Morning broke through thick clouds like a golden miracle. The city below the sun's glittering rays was coming alive. Rainwater rushed down paved streets, gurgling as the last of it slipped away. Fire and ash were smothered. Burned buildings were black, but stable. Chunks of vehicles and stop light debris littered highways, but it was manageable to get around. The warzone and toxic hazard that had plagued it last night was swept under the city, like so much dirt and debris beneath a rug.

Now, Inspector Anderson had to deal with the remaining scum.

Women and men alike were arrested during the night, left in his department's care. Most of them were middle aged bald thugs. Some were young men, probably not much older than twenty-five. A few women were among them. Too many of them were mouthy Americans demanding for their lawyers or phone calls. One particularly disturbed individual had been unresponsive during his interrogation, claiming that any information he divulged about what happened last night would label him a Tory. It was with great frustration that he finally found one of the arrested who was calm enough to talk with him.

The inspector offered the cooperative prisoner a seat. "If ya would please."

"Thank you," the short woman replied. She was dark haired, outfitted with cat's eye glasses. It was hard to believe she was American, considering her passive and cool response to her incarceration. Taking a seat in a blue plastic chair, she adjusted her glasses, then her shirt's collar.

"Now, if ya would be so kind, I would loike to ask ya a favor," Inspector Anderson stated. He sat down, his blue uniform sharp against his sagging features. He reviewed his chart, his long face screwed up in a frown. "Miss Pauling, I ain't goin' to lie to ya. You and yer blokes are in a mess 'a trouble. If you can get any of them to plead, it would speed up our processin' by quoite a bit."

Miss Pauling raised her gaze. "What are we being charged with?"

The inspector gave a low whistle. "Destruction 'a public 'n private property. Aggravated assault. Reckless drivin'. We've got to go through some bodies from a warehouse downtown, as well. I'm guessin' it won't take my men long to pin the fire there on yer men."

"I can guarantee that any injuries my men inflicted were solely in self-defense," Miss Pauling responded tersely.

Inspector Anderson raised an eyebrow. "That includin' the invasion of public property at Miss Grey's office? Some 'a her employees are claimin' yer boys were involved with their injuries as well."

"I'm sure you've spoken to those involved with that situation," Miss Pauling sighed. She leaned forward, crossing her arms at the wrist. "We could be filing a kidnapping report against them. I think you'd know that, if you talked to the other woman from our party."

"Quoite roight. We plan on chargin' them, too." Inspector Anderson nodded. "Gonna make a bloody mess of our court system for a bit."

Miss Pauling smirked. "Of course, you know what would simplify your workload."

Inspector Anderson tensed up. "Now, see here, Miss. The law's the law. I can't let any 'a ya off for any offense. It's up to the courts to decide what's what. That's not my job, after—"

Two rings hissed through the interrogation room.

They repeated again, buzzing from an old telephone. Inspector Anderson frowned, then reached a mighty paw towards the phone. He picked it off its cradle, mumbling a brief acknowledgement. Miss Pauling sat back. Her composure relaxed, a slow smile spreading across her face as Inspector Anderson's skin blanched. His jaw dropped as a horrible voice slithered into his ear. Nightmares worse than any terrors dredged up from the sea wrapped around his brain. A chain-smoking, steely whisper in his ear broke the rigid spine of the lawman.

He gently placed the phone down after the snake untangled itself from his brain. "Y-you and yer mates are free to go, Miss Pauling."

The short woman smiled. "Thank you, Inspector Anderson."

"Puh-please just go. Don't come back," the inspector stammered. "Don't send her after me."

Miss Pauling kept her small grin. For such a selfish, vain woman, the Administrator always seemed to come through for her.

It did not take long for Miss Pauling and her companions to get back to the airport. Most of them hadn't even had time to unpack. They would be landing in Dallas in a little over half a day. That gave the company some time to rest. The men needed it. Most of them were lacking sleep. After coming down from their adrenaline high from the chase, they were sleeping upright even in their ride to the airport. The police had escorted them out the entire way, of course. They were going to make sure that none of them were going to go off to some other part of the city and destroy it.

They were seen off by one last group in the airport. Three men were sitting around a television set, playing a sort of game with a news cast. The loudest of the three kept loudly proclaiming when a fact was wrong. He was waving half a chewed banana at the screen, highlighting every wrong ticker tape factoid with a loud exclamation. The roundest member would merely nod in agreement. The quietest would give a look over his shoulder, embarrassed with the ruckus his friends were making. That was how he caught the attention of the crew from New Mexico.

Sensei gave a tap on his boss's shoulder. "We have company, I think."

Toaster glanced over the couch. He gave a loud whoop, then vaulted over its back. He hopped next to the Spy and Sniper, giving both men broad hugs. The Soldier retaliated with a grunt and a shove, not happy that strangers were touching his men. His teammates had to quiet him down. His attitude changed as soon as he had an explanation for why strangers were touching his teammates.

"So, where are ya blokes goin'?" the Sniper asked.

"Kyoto," Buckaroo stated. "Ol' Sensei's got a rich family back home. They donated a heck of a lot 'a dough to this temple there. Ya ought to see it. Orange gates! Thousands of orange gates! Foxes 'n frogs, too. I don't quite get it. Somethin' 'bout grain gods. Not exactly the kinds 'a animals I'd pick for that kinda thing."

The Spy nodded. "Paying your respects?"

Sensei bobbed his head as well. "I know of no better place to pray."

There was an awkward silence between the former rivals. There was no accusation or crying from any of Toaster's men. Boomer's death had been accepted. They had come to terms with it through the night. His missing presence was still like a gaping hole in their formation, however. The Sniper fumbled for his hat, then lowered it across his chest. Toaster sniffled but didn't say anything. He merely gave a soft nod. His friends followed likewise.

"He doesn't have any family lookin' for him?" the Sniper asked.

Toaster gave a pathetic chuckle. "Well, he left his dad in the Himalayas. His mom never made it out of Tasmania. Hell, last I heard from his brother, he was going to go diving in the Seine. His family's everywhere, I guess. So is he."

The Scout's mother piped into the conversation. "Some families run like dhat. Can't change 'em. Lord knows I've tried."

"Hey!" the Scout interjected. "Whaddya mean by dhat?"

The Spy chuckled, a small snort slipping between his laughs. He collected himself, then apologized. "Je suis désolé. I forgot myself for a moment."

"Ah, well. Can't be sad forever, right? Just for a little bit," Toaster sighed. "At least, I don't think he'd want me moping around."

"Perhaps it's a good time to think about yer future. What'll ya be doin' after Kyoto?" the Sniper pondered.

Toaster lifted his head. "You know what? I hadn't thought about that. Guess we're out of a job, huh?"

Buckaroo grumbled. "I suppose we rode that train as far as it could go. Still, there's always another treasure to be found."

"You know, some say that the Yasakani-no-Magatama is a forgery," Sensei offered. "Perhaps we can verify its authenticity?"

Toaster screwed up his face. "Oh, hell no! If we're going to steal any gemstone, we're going after that rock that Rachel stole from us!"

The Spy shrugged his shoulders. "At zhe very least, you could sell off your story."

Toaster threw an arm around the Spy's shoulders. "You see this guy? I like the way he thinks."

The group's banter was interrupted by soft beeping from above their heads. A pleasant voice kindly reminded the people from Teufort about their gate and departing time. They weren't running late, but they were cutting it a little too close for comfort. Miss Pauling waved most of her group along, quick to get them scurried towards their destination. The Spy and the Sniper lingered for a moment, each man giving a quick handshake and a pat to Toaster's crew.

The Sniper lifted a pen from his vest pocket. Taking the lid off with his teeth, he wrote a phone number and a zip code on a nearby scrap of newspaper. He tore it off, giving the sheet to Toaster. "If ye're in the United States, give us a ring. That's our main line and our town. Tons 'a explosions 'round it. Can't miss it."

"I don't know. I try to stay away from explosions when I can," Toaster grumbled.

"It is not quite as terrifying as you may imagine it to be." The Spy gave Toaster one last pat on his shoulder. "Take care of yourselves, mes amis."

Toaster and his men nodded. "You too."

The trip home went fast. Everyone slept through the flight. The road trip back to Teufort didn't take long, either. Events moved in a flash. The team was just happy to be back together again. The only concept of time they had was Miss Pauling's gentle guidance pushing them from one rest stop to the next. If they weren't driving or eating, then they were resting. The Scout's mother had taken residence on the Spy's chest for most of the tour, which irritated the young Bostonian to no end. The Spy did not tease him, however. He was content to be heading back to the closest thing he had to a stable home.

Of course, it didn't hurt that he'd smuggled out some of the mysterious substance from the strange tree on Fraser Island. The Medic had been all over that in no time. Within a few hours, he'd replicated the substance's contents enough to let everyone on their team have a shot. Of course, the Administrator and Miss Pauling had both been offered some of the stuff. They had both declined. Miss Pauling didn't think it would work on her, and the Administrator kept mumbling some concern about contamination.

They wouldn't be able to keep their forms. Just until their next battle. Then, they'd disappear with their first revival. The Engineer had made a copy of their changes in the respawn machine, but he was ordered by the Administrator not to use them unless she said so. That was the way it always went. She owned every piece of data and research, even the very content of their genetic code. Disturbing, perhaps, but that was part of their contract.

That left two items available to the Spy—the night, and one of the last remaining specimens from the so-called Fountain of Youth.

He sat in his car for a long time, contemplating about what he would do with both. He knew who deserved the last of the stuff. Perhaps it wasn't right to offer it to her, considering its risks, but she had to be given a choice. Either way, the world would continue to change, and so would they. What he had been for twenty-five years was what he would continue to be.

The Spy jolted as a lanky Australian leaned against his car. "Gonna sit in here all night?"

"No. Why? Did you have any plans, Bushman?" the Spy asked.

The Sniper shook his head, grinning. "Nah, mate. Just gonna spend some toime goin' through my van. Surprised the Administrator had it towed here. Gotta pay her out of our ears, I suppose. Still, glad to have my home back."

"I could not agree more," the Spy nodded.

Both paused, letting the cool night seep into the garage. The Sniper gave a glance over his shoulder, looking at an empty workbench. The Engineer was still asleep in his loft upstairs. The two of them had quite a few rounds together since their return. Even now, the Sniper was drifting in and out of his thoughts with a pleased, drifting hum. The Spy could smell cheap alcohol on his breath. Apparently, he'd had a good night.

"I did have a place to go," the Spy finally spoke.

The Sniper bobbed his head. "The little lady's, roight?"

The Spy smiled. "Mais oui."

Giving the Spy's car a soft pat, the Sniper rose. "Roight, then. Better get to her. Never keep a lady waitin'."

Before he could turn, the Spy caught the Sniper's right wrist. He stood up, patting his teammate on his back as he gave him a strong squeeze. The Sniper responded in kind, albeit slowly. He was a little drunk and confused. Both men held each other for a moment, releasing only after it had gotten painful for both their backs. A flush of color was quick to flood the Sniper's face, alcohol kicking his bloodstream along quickly. The Spy kept cooler, a smirk at his lips.

"Zhank you," the Spy said.

The Sniper grinned. "Ye're welcome. I think. Don't know what for."

The Spy rolled his eyes. He didn't know if modesty or intoxication had made the Sniper stupid. "I would have been lost without you, you dimwitted bushman."

"Ah, please. Ya would have been just—wait. What did you call me?" The Sniper slurred his thoughts together. The Spy understood what he was saying all the same. Gratitude seeped through his smile. The Sniper returned a goofy smirk.

A soft cough came from the Spy's vehicle as he turned it on. The Sniper backed away, his expression sobering up. There was a bit of fear in him yet. The Spy could see it around his eyes. He could map where tired wrinkles used to be on his teammate's face. He could see them yet, knowing that deep down, the old men they left on Fraser Island were still clinging to each other in fright. It would be a while before each one could feel completely safe off the base again. Fear would not stop him from his midnight drive, however.

"Your countrymen have strong laws, correct? Zhen we will not worry about Miss Grey. Zhey will keep her under lock and key," the Spy spoke over his motor.

The Sniper gave a tired nod. "Roight. And if she shows up here, then she'll be on our turf. We've got help here. If there's anythin' we're good at, it's holdin' a line."

The Spy grinned. "Zhat's right, Bushman. Have a good night."

"You too, mate." The Sniper gave the Spy a quick wave.

His teammate turned to head inside his van. A devilish smirk creeped across the Spy's face. There was color on the back of the Sniper's neck. That couldn't have been from the alcohol. He leaned out of his car, calling towards the Australian. "Might I make a suggestion? Go get a handkerchief."

The Sniper's back went rigid. He clapped a hand over the bruise on his neck. Snapping on his heel, he yelled back to his teammate. "Go get yerself a reason for a handkerchief, ya bloody Spook!"

He arrived at her home like he always did. He came quietly in the middle of the night, balaclava on, form hidden by the dark cast of her roof's shadow. Tonight, he was perplexed by the mess at her back door. She had been, too. All of her items were in order, but her door was still broken. Apparently, George hadn't gotten around to fixing it. Then again, his house was dark and empty. The rat had run out of town. She could have been mad, but at that moment, she was more pleased by her guest than angered by her neighbor.

"I did not bring any roses wizh me. I hope you will forgive me," her gentleman spoke softly.

She smiled. "Didn't need any. Table's messed up, anyway. Think I have a chip in my good vase, too."

As he stepped into her home, the Spy shed his jacket. He gave a brief glance to the collapsed door. "I could call zhe Engineer, if you would like it fixed tonight."

The Scout's mother grabbed the Spy's tie. She swung its tip in his nose. "It can wait. Ain't nobody gonna interrupt us tonight." Slinking closer, she wrapped her arms around his hips. He folded his around hers in turn. Both held their embrace, each savoring the scent of the other. Nothing perfumed, nothing fancy. Just clean. He rested his sharp nose in her well-groomed hair. She could feel him smile through her scalp.

"Don't want to ask a clichéd question, but I've gotta know," the Scout's mother murmured into his chest. "Is somethin' in your pocket, or—"

The Spy's eyebrows raised. "Oh. About zhat." He unhooked his arms from her side. He fished through his suit's vest, producing a small glass vial. It was a minty blue-green color in the moonlight. Something earthy percolated from its contents, sinking into her sinuses with a pleasing scent. "Before we left Brisbane, we made sure zhat zhe police were to destroy zhat substance Marian found. Well, I should say, most of it. Zhis is all zhat is left."

The Scout's mother tipped her head. "Ya mean, dhe stuff dhat turned back dhe clock on you?"

The Spy smirked. "Don't get attached to it. I'll be back to normal soon enough."

"Good. Frankly, I was startin' to look a little odd around you." She played with the knot on his tie, loosening it just a little. "So, I've gotta ask why you brought me dhis. I've seen what it can do. Frankly, not too hot on it. I mean, dhe effect's nice, but I ain't a fan of what happens. You should have seen dhe way dhat Dell was pukin' his guts out."

"I've seen it. Trust me. I would not give you zhis wizhout having taken precautions in case of zhose symptoms. But, as far as why I want you to have it…" The Spy's answer was slow to develop. He kept his mouth closed, trying to find the right way to say his thoughts. There was not an easy way for him to speak his thoughts. "Consider it compensation."

He was rewarded with a flick in his nose. "Ya dummy! Why'd ya think ya'd ever need to repay me?"

"You do not need to risk your life on my behalf," the Spy replied.

She smirked again. "Ya really are a mental moron, ya know dhat? Look, mon caniche. I came after you because I love you. I know ya get yer guts spilled every damn day, but dhat doesn't mean I have to like it! I'll only tolerate it 'cause ya get out in one piece at dhe end of a day. But, dhis extra crap, with random bitches thinkin' dhey can put dheir mitts on you? I ain't havin' it! Yer mine, dammit! If any broad lays a hand on you, dhen I've gotta smack it back off!"

The Spy caught a gasp before it escaped his throat. "So. I am yours."

"Hell yeah, goddammit," the Scout's mother swore back. "We ain't always been a faithful pair, but…Shoot. You've always had an eye on me. You've watched over my boys. 'Specially my little Scout. Hell, dhe stuff you've smuggled to us just to keep us afloat. Ain't never had any husband fight for my boys like you did."

"You can't mean zhat. Your second one tried," the Spy interjected.

"Yeah, well, you've been in my life longer dhan he was. God rest his soul." She settled her arms around his neck. "Ye're my guy. Ain't no magic potion nor ring nor nothin' dhat needs to say dhat. I love you, and you love me, so yer gonna have to suck it up."

The Spy whispered into her forehead. "Je t'aime, mon petit chou-fleur."

The duo stood in the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. Moonlight flooded in through open windows and the broken door. Black and white tiles on the ground danced their way into wood-paneled and thick-carpeted rooms. Beyond them, a restroom. Past that, three bedrooms. A quaint little ranch house. There, in all the places in the world, the Spy and the Scout's mother finally found themselves at home. Nothing had to change. No masks were needed, nor perfume, flowers, nor any other trapping. In ruins, tragedy, and joy, it was perfect.

"'Course, ya know what I don't have?" the Scout's mother laughed.

The Spy lifted his head. "Oui?"

She gave him a coy grin, playing with the bottle in his hands. "I got a lot 'a things, but I don't have a daughter."

Author's Note

Wow. Got to admit, this has been a long story. What, I started this in April, and it's almost August? Crazy.

I hope this has been entertaining, to say the least. I don't know what I want to next, but I'll keep my mind open. It was nice to offer something fresh. I mean, I prefer my monster stories myself, but it felt good to give some action to the fandom. There's so little of it out there, you know? I mean, they're pretty macho guys with a lot of guns! Why don't we use that more often? What's up with constantly putting a bunch of mercenaries in complicated romances?

And yet, I end this story on a romantic note. Hoo, boy.

At any rate. I'll be having essays on my Tumblr about Team Fortress 2 for the next month. You can read them at demonfox38 DOT tumblr DOT com.

Take care of yourself.