Third time's the charm - here's hoping this version is readable. I hate 's system so hard.

Anyways - sorry for delay in update - life has been a mess. I've been dealing with family medical issues - starting therapy and trying to crank up my freelance art more so I can continue to afford therapy and meds. Alas the fic is not bleeding, nor does it pay me so it gets to the bottom of the to-do pile. Also my main editor is in the middle of her Master's program so it's hard to get things lined up to edit and progress.

But this story isn't dead - and to prove it here's a chunk of it. This is subject to polish and changing in the future but I figured I should share something on here.

It was late afternoon when Spy parked the acquired jeep in the gravel lot next to an old bus depot. The town, like many in the area, was far from civilization. It existed merely as a place to refuel and move on to other places, and had nothing to boast. Well nothing but the bus depot and the phone booth next to it. He was surprised they weren't selling postcards celebrating the phonebooth.

He glanced at his watch and saw he was slightly early. Driving out this far just to use a solitary phone seemed a bit ridiculous and over-cautious but the letter from Pauling had specified not to use any phones on base or near Teufort. The unusual request peaked his attention and he decided to humor the woman. She usually had her reasons.

He took another glance at his watch and picked up the receiver. Cradling it between his shoulder and ear he reached into his pocket. He'd destroyed the letter after making mental notes of all the details, but had written down the phone number. Unprofessional, he scolded himself, but it was better than losing or dialing a wrong number. The Texan was rubbing off on him. Shaking his head, he turned back to the task at hand and dialed the number. It rang once before the call picked up.

"Hello?" Pauling's voice answered. Even over the crackling wire her voice sounded tense, more so than usual.

"Bonsoir," he replied simply, there had been no code phrases given. He was surprised at that, considering all the other precautions.

"Good, you got my message." there was a clatter in the background as she spoke. He noted with interest and envy that her location was nowhere near as remote as his.

"I always do my best to answer the call of a mademoiselle in distress." he chuckled, pulling his cigarette case out of his pocket.

"This is not the time for that." she hissed, she said something else but was cut off by more clammer in the background. "Sorry!" she yelled over the noise.

"I trust this isn't a social call," he said raising his voice to be heard. He lit a cigarette and slipped the case back in his pocket, his curiosity prickling at crowd was probably to help ensure she wasn't overheard, but why do that when she had a radio phone and could call from anywhere?

Pulling the phone number from his pocket he held it up to his cigarette, waiting for the paper to smolder. The sound in the background was dulled and Pauling's voice grew louder, as if she had pressed her face up against the phone. "I need you to check something out for me."

Now that was unusual. "I'm sure you and Madame Voix have many other people for that sort of work." he reminded her as he watched the scrap paper and its number burn. He remembered the company's agents from his recruitment; thuggish, efficient and innumberable.

Someone yelled in the background, the noise crackled over the phone. "Not…at the moment." despite the clatter the hesitance in her voice was obvious. "That's what I need you to look into."

This was getting more interesting by the second. "Something has happened." He was starting to get an idea of the situation.

"I'm going to give you an address," she explained, "They were supposed to check in last week but haven't. This isn't the first either."

The paper scrap was now a cinder. Dropping it to the floor of the phone booth he ground it under his heel. "You want me to see what has become of your wayward lambs and fear a mole in the organization." The whole situation was starting to become clear.

"I need this handled discreetly. Cleanly. Expertly." she added the last word, as a garnish. She was trying to appeal to his ego. He was flattered of course, but she was too blunt for these sort of games.

"I can do it, of course." he took a drag from his cigarette. "But this is a very odd job to give a simple freelancer."

"Is it?"

"My contract is just for distraction and sabotage of RED." he reminded her. They were desperate, if he twisted this right, there might be a chance of negotiating better pay, or some actual time off.

"Is it now?" Pauling laughed, the timber of her voice was sharp and brittle. "I believe it also says, all employees shall have no no personal holidays, even in the event of emergencies, injury, dismemberment, death...deaths of relatives…Upon penalty of losing their paychecks for the next year."

Spy swallowed, coughing up a bit of smoke.

"Page twenty five sub paragraph four clause three. In the fine print." she added helpfully. "You owe me a favor."

"So it seems." he exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. He had thought he'd read over the contract carefully. There might be a chance she was bluffing, but the chance she wasn't would make life difficult.

"Builder's League United is thankful for your devotion and willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty." she chirped mechnically. The girl knew she'd won. She was almost as horrible as the woman she worked for.

"Alright." he conceded. "Give me the address, I'll go back to base, make arrangements," -tie up some loose ends, visit a certain cowboy "-and see what I can find."

The address to the dead drop with further instructions was simple, but he repeated it back to her to be sure he had it memorized - "And be careful." Pauling added. "Respawn won't work out there." she reminded him. As if he could forget the boundaries and rules that kept him from seeing what his final reward looked like. "I don't like ho-"

He cut her off before she let herself breakdown. She was quite good at her job, but a long stretch from the frigid standards of Madame Voix "What's this Mademoiselle? Worried over the help?" he tsked. "Soon you'll start sending us presents on Noel, and making sure we have edible rations."

There was a moment's pause before she spoke again, her voice stronger, more resolute. "Be cautious, and call back at the main office when you get answers."

"Very well Miss Pauling. I'll send word back soon." With that he placed the receiver back on the cradle. Stepping out of the phone booth he shivered as a breeze blew through. The sun had set and the desert was cooling down rapidly.

He drew another drag from his cigarette and walked to the purloined jeep. If he was lucky Soldier wouldn't notice he had borrowed it. If the man had he'd...figure out how to handle that later. Right now he had other problems to think about.

The engine clattered and sputtered to life, his team's Engineer was not as generous with his expertise as his own cowboy. As it rattled and bounced down the road Spy let himself go over the details of the phone call in his mind.

He was not sure what he had been expecting when he got the letter from Pauling, but something this dire was a surprise. He'd had little experience with the rest of BLU besides the occasional presence of maintenance men and the vague contacts with Pauling, but even those details hinted at a bigger operation.

A hundred year old private war, no matter how petty, was costly in resources and manpower. A century or so without pause or intervention by higher powers. Until now.

His cigarette had burned down to the filter, with a sigh he tossed it out the window. This job was clearly not going to be simple, and probably not clean. Pauling sounded genuinely shaken and concerned. Anything that had a girl who worked for the devil concerned was definitely cause for alarm.

It was late when he got back to the bases, the stolen jeep rattled up the gravel drive behind the BLU base with no sign of Soldier looking for his automobile. Silently Spy parked the vehicle, climbing out he slipped the keys in his jacket pocket. He'd drop them somewhere tomorrow where Soldier would find them. The idiot would probably assume he'd lost them and not figure out the truth of the situation.

He pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket and lit it. He had lots to do before he left on this "favor" of Pauling's, and he knew what he wanted to do first. With a stretch he looked at the sky, the sun had long set and the denizens of RED and BLU had likely settled in for the night. The cowboy was probably in his workshop and it was a lovely night for a walk.