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She sat in the empty bleachers, the evening sun to her back. He was at the pitcher's mound, his back to her. It'd taken a few hours to track him down this time. She'd checked the usual areas where he could be found, striking out with every woman around, only to find out he hadn't shown up in months.
She'd have to update the notes about him in his file at this rate.
He tossed the baseball up once and caught it effortlessly. Sweat had made his shirt cling to his body– how long had he been out here? Either way, he hadn't tired out. His stamina was impressive, as always.
She twirled the pen in her fingers as he began to wind up for a throw. She watched transfixed at the graceful, quick movement. He wound up, balancing his weight on one leg as he drew back, his knee almost touching to his elbow. With all his might, he threw. She watched the muscles in his back move, the tight curve of the bullet hole-covered pants he hadn't bothered to change out of after work.
Only seconds had passed, but he wound up again, the only sound was a faint grunt from him, the sound of his shoe hitting against the mount, and the whoosh of the ball. She tilted her head as she watched.
She was starting to see the appeal of baseball.
Perhaps the strangest thing was that he wasn't talking. He chattered away when he was happy, screamed and heckled the other side when he was angry and even talked in his sleep.
He wiped the back of his bandaged hand over his forehead. There was something sullen, violent and dark about him. Even though he'd thrown for what she guessed was hours, he still hadn't gotten over the lost match.
Mental Status of subject: murderous in a surprisingly attractive way. Must investigate further.
He pulled off his cap, turning just a little, but it was enough to reveal her position. His countenance completely changed when he caught sight of her. First surprise, then utter joy as he jumped up the bleachers until he was invading her personal space in a way that she somehow minded a lot less than usual.
"Miss P! Miss P! Oh, did you come for the show? I bet it was a nice one, eh?"
"I don't know much about the sport, but you seem to have pitched admirably," she said.
"Yeah, like hell I did. Major league pitching, there," he said. He peered over her shoulder. "Hey, whatcha writin'?"
She quickly hugged the clipboard to her chest. "Behave, this is confidential—"
"Confidential info on how hot I looked, huh?" He chuckled.
He had no idea how close he was.
"Soooo, you were just out here, lookin' for me, watchin' me...someone's got it bad, not that I can blame you—"
"You disappeared, and I was sent to go find you," she said, interrupting him before he could go further.
"So the guys up there gave you a good reason to chase me, huh? Wish you hadn't seen today's match, though," he said. He rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand, and looked to the side. "I looked pretty uncool."
For even him to admit wrongdoing clearly illustrated just what a disaster RED had been that match, and none worse than him.
"I just couldn't get my head in the game," he said. He shifted awkwardly, stretching as he did. "Got a message last night, from my ma and I ain't been able to focus. Couldn't call 'em back until later, and when it was all done, it was too late..."
"If it's such an issue, I could make calls for you," she said. She cleared her throat and continued, holding one finger up to silence him. "But...it'd have to be limited, and only in emergencies."
"You'd really do that for me?" Scout said. She'd rarely seen him smile simply because of happiness. Smirks, smug grins, attempts to flirt with her or other girls, but not like this. She loosened her grip on the clipboard, ever so slightly, with a sigh.
"All right, I won't limit you, but don't take advantage of it, or I'll have to cut you off. Understood?"
He nodded rapidly, standing up on the bleachers. He wobbled for just a second, before catching himself.
"Hey, it's gettin' dark. I don't want you out in this part of town this late. 'Course, we'd kick ass if anybody tried to mess with us. Especially me, 'cause did you see my throwing? I'd throw those chucklenuts like I threw that ball!"
She was about to push herself up, when she saw him offer his hand. She took it, and allowed herself to be pulled up. He not so subtly kept ahold of her hand, whistling a song she didn't know.
His hand was calloused around hers, the bandages rough against her skin. Honestly, she hadn't held hands with someone since high school. Over the metal of the bleachers, the setting sun cast the last of the day in red and gold and orange, a lovely spectacle, almost violent with the last glint of sun before twilight soaked in red, like a battlefield.
She cleared her throat.
"Eyah, I wouldn't wanna get your pretty hands dirty, anyways," he said.
He walked ahead, outpacing her without even trying. This side of the badlands was worn down, brick and dust and mortar, with cracked pavement stained with oil and blood.
"Scout—"
"Oh, hey, you're way back there?"
"If you wouldn't go so fast—"
"This is the slowest I go," he protested.
"Yes, because you're built like a cheetah—"
"Noticin' my hotness?" Scout did a ridiculous pose. She had to fight hard not to laugh. He did another pose, and all she could do was fake a coughing fit.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yes—I'm—fine," she coughed again, less convincingly.
"You're laughin'!"
"No I'm not," she said.
"If you saaay so," he said, walking ahead of her. It wasn't long before he was quite a bit ahead of her again, lost in the haze of streetlights and cars driving by.
"Are you going to leave me behind? At this rate you'll be a mile ahead," she said.
"Never," Scout said. He made his way back, leaping over cracks in the sidewalk to cover the distance.
She stopped, and held out her hand. For a second he just looked down, waiting, watching. When he touched her, it was with both his hands, cradling hers. For a moment, she thought he'd kiss her knuckles, but he stopped, merely holding her hand to his chest, and breathing on her skin.
"There, now you won't get cold," he said.
He slipped his fingers between hers, rough and warm. As twilight came and the streetlights flickered on, the heat of his skin seeped in to hers. She barely noticed the cold.
*
She cradled the phone in the crook of her neck as she dialed the number. The phone made a slight fizzing noise as the call connected. The signs of another bug put in her phone. She'd have to disassemble her phone and remove the listening device, but not right now. That'd make it seem suspicious.
"Hello?"
"Colleen Dempsey?
"Is somethin' the matter? It's pretty late—"
"No, Sco— Liam mentioned being worried about something bad happening."
"Psah, somethin' bad? I told him he was gettin' a new papa! See, Spy asked me to marry him, isn't that precious?"
"Oh, I'd I only heard secondhand," she said.
"Oooh, That's just like him to overreact. And Frankie went and got his leg broke, but my boys are always breakin' their legs. Oh, and Teddy mentioned somethin' about a fight, but they're always gettin' into fights. I was pretty pissed that he went and started somethin'...honestly, we've left Southie behind, but they always have to go breakin' bones and gettin' in trouble," she said.
"Men," Miss Pauling replied.
"I knew you'd understand. That's how all of mine are, even my sweetheart. How is my son doin'?"
She couldn't sort it out. Was he angry at his mother's impending marriage, worried about his brothers, or both?
"Liam...? He–" Miss Pauling cleared her throat. "He was a little sullen, but he's better now."
"Oh, you went and found him, huh? That'd cheer him right up," Scout's mother said. "Ah, speakin' of which— I have to go. Take care of Liam for me, won't you? You make him so happy, you know? All the time he's callin' me and I can barely get a word in edgewise— same as always— but you know. Ah, my sweetheart is here, goodbye!"
A dial tone sounded across the line, with that same click which meant a listening device had recorded it. She should probably edit that later, lest Spy get in trouble yet again. That was some paperwork she really didn't want to file right now.
Miss Pauling also figured that she'd leave the part about Spy visiting his mother when she related the story back.
She pulled out a fresh tape from the desk drawer and started the recorder. She'd collected a lot of data, but translating it to a report...that could be tricky. She turned on the tape recorder and began to dictate.
"Subject is in good health, with remarkable stamina." He's working out, and it shows.
"Umm, subject shows marked anger issues, but I may have stumbled upon a way of diffusing him. More investigation is needed." He shows a gentler side around me.
"I believe him into be stable enough mental condition..." As long as I'm around. "...and do not think that he needs to be drugged, confined, punished, or eliminated.
She flipped off the tape recorder and sighed. I really need to go out.
Miss Pauling studied her hands. Hours ago, they'd been fitted together with his. Across her palm there was a small line. He'd touched it with his thumb, callous to callous, scar to scar. Years ago, she'd taken a chance, from the safety of a secretarial job, a teaching job. Every day was another risk, an unsafe life. But for a moment, she'd felt warm. If she reached out, she might recapture that moment, lit in streetlights and the coming dark. Would everything burn out, a waiting disaster? She hadn't known then, filling out the application years ago, and she wouldn't know now.
She smiled at the memory of his energy, his stupid grin.
"All right," she said. She pulled out a screwdriver from her desk and began to undo her phone. Coils of wire and plastic removed. The listening device was small, so much that if she weren't so used to monitoring and installing them, she wouldn't have recognized them.
She dropped it to the floor and squished it beneath her heel.
She flicked on the tape recorder again. "Note to self: restock refrigerator, pick up dry cleaning and....ahem, learn a thing or two about baseball."