the Spy followed him? Nervously, the Engineer glanced over his shoulder, was the bastard following him even now?
  The Texan unlocked the workshop door and slipped inside, locking the newly installed deadbolts behind him. Stepping around the clutter, he placed the camera on one of the few clear spots on the table. Then he picked up a wrench…and swung it around the room, hitting the various bits of scrap metal and equipment that were scattered about the place. This achieved nothing but a tremendous amount of noise and the Texan stopped as abruptly as he started, feeling silly. But at least now he was sure that he was alone to work without being watched.
Setting the wrench down, Engineer took a deep breath and relaxed, turning his attention to the work bench and the borrowed camera. If this plan worked out he would hopefully have some sort of idea what the Frenchman was doing. He removed the casing carefully and got a good look at the insides of the thing. And just as he expected, there was the broken motor drive. Easily replaced and the camera would work again. He smiled to himself as he began to take the machine apart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three weeks being confined to base had left the RED team on edge and at each other's throats. Outside of battle the mercenaries avoided each other unless they had no other choice. Meals were served with glares and stony silence, then everyone went off to their rooms or other corners of the base. But occasions like the weekly mail call were unavoidable, especially since the duty of passing out the mail had been taken over by the blowhard Soldier whose unwritten procedures would not allow the mail be handed out unless everyone was present.
As the team grudgingly gathered in the mess hall the invisible BLU Spy watched from the rafters and congratulated himself once again. It was true he hadn't intended or planned for the team to get arrested and end up in this situation when he had stranded them out in the desert, but he was still the cause. More or less.
The Scout came in with the Scotsman, rambling, the older man blatantly ignoring him as he sat down. The Scout didn't sit but instead remained on his feet still talking loudly to anyone who was listening- which was no one- about that one time he bashed someone's skull in. The Sniper was already seated at the far end of the table, long legs propped up in the table, idly sharpening his knife of over compensation.
The Texan's chair remained unsurprisingly empty. After the man's rather pathetic night out he had stayed in his room or his workshop. Sulking. Though the whereabouts of the Engineer was not his concern at the moment.
The Heavy and the Medic strolled in, the German excitedly recounting some gory story of past medical exploits with the Russian, who'd obviously heard it before, chuckling at all the appropriate parts. Not far behind the rest of the group came the Soldier with a sack slung over his shoulder with the Pyro following closely behind him like some masked lap dog. But more importantly, there was no sign of the RED team's Spy. The Frenchman hadn't expected to find him here anyway.
Despite the orders RED had given the men, the RED Spy was disappearing; going off, somewhere. The frequency of the man's absence had caught the other Spy's attention. He was beginning to suspect that there was a more interesting reason at play than mere restlessness. While the man was secretive naturally, he had lately grown even more so.
The Spy was coming and going at odd hours, he had long, hushed conversations on the telephone. Though the BLU Spy had yet to manage to catch more than an occasional word before the conversations were abruptly ended, it was fairly obvious something was being hidden. He had little clue what his rival Spy was hiding but should some of the man's mail happen to find its way into his hands, he might have some idea.
The older American stood at the head of the table looking over the room, counting slowly under his breath. He frowned when his count came up short. He counted again just to be sure.
"Alright Maggots, we are missing men!" he announced angrily, immediately placing blame on everyone else who had shown up.
"Yea, so?"
"WE CAN NOT PROCEED UNITL ALL MEN ARE PRESENT."
A groan of annoyance erupted from the table of mercenaries.
"Are ye jokin?" the Demo man fumed.
"WE ARE MISSING SPY AND ENGINEER," the Soldier insisted.
"Come on!" the Scout protested, "We don't have to wait for those knuckleheads, do we?"
"WHERE ARE SPY AND ENGINEER?" was the only answer the half wit received.
"Can't we start withou' em?" the Scotsman cut in.
"NO. THAT WOULD BE AGAINST STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE." the Soldier persisted with all the flexibility of a brick wall and half the intelligence.
"So what are we supposed t'do? Sit around and see if they bother t'show up?" the Sniper asked irritably.
"Like that'll be a change for ya," the Demoman retorted.
"Ya tryin' to say somethin'?" the Australian asked indignantly.
"What? Say somethin' about ye just sittin' aboot while the rest of us are actually fightin'? Not 't all!"
"MEN - ARGUING DURING MAIL CALL IS ALSO AGAINST STANDARD PROCEDURE" the Soldier interjected but was ignored by the two.
The Australian sat up in his chair, "Least I don't show up on the field so off my face I have to be told who's winning!"
"Says the lass whose afraid to get her wee hands dirty in a real fight."
The Scout jerked back in surprise as the Sniper stabbed his knife into the table and got to his feet. "I'll show ya a real fight, ya wobbly drunk."
"FIGHTING IS NOT ALLOWED DURING MAIL CALL!" the Soldier bellowed but his words fell on deaf ears.
The Demo snorted and rose from his chair, grinning, "I'd like to see ya try, ya bleedin' bawjaws."
The Spy leaned carefully to get a better view of the unfolding chaos. The RED team seemed divided as to what to do. Scout, after his initial reaction had stepped out of the way and the Medic watched on with a manic gleam in his eye.
"DO NOT DO IT MAGGOTS!" the American yelled again to no avail, the masked maniac behind him stood there mutely watching the proceeding with… something the Frenchman was hesitant to call curiosity.
"ENOUGH!" the Russian roared. The room froze as the giant stepped in between the two men, to Spy's disappointment. The Demo opened his mouth to protest but the man grabbed him and the Sniper by their faces separating them to much muffled complaint.
"Sit down here" the Heavy ordered, shoving both of them roughly back in their chairs.
"NIETHER OF YOU DARE TO MOVE ANOTHER INCH OR I'LL HAVE YOU LICK THE LATRINES CLEAN!" the Soldier raged at them as if he was the one who had restored order.
Heavy ignored the lunatic and silently glowered down at the Demo and the Sniper, he didn't have to tell them not to move to get them to stay in their seats. The pair scowled at the interfering giant but remained in their seats, apparently realizing the futility of dissention against a man as big as an ox.
"THE ENEMY IS OUT THERE! NOT IN HERE!" the Soldier roared oblivious to the BLU Spy's stifled snort. "I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY INCITEMENT IN THE RANKS DO I MAKE MYSELF CL-"
"Yo, CAPTAIN CREWCUT!" the Scout's voice pierced through the older American's ravings.
The Soldier stopped for a moment frowning in confusion at the boy. "WHAT ARE Y-"
"WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO ABOUT THE MAIL?"
"WE ARE GOING TO WAIT FOR THE REST OF THE TEAM TO ARRIVE."
"COME ON!" the Scout whinged. "My cookies are getting stale in that mail sack!"
"WE MUST FOLLOW STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE"
"Surely ve can work around su-" the Medic cut in haughtily.
"WE ARE NOT COMMUNISTS!" the Soldier interrupted the German's logic and continued his tirade. "THIS IS AMERICA AND WE FOLLOW THE LAWS!"
The Sniper tried to stand up but Heavy moved towards him so he sat back down "This is bloody jiggered!" he protested, "Get Truckie up here! " he muttered something that the Spy couldn't hear from his perch. The Heavy nodded in agreement.
The Russian turned to the Scout who was about to continue yelling at the Soldier. The Spy had to strain to hear Heavy over the Soldier's ravings. "Get Engineer in here."
"What?"
"Get. Engineer. In. Here." the man repeated.
"But Hardhat's-"
"Now."
"Okay, okay! Jeez!" the Scout quickly left the room, the other American being too busy lecturing to see the boy slip out the door.
The Spy shifted uncomfortably on the rafter and began to rethink his plan, he desperately needed a cigarette and it seemed the team was unlikely to get their mail or leave any time soon. Just as he began debating about dispatching the Soldier himself to shut the man up and move the proceedings along the Scout returned with the annoyed Texan in tow. The Engineer looked tired, annoyed and bewildered, his wrench clutched in his fist as he watched the proceedings with a frown. The Soldier who had his back to the door ranted on.
"THIS COUNTRY WILL COLLAPSE AND BE OVERUN WITH HIPPIES IF WE START TO CAST ASIDE RULES AND PROCEDURE!"
With a sigh the Texan walked further into the room, "So are we getting our mail now?"
Startled, the Soldier turned to face the Texan. There was a pause before the man blustered on, "W-WE WERE JUST WAITING FOR YOU AND SPY."
"So I'm here, can we get on with it?" the Engineer returned calmly.
The Soldier frowned, his voice dropping back to more normal levels, though still his piercing voice carried, "We cannot proceed without all team members present." he hesitated then added ,"It's in the book."
The idiot seemed almost apologetic?
"Well, Soldier," the Texan said quietly glancing around the room, "I hate to say it, but it looks like this is everyone who's going to show up."
"But Spy is not here." the Soldier insisted.
The Engineer frowned at the mention of the other man, "We can go on without 'im. You can just slide anything he gets under his door." he explained reasonably.
"But…" the Soldier trailed off.
"You aren't gonna do anything to his mail."
"No. I would not." the idiot replied, offended at the mere thought.
"Exactly. So you just pass out the mail, and we'll set aside anything that - that Spy gets and he can pick it up when he decides to show."
The BLU Spy smiled to himself, this worked out conveniently for him, the Soldier probably wouldn't notice if he borrowed anything set aside for the absent Spy.
The Soldier nodded, seemingly satisfied with this suggestion. The room remained silent as he set the mail bag on the floor and opened it, fearing that any interruption might cause the Soldier to suddenly realize what he was doing and close it back up again.   The Engineer, apparently deciding his work was done, went to the table and sank into his chair with a frustrated sigh.
The Soldier reached into the bag and began handing out the mail to the team members. Medic received a small box covered in warning labels. He left the room with a barely contained laugh that made the rest of the company uneasy. The Russian followed after, him shortly after his own mail in hand. Most of the team, eager to escape each other, took their mail and bolted.
Some stayed to open their mail - like the Pyro who eagerly opened up a box to reveal several balls of yarn. The Frenchman frowned in confusion, what would the creature want with that?
"Fi-nally!" the Scout's voice carried to the rafters as the boy's mail was handed over. Shaking his head to try to clear his mind from the horrific possibilities, the Spy tore his attention away from the Pyro, who was shambling out the door, and glanced back to the mail bag and the Soldier.
The Scout was trying to cram three biscuits in his mouth at once while the Texan silently received his mail, a letter or two, a catalog and a large official looking envelope. He stood there for a moment staring at the envelope, his head low so the Spy could not see the man's expression.
"Didn't think we got our tax papers this early." the Scout commented managing to still talk- albeit disgustingly - with his mouth full. The Texan gave him a brief pained look but said nothing.
"Aw shit…are those yer divorce…" the young man trailed off, miraculously speechless as he realized his faux pas. "Uh…" his eyes sank to the floor. The Engineer turned to leave, but the Scout suddenly reached into the box he was holding and handed the Texan a biscuit- Spy was less than surprised to see the biscuit boy gave was what appeared to be the only burnt one in the box.
The Texan blinked sharply before accepting it with a nod and murmured turning back to the door to make his exit. As he left the Soldier grimaced as if he wanted to say something but did not. Turning back to the mail bag, the man pulled out the last few items. A magazine that he tucked under his arm, and a couple of letters.
"Those for Spook?" Scout asked, desperate to clear the tension. The Spy cursed to himself, if the Soldier was by himself he could have attempted to steal the letters right out from under his nose. But the presence of the boy made this more difficult. If he killed the pair, his meddling and presence would be known. Why was the boy still here?
The Soldier grunted the affirmative slinging the empty mail bag over his shoulder. "I am going to slide them under his door." he said, sounding more like he was reminding himself than telling the boy as the pair walked towards the door.
The mess hall doors swung shut, finally leaving the Spy alone. Alone and free to climb down from his uncomfortable hiding place. He needed to get to those letters. He also needed to stretch, get circulation flowing in his legs again.   But most of all he needed a cigarette. He'd get the letters later, he fumed to himself, waiting a few minutes to let his cloak recharge before making his way back to his own base.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What are ye doin'?"
The Texan looked up at the Demoman from his position, squatting in the dust and gravel behind his pickup truck. He shifted uncomfortably, hesitating, and tried to think of something to say. Something that didn't sound overly paranoid.
"Jus' checkin' for… leaks," he replied at last.
"Leaks?" the Scotsman's eye narrowed in thought. "Wit' that?" he asked, gesturing as the modified hand held radio the Engineer held in his hand.
"….Yeah." he snapped defensively and went back to looking at his truck fender, running the device along it, listening intently for any change in the static crackling.
"Leaks o' what?"
"Well, ya see…" he tried to buy some time to think of an appropriate response that didn't sound completely paranoid. Unable to do so, the Texan cleared his throat and mumbled some long technical jargon occasionally throwing the word "frequency" around in hopes the man would go away. Thankfully, Demo decided questioning a madman was a waste of a perfectly good afternoon and went on his way.
Glancing up to see the retreating figure, Engineer straightened and put the radio back in his tool belt with an agitated sigh. He was sure the modifications worked, but he had gone over and scanned every stitch of clothing he owned from his hard hat down to the soles of his work boots and found nothing. The suit, which he hadn't quite had the heart to destroy, had been gone over twice. But no listening bugs or tracking devices had turned up. His pickup truck had been the last thing to go over. But after all that, he found no sign of anything the Frenchman could have been using to spy on him.
Unsure whether he should be relieved or disappointed the Texan stood up, dusted off his coveralls and headed back to the base.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Crouching in the dark barracks, the BLU Spy peered at the door and scowled in thought. At first glance, the door looked normal, like all the other doors in the silent hallway. But this wasn't anyone else's door, this was the RED Spy's door. There could be any number of deterrents or alarms, just like the measures he kept for his own room. The RED Spy was bound to guard his privacy as closely as he did his own.
Peering intently at the door, careful not to touch it, he spotted a hair over the door jamb. This would be easy enough to replace and hide the fact he had even been here. But that could hardly be the only measure his fellow Spy would have taken for security.
Standing in the hallway, he turned the possibilities over in his head and tried to plan his next move. He could open the lock, but the man might have an alarm rigged. Or a trip wire. It was possible that the- His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shambling footsteps echoing up the hall. Looking up, the Frenchman's eyes narrowed, recognizing the familiar sound of the mute arsonist approaching. He cloaked reflexively, making himself invisible to everyone, but… that thing always seemed to see through it. The Spy glanced around the hall for an exit, but the barracks was a dead end, the only way out of the hall would be through the maniac.
His mouth went dry as he heard the footsteps get closer. Desperate, the Frenchman's gaze fell on the Engineer's door. The footsteps were now louder then ever and he could make out the shadow of the approaching figure. He bolted to the Texan's door and pulled a key out of his pocket. The copy had been made weeks ago, he'd just step in the room long enough for the creature to move on. The Engineer was a sound sleeper, he'd be none the wiser. He shoved the key into the key hole but it wouldn't turn. Mentally swearing and cursing, Spy struggled and tried to turn the key again. But it wouldn't turn in the door. Sweat began to bead underneath his mask.
The key had worked in the past - why not now? Had the Texan changed the locks? -WHY WOULD HE? -Why now? Crouched in the shadows he could now see the silhouette of the shambling figure up the hall. There was no time to focus on stupid, careless Texans, the abomination was coming.
The Pyromaniac shuffled up the hall, all squeaky boots and creaking asbestos, humming tunelessly to itself as it made its way to the room at the end. Digging around in a pouch on its belt it finally pulled out a key and stopped humming. It glanced up for a moment and gave the floor lamp a long hard look. There was another creak of rubber as the monster tilted its head and stared at the lamp, as if studying it.
An eternity passed until the Pyro shook it's head and turned back to the door and shambled inside. The door swung shut leaving the floor lamp alone in the hallway once again to breathe a sigh of relief and shakily make its retreat back to BLU base.
~~~~~~
Engineer stifled a yawn slipping out of the mess hall at dinner with a piece of toast in one hand and the news paper in the other. The cross word had already been filled out incorrectly and forcibly by Demo, and the Sports page stolen by Scout days ago. Everyone on the team who cared to read it was finished with it. Probably. Most likely.
Finishing off the toast in a few bites, he went to the recreation room and picked up the old magazines that had been laying around for the last few months. Reading material, no matter its quality, was rarely thrown away on base. Those that didn't end up feeding the firebug's obsession washed up here in the dim room with its threadbare couch, radio and useless TV set. The magazines accumulated to be idly flipped through by various teammates during cease fire. It didn't matter if it was last January's issue of Haircuts for Men or an issue of Mildly Thrilling Tales from two years ago, if a man was bored enough he'd read anything. Or, at least attempt to.
The Texan slunk out of the rec room arms full of old magazines and began to make his way back to his room.
"ENGIE?" Soldier's voice called from up the hall. The man seemed to have only a hazy grasp of what an indoor voice was.
The Texan cringed, freezing in his tracks.
"Evenin', " he greeted sheepishly, turning to face his fellow countryman hoping the bundle of magazines and newspapers he was carrying would go unnoticed.
Soldier walked up the hall towards him. "How are you?"
"Enh… alright," he replied uneasily.
The other man frowned at him, he adjusted his ever present helmet and squinted at him. Engineer took a step back away from the larger man, feeling like a bug under a microscope. He was about to break the awkward silence and try to make his escape, when Soldier spoke.
"… Are…. you… on… point?" the words were slow, hesitant and quieter than the usual demanding tone.
"… What?" the Texan asked, taken aback by the Soldier's question. The man was usually lost in his own world of battles, perceived victories, and losses and rarely seemed to notice much else.
  "Everything ship shape?"
"In order?" he translated, his tired mind slowly trying to process the strange turn this conversation was taking. "Yea… yea..." He hadn't slept much in the last three days, he probably owed the enemy spy bail money, his wife had replaced him and he had just received the papers making it official the day before. "Yea… 'm alright."
"Good." the lie seemed to pacify Soldier who nodded and repeated again sounding more like his usual self, "GOOD."
Engineer relaxed and was about to try to make his exit when the other man's gaze lowered to the pile of paper in his hands. "Are… ARE YOU STEALING FROM THE REC ROOM?" the man asked his voice full of shock and horror.
"No! No! I'm… uh… I'm" he sputtered as he tried to think of a suitable explanation. "I'm… using these for… uh… its… uh, a secret" he finally finished lamely.
Soldier frowned, "SECRET?" he then added suspiciously, "What sort of secret?"
Wrong choice of words, "uh… I mean a surprise" he amended.
"A surprise?"
" Yea… a surprise" maybe if he repeated it enough Soldier would be fooled.
"What sort of surprise?" the self styled miiltary man persisted.
"A… secret… sort of surprise?" Lying had never been his strong suit. But the truth was too ridiculous to explain.
"Like… a…" his fellow country man fumbled for ideas before one struck him "like a surprise party?"
"… Sure?" he cautiously replied.
"Who is it for?" the Soldier pressed, starting to sound like a child at Christmas.
"I-if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret," he stammered awkwardly, hoping this would stop the line of questions.
Soldier, more than satisfied with this logic, patted him on the shoulder and walked on down the hall. Relieved, Engineer hurried to the barracks to avoid any more questions. When he got to the door to his room he glanced around the hall. It was quiet, no one around - so far so good. The Texan unlocked his door, stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
He dropped the pile of papers on the floor next to his bed and sat himself down on the creaky mattress. Massaging the bridge of his nose he resisted the urge to lay back and doze off. The Texan leaned forward, took a magazine from the stack and tore off the cover. He crumpled it up loosely and tossed it on the floorboards, ripped the next page out and did the same. And the next page and the next. The papers formed a pool on the floor around his feet, as he worked the monotony of the task doing little to distract him from problems weighing heavily on his mind.
The divorce papers were sitting on his desk. Lurking. Awaiting a few signatures in the right places to erase ten years of his life. Not that the papers really mattered; Evie had already replaced him. Hardly one horse gone and getting the saddle out for another one, he thought sourly to himself.
Then he had got himself into a fight with a luckless drunk over a song on the jukebox. Wincing at the memory, he ripped out another page. Sometimes in the past he had let his temper get the best of him, but never over something so stupid. His face flushed with shame again as his thoughts went back to that night.
To make matters worse, the enemy Spy bailed him out. He still hadn't figured how the Frenchman had found him, or what the man wanted. These mysteries ate at him at him along with everything else. Keeping him on edge, restless. This problem was only compounded by the fact he was pretty sure the snake had tried to get into his room last night.
Well, honestly, truth be told, he had heard someone desperately try to unlock the door. But he really had no proof that it had been the enemy Spy. Though he could think of few other folks who would have reason to break into his room at odd hours of the night.   But if it was the snake, and he tried again… the Texan was going to make darn sure he wasn't caught flat footed.
He glanced down at the growing mass of papers on the floor with satisfaction. He had gone over several plans in his head; at first he had intended to electrocute the doorknob. But then he remembered the snoop always wore the leather gloves. Building some complicated alarm or trap would have attracted the attention of his own teammates who'd want to know what he was doing, which would be as good as telling the Spy he was on to him.
When he was finished, the floor was carpeted with the paper and he could not move around the room without disturbing the paper, making loud crinkling noises. If anyone tried to get close the crumpling of the paper would alert him. Content with the evening's work the Texan started preparing himself for bed, hoping that with this problem solved he might sleep a bit more soundly.
~~~~~~~~~~
The stupid farmhand had nearly gotten him caught. The stupid Texan and his new door lock. The Frenchman fumed as he made his way up the hall of the RED Barracks once more. What reason did the imbecile have to change the locks? The Engineer had no business doing that. It was… very inconvenient.
Clearly, the man must be trying to hide something. Whatever it was, Spy was determined to figure it out. It was late and all of the team, even the monster, had gone to bed if the monster even slept - now was the perfect time to find out what the Texan was trying to keep hidden.
The new lock gave him a bit more challenge than its predecessor, but once the lock was defeated he slowly, carefully opened the door.
There was the Texan's room, even messier than the last time he'd seen it. He noted the crumpled paper all over the floor in the dim light. It seemed the man's cleaning habits had slipped even further. He stepped in, invisible, and pulled out his flashlight to get a better look.
The Texan snored softly, unaware of his visitor. Spy nudged one of the papers with the toe of his shoe and pointed the light at it. The man had covered the floor with… newspapers? And magazines? Had he lost his mind? The paper was literally everywhere crumpled into balls, with not even a square inch of floor space visible.
This had to be deliberate.
But why?
He nudged another page with his shoe trying to figure out what the laborer was playing at. There had to be some logic, even twisted, to this. The paper was everywhere, if this was a normal mess there would be clear paths for walking. But the way the paper was, it was an obstacle one could scarcely avoid walking on.
Unless that was the plan. An idea started to form in the Spy's head. The man must have collected dozens of papers for this. Was this supposed to be an obstacle? To create noise if anyone came in? An obstacle for him?
The Frenchman smirked to himself. The Texan really shouldn't have gone to the trouble.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning a groggy hand reached out of the blankets to slap at the alarm clock. Engineer groaned, dreams of home quickly fading from memory, reluctantly he sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A quick glance around the room showed that everything seemed to be in place. His lamp, his wardrobe, his guitar, all right where he had left them and no more than there should be. Maybe his plan had worked, he thought to himself, cautiously daring to hope.
Placing his bare feet amid the sea of paper he got out of bed with a loud crinkle from the floor and stood with another loud crinkle. Ignoring the noise, he stretched and turned to make his bed. That was when he noticed the note taped to his head board, right above his pillow.
Frowning, Engineer ripped it off the bed and unfolded it. It was expensive paper, no identifying marks on it, but there was little doubt who had left it. He unfolded it, in very neat precise script were written just two words; "Nice Try."
The Texan's eyes narrowed, growling low, he crumpled the note into a ball. Now the snake was just toying with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lock on RED Spy's door, to the other Spy's surprise had been even easier to pick than the Engineer's. Uncertain if he should believe his luck, the Frenchman glanced up and down the abandoned corridor as the door quietly swung open. Inviting him in.
A trip wire just outside the path of the door glinted in the beam of his flashlight. It was probably tied to some sort of alarm. Simple to spot, simple to avoid. The Frenchman scowled, too simple. Any idiot could install a trip wire. The RED Spy was hardly an idiot.
There had to be more here. The simple lock and the trip wire could be a ruse. Have the intruder think that was the only obstacle in their way. Make them careless and catch them with a more complex trap. There had to be more than this.
Standing in the open doorway, not daring to step inside, the Frenchman reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote the size of a box of cigarettes. He had ordered this from SpyCo ages ago, but rarely had a chance to use it. With a flick of the switch a green light blinked on the device, then it shut off and a red one replaced it as it detected a motion sensor in the room. That was more like he expected of a fellow Spy. This would be difficult but hardly impossible to deal with.
Taking a calculated risk, he took one step in the room and very, very slowly shut the door behind him. The Frenchman relaxed as it shut without even an audible click and there was no sign to indicate the alarm had been triggered. He stood stock still behind the trip wire, as he moved his flash light beam slowly across the room. He had dealt with these sorts of alarms before, as long as he moved in slight, slow motions the sensor wouldn't notice him at all. Which was useful for crossing a room, but it would greatly impede his search. He glanced around the room, there had to be an off switch, or device to deactivate the alarm.
The furniture was nicer than whatever RED had originally supplied, the bed bigger, the clunky desk was replaced with something sleeker with a book shelf. For all the improvements the man had made to the room, there were no pictures on the wall, few trinkets or decoration. Like the BLU Spy's own room, any personal details were out of sight, away from any prying eyes. At least this narrowed down the possibilities of where the alarm control could be hidden. He returned his gaze to the writing desk and its book shelf, that seemed the most likely place to start looking. Gradually, he raised his foot to step over the trip wire and just as gradually he set his foot down on the other side of the wire. So far, so good.
Taking deliberate care the Frenchman crept along at a snail's pace across the room. This was strangely reminiscent of how he had to creep through the Engineer's room and his silly newspapers. He wondered what the man had thought of his note. This was no time to get distracted, he reminded himself, he could not afford to let his presence be known. With resumed focus he continued inching across the room to the writing desk.
At long last, untold minutes later he was standing in front of the desk. He squinted at the titles as he moved his flash light along the shelf. They were a varied collection, a manual for the man's overblown sports cars, The Memoirs of Etienne Rambert, How to Disarm a Bomb, a couple of foreign language dictionaries. The Spy frowned, most of the volumes were the right size to be a control box. It could be any of them. His gaze fell on an unassuming volume on the end named Silent Warning. That had to be it. Self assured he grabbed the book off the shelf, forgoing all the caution he had been exercising up till now.
He opened it to reveal... pages. With ordinary words on them. He gaped at it in horror for a moment. He had probably thirty seconds before the alarm was triggered and the RED Spy would know someone had been in here. Panicked, he dropped the offending book on the floor and began snatching random volumes on the shelf, opening them and casting them aside. The control had to be here. Somewhere.
Finally, he grabbed the Memoirs off the shelf - and to his relief it opened it to reveal a switch. Flipping it off, he allowed himself to relax. Now able to move freely, he bent down and began to pick up the books, trying to remember what order they had been on the shelf. Only once the books were returned to their original places he was able to focus on the task he has arrived here for.
His search through the desk revealed nothing he wanted. In the bottom drawer he uncovered files on members from both teams. That was hardly surprising, he had his own copies. There were a couple of trick pens, one was probably an explosive, the other a microfiche camera. He had some of those himself. There were even some regular writing utensils. A couple of catalogs, a manual for the cloaking watch, and that was it. No false bottoms in the drawers, nothing.
There was no sign of the letters, or any communications. The Soldier was simple enough he probably, true to his word had given them to the Spy. So the man had evidently read them and… what? Destroyed them? Hid them? Or he was carrying them right now, which would make reading them difficult. Best to exhaust other venues before coming to that conclusion.
Stepping back from the desk, the BLU Spy thought over his own hiding places. Turning his attention to the wardrobe he opened it, revealing an array of suits and tuxedos, the top shelf full of hats and a few articles for disguises. Sliding the clothes back he tapped the back of the wardrobe with his knuckles and listened closely. Hearing a hollow thump he ran his hand along the back of the wardrobe until he found a very small catch. If one hadn't been looking for it it might have been mistaken for a knot in the wood. Pressing the ball of his thumb down on the catch, the panel slid down to reveal a small compartment. Inside were several passports and various forms of identification, but no sign of the letters or anything out of the ordinary. He frowned, putting everything back in place and hitting the button, so the panel closed again. He shut the doors to the wardrobe and walked to the bed.
The bed was large and fashionable. There were no bed posts, and hardly a headboard to speak of. He lifted the mattress and ran his flash light underneath it, to reveal nothing. With little else to work with he knelt on the floor and ran his hands along the rails of the bed. His fingers quickly found a knot in the wood similar to the one in the wardrobe. Pressing on it, the rail of the bed slid out like a large drawer. A smile spread across the Frenchman's face as he poured over the drawer's contents. There was currency from various countries, a spare disguise kit and watch, a rather impressive arsenal of guns and knives including, something that actually took the Spy by surprise.
An old Apache pistol. Reverently, he picked the weapon up. To an uneducated person it would look like a jumbled mess, but the Spy expertly unfolded the brass knuckles handle from the gun and delicately ran a gloved finger along the folding blade. It was in marvelous condition for its age, the weapon deserved better than to be hidden away in the RED Spy's room. He was about to slip it into his own pocket before he reminded himself his purpose. He had come in here to investigate the RED Spy and to leave no trace. Reluctantly, he folded the weapon back up and put it back.
With an agitated sigh he shut the drawer, having still not found anything that would tell him what the man was up to. Maybe the RED Spy wasn't up to anything. He rose from the floor, debating about prying up floorboards when he spotted out of the corner of his eye a notepad on the night stand. The top page was blank, but when he squinted at it in the beam of his flashlight, he could see an imprint of the previous page on it. Taking a pencil from his jacket pocket he lightly scribbled over the surface he smirked to himself as he words appeared on the page to make out an address in New York City, a time and the date "New Years Eve." He ripped the page off the pad and put it in his pocket with the pencil. It wasn't much to go on, he admitted to himself returning the notepad to the night stand. But at least it was something.
~~~~~~~
The sound of hammering broke the silence of the late hour as the Engineer fumed in his work shop. The Spy seemed determined to stick his damn beak into everything and laugh at him the whole way. He couldn't even sleep in peace in his own bed anymore. After he angrily cleaned up the paper mess off his bedroom floor he had debated about setting up a cot and sleeping down in the workshop. Though the Frenchman would probably just follow him down there and…. Do what? That was a troubling question he had yet to find an answer to.
What was the bastard doing anyway? Watching him sleep? Why? Or worse… if the man wasn't watching him sleep, what was he doing? Measuring him for more clothes? The Texan shuddered, forcing himself not to think about it and instead focus on the project at hand. Things he understood, solder and metal, things he could handle. Things he could fix. Unlike other parts of his life.
He needed to stop thinking about that too, he reminded himself, hammering out another dent in the scrap metal before cutting it down to size. Keep busy. Stay focused. Sometimes he managed to forget Evie, then something would remind him. Or he would pat himself on the back for not thinking about her; then his thoughts would be about nothing but her.
The Texan shook his head; he needed to focus on the problem at hand. The problem he could address. He glanced over at his soldering iron to see if it had reached temperature. If the snake was determined to poke and pry into everything, leaving him no shred of privacy, he might as well give the sidewinder something to pry into. Once the iron had reached the proper temperature he began to join the cut pieces of metal, forming a simple box. He had debated about leaving a sentry up in the workshop to guard the place,but the Spy already knew how to handle those. And even if it worked and got the bastard; there might be questions about any mess left behind. Traps: most of those were a nuisance at best and a double edged sword at worst. Just as likely to backfire on him as any inquisitive Frenchman. Engineer placed the iron back on its stand and examined his handiwork. This, while not fatal, or painful, would be more entertaining.
Satisfied with the soldering job, the Texan set the box aside and got up from his stool to find the paint. A few finishing touches, an air compressor, and springs and he'd be done. Well, almost done, there was still the matter of the most important part….
~~~~~~~~~
   The locks to the Engineer's workshop hadn't been changed, the Spy noted as he let himself into the dim basement room. He pulled his flashlight out of his jacket pocket and ran the light along the floor. The same locks and no ridiculous obstacles made of trash; this seemed a strange oversight considering the man's recent actions.
Not that the workshop needed any more obstacles, the Texan's lack of cleaning skills provided enough as it was, the Frenchman frowned as he stepped over a box of scrap metal. He would have been ready to assume the man had just let everything pile up while he sulked, but there was some evidence to the contrary.
The contents of the work table had been moved around, and there was a bit more of the table top clear since the last time he had visited. And there was a box. It was black and gleaming and more than stood out among the dust and the clutter of the space. It had not been here last time. He came closer to get a better look at it, but did not let his hands touch it's smooth surface. It resembled a strong box, except strong boxes were rarely square. Whatever might be inside of it was a mystery. The lock on it looked simple enough to open.
This was a trap. That was the only explanation why the Engineer would leave it out in the open. All shiny and new. And locked. He wanted him to open it. The farmhand was a fool thinking that he would be stupid enough to fall for something so obvious.
Turning from the worktable and the ridiculous box the Frenchman glanced around the room looking for any more changes. The man had left the locks the same and added an obvious trap, what else could he have done?
Spy dragged the beam of his flashlight along the room over the out of date calendar, the cobwebs, the old blueprints and older bookcase when a glint on the shelf caught his eye. Stepping over more crates allowed him to examine it closer. In the darkest corner of the room, on the top of a high shelf was something almost hidden by a box. The Texan must have needed a ladder to reach it- the Spy noted with a soft chuckle, stretching to move the box aside to uncover… a camera. It was one of the security cameras common to the base. This certainly had not been here the last time he had come in, the Engineer must have added this recently. Not that it was going to do him any good. With a snort he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a sapper and soon the camera was a useless sparking mess.
Satisfied with a job well done he turned from the bookcase and glanced around the room one last time. There seemed to be little more to do here. Glancing back he gave the box a derisive snort. Activating his cloak the Spy left the workshop, and began to make his way up the basement steps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pie crust should be simple, the Texan told himself, just flour and water. And maybe some other things… he really wasn't sure. Though looking at the contents of the mixing bowl he might have forgotten a few ingredients. Eggs maybe. He poked the glop warily with a spoon. Was this how dough was supposed to look? Like gravy? Frowning, he poured more flour into the bowl , thumping the bag down on the counter causing some to erupt from the top before settling gently down on every available surface. "Dangit" the Texan muttered to himself as he watched the flour dance in the air. He'd clean that up later, he told himself and stirred furiously at the mixture. It's not like this needed to taste good. It just need to look right. Well… somewhat right. It was the principle of the thing.
Why RED bothered to stock the kitchen was a mystery. But they had provided a full set of pots, pans and various odds and ends of crockery and cooking paraphernalia that were strange and mysterious to most of the mercenaries. Occasionally, someone might cook some eggs, or burgers, but no one really knew how to do much else. Or if they did, they were being very quiet about it. Most of the flour, sugar and other odds and ends were rarely used. The majority of the team's meals came out of tin cans and were merely heated and served without any actual flavor being added. If one wanted real food they went out or went home. For those who had a home to go to.
Evie always made this look so easy, he thought with a frown giving the concoction in the bowl another examination. Now it looked less like gravy and more like mortar. Maybe that was an improvement? Well it might be, the crust was like the foundation of the thing, wasn't it? Foundations needed to be sturdy. Still dubious, he poured - attempted to pour- the mixture into an ancient pie pan. Finally after much scraping he got the alleged crust to sit in the pan, in a big gelatinous lump.   This could work, Engineer told himself, he just needed to shape it, add the bananas, and bake it. This wasn't so bad, he assured himself weakly. He could do it.
In the midst of hacking at the lump in the pie pan, he made the horrid discovery that the mixture was quickly drying out and setting up like cement. It chipped and cracked as he tried to dig out the center struggling to make it resemble a pie more than a mountain. Was a crust supposed to be flaky before you baked it? Somehow he didn't think so. Maybe some water would help. Desperate to fix this quickly, he stretched to reach above his head to pull a measuring cup from the cupboard above his head. He fumbled and the measuring cup slipped from his fingers onto the floor where it shattered into pieces with a crash.
Maybe he didn't need the water after all…. Cringing, he stepped over the glass shards; he'd sweep that up later. Once he got this thing in the oven. Right now, he was sure if he stopped, he'd lose his nerve entirely and see just how ridiculous this was. He went back to stoically chipping the crust out of the pan, the filling wasn't even in and already it was too big.
The Texan was too preoccupied with swearing under his breath to hear Pyro enter the room. It wasn't until he glanced up from the pie pan to reach for the meat tenderizer that he spotted Pyro quietly watching him. From about two inches away. Startled, Engineer jumped back from the kitchen counter, nearly dropping the overburdened pie pan on the kitchen floor. Pyro tilted his head curiously eyeing the mess in the pan.
"Hud hih hah?" the firebug asked. At least Engineer assumed, he was usually pretty good at interpreting him.
"Uh… a pie?" he answered sheepishly.
The responding laughter required little translation.
"It ain't done yet!" he snapped defensively, but the muffled laughter just got louder.    "Ya think ya could do better?" he retorted as the pyromaniac's laughter subsided. There were a few raspy sounds from inside the suit as Pyro caught his breath and then nodded eagerly.
Engineer gave the masked asbestos suit wearing figure a skeptical look. He tried to picture Pyro cooking… well cooking something that didn't end up destroying the building.
"Huh hah hudda" Pyro insisted, putting his hands on his hips.
"Son… I remember that time with the bacon," he pointed out, "an' the burgers last July." he added as some memories he had previously blocked bubbled up. It had taken months for the mess hall to stop smelling like smoke and grease. The stove was never the same after that.
"Hudda" Pyro persisted.
Reluctantly, the Texan glanced at the pan and its rather lack luster contents. So long as he kept the fire extinguisher handy… Pyro could hardly do worse than him.
"I…" he bit his lip, hesitating, "If ya wanna give it a shot… I …suppose…"
The pie pan was off the counter before he even finished his sentence. After some grumbles and mumbled words that might have been swears the offending attempt was scraped out of the pie pan thunked into the garbage. The Texan stood there woodenly, watching as the firebug pulled a bowl out of the cupboard, set it on the counter, shuffled to the fridge and began pulling out ingredients.
Gently pushing the Engineer aside, Pyro stepped passed him and onto the broken glass with a crunch. Making a puzzled sound he looked down at the floor and back at the embarrassed Texan.
"I'll sweep that up" he offered quickly. The firebug said nothing and with a shrug began mixing ingredients in the bowl. Some flour, some butter, a pinch of salt, the Texan wasn't sure what all was being used or how it was being measured but he watched in amazement as the ingredients were mixed together and looked more like dough than anything he had come up with.
"W-where'd you learn ta do that?" he asked as Pyro took the dough out of the bowl and began to beat it flat on the counter with his hand.
"Hudaheh." the reply came with a shrug.
"Oh."
The crust, apparently done to satisfaction, was deftly pulled off the counter, dropped into the pan and patted into place.
"You know, my wife makes great pies," he commented filling the silence while Pyro carefully crimped and arranged the crust. "Best buttermilk pie in the whole county. Won a ribbon and everything." His brow furrowed, he wasn't going to taste Evie's buttermilk pie again. Or any of her cooking. The silence filled the room again. He needed air. "I-I'm gonna go get that broom now…" he murmured walking out of the kitchen.
Slumping against the wall for a minute, he took a deep breath and did his best to think about anything else but Her. Massaging the bridge of his nose the Texan took another breath and straightened. He couldn’t let himself get bogged down like this, he didn't have time for that, he really shouldn't leave Pyro alone for too long. He paced down the quiet hall to the utility closet. Getting the dustpan and broom out of the closet he froze for a moment. He thought he could smell a whiff of… cigarettes? Engineer glanced around the hall, but there was no sign of anyone, no misplaced shadows or objects. No floor lamps. Just a pathetic Texan alone with his memories.
"Jumpin' at shadows," he muttered to himself and walked back to the kitchen. Hopefully the firebug hadn't lit something on fire yet.
Engineer opened the kitchen door and was greeted by…nothing on fire. Pyro was pulling the golden brown pie crust out of the oven, inspecting it before and setting it on the counter. Looking up the gas masked figure waved a greeting to Engineer who just gaped.
"E-verything goin' alright?" he asked, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but like most things about Pyro, he was probably happier not knowing. Even if he got an answer it would probably make no sense.
Pyro ignored him and began cutting bananas up , throwing them along with countless other ingredients into a clean bowl.
"Haddada heah hoah?" Pyro queried, stirring the mixture together.
"What? yea… yea… that's what I ordered 'em for." Bananas were not usually part of their ration delivery, but he managed to get them added to the grocery list this week. He figured banana cream pie would be easier to figure out than coconut.
The Texan swept the broken glass and flour off the floor as the Pyro poured the mixture into the pie crust. To his bafflement the pie didn't end up in the oven again; it was being put in the fridge. He opened his mouth to ask, but so far Pyro seemed to know what he was doing.
"Hee hih hih heah ho hahouh ho heh"
"An hour, eh?" well, he supposed that explained that. "How are we supposed to keep anyone from eating it between now and then?"
"Hm?" Pyro tilted his head to the side in thought, before turning to dig through the kitchen drawers. Pulling out a marker and a bit of wax paper the pyromaniac scribbled just one word on the paper. His name. Confident, the firebug opened the fridge and put the sign next to the pie.
"That… that'll do it." the Texan nodded. Most labels in the fridge were ignored and all food was considered fair game, unless it was Medic's. But there were probably few folks who would dare to touch anything of the firebug's.
"Huh hih huou hah hih hoh?" Pyro asked.
"Oh? I was just cravin' a pie"
~~~~~~~~~~~
The work room was slightly cleaner when the Spy dropped in. There was no sign of the camera, so it seemed the Engineer had learned his lesson in that regard. But the box was still there. The Engineer had moved it out of the debris and onto a clear patch on the work table where it glinted in the dim beam of his flash light.
Some lessons the idiot didn't learn easily. Did the man still think he was going to fall for this silly toy? He snorted as he leaned over it; the box hadn't changed, it was still metal, black, gleaming, and… cold? He frowned in confusion. Gingerly hovering his hand in closer. Yes it was. The box was radiating a chill that he could feel even through his gloves.
His frown became an outright scowl. Why was it cold? The Frenchman racked his brain but couldn't figure it out. Was it generating cold? How was it doing that? What purpose would that serve? What was the Texan up to?
But he obviously wasn't going to open the box- this was an insult to his intelligence. It was a trap, that the Texan wanted him to open. But he wasn't going to.
He turned his back on the work table and after a quick glance around, walked out of the room, snapping the door shut and locking it behind him.
~~~~~~~~~
The Texan whistled idly to himself as he unloaded his rifle, placing the rounds one by one into his ammunition pouch. He frowned glancing up through the barrel he frowned- he really shouldn't have let it get to this state. He'd been raised to take better care of his guns than this.
Picking the wire brush off the table, he worked it down in the barrel, scouring the grime and dirt out of it. It was a wonder the gun hadn't backfired on him in this condition.
The night was quiet, and he was alone in his room for the night. The fighting for the day had been marginally better than it had been.   The Spy was still a pain in the neck on and off and battlefield. But he was patient. He could wait.
Setting the brush aside, Engineer picked up a rag and the bottle of gun oil. Wiping down the gun with the rag, he cleaned away the accumulated blood and gore of the battlefield. When he was satisfied, he set the rag and the shot gun down. That really was an improvement.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The box was still there when he entered the room. Existing. The rest of the workshop hadn't changed much. The crates of scrap metal were still obscuring most of the floor, he fumed as he stepped over and around them to make it across the room kicking another out of his way. There was nothing in the room of note.
Except that damned box.
Spy had tried not the think about it. But the questions kept bothering him. What was in the box? Why was it cold? How was it cold? What could possibly be in there?
He glared down at the box, its lock gleaming in the dim light, taunting him. It would be easy enough to open. A simple tumbler lock, wouldn't take a minute. Lightly he placed a hand on the lid feeling the cold seep through his glove. Gently, he lifted the box and looked at it on all sides, just a lock and some hinges. There was a slight weight to it, but no rattle or feel of anything loose as he slowly tilted the box in his hands. He scowled, what was in it?
  Maybe he could open it, glance inside quickly and not set off… whatever trap the Engineer had built. There was probably a catch in the lid that controlled the presumed mechanism- those could be worked around.
He set the box back down on the worktable. He gave it a long hard look. There was no way of knowing what was in the damnable thing. Not without opening it.
He pulled the lock picks out of his pocket. With delicate care he selected his tools and began to work. The lock took even less time than he had thought, it was barely an obstacle. Which was because the Texan wanted this lock opened. The Frenchman lifted the lid barely a centimeter and shined the flashlight into the pitch black of the box but was unable to find see any catch.
He cautiously opened the lid another few centimeters but still couldn't make out anything of the boxes contents… He had to know. Finally he relented and snapped the lid up all the way.
There was a click as some spring was released and something flew towards the Frenchman's face. Something white and soft and round? Before he could identify it everything went dark. And he tasted and smelled… bananas?
Somehow, when he had gone over the possibilities of what was in the box a banana cream pie had never occurred to him.
The pie pan slid off his face and fell to the floor with a soft splat of cream. The Texan, he conceded, while spitting banana mush on the floor could sometimes be clever. Despite an apparently juvenile sense of humor. Grimacing the Spy pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his eyes and mouth though it did little to clear the fruity smell from his nostrils. The mask, he realized as he feebly dabbed at it, was going to need a real cleaning, along with the suit.
Where did the man even get his hands on a pie?
~~~~~~~~~~~
The workshop resounded with the sound of laughter as the Texan watched the camera footage projected on the cleanest wall in the room. It had been a gamble setting up the decoy camera, he hadn't expected the Snoop to actually miss that trick. But somehow it had worked and the real camera, hidden in a crate, remained unmolested.
He chuckled again, taking another sip of beer and watched the pie smack into the Spy's face. Even with the hazy focus of the footage it was a beautiful sight to see the pie tin slide down off the Frenchman's nose and banana cream dripping onto that fancy damn suit.
Smirking he reached forward and rewound the video cartridge to the point when the pie first splatted the smug bastard in the face. The man's mouth had been open and everything , and he got a good mouthful of the bananas. Draining the last of the bottle, he grinned widely as he watched the footage of the snake desperately trying to wipe the cream off his suit with all the wounded air of a cat caught in the rain. Killing the man wouldn't have been this satisfying, or entertaining.
He should probably get to bed, try to get some rest. There was going to be more work and fighting tomorrow….
He leaned forward and hit the rewind again. Just one more time.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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