A new challenge was offered to your job since you began wearing a splint. Some were due to the object itself; while it was annoying to wear around as your injury recovered, you were able to manage fine. The other was all the unnecessary assistance you were receiving because of it.
The first few days Medic made you use crutches to get around and emphasized that you should not put ANY weight on it since it was such a severe sprain. That's when you were most grateful for the other mercenaries' assistance. There were times it served as a challenge to carry specific items while also trying to support your balance on the sticks. Though after a few days you were able to gradually put more weight on your foot as it healed.
Assistance remained the same as it did since the first day of your injury even though you felt more capable to move around by yourself. You could understand the concern expressed behind it; having everyone in tip-top shape to work as quickly and efficiently as possible was vital to the team. You just didn't like the fact it restrained you from doing things independently. Having to rely on someone "holding your hand" so you could get your work done was an inconvenience to both your colleagues and yourself. As a consequence, you saw more failures to win battles during those first few days.
These were the times you wondered why Medic couldn't just use his medigun on your foot as he would with everybody else with far worse injuries? If it was such an issue to remain hurt, why not just heal it back to good health like you have seen a million times over on the others? You never asked these questions to Medic. More than likely, he would give you roundabout answers, as normal, if you asked anything close to a question involving battle technology.
Between Scout's teasing of calling you "Captain Iron Ankles", "Twigs", or whatever other impudent names under the sun, the constant check-ins with Medic, and having to rest for longer periods of time than you wished; post-clean-up was the most bittersweet of them all. For the worst days of the injury, the BLU Spy was nowhere to be seen as you cleaned with the one other mercenary (as they got permission from the Administrator to do so). Perhaps he took notice that you weren't alone so he did not interact? Maybe he was busy so could not roam? Who knows. Whatever the case was, you kind of began to miss his company in specific. It was interesting to talk to someone outside of RED. Plus, Spy was always such a charming person to chat with. You didn't bring your book out during these nights because you knew the other men on your team wouldn't be as interested going through it with you as the BLU Spy was.
When you got your diagnosis, you thought about maybe there was a way for you to get in contact with Spy in some other form. The thought gnawed at your mind for a few days, especially when cleaning. Before the third night, you got an idea. You were sitting in your room. Grabbing a pen and paper you wrote a small note:
If you get this please meet here five minutes before my normal clean-up time tomorrow. I have something for you.
You folded the paper in half and stuffed it in a free pocket in your cargo pants. That night you were doing clean-up rounds with Pyro. When they weren't around, you casually placed the paper down at the normal picnic table that you and Spy would sit at and read during your time at Hazyfort. You took a small piece of duct-tape and secured the paper to the tabletop. There wasn't a guarantee he'll get the note, let alone be outside for all you know. But it was worth a shot.
Pyro's technique certainly made the job go a lot... quicker... Instead of taking the remains to the incinerator, they brought the incinerator to the remains. There were countless times where you thought the fire from the flame torch was going to catch you on fire as they maniacally waved it around in the air. A method you did not question, but most certainly did not want to try again.
It was late, and by this time Pyro and you have departed ways for the evening. You stalled near the living room area and listened to the area around you closely. It was dead quiet between there and the hall that led to the mercs' rooms. Once the silence made you feel at ease, you took a small satchel bag from out of the closet that was off to the side. Then, you began to travel down the opposite hall in the area towards Engineer's workshop.
A metal door separated the inside of the facility into his workspace. A small metal window decorated its frame, and it was pitch black on the opposite side. Engie must have gone to bed. With great vigilance, you limped towards the door and slowly began to pull down on the handle.
It was unlocked. And with the same care, you entered the room.
The darkness soaked the room, and you did not dare to switch the lights on. Your hand dove into one of your pockets and took out your replacement flashlight you were given for cleaning while you made sure to bring it with you on this excursion. You knew what exactly you were looking for. Flicking on the switch, you then wrapped it around your head and scanned the zone.
The workshop for Engineer was big, but not as big as the one at 2Fort. Every place you guys have traveled seemed to be like that. They have every room and most items prepped, besides the ones you decide to bring along on the journey of course. It did not take you long to discover what you were looking for. On a workbench of to the side near the wall sat multiple little metal cubes. Each cube had the same design on them accompanied by a small red button on the side. With reluctance, you lifted one up with two hands while supporting your crutches between your armpits. The box was somewhat heavy; just as you were expecting. After briefly observing it, you slid it into the bag on your shoulder. You then continued to pick another one up and place it into the bag as well.
Having two in one bag was really starting to weigh down on your arm. You tried to move with your crutches and the bag on one side, but it served as a difficult process. So, you shifted the bag so it slung across your body. Still a challenge, but not as bad as before. Trying to maintain the same sneakiness; you slipped out from the workshop, closed the door quietly, and began to lurch towards your room.
Once in the safety of your own room, you placed the bag onto your bed. You put your crutches off to the side and sat at your bedside as you revealed one of the metal boxes once more. You gently placed it onto your floor and pressed the button.
The box sprung open to life. It made a quiet buzzing noise as the contents within slowly began to reveal itself as the all too similar tool you commonly saw on the battlefield with the men; the teleporter. This one was about a quarter of the size as the ones you have commonly seen, plus it did not begin to spin.
You took out the second one and placed it onto the floor next to the first one. You pressed the button and it continued the same process. Once both were fully set up, you waited in anticipation.
A few seconds later, both ends of the tiny teleporters began to slowly spin. The motion grew faster, and a small spark of red light began to glow from the middle. Soon enough, the two boxes revealed to be tiny functioning teleporters. A cheerful grin grew on your face. Your plan was officially in action. What all depends on it now is if Spy even sees your note. Only time could tell until later.
The evening couldn't have come any sooner. That night you were scheduled to clean with Heavy. You told him to take his time to finish eating dinner while you went and got "everything ready to clean". That should buy you just enough time. Plus, Heavy was a slow walker so it bought a little extra on the side.
Before heading to where your supplies were, you made sure to stop by your room and bring along one of the mini-teleporters from last night. You stuffed it into the satchel bag from the night before. Leaving the wheelbarrow and gear out further into the streets from spawn, you dashed out towards the rendezvous point as fast as your crutches and the weight of the bag could carry you.
Just as you turned the corner your heart jumped up in your chest. There he was!
Spy stood at the bench with a small smile as you approached him. You couldn't help but have a joyful look on your face as you grew closer.
Spy held up a piece of paper that was neatly folded between his index, middle, and thumb. "I assumed that this was you?" He questioned, a small lace of awareness in his voice.
You sat down on the bench, you were about to place your crutches on the ground when Spy took them and neatly set them on the opposite side of the table. "Yeah, I just had an idea the other day. I remembered Engie was telling us he was working on these as a fun project!" You showcased the mini box to Spy. He raised a brow at the contraption.
"What is it?" He asked.
"It's a mini-teleporter. I thought I could give you one and we could be pen pals!" You exclaimed. Your keenness made Spy chuckle.
"Oh, Backer. Of course it was you who came up with that idea." He teased.
You laughed a tiny bit yourself before continuing, "It's going to be a while before my ankle fully heals. So Medic told me some of the guys on my team have to help me out with some tasks that involve a lot of labor until it's back to normal." You explained to him.
Your eyes scanned his face. It looked like his black eye, bruises, and all his other cuts and marks had completely gone away. It didn't surprise you, his wounds could be treated because of respawning or with Medic's healing gun more than likely. He solemnly shook his head.
"It must not be easy. I apologize, but is there no way your Medic cannot heal you with his equipment?" He asked. The conversation was going into more work-sensitive areas. He may not have intended for it to, though.
You shrugged your shoulders. "I'm not sure." It was the truth, just the very vague edition of it. Just as extra security by not exposing too much information. You turned around to look behind you. You could hear Heavy calling out for you back by your fort. Your head turned back to Spy as he handed you back your crutches and he picked up the teleporter. "I gotta get going. The red button on the side turns it on. You know it works when you see the glowing thingy in the middle. Also, I think it's only linked to mine so you shouldn't worry about something going to another teleporter."
You hoisted yourself up to your stable foot while still looking at Spy. "I hope we can speak to each other soon." The phrase sounded strange to you. It left you with some sadness, but anticipation for the future as well.
Spy kept his sweet demeanor. "As do I, Backer. Now get going before I get you into trouble."
You obeyed his orders and met up with Heavy. A look of strange surprise rode on his face. "Little woman, I thought you disappeared?" He questioned in shock. You beamed at his surprise.
"No, Heavy. I was just scoping out the area. Just to see how much we're dealing with." The man didn't comment anything else, he just nodded his head and the two of you immediately got to work.
The nice part about cleaning up with your teammates was that you got the opportunity to speak to those you commonly don't have as much of a close relationship with. Especially the more quiet ones like Sniper or Spy. Heavy was a lot similar to them, as he did not exchange many conversations with you unless he asked a question involving the task at hand.
Everything about Heavy was very stolid, but you didn't mind. You felt that sometimes the guys were a little tough on him. Usually calling him dumb because of his speed physically and mentally as well. He was always very stoic when he wasn't on the battlefield. You didn't know much about him because of how reserved he was.
"It's nice that you get to be out here to help me. I don't really talk to you all that much outside of missions." You tried to spark some conversation. Maybe you could get to know him a bit more now.
"'Is nice. Backer is very busy woman." His statement was very matter-the-fact and short.
"I guess so... Usually, once you get into a schedule you stick to what you know, right? I feel it's the same way with the people you normally talk to as well." You kept a kind and quiet voice.
"Is this your way of saying you're getting tired of Scout yet?" He questioned, a small smirk rested on the side of his face as an eyebrow arched up. This made you laugh.
"Not necessarily. I mean it more in a general way. Like talking to some of the guys I don't have as much leisure time with." You paused to put some parts into the wheelbarrow, but Heavy picked them up for you. "Thanks... So, what are some of your hobbies? I hate to sound dry, but I just don't know that much about you."
The two of you walked your loads to the incinerator as Heavy hummed to himself to think. "Heavy likes taking care of Sasha-- and eating sandviches." He nodded assuringly.
"I think we all know that already, Heavy. I mean outside of that. Do you like to draw? Sing? I like to read books if that helps."
"What do you enjoy reading?" Now he was asking you the questions.
An awkward mix of a sigh and laugh came from behind your closed lips. "I like to read classic literature. Some of the others back at base tease me about it being dorky, but you just can't beat the originals! I hope by the end of my life I can write a story of my own." You caught yourself going on a spiel; classic for when you get into topics you were really passionate about.
"Funny you mention writing. Long ago, I earn Ph.D. in Russian Literature." He was so casual mentioning it, but it left you somewhat dumbstruck. It made you happy for the Russian man.
"That's so neat! My guess is that you had to read a lot of the greats' works then?"
"I also assume you've read some of Leo Tolstoy's works?"
Heavy nodded his head.
"Have you ever read Anna Karenina?" The excitement in your voice began to build up. Please say yes, please say yes!!
"I have happened to so yes."
Your mind broke into a happy dance of euphoria. Your body perked up a from your crutches. "Oh my gosh, I love that story!! Did you like it? What did you think about Konstantin Levin's character? The beginning notes that came with the story were correlating his character with Tolstoy himself and in all honesty, I think he could have suited just as good a protagonist role as Anna..."
You went on another spiel again. Heavy didn't comment. He just continued to help clean while looking down at you and occasionally nodding. It seemed as though you were talking too fast for him to follow, but he didn't want to interrupt you. He did implement an occasional verbal agreement as well. You were officially in the zone.
After some time you calmed yourself down. Your speech slowed down realizing you may have gotten a little too into it. This was exciting for you, though! It turned out Heavy was more familiar with classic Russian literature, of course. So you tried to discuss more of those titles that you may have known. Truly, it felt like you bonded with him for some time.
You were able to split a few small laughs and somewhat deeper analysis of some stories, but it was limited to Heavy's English vocabulary at times. You haven't had this close of a tie of interest with someone besides the BLU Spy. You would argue Scout as well, but really, you weren't sure if you had anything in common with him or not. You two just kinda clicked over some time. It was just nice to get to know someone else a little closer. Clean-up finished a lot quicker than you expected (especially once after you started talking). With satisfied looks with your work and discussion, you and Heavy concluded for the night.
The metal box you gave to him still sat in his grip.
The translucent figure that stood a safe distance away had a view for kings.
Right on them.
Right on you.
The Spy's cigar that hung from his lips was also concealed by the cloak. His eyes had cat-like ambition as he observed your every action. His ears listened to your every saying. He witnessed the whole scene shrouded in the safety that his watch provided him.
He felt indifference and a hint of vexation. If one could see him; his body language expressed it as well. Not to the one he observed, but only himself. To be quite frank, he wasn't surprised to not praise his abilities so far.
The pace he took with the scenario was beginning to drag out a little too long for his liking. Perhaps the beginning of your friendship with him wasn't as personal as he thought based on what he just witnessed. As of now, it was safe for him to assume he has gained your trust.
... as a distant friend.
Spy couldn't help but grin to himself a little.
Perhaps there was some satisfaction he possessed.
His eyes slid back down to the metal box in his hands. He just thought about how eagerly your actions and voice were willing to give it over to him. ... But your eyes. Oh, God those eyes
They told a completely different story.
Take the quote "eyes are a window to the soul". Now instead of a window make it a mirror that distorts one's shape. It renders them in ways that make the viewer unsure if that is their real physical appearance.
That's the feeling he got from them.
They spoke a thousand different messages. You attempt to give him attention as if you did contain trust, but break away at that last moment to observe the scene around you and just the right moment to leave him still questioning. So cautious-- for reasons Spy could never guess. There was rarely a certain emotion that he could read from them.
He looked at your lips, your hands, and anything below the bridge of your nose.
But he always saved the eyes for last. When he did see them, it left him in a strange trance of sorts.
The spy had every reason to be consumed by those pairs. The constant feeling of discontent and suspicion that gazed upon him had to keep him on his toes. Your voice speaks as if he's had your trust for weeks, but your vision says otherwise.
This is what makes the game fun for Spy, though. What's a game without a challenge? Just as the first day they met, it is what keeps him interested in his mission.
All events so far have led him to conclude his next course of action:
He knew exactly how he would carry out the deed. Spy took out his Spytron and examined it in silence. The bottom corner box still remained empty. Just waiting-- dying to be unveiled.
He brought a gloved hand up and the pads of his fingers gently tapped across his lips. The air hung mute as he pondered. He brought the cigar out from his mouth and let out a low chuckle.
It was time to tame those eyes.