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A Quick Visit (4)

1 .

Okay, I will admit, I'm terrified of posting such blatant fluff here. Spy/Scout's Mom, yes I did use Google Translate for the French, crit welcome, all that jazz. Here goes...


He would be lying if he said his life was anything like what the movies promised. It wasn’t as though he could just waltz into any bar he wanted, found out the information he needed, and left with a humorously-named yet still beautiful woman on his arm. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he even went into a bar. Or the last time a humorously-named woman caught his eye.

No, his life was more of the cloak and dagger spy. Traveling by night and incognito, he stole his information, and the only beautiful woman he had eyes for was rather plain in most other aspects. A mother of eight boys, she lived in South Boston and always welcomed him with open arms.

It was half past one in the morning. There was no moon. The red leaves had fallen to the ground, the crunch was he stepped on them the only sound he made. As he eyed the row houses, head down and hat lowered, he took a long drag on the cigarette that hung from the corner of his mouth. Subtly, his gloved hand clutched at his shoulder. The suit underneath his glove was a darker red than it should have been.

The number came up, the one he was looking for. With a finesse that was more habit than choice, he took his cigarette and flicked it away. The window was open, and he went straight for that. No need to alert the neighborhood of his presence by knocking. The moment his finely shined shoes hit the dark blue carpet, he froze. A shadow was standing in the doorway, petite and unthreatening. The shotgun that was being held in the shadow’s hands, however, was definitely a threat.

“How do I know it‘s you?” she asked, her voice ringing with authority. His femme fetale was dressed in the nightgown that he had bought her himself, light blue and lace and silk. He said nothing but raised his hands up in the air slowly, taking off the fedora and tossing it to the side. “Don’t move. Answer me. How do I know it’s really you?”

“Ma petite chou-fleur, if it wasn’t me, you would have shot me already,” he reasoned quietly.

A good enough answer for her, it seemed. The gun was tossed carelessly onto the sofa, and she nearly toppled him as she threw herself into his arms. She was certainly as speedy as her youngest. Then again, she would have to be to keep track of all eight of hers. Even as he was thinking it, she hugged him, and a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he didn’t say anything. She didn’t notice. “…Thought you were dead. You didn’t write, you didn’t call…” she whispered into his chest.

“Did you really expect me to?” he asked with a small smirk. She looked up at him, pouting and landing a solid punch on his shoulder.

“You ass!” she hissed before pulling her fist back. “What’s on yer suit?”

The smirk fell away, dropping straight into a scowl. “Blood. It’s not going to come out, either,” he sneered.

She walked away from him without a word, only to click on a table lamp. He allowed himself to settle into a rickety arm chair. The front-left leg was missing causing the whole chair to wobble as he sat. She looked at him and sighed. “They’re really doin’ a number on you, aren’t they, darlin’?” she whispered. He chose not to answer. She sighed again. “Give it here, I’ll soak it while I get something to patch you up.”

He didn’t budge. She glared, moving her hands to rest on her hips. “Yes, Mother,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Removing everything from the inner pockets of his jacket, he took it off and folded it neatly, followed by the waistcoat, undershirt, and tie. She was about to pick them up and take them off when he caught her by the wrist. “Et, ma cherie,” he added, “Don’t forget to iron it afterwards.”

She pouted at him before taking the pile and walking off. He watched her go before settling back into his unsteady seat. His eyes closed. This was her house, she would never let anything happen to him here, not her. It was safe to just rest a moment. For once, he relaxed. It only felt as though a few minutes had passed. Really, it was an hour after he had closed his eyes that he felt pain shoot through his arm.

Instantly, he sat up, knife in hand, snarling, “Fiche moi le paix!” Being snuck up on was one thing. Being snuck up on in your personal sanctuary was another.

Upon taking stock of the situation, he realized three things. His bleu beauté was nowhere to be seen. No one was attacking him. And finally, the boy sitting on a stool in front of him was holding a wet washcloth in his hand and a bowl of water on his lap. The boy scowled up at him, and he recognized him.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the quick little bunny,” he quipped, grinning lightly as he fell back into the chair. He was weaker than he thought… maybe he ought to--

“Ma told me to clean you up,” the Scout grunted bitterly. “Why’d you have to come back hurt, anyway? You suck as a Spy.”

That wasn’t concern. That was annoyance. He chose not to answer but instead grabbed the washcloth and began wiping away the dried blood from his shoulder. “How has she been? You write her more,” he asked quietly.

“She’s fine. The others are stickin’ around and takin’ care of her,” Scout answered, refusing to remove his glare. “They’re all here tonight, too, so you better keep your hands to yourself or we’ll kick your ass so hard, you’ll be shittin’ out your di--”

“THAT DON’T SOUND LIKE CLEANIN’ HIM UP,” a warning shout came from the area of the kitchen. Scout withered under the unspoken threat and said nothing else.

As he cleaned his own wound, he eyed the boy carefully. With every reason to hate him and every chance to kill him, it was an absolute wonder when they sat together like this. They didn’t like each other-he doubted that would ever happen-but the treaty was mutual and for one reason.

“Alright, it’s done soakin’. I got the blood out but it’s gotta wash or it’ll smell like vinegar till y’do,” she announced, reentering the room. She frowned at her son. “Yer lettin’ him do that by ‘imself? He’s injured, y’moron,” she chided, sitting on the chair’s arm and taking the washcloth and cleaning up faster than either of the men. “Go get some bandages, hun.”

With another glare in Spy’s general direction (“I’ll kill you if you try anything,” was the message clearly sent by it), Scout stood up and jogged upstairs. Grinning, the man stood up and pulled the petite woman close.

“I don’t think I’ve properly greeted you, ma mie,” he whispered, holding her by the small of her back. Even in the faint light of the table lamp, he could see her turn several shades of pink.

“Not tonight,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck gingerly. “The boys are all here.”

His eyes twinkled and a smirk tugged on his lips. “You misunderstood me,” he told her, dipping her slightly and locking her in an ardent kiss.

They stayed in that position for a while, lost in their own world. To them, there was only each other. After God only knew how long of being separated, they finally we--

“Aw geez,” Scout exclaimed loudly, dropping the medical supplies to cover his eyes with his hands. “What did I TELL you, gawd. I mean, seriously, get a friggin room if you’ve gotta do that!”

As his mother stood up straight, pink in the face and straightening out her nightgown, the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyeing up the little belle bleu. Scout’s shout of horror and rage forced any thoughts of sweeping the woman off her feet and having the night of their life out of the man’s head. He contented in grinning silently.

“Why don’tcha head of to bed, sweetheart? You’ve had a long day. You’re on leave, relax,” the woman cooed to her son, walking over and pushing up his cap to plant a kiss on his forehead.

The boy, defeated by the demand nestled in the honey-sweet suggestion, sighed and fixed his cap. “Yeah, well, I’ll be in my room. Awake. And I’ll hear any funny business, y’got it?” he told her sulkily.

She kissed his cheek. “We’re going to sleep, you smartass. Get in bed,” she told him, bending over to pick up the bandages. One look beckoned the man to follow her, just as a completely separate look ordered the boy to obey. Both complied. As Scout raced up the stairs, the woman grabbed Spy’s hand and led him to the second floor as well.

The door closed gently. With a click, the lock was secured. The curtains were already shut, letting no moon shine into the room. Perfectly dark. He could feel her leading him to the bed. He could hear her dainty footsteps against the carpet. A hand nudged him onto the bed. He was about to open his mouth, about to make some witty comment on how she was lying to her son, when the bedside lamp turned on and she went straight to work patching him up.

“I know you got some sorta pain tolerance, but c’mon, darling, you have a doctor over there, don’tcha?” she asked, towering over him as he sat. “You’re real lucky the boys still keep me busy, otherwise you’d have this hole in ya the whole time you’re here.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he informed her quietly, sighing. It wasn’t that he wanted to. He had to. He wouldn’t put her in that kind of danger. If BLU knew where he was, vulnerable and still so full of secrets, she and her whole family would be at risk.

She didn’t pause as she wrapped him in bandages. “I figured,” she whispered. She finished without another word and sat next to him on the bed. Carefully, as to avoid both making any sudden movements as well as avoid messing up the laces, he undid his shoes and socks.

“Y’know,” she started tentatively. “When you’re all done playing James Bond… I don’t think the boys would mind if you stayed over for longer than a night.”

That triggered laughter. Long, long laughter, punctuated occasionally by a snort. Wiping away the tear that had formed in his eye, Spy gave the woman a smile. “Chou-fleur, you know absolutely nothing about men,” he informed her, pecking her on the cheek. “Maintenant, nous allons dormir. Bonne nuit, ma chère.”

Her cheeks tinted pink. He knew she loved it when he spoke French to her, even if she didn’t understand all of it. Nodding, she laid down in the bed with him quickly following. “Bonne nuit,” she repeated, mispronouncing enough to still make him chuckle. The light went off, and they slept, a protective arm wrapped around the small woman.

- - - - -

Eight boys were gathering at the two tables, pushed together to make one large one. Each their own degree of groggy, it didn’t register right away why there was an older man stealing food from their breakfast table.

And then the youngest took a sip of caffeine-rich coffee and realized.


Spy grinned and tipped his retrieved fedora. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I must be on my way. I will see the youngest of you bunnies again soon. Tell your mother I’ll be back soon after she wakes up, will you?”

The band of brothers would have chased him out if he didn’t cloak and leave.
Marked for deletion (old)

2 .

Ridiculously cute! I love how no-nonsense Ma Scout is, and nerky-but-kinda-used-to-it Scout. A+ WOULD DAWWW AGAIN

3 .


Nosrsly. I love this. I adore Spy's inner thoughts on the relationship and Scout being over protective of his ma.

4 .

Very cute, and I don't mind the internet-translated french. It looks like french, and I can't speak/read it anyways.

5 .

Cute stuff.

French tips from the semi-fluent:
On "Fiche moi la paix!" some nitpicky grammar. It should probably look like this: Fichez-moi la paix!
When you refer to the mom, put an e on bleu: bleue. This makes it feminine, else you're calling her a man.

Otherwise the google translator did pretty darn well, and so did you. Hope this helps.
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