Work Text:
"Scout, don't take this the wrong way," Miss Pauling began. She pursed her lips and contemplated the best course of action here. "But do you, uh, know what a lesbian is?" There. Pretty direct, right?
As she should have expected, Scout scoffed, in disbelief that anyone would think he was ignorant about anything. "Please!" he said with a flippant wave of his hand. "'Course I know. They're those chicks from Lebanville."
"Lebanon," she corrected, mentally kicking herself for correcting him on that.
"Yeah, yeah." Scout rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Same thing. Probably don't tell Soldier, though. He'd freakin' die if he figured out you ain't American."
Miss Pauling stood there at a loss for words, as was increasingly common in her interactions with Scout. She cleared her throat and said, "I don't think you'll have to worry about that."
"Don't know why this has anythin' to do with us not dating," said Scout, ignoring her entirely. "Ya think I'm racist or somethin'?"
"No, it's just..." She shook her head, exasperated. This was beyond impossible. He was beyond impossible. "I'll explain later. Uh, gotta go!"
With that, she left Scout watching after her, confused for a moment before finding something else to do and someone else to annoy.
She had to talk to Spy. He didn't like discussing familial relations or even acknowledging that Scout was his son, but surely he'd know what to do, or what to say, or... anything.
Pauling never really came out to him. He just figured it out, which fit with his job description. He made a comment once that implied that she lacked a girlfriend, and then it felt like they had some mutual understanding going on.
They had a lot of mutual understandings, come to think of it, and a lot of moments when they just talked to each other. If Pauling didn't know any better, she'd say that Spy considered her a friend. Even if he'd only begrudgingly admit that while held at gunpoint outside of respawn range. And even then, he'd probably take his chances.
Well, it wasn't as if she knew many other people with whom she could talk about this, and she was getting kind of desperate. Making a mental note to discuss this with Spy the minute she got the chance, she resolved to stop thinking about it until then. She had important work to do, after all.
Drinking wine with Spy every other week was a nice pastime. He clearly found Pauling's attempts to act like a wine snob to be tiring at best, so she usually kept her mouth shut beyond attempted small talk.
"So, I was talking to Scout the other day," she began tentatively, testing the waters. Spy's grip on his wine glass tightened, and he glared at Pauling, as if daring her to continue. Clearing her throat, she did just that. "He, uh, didn't quite understand my orientation."
"And this concerns me how?" Spy asked. He took a sip of wine. "He's an imbecile. Attempting to get him to understand such difficult concepts as sexual orientations other than heterosexuality is nigh impossible, though I doubt he even understands that."
Pauling took a large gulp of wine, if only out of nervousness. "I just thought, well, he's your s—coworker, and uh, you might be able to explain things to him?" she squeaked.
Spy sighed, sounding tired, frustrated and a plethora of other negative feelings. He put his wine glass down and lit a cigarette, drumming his fingers on the table. "If you are expecting me to discuss the birds and the bees with him—"
"No, no!" said Pauling, shaking her head fervently. "I just..." Her voice trailed off, and she tried to find her words. She opted to change directions. "I just think that, if he understood, then..."
"Then he would stop his relentless flirting," Spy finished for her. "Non. He would attempt to set you up with any woman he finds, prod you for answers as to how sexual encounters work between two women, and attempt to make you switch orientations. Again, he is an imbecile." He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled, ignoring Pauling's glare of disgust.
He eventually sighed again, opting to take pity on her. "Try explaining again, in simple terminology. You are a woman who is attracted to other women, much like how he is a man who is attracted to women. That ought to be easy for even him to understand."
Pauling took out a notebook and wrote this down. "And if he tries to set me up with random women?" she asked.
"That, I cannot help you with," Spy said. "Don't say you weren't warned."
"So, you know how you like women?" Miss Pauling started. Scout nodded and opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak. "Well, I like them, too."
She could practically feel the gears turn in Scout's head. "Like... as friends?" he asked.
"Well, sometimes," she said. "Other times, I like them the same way that you do."
It took a few moments for Scout to comprehend. "I thought that was just a porn thing," he said eventually.
"It's not," said Miss Pauling. The two stood in awkward silence for a bit after that. This, she thought, was stupid. Scout would be unable to understand, immediately try to impress her again, and—
"So you ain't interested 'cause I'm not a girl?" Scout asked.
Miss Pauling heroically refrained from mentioning that there were many, many other reasons why she would never go out with him.
Scout seemed to contemplate this new information. "Do you have a girlfriend?" he asked, and grinned once Miss Pauling blushed and shook her head. "Me neither. Looks like both of us have got somethin' to change."
He grabbed her hand after that and practically dragged her back to the base, rambling about how all the women clearly found him incredibly attractive, and since he found her pretty sexy, then the other Lebaneses would clearly be head over heels for her, too. There were, thankfully, no questions about how sex worked, or how he was clearly sexy enough to make her like men.
All in all, she thought as Scout led her inside and continued rambling, this turned out far better than expected.
"Yo, Miss Pauling!" Scout cried a few days later, waving something in front of her. It looked like a magazine of some sort, though its contents were impossible to figure out, what with all the waving. "I got you somethin'!"
"I can see that," Miss Pauling replied.
"So, I was thinkin', right?" Scout said.
Miss Pauling heard the distinct sound of Spy uncloaking, and the bush next to her disappeared, revealing Spy in its path. "That would be a first," he said, lighting a cigarette and looking as if he thought he was better than everyone else.
So, Pauling thought, the usual.
Scout narrowed his eyes. "The hell are you doin' here?" he asked. "I'm tryin' to show Miss Pauling somethin' she'd like, I bet. You can't just spy on us whenever ya want to. Why don't you go and... I dunno, do French stuff."
"You'll recall that I am the Spy, not the French," Spy deadpanned. "It so happens that I was in the area, and it's rather difficult to resist seeing you make a fool of yourself."
"Man, screw this," said Scout, shoving the magazine into Pauling's hands. "Gimme your thanks once you can do it without this asshole ruinin' everything." He ran off, swearing under his breath.
Miss Pauling opened the magazine, and raised her eyebrows. "It's... A porn magazine," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes," Spy agreed. He took it from her and examined it. "It looks like he cut out the faces of women from another one of his magazines and pasted them over the men." He flipped through the pages, looking as if this were the stupidest thing he'd seen in his life. "I can get Pyro to burn it, if you would like. I'm sure they would view it as the disgusting monster that it is."
Pauling took it back and glared at him. "Hey! It's my gift. I'd rather keep it."
"Don't tell me you're actually—"
"No!" Pauling exclaimed. "I just think..." She shrugged. "I dunno. It's sweet. In a way."
"I suppose this rules out the possibility that he'll attempt to turn you heterosexual," Spy noted. He sighed, in the way that he usually did when he decided that everything was beneath him, and took a long drag of his cigarette. "It's a small comfort. Don't encourage this behavior, unless you want dozens of equally idiotic gifts every week."
Pauling snickered. "Maybe I want dozens of horrible abominations. It's his way of caring, and... I dunno! It's sweet!"
Spy didn't look convinced. "I must go now, and prepare for killing the same nine people as I do every day. Enjoy your..." He gestured towards the magazine, turned himself invisible, and left. Maybe.
"So, like, are you attracted to yourself?" Scout asked one day. "'Cuz, like, I'd do me if I saw a girl version of me."
"I'm not too much of an egotist," Miss Pauling replied. "I'm not my type, anyway."
"Then who is?" Scout asked. "'Cause I got some magazines at the base that—"
"I can't stress enough how little I'm attracted to the women in your magazines," Miss Pauling said, not letting him finish. She sighed. "They're too..." She pursed her lips. "They're too, uh, perfect. I like women that look more real." She moved her head, avoiding eye contact. "... And ones with bigger arms," she said in a near whisper.
"Like Zhanna?" Scout asked, his voice at a normal volume. He laughed once Miss Pauling's face turned red. "So ya like strong girls, huh? You ever look into wrestlin'? Like, the ones with all girls? That shit's freakin' sick. They just beat each other up, and it's like..." His voice trailed off and he smashed his hands together, making sound effects as he had his left hand grab his right and mimed them fighting for a bit. "Like that!"
For someone who had no idea what a lesbian was just last month, Scout was surprisingly a bit quick on the uptake. Pauling had already opted not to even try to explain femmes and butches to him, but he already pretty much grasped the whole concept. "I can't say I have. Watched that, I mean," she said eventually, as Scout continued the miming.
"You should," said Scout. "'Specially the Australian ones. Those girls are... Buddy, if you like strong ladies, you'll love Australian women's wrestling. Remind me to get ya some tickets someday. We can go together, make a whole day outta it. Kinda like a date, but without all the kissin', or holdin' hands, or..."
"... Actually being in love?" Miss Pauling finished for him.
Scout laughed. "Yeah! Pretty much."
"I think that's just called 'hanging out'," said Pauling.
Scout scoffed and crossed his arms. "Boys 'n' girls don't hang out, Miss Pauling."
"Then... What are we doing right now?" Pauling asked, gesturing around her. "Is this a platonic date?" Seeing the blank look in Scout's eyes, she clarified. "A friend date, I mean?"
"Holy crap, we are hangin' out, aren't we," Scout stated as though the concept of men and women existing in the same area without the expectation of romance was a revelation. "I guess this makes you my friend now."
"Yeah, guess it does!" Pauling agreed. She paused, contemplative. "What was I before?"
This question seemed to have broken Scout. Poor guy, Poor stupid, stupid guy. "I dunno. Never thought about it," said Scout, stating the obvious. "You're you."
Pauling nodded. "I'm me," she agreed.
"... and he took me to that women's wrestling show, and I think he tried to give out our phone numbers? Like, giving out mine as a backup in case they were also," Pauling stifled a laugh, "Lebanese?"
"You were warned," said Spy, pouring himself a glass of wine.
Pauling eyed him. "I'm not complaining, you know."
"I was under the impression you only had one day off per year," Spy said, looking skeptical.
Shrugging, Miss Pauling replied, "Well, yeah. I have nights open. You know, sometimes."
"Most people sleep during those hours," said Spy.
In the past, Pauling would be annoyed by this endless sarcasm. But at this point, she was used to it. She knew that he—probably—thought of her as a friend, and this snark was just his main method of communicating. At least, that was what she told herself.
"Maybe I just like hanging out with him. He's a good guy, once he's not flirting with you or trying to impress you 24/7," Pauling admitted. "He's him. I dunno, that's all there really is to it. I can put up with him constantly trying to get me a girlfriend, just like how I put up with you constantly trying to pretend that you don't have feelings."
... Shit.
Spy remained still, glaring at Pauling as if willing her to disappear. "... I see," he said eventually. Not kicking her out immediately was a good sign, right?
"I mean," Pauling continued, trying to dig herself out of this hole, "I like our wine tasting nights. And our talks. You're a good friend, Spy."
Spy took a sip of his wine. Avoiding eye contact, he replied, "Likewise."
That... Might have been the most emotional she could have gotten out of him. Spy cleared his throat, and Pauling took the hint. "I'll just be going along now. Got to prepare for you guys killing your clones tomorrow and all that," she said. Spy nodded at this, and motioned for the door.
Pauling exited, closing the door behind her. All in all, she decided, everything was going pretty well. Well, except for the fact that Scout still thought she was from Lebanon. And Spy's... whatever was going on with him.
But hey. Baby steps, right?
Baby steps.