Work Text:
Miss Pauling was at the RED base reviewing the team’s performance for the week when Spy noticed it. A small black thread pointed out like a sore thumb from where her sleeve met the body of her plum-colored dress. The stitching from where it came was jagged, multiple layers of thread made waves in the fabric that it held tightly together. His eyes examined the rest of her outfit; faint remnants of blood stained the edge of her dress and the black fabric that cinched her waist was faded in color. She was also overdue for a change of tights as there was a growing hole on her ankle. At least her shoes still had their original polish that shined in the light.
A truly horrendous sight for Spy. How could someone’s assistant be expected to do her work efficiently if she isn’t looking dashing at all times?
“Good evening Miss Pauling.”
“Oh- Hello, Spy!” She quickly turned her head, not having noticed him standing behind her before.
“May I ask you something?” Miss Pauling cocked her head, “Did you happen to stitch this yourself-“ he proceeded to grab the glaring thread and pulled it. It wiggled smoothly until it came undone.
“I did."
“Wonderful work.” Spy’s voice was flat and his poker face masked his urge to wrinkle in pity. His gloved hand held the limp thread, leaving an opening on Miss Pauling’s sleeve. “Do you not have a tailor?”
“Uhm-“ She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips, “Unless you count the Administrator as my tailor, then no. Most people don’t have their own tailors, you know. This is the last dress the Administrator has given me in a while and now I have to fix it… again.”
“Wouldn’t it be a little more fun to do a little bit of shopping to fix this?” He waved his hand over her figure. The warm earthy scent of the expensive cigarette his fingers cradled trailed off in clouds of smoke as he did so.
“Did you just gesture to all of me?”
“Perhaps. Anyways, come with me, the night is still young.” He passed by her and headed towards the front doors of the base.
“Wait- we’re going right now?” Spy reached into his pocket and swung a pair of keys. Miss Pauling followed behind, picking up the pace to catch up.
They drove in Spy’s red 1967 Ferrari 275, something Spy had bought within the first years of his employment. It was a beaut of a car with a black leather interior and a polished wooden steering wheel. Smelled nice too, due to the royal pine-scented Little Tree that hung from his rearview mirror.
They drove until they left the Badlands, heading out towards whatever big town Spy had in mind. This could be anywhere since the only town in the Badlands has a population of around a thousand folks, half of whom are senile enough to be considered dead.
Vast fields of pure desert and distant mountains were all Miss Pauling could see as they traveled down the interstate. The setting sun with a sky of burning red and pale blue made the land look so beautiful. Maybe the desert wasn't so bad.
It took around an hour or so for city lights to come into view. Albuquerque, Miss Pauling thought. It was a city she had visited multiple times throughout her career, though every time she came it felt like an entirely new experience.
Soon enough, they were strolling through an outdoor mall in one of the nicer parts of town. It was adorned with tall palm trees and desert vegetation and even had a fountain with a Greek statue.
"Woah, this place is beautiful! It really makes me feel like I don't belong.” Said Miss Pauling as they passed by jewelry stores, "By the way, where exactly are we going?"
"I know a place, it’s been a while since I’ve been there but I do believe we’ll find exactly what you need." Said Spy, and they turned the corner to face the entrance of a shop. The name was unfamiliar to Miss Pauling, though the bold letters on top of the store's opening screamed top-tier French fashion. Typical from the Spy.
A soft orange glow that radiated from the lamps above swallowed the two when they walked through the entrance. Below them were ceramic tiles, most of them a single beige color, but they were laid around the tables and racks of clothing in an arrangement. Like picture frames, thin Sierra brown tiles outlined symmetrical flower-like patterns that were a deep blue color. Panels of rich dark brown wood made up the walls as well as the shelves that held shoes and handbags crafted of leather.
“Grab whatever you like and meet me by the dressing rooms in 15 minutes.” Said Spy, and they both went their separate ways.
Miss Pauling felt the soft, delicate fibers as she ran her thumb over a long dress that a mannequin wore fashionably with tall black boots and a gold necklace. Cashmere. It had to be the most expensive thing she had ever touched. The second most expensive, as a matter of fact. The number one spot would have to go to the time Heavy let her feel the cold steel of Sasha when she spotted him polishing her. She beamed when she remembered that lucky day.
She moved to the racks and began sifting through the hangers that held fabrics such as silk and cotton. Miss Pauling never had a taste for fine clothing or any kind of clothing in general. Yes, sometimes she’d find herself eying the cute patterned shirts and flared pants in advertisements in the magazine aisle of stores. But that was only when there were no more gun catalogs to buy.
Miss Pauling picked an item from every rack she could find, not paying much mind to if there was anything specific she was looking for. Clothes were clothes, to her they were just meant to be worn. It didn’t matter what the end result looked like.
She returned to their agreed spot before the time was up. She pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. Spy showed up shortly after, a bundle of hangers in both hands. Miss Pauling looked at the layers of fabric she held on her arm; she may have underestimated how much thought she should've put into a new work uniform.
"I'll take them, thank you-" Her hand bent at an awkward angle as it held the weight of everything he picked out. Even the lady running the fitting rooms asked Miss Pauling if she needed help carrying everything. She wore a slick bun, no stray hair in sight, and a shirt whose colors matched those of the tiles, which was tucked into black slacks. It matched what every other employee wore. Miss Pauling declined her offer and was escorted to a room.
"This is a nice color, the sheen on it isn't too bad either." Miss Pauling stood in front of the fitting rooms. She softly swayed her hips for the dress to twirl. It was nothing to write home about, it was a knee-long, short-sleeved bright pink dress with white cuffs that were held up with a trip of fabric and a button. Spy sat on the cushioned seats in front of the dressing rooms, his arms delicately crossed over his chest. He then propped his chin in his hand and squinted his eyes. His loafers clicked against the floor as he walked towards her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he scooted her so that they'd be standing in front of the tall mirror nearby. He hummed thoughtfully.
"Turn around." She followed his order as if she were a model whose stylist was getting her ready for the runway. "Again, but with your arms to the side."
"Pretend you're holding a clipboard." She put her arms up to hold imaginary paperwork and a clipboard. A pose she memorized from years of actually doing so as part of her job.
"It looks horrendous, go take it off."
“What’s wrong with it?” Miss Pauling questioned, her expression turned to that of sad confusion.
“It makes you look like a naive schoolgirl. I believe if the Voice saw you wearing that she’d gain the courage to finally kill you off. ”
Miss Pauling sighed, but there was no point in arguing with a man whose personality is rooted in being a pompous aficionado on all things leisure and fashion. Her feet shuffled against the cold floor as she disappeared behind the dressing room curtain.
A few minutes passed before Spy would see Ms. Pauling again.
"Pst- Spy?" She popped her head out the curtain, "A little help? I can't feel the zipper on this thing."
Like before, he wandered towards her and slid behind the curtain. The dressing room was big enough to fit the two of them and their only source of light came from the fluorescent frame of the mirror. The sleeves slid off her shoulders as she leaned against the wall for Spy to help her.
"I think this dress looks wonderful, this shade of emerald compliments your skin and I believe you'll look more professional than with the one you have right now. Hopefully, when you meet with associates, they can start taking you more seriously-" Spy was interrupted by the sudden stop of the zipper. It refused to go any further, even when he tried to pull it again. "That's strange, it won't move."
"What?"
"Don't panic, this happens all the time, though I expected better from this brand…"
"Spy, you made sure to get me something my size right? This isn't too small?"
"Oh please, you’re a small enough woman. If I were going to give you clothes that didn't fit you-" Spy grunted in his attempt to make the small sliver of metal budge yet again, "We would have gone to Victoria's Secret-" No luck whatsoever; it was completely stuck.
"Mon amie, excuse me for what I'm about to do-" Spy lifted a leg and planted his foot on the wall, "Now, if you could take a deep breath-"
"What are you-" Using extra force, Spy yanked the zipper upwards. It jolted from its spot and closed completely. Miss Pauling yelped as the dress squeezed whatever air was left in her body.
"There!" Spy dusted whatever nonexistent dirt was on his hands, "How's that? Look at yourself, you look magnifique." He twirled the blades of black hair out of her face. Miss Pauling tried her best to stand straight in the mirror. She looked like one of those women she had seen on late-night talk shows when she was too tired to turn off her TV. The makeup they wore couldn’t have hidden how her pale skin faded into a shade of red as it became too tight to breathe. At least the necktie was pretty.
"I think my ribs are closing in on my lungs."
As fast as he closed it, Spy unzipped the back, “Just when I thought I had found the perfect one.” He sighed before leaving the room.
"Check this one out!" She swung the curtain and stepped out to see Spy fidgeting with his lighter. He was itching to smoke but apparently, the public health came first so until they were outside, he had to wait. This time she wore a dress she picked out. It was ankle-long and ivory white with long bell sleeves. It was certainly… unique. To call it form fitting would be the farthest thing. To call it obnoxiously prude was more suitable. The garment hung over her figure like a tent. It truly didn't suit Miss Pauling.
"Oh, now this is perfect!"
"Really?"
"Yes, if you plan to quit your job, move to Utah, and work at a Mormon organization, that is. Miss Pauling please, I had expected you had much better tastes!"
“Sorry, but you guessed wrong. I mean, maybe if I choose this Scout will start leaving me alone?”
“You know how that ankle-biter is, he could die and his burning charred corpse would come crawling back from Hell to beg you to date him. A potato sack of a dress wouldn’t keep that boy even a mile away from you.” With that, Miss Pauling disappeared behind the curtain once again.
The following dresses Miss Pauling tried on continued to miss their mark. The ones Spy chose were too form-fitting and truthfully, made her look older in an unfavorable manner. The ones Miss Pauling chose were too loose, too brightly colored, and made her look naive.
When she finished, Spy was no longer on the cushioned seat. She then realized he was nowhere to be found. That was until Miss Pauling completely exited the store to see the man parked on a bench with his signature cigarette in between his lips. Miss Pauling threw herself onto the empty spot next to him, the night breeze cooled her skin. The stuffy air of the dressing room had made her hair stick onto the back of her neck and forehead.
"What should we do now?"
"Sit here until someone passes us with the exact outfit we need and ask them where they got it, I suppose."
“Well, it was refreshing to do something different for a change. Thanks for helping me out by the way, I don’t think anyone else on the team could have even brought me here alive. Except Engineer, he knows how to drive…I think.”
“My pleasure, helping one another out is what friends do. I helped you shop, and you helped me escape that stuffy base full of sweaty ruffnecks.”
They both went silent for a few moments. The only sounds Miss Pauling could hear were passing conversations of others and the occasional exhale of smoke from Spy. She turned to him and looked him up and down. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and then cleared her throat.
“You know, you’re like the only one in the team who dresses like this. Why?”
It was true by all means. Everyone on the team wore uniforms, or something resembling one, that could get torn, stained, and replaced with little to no hesitation. Sure, Sniper would grumble whenever he found a new tear in the vest his mother bought him and Engineer would throw his wrench when he felt his favorite boots fall apart.
But Spy? No way in hell he'd ever let anyone live the rest of their lives peacefully if they ever stained his clothes. The suit jacket alone was $10,000 and custom-tailored, then there's the silk tie that was around $9,000- who knows how much his entire outfit cost. Not to mention the cologne he wore, a variety of sandalwood that followed every step he took that was without a doubt imported from a European country. The bottle of it was probably tucked in his medicine cabinet in between other bottles of lavish scents.
“Miss Pauling, when you’re born this handsome, what else can you do but pamper yourself with the best of everything?” A cocky smirk grew on his face, “Besides, I don’t think you know how thrilling it feels to walk into a room and realize you are the best dressed out of everyone."
Of all the things he lied about, his looks were not one of them. Whatever skin his balaclava didn't hide was a nice shade of olive-brown. The rest of his features were hidden, allowing those besides himself to use clues and their imagination to figure out what his bare face looked like. From his large Roman nose to his well-groomed and arched eyebrows, Spy was a handsome rouge, as he'd like to call himself. Too bad he is the sadist he is today. His time could’ve been spent shooting a movie or some model magazine in France rather than with his coworker at a mall in New Mexico after a day of slicing necks.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Miss Pauling felt a twang in her heart. Perhaps if she put as much effort as he did in her looks and perfected her demeanor to gain that suave, she could have a chance at pulling women. Albeit, she wouldn't have the time to nurture such a relationship. The market of women who were also into burying bodies, going to gun shows, and working 364 days a year- not to forget, who also liked other women -wasn't the biggest either.
“Let’s head back, shall we?” sighed Spy, taking a final drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his shoe, “It’s getting late.” Miss Pauling hummed in agreement. They both rose from their seats and headed towards the parking lot. The sky was no longer a mix of vibrant colors, but instead black with white dots sprinkled all across.
“Now that you mentioned it,” he spoke again as they slid into the car.
“Hm?”
“Maybe I should bring the mercenaries here someday, I could teach them to dress like proper gentlemen.”
“I would love to see you try that!” They giggled at the idea as they drove into the interstate once more.