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No. 463
Every repost is a repost repost.

--

It was approximately a year ago, before the blasted war started, when the RED Spy met the BLU Scout’s mother. As unlikely as it seemed, the location was a small supermarket in one of the quieter sections of Paris on a particularly sunny Sunday afternoon, which happened to be the exact time the two of them realized they were out of bananas. Shopping carts collided in a fruit-grabbing frenzy, followed by furious apologies in both French and Bostonian-flecked English.

“Oh, gawd, I’m sorry, I’m not normally that freakin’ unaware…” said the woman, embarrassed but laughing anyway, holding a particular banana and waving it around as though it were something used to enhance speech. (She was erratic enough in her movements to make it seem so, at least.)

Erratic though she was, she was also very attractive. She was an older woman, yes, that much was obvious, but she had aged gracefully. Her light blue dress hugged her curves in just the right way and her hair was nearly perfect. Spy, for a moment, felt a bit jealous.

“Excusez-moi,” replied the Spy, taking it upon himself to grab a different bunch of bananas and shrug apologetically.

“Hey, if I spoke more French I’d be glad to chat with ya,” the woman commented, assuming that Spy couldn’t understand English; she was simply unable to keep her mouth shut.

“Oh, non, I speak enough,” Spy said, smiling. He had no idea why he was listening to this woman, but there was something about her; something very foreign, very rambunctious, and very lively. What he couldn’t help but notice was the way the light hit her in a dazzling way, no matter where she put herself and no matter which part of her it was. Certainly, it wasn’t a trait he found often in any person. He briefly wondered if she knew what she was doing.

“No freakin’ way! I’ve been walkin’ all around this place for the longest time and I haven’t met a person who can speak English…” She paused and re-thought her statement. “Well, no, they can speak English, just not enough.”

She laughed, a small and charming couple of notes that she must have spent a while perfecting, while covering her mouth coyly.

Spy couldn’t help but smile again, himself

Yes.

She knew what she was doing.

“Oui, there are many who are not so, how you say, efficient,” he said. “But what are you doing here, cherie?”

The woman’s face lit up as she realized she had been called a pet name by a handsome man she barely knew, something that hadn’t happened to her for a good many years.

“Well, my boys thought I deserved a break and sent me up here,” she said. “My oldest, Davie, said they had been savin’ up for years.”

She smiled again, a bit more softly, and bit her lower lip, no doubt thinking of her children.

“They are staying with their father, I presume?” Spy asked, a probing question more than anything.

“Oh, no,” She said. “All 8 of ‘em are old enough to take care of themselves by now. Well, ‘cept maybe my youngest… he’s a freakin handful, let me tell ya.”

She pushed back her hair as she reminisced, her less-than-complimentary words meaning something completely complimentary. It was something only a mother could manage.

Spy blinked a few times, hmming softly and cocking his head to the side. Eight children. Was that how they did it in America?

“Yeah, eight, I know,” She said, almost apologetically. “But, what can I say? I love kids and I loved my husband.”

Spy glanced over at the fruit aisle again, thinking to steer away from this subject. She was an attractive woman, yes, but married and with children – many children…

“Ex-husband,” she added quickly. Spy smiled and quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head ever so slightly and silently inviting her to go on.

“Yeah, that part wasn’t so good, but god do I love those kids. Really freakin’ great, ya know, really smart…” She trailed off, rubbing the lobe of her ear gently and glancing toward something on the floor that perhaps only she could see.

“I am sure they all miss you,” Spy said. “It’d be hard not to.”

The woman smiled again.

“The name’s Mary, by the way.”

Before they knew it they were both in a hotel room, some time past midnight and before the birds began to sign before the rising of the sun, tearing each other’s clothing off and engaging in acts that the woman thought she’d never have the chance to experience again, especially not as a divorcee with eight kids. Spy, however, was a bit more jaded, as at first he was merely showing his repertoire of positions to a woman who was just another woman.

But as the night quickly melted into day and the two of them exhausted both their charming words and their sex drives, they found themselves wanting nothing more than to stay together just a while longer, laying against the headboard of the bed and perhaps sharing a cigarette together, squinting slightly as one of them ripped back the curtains to reveal the sunlight and a town that couldn’t possibly know what they were up to.

That happened to be exactly what they did.

Mary tapped some ash into the ashtray next to the bed before handing it to Spy, who accepted with a suave “merci”, and proceeded to blow smoke rings for her. She giggled, much like she must have when she was younger, and grabbed his hand, running her thumb gently over his knuckles. He returned the gesture by moving his hand slightly and locking his fingers with hers. Looking over at him, she blushed a little and felt silly – silly for realizing that she felt more embarrassed just laying next to him than having actual sex, and silly for wondering what might happen to them once they both got dressed.

Nothing, she concluded. Nothing ever came of these sorts of encounters other than a good night’s fun and perhaps a phone number that she’d forget on the plane or some other ridiculous place.

And Spy, as he looked over at her and gave her a small wink, felt something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but this was much more satisfying than the French woman he’d been with, and certainly more enjoyable than any younger woman. He chalked it up to experience and left it at that.

“What’s your name, anyhow?” She finally asked, as he handed the cigarette to her.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you, petite,” he said simply, directing his gaze back to the window as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

She blew some smoke through her nose, and listened to the French woman on the radio sing her lounge song.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m going to be a spy soon,” he said, fully aware that telling her this was completely un-spy-like. She was just a woman from Boston, however, which was very far away. No harm done.

“What, like in the movies?”

“Oui, I suppose. I also suppose that I should start hiding my identity now, to get used to it. So, I can’t tell you my name,” he said, smiling a bit sadly.

She looked at him again, at his sharp features and his slightly-greying hair, and realized that it was probably better off that way.

“Yeah, you’re too handsome for me anyway, you big stud.”

He laughed, making a soft noise of disagreement and rose from the bed, slipping his boxers back on.

“As if, petite.”


The days that followed after were nothing short of surprising; after Spy left the hotel and disappeared for a few hours, Mary was surprised to find him knocking at her door again late at night, holding a bouquet and a few sleazy French romance movies. They skipped the romance movies, however, and went straight for the sex, but once they got there they decided to skip that as well, in favor of a candlelight dinner out. The night ended with a banana split, of all things, and the exchange of a few, heartfelt kisses and equally heartfelt words.

And, the more Spy thought about it, the more he liked this woman, unrefined and a bit vulgar though she was. It complimented his personality nicely, he thought, and he was surprised when he found out that she shared his enthusiasm for nicely tailored suits and a good game of rugby every so often. Her accent, as well, was something he hadn’t ever encountered before. It was… interesting.

Their final meeting came on a Sunday, exactly a week after they had met and a number of shared kisses and secrets later. He escorted her to the airport, being the gentlemen he was, and saw her off with a soft kiss on the hand.

“Hey, I had a great time, and even though I don’t know your freakin’ name I’d really like to see you again,” she said, rummaging around in her purse. “Here.”

She produced a picture of herself, perhaps one she had taken recently, and handed it to Spy. He smiled and looked it over, eyebrows rising a bit as he realized that it was indeed recent, and most likely was taken when he had to rush into a store to get some emergency shoe polish. She was sitting on his Vespa, smiling her dazzling smile, and waving. Spy smiled himself, unable to do otherwise.

“Oh, wait a minute,” She said, quickly snatching it from his hands again and scribbling something on the back. “Here, handsome. Don’t forget me, okay?”

She handed him the picture again and gave him a small kiss on the lips, something shy and perhaps a little bit loving, before waving for the last time and finally walking away.

Spy flipped the picture over once she was gone, still smiling like an idiot, only to discover that he had smudged her phone number with his thumb.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 464
Even after months of training, Spy felt he wasn’t ready to go to war. He didn’t think anyone was ever ready, to be honest, but was told by his instructors that this was a normal feeling. It would pass, and he’d be ready to do his duty. He’d be ready to put his life on the line for god-knows-why, and maybe if he were lucky he’d return home with all his limbs intact.

He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. It was a dreary day to be going off to war. Dreary but fitting, Spy mused, as he blew some smoke into the wind. A sunny day would have only made him want to stay more.

He still remembered when he first got the letter in the mail, the mysterious bit of packaging telling him the time, date, and location of this mysterious train, but even more than that he still remembered that he had no idea where it was headed to. A surprise, he supposed, and a rather grim one at that.

But he was there anyway, a bit early but still there, dressed in the non-descript black suit as instructed in the letter, his faux passport tucked into the pocket of his jacket. He took it out for a moment and ran his thumb over the cover. Black, with gold lettering. It looked normal enough on the outside.

He opened it and looked at his picture, scarcely able to remember his own face after wearing a mask for so long – after all, he had to get used to it – and grimaced. His portrait and what little details included were bathed in the red of the paper they were printed on, almost blood-like and an almost certain declaration of war. The color of his team. Red.

“Mon dieu, this is too much,” he muttered to himself, tucking the passport back into his pocket and glancing around.

He saw others getting onto the train, dressed in a neutral black and desolate much in the same way he was, their faces gaunt and eyes pointed toward the ground. They were all boarding the same train, the REDs and the BLUs, and Spy couldn’t help but feel it was some sort of cruel joke. Any fool who made friends on that train would face the risk of fighting them later on in battle.

Near him, Spy spotted a young man who couldn’t have been more than 20, dressed in the same neutral agony that everyone else was and speaking to an older woman. His mother, Spy realized, as he saw the boy hug her tightly and allow her the kisses he would never allow while in front of his friends. She ran a hand through his hair lovingly. They looked at each other for a few moments, no doubt thinking of times they wished they could repeat or perhaps do over, but as the boy went to walk away Spy heard her let out a cry, a desperate noise – “No, I can’t believe you’re doing this, don’t leave like this, was it something I said?” all at once – and hug him tightly again. He smiled, trying to be reassuring, kissed her on the cheek, and stepped onto the train.

The woman retrieved a handkerchief from somewhere deep within her purse, and dabbed at her eyes. She seemed familiar.

“I didn’t want him to do this, you know,” she said, speaking for the sake of speaking. “But it was his choice and I figured I oughta let him. He’s old enough now to make his own decisions, right?”

Spy gulped, unsure of how to answer this, or if he should answer at all. Her voice, her accent most of all… He thought there was no way it was her.

He looked at the train for a moment more, blowing smoke through his nose and directing his gaze to the boy who had gotten onto the train. He had already begun to chat with the person sitting next to him: an older man with greying hair.

“It was a tough decision,” Spy said finally, looking at the woman.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, dabbing at her eyes again, waiting to see if her son would look at her just one more time. “He’s a good kid. I hope he comes out okay.”

Tucking her handkerchief back into her purse, she sighed and stood up a bit straighter, as though determined to return to the world as though nothing was wrong. She looked at him for perhaps the first time since they had begun talking, and though she didn’t recognize him completely she knew she had met this man somewhere before.

“Have we, uh… have we met before?”

Spy bit his lower lip before taking another nervous drag from his cigarette, his eyes watering – yes, this was the woman he had met so many (or was it a few?) years ago, the same woman who had managed to steal his heart in just under a week, the only woman that made him wish ink didn’t smudge. Spy opened his mouth to speak to her, to utter her name or maybe her favorite pet name; he found himself stumbling over letters and syllables as though language was an entirely new concept to him.

“P-Petite,” he said finally, holding his cigarette in a trembling hand.

Her eyes widened and she held a hand over her mouth, muttering a small ‘no way’ as she moved toward him. She ran her hand over his cheek gently, through the abrasive ski mask he was sentenced to wear for an undetermined amount of time. He closed his eyes and drew in a jagged breath. There was no reason to be so nervous, and yet…

“My God, it is you,” she said, laughing a little despite the circumstances.

“You remember now,” he said. “That I told you I was going to be a spy?”

“No, it’s just I never thought I’d see you here, of all places,” she replied, shaking her head. And, after a moment, “Which side are you on?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you that, petite, I-“

“My son’s BLU.”

Spy rubbed the back of his neck and threw a glance to the train car again. Her son had moved somewhere else. She continued to speak.

“He says he joined ‘cause BLU is the good guys’ team,” she said, chuckling a little. Her eyes were beginning to water again. “I just assumed, ‘cause you’re a good guy.”

“Oui,” Spy said, bringing his cigarette to his lips and failing to do much else with it. “I am BLU as well.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand on her chest. Spy looked her over again and couldn’t help but smile a bit, his heart fluttering like mad. He figured he’d never see her again, especially not after he lost her number in such a clumsy way, but here she was. A bit older, with a few more wrinkles (some from worry and some from time), but still beautiful. The two of them said nothing as the train whistled; the last call to get on.

“I missed you,” Spy said quickly, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his heel. Before he knew it he had her in his arms, their faces close, and for the first time he was sure that she still felt the same way about him. He could almost hear her heartbeat in the silence.

“I didn’t miss you at all,” she said. Spy attempted another stuttered reply, giving her a reason to put her finger to his lips.

“I don’t miss people when I know I’m gonna see ‘em again.”

Spy held her close before kissing her for the first time in a long time, the same kiss they shared so many times in those short days, and it was a kiss he felt like he could live with for a long, long time. He pulled away and looked at her, running a hand through her hair, her eyes shining with the fire he was so used to yet so unacquainted with.

“Please, do me a favor,” she said, holding one of his gloved hands. She was longing to see his face one last time, though she knew it was impossible now. It was too late.

“Oui?”

“Please, make sure my boy comes home okay.”

Spy kissed her forehead tenderly, a last goodbye, and stepped onto the train.

“I will,” he said, watching as she waved goodbye to him and her son, tears in her eyes, and watching as she disappeared around the corner as the train exited into the desert.
>> No. 465
Have an itty bit more.
----

Spy was never very fond of trains, and this particular ride proved to be no exception. Early on the conductor instructed them to pull the shades down, so no one would see where they were going (“A secret, ya see…”), and only switched the lights in the car on once everyone had sat in total darkness for a few minutes. A few of the men, apparently too curious for their own good, attempted to lift the blinds and were – presumably – thrown off the train for good measure.

The sound of a man’s body hitting the ground that way was certainly one Spy wouldn’t forget soon.

“Hey! Why in God’s name did ya move? I told ya I’d be right back.”

Spy looked up. A man, possibly in his early 40s, was addressing him, hands on his hips and looking like a generally friendly person.

“Do I know you?” Spy asked.

The man paused and looked at the other people in the train car before swearing loudly and taking a seat anyway.

“Sorry, mate, I walked into the wrong car. All you spies look the same to me anyway,” he said, taking his hat off. “I thought you were the one I was talking to before.”

“Non,” Spy said simply, taking a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it. The man watched him curiously for a few moments, took another glance around the car, then leaned in close.

“Mind if I bum one of those off ya?” He said. Spy shrugged and handed him one, muttering a quiet “Sure” in the process. The man smiled widely and leaned back, taking a match from a pocket on his vest and lighting it with his thumb and forefinger. He took a drag from the cigarette, harshly, and blew the smoke from his nose as he sank into his seat, looking thoroughly pleased. Spy smoked his own cigarette quietly as he watched, confused by the whole display.

“Sorry,” said the man, waving away some of the smoke. “It’s been ages since I had one.”

Spy gestured at the man and smiled a bit, something that could have meant anything, and settled into his seat a bit. Not sure what to say, he opted to say nothing and looked toward the window, disappointed when he remembered the blinds permanently covering it. He directed his gaze to the floor, a strange diamond pattern, and after a moment shoved his hand into his coat’s breast pocket, running his fingers around the edges of the photo of Mary. He thought about looking at it, but didn’t want to deal with any questions.

Luckily, the man was kind enough to fill the silence.

“You know that kid?” He asked, gesturing to the area behind Spy. He looked, and wasn’t surprised to see Mary’s son sitting a few seats behind him; Spy realized why it felt like someone was trying to bore a hole into the back of his head.

“His mother and I, uh…” Spy said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“You fucked his mum?” the man said, trying to be helpful.

“No!” Spy shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that…”

“You ‘made love’, then?” the man said.

Spy took a long drag and pursed his lips as he exhaled. The man shrugged.

“Hey, we’ve all met MILFs at one point or another,” he said, laughing quietly.

Spy took one last glance behind him, and was relieved to see that the boy was no longer staring. He had taken to talking with the man next to him.

“So you’re a sniper?” Spy asked.

“How’d ya know, mate?”

“Your fingers are filthy. The job description didn’t say it outright, but…” Spy smirked. “Snipers are always rolling around in the dirt, aren’t they?”

“Look, I didn’t mean the MILF thing. No need to talk about my hygiene.” Sniper put his cigarette out on the back of his hand. “It’s just part of the job. This shit never comes off now.”

“You mean you’ve done this before?” Spy asked.

“Yeah, ‘smy third year,” Sniper said. “We get summers off. Sort of like school.”

Spy looked at him blankly.

“9 to 5 fighting schedule,” the Australian continued. “It’s almost like a joke. You don’t ask why they do it, though. Some Scout did my first year.

Sniper shuddered and shook his head.

“Mate, you just fight when they tell you and you stop when they say so.”
>> No. 516
agh! more! this is my favorite fanfic, and i loovvee ittt
Scout's mom <3
>> No. 518
Oh man, I didn't notice this was continued. I want to hear more!
>> No. 804
Spy nodded his head vacantly as the train slowed to a stop, and though the windows were covered he still caught himself glancing toward them, trying to catch a glimpse of their location. Sniper stood up and straightened his vest out, offering Spy a friendly handshake and a few kind words.

“See ya on the battlefield, mate,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll be on tha same team.”

“Oui,” Spy said softly, thinking that perhaps he would like to have this man on the same side as him. Everyone was instructed to shuffle off the train together, and finally Spy got a look at what sort of place he was in.

It was an enormous fort, one side painted red and the other a cold shade of blue, their premises comically close to each other. A woman stood on a podium in front of the new recruits, reading off rule after rule and motto after motto, and soon enough Spy found himself completely disinterested in the idea of war at all. He glanced around him and saw that many men were wearing the same expression he was, no doubt considering what sort of dismal situation they had put themselves into.

Mary’s son was easily identifiable, being one of the few younger men there. He was listening intently.

“…And now, those of you who have been chosen for RED please report to your base. Further instructions will be given later on.” The woman motioned to the blue fort and then to the crowd. Spy almost scoffed; he could barely believe that anyone would choose to parade people around like this.

“Here, look your enemies in the face. You may have made friends with the man you’re going to kill later on.”

Spy imagined that saying something like that would have been less humiliating than this. But slowly, almost hesitantly, man after man admitted to being RED and made his way to the base. Some of them looked back, gaunt and war-weary already, no doubt hoping their friends would soon follow. And Spy, without thinking, did the same thing, looking for the face of the Sniper among them and then looking for his lover’s son.

He saw the boy, who undoubtedly saw him as well, and as he walked into his base he already knew that he’d never protect this boy the way he wanted or the way he promised. The son of the woman he loved already hated him, and for no other reason than his assigned affiliation.


Spy had found his bunk with little difficulty, as the maps were surprisingly helpful and returning veterans were more than happy to help with directions. The Frenchman sat and immediately lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He exhaled, smoke pouring into the room as he was used to it doing, and for the first time he felt a little bit at home. It was a cozy room, to be sure. Nothing too elaborate, but it was enough. He was concerned about having to share it with another person, though, and hoped to God it wasn’t anyone without any decency.

“Oi! Which Spy are ya?” It was the voice of the Sniper he had met on the train, carrying his belongings and an obnoxiously thick blanket into the room. “The one I met on the train or the /other/ one I met on the train?”

The Australian smiled as he set his things down on his bed. Spy sighed. Decency, indeed.

“The other one,” he replied simply, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray he had brought himself. (It was good foresight, as well, since RED didn’t provide one for him.)

“Oh, good,” Sniper said, crackling his knuckles and already working on strewing his things about the room. “You’re the more pleasant bloke.”

Spy loosened his tie and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t such a bad roommate, he decided, and thanked whichever diety was watching over him for his good fortune so far. He then prayed that nothing fucked up any time soon.

“I knew ya were a RED,” Sniper said suddenly, causing Spy to jump. He lifted his head up to look at the man, who continued. “Yup, see, RED is for good guys’ team. You seemed like a good guy to me, so it was obvious.”

Spy failed to see how either team could be considered good under any circumstances, but he didn’t say that.

“Oui, I’d like to think of myself as good,” he said.

“I saw that kid who was lookin’ at you on the train. He glared a hole in the back of yer head when you were walkin’ up there, lemme tell ya,” Sniper said. “He’s BLU.”

“As if I couldn’t have guessed,” Spy said a bit bitterly, rubbing his forehead. He knew that was going to happen the moment he got on the train. Why did it hurt so much to hear it from someone?

“You’d be better off just forgettin’ whoever he belongs to, mate,” Sniper told him. “Things don’t work out so well when you’re on different teams like this.”

Spy nodded, thinking that the man did have a very good point. However, forgetting a woman like that would be more than just a challenge. Spy changed the subject.

“Why are there so many people here? I thought there were only 9 men on each team?”

“Some of ‘em are gonna get shipped out to other bases tomorrow,” Sniper said, glancing out the window. “This is more or less a resting point. Can’t keep people on a train all day. Laws or some shit like that.”

“Will you be staying here?”

“I think so. Have since I got here; dunno why they’d up and change it all of the sudden.”

Spy shifted on his bed, kicking off his shoes and facing the wall. Perhaps there was still a chance the boy would never meet him in battle. Maybe he’d get sent to another base and Spy would never have to see him again. He’d tell Mary things were out of his hands and that was that, there was nothing he could do…

Of course, he felt like scum for thinking about it that way.
>> No. 805
Oh oh oh.
This.. you must write more. I don't know why I haven't seen this before, but it's amazing! This is seriously amazing. I love this so, so much. Please. Moar.
>> No. 808
oh man :V
just thinking about the possibilities of shit hitting the fan with BLU scout and RED spy makes me cringe
I DEMAND MOAR
>> No. 1088
Aw. This is such a good story. Is it over?
>> No. 1089
Aw. This is such a good story. Is it over?
>> No. 2236
More please.
>> No. 2239
I came into this story expecting a terrible thing to laugh at and troll heartily, and I came out stunned at how well you've given these two a backstory. Tres bien, anon. Get yourself a name.
>> No. 2255
moar pplz?
>> No. 2262
Sage, goddammit! I got my hopes up thinking there was an update.
>> No. 2274
Saging for good justice because it hasn't been updated. Moar please?
>> No. 4545
MOAR! MOAR! MOAR!
>> No. 4548
Oh god, this fic just made me melt. So adorable and ... classy. Just like Spy/Scout's Mom is and should be.

Please, PLEASE continue.


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