making my way downtown

[un_beau_coquin]

[The big issue here isn't getting fired. No, Spy will be fine for now, considering all that he's saved. Losing a resource as powerful as RED and Mann Co in general is a blow indeed, but Spy can get by. Right now, he's more concerned about living and making sure none of his loose ends catch up to him.

Most of the things he's taking back with him are either essential or expensive. The weapon magazines and catalogues sent by RED are still sitting in his old quarters, along with some leisure books and even some pieces of his old uniform. The suit has always been a part of his look, so he keeps some of it; they make for some decent padding for the wine stored in the trunk of his car.

With his tie slung around his neck and his jacket over his arm, Spy makes a mental checklist of all he needs. His life is pretty much stowed away in his wallet: bank cards, multiple IDs, cash, miniature cloaking device, plane tickets... He pats his pants pocket for the only thing that doesn't fit in his wallet: his passport. Not that he'll need it for the flight, but it's good to have these things just in case.

A tiny part of his brain nags at him, urging him to feel sentimental about leaving his workplace of over four years. But to hell with that - god knows this won't be the last he's seen of them.

When Scout hobbles up to his car, a mess of stupidity and arm casts, Spy is tempted to slam the door in his face and make him eat his dust trail. But, of course, the little mongrel has to pull the mother card and all of a sudden Spy feels responsible.]

I have a jet leaving in fifty minutes. You've got twenty. Get in the car.

Comments

[un_beau_coquin]

T'ey are not, just-- calm down.

[He brings his hands up and smooths out Scout's shoulders, following the lines of his arms to inspect his casts. He feels the crack, fingers it, tries to assess the damage. It's not too deep, they could probably fill it in with-- something. Maybe they'll have medics to help. His other hand scopes out the broken brace, then moves to support the free-floating cast.]

Scout, do not-- Don't rub your eyes, you will make it worse. Come now, chin up.

[The hand inspecting the cracked cast comes up to where Spy estimates Scout's chin should be. His reach is slow, careful, and his fingers brush Scout's neck before settling gingerly under his jaw.

The commotion in the background is starting to touch upon his senses, but they can deal with it when it comes.]

[bonking]

[ Spy is right, wiping his eyes brings only temporary relief and the searing just comes back even hotter. He can't get up with Spy inspecting him, not that he wants to. Even with his eyes shut, it feels like he's on a boat on stormy waters. He's panting, his heartbeat hammering loudly in his head. The touch on his jaw is cool like a balm. ]

Why're you bein' so nice to me?

[ He doesn't really know he's said it aloud; there's no real barrier between his mind and his mouth now, if there ever was. ]

Maybe if we shut the door and wait it out quietlike, they'll think we made off.

[un_beau_coquin]

[Spy clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He taps his fingertips gently against his teammate's cheek before setting his hand back down on Scout's shoulder.]

You're 'urt. I was-- responsible. For some t'ings. [A pause.] I am not completely 'eartless, you know.

[Spy raises his head back towards the door. The shuffle of feet has subsided for now, but he suspects that it will return sooner than later.]

I doubt it, but it won't 'urt to close t'e door. And to be quiet. If you can manage t'at.

[He leans over to close the door, careful not to disturb his teammate. When the door clicks shut, it blocks out whatever maintenance machines had been making background noise, instilling a feeling of quiet in the cramped space of the closet.

It occurs to him now that he's not even sure where Scout's body is situated in relation to his. Spy's back is propped up against a shelf, one of his knees against a wall, and the other close enough to Scout that he can feel his body heat.]

[bonking]

[ When Spy moved away, Scout had flopped back onto the floor to try and breathe the fire out of his lungs. Low he lies face-up on the floor, his head pillowed by what he doesn't know ( or care ) to be the head of an old mop. His forearms jut up with the cast like two white towers, like some robot who had run out of steam.

His legs still work, though they feel a bit heavy, and Spy will be able to sense where he is soon enough as a thigh knocks against his knee. The silence is filled for a moment with Scout snuffling over the mace, though he attempts to be quiet. He does attempt it. Unfortunately, the consequence of this is that he's also rapidly losing consciousness, at which point all the congestion starts him snoring softly. ]

[un_beau_coquin]

[Spy tries to crack open his eyes, but to no avail. The inflammation hasn't died down one bit - it'll need proper decontamination before he can use them one hundred percent.

Scout's movements prompt Spy to reach over to check on him, feeling a need to constantly update his information feeds. His heartbeat is the only sound that keeps him company, aside from the little noises that float from Scout's mouth.

That's fine, though. Spy has been prepared to be the one carrying Scout throughout this endeavor, even if it turned out that they had each done an equal amount of carrying the other. Instead of bothering his teammate, he listens to the door. A few minutes pass as he keeps up his head, running over little drills in his mind to keep it alert, before anything approaching footsteps come into earshot. When they do, it's like a herd pounding through the narrow hallway, complete with muffled complaints about the lack of room.

Sighing, Spy eases his weight to rest completely against the hall. Well, here marks failure number one.]