Work Text:
The lock clicks as loud as a gunshot, and she presses her head to the door, letting a deep breath out.
Pulling off her facade is a rush of adrenaline, like downing a can of Bonk! and rushing onto the battlefield. A giddiness bubbles in Scout's stomach, and it leaves her lightheaded as she giggles quietly to herself. Just the idea of the secret hiding in her closet makes her feel floaty and nervous, hands trembling as she rips the closet door open.
The fabric is soft as sin under her quivering fingertips, splayed out on the bed like a spill of pure sapphires. A simple black belt connects the deep blue skirt to the flowy white top, a simple yet striking affair that makes Scout's heart flutter. A plain black bra is set to the side, somehow just as beautiful in her eyes as the dress, setting off sparks in her brain and bringing a blush to her cheeks.
She's never stripped so fast in her life, shirt thrown across the room and lost in a monstrous pile. Shaking her trousers off, Scout trips over her shoes and bangs into the wall with a yelp. Pausing a moment, there's no noise or sound of movement outside of her own heavy breathing, so she presses on, arms flailing behind her as she tries and fails to zip up the dress. "C'mon, ya stupid frickin'-"
A knock interrupts her mumbling, and Scout's heart skips a beat.
"Whaddya want?" She yells, frozen in place as she holds her breath, nausea pressing against her chest. Her voice comes out brash and low, grating on her ears and only doubling the pit forming in her stomach.
"I'm missing an article of clozhing," Spy's voice echoes in her ears, and her breath hitches in her throat. "You wouldn't 'appen to 'ave seen it?"
"Uh...no?" Scout lies squeakily, desperate trying to dry her sweaty palms on the bedsheets. As much as she wants to find solace in the fabric swishing around her legs, Spy will definitely wring her neck out if she gets anything on the stolen article of clothing. The silence is stifling, such a long two minutes as Scout silently prays for him to just go away. Unfortunately, the doorknob rattles, and she's nearly sick on her shoes.
"...Scout, open zhe door," the Frenchman is dangerously quiet, the door handle still taut under his hand. An iron grip twists Scout's stomach, punching the air out of her lungs. Her bottom lashes become damp as she inhales, quick and sharp. "I can pick zhis lock in a mere second. Do not make me."
"No!" Scout protests, sniffling as she desperately held back tears. She really didn't want to dirty such a beautiful dress with her stupid tears. "...ya gonna be mad a' me." Her voice is pathetic even to her ears, a bare whimper in the deadly silence. And so the silence stretched on, just the two of them on either side of the door.
"I promise I will not be angry, mon fils," Spy attempts to reassure her, unable to see the way Scout cringes at the term. Still, she can't blame him - no point being mad when she never even bothered to tell anybody. His voice is surprisingly light, and if she didn't know any better, she'd say he's nervous.
The creak of the floor incriminates her movement, hovering over the doorknob uncertainly. With a click, the door unlocks, but Scout holds her hand on the door, only revealing a sliver of herself. Her hair hangs in front of her face (did spy noticed i've been growing it out? she wonders absentmindedly) and her cheeks burn with shame, refusing to make eye contact with the Spy. Letting go of the door, Scout picks at the skin around her nails anxiously, wincing when the hinges squeak open on their own. There's no hiding it now.
"I, um...I can 'splain," Scout mumbles, hissing through her teeth as a bit of blood pools in the crevasse of bitten nails. "I jus'...'m not-" She cuts herself off with a huff, tongue feeling like lead in her mouth. "Why's 'is so hard!"
It comes out as a childish whine, but surprisingly, Spy doesn't mention it. "I understand, mon cœur," he soothes her, hands firm but not strict on her shoulders. "But I only wish you would 'ave asked instead." Scout's wide eyes snap to his face, jaw practically on the floor, and Spy just chuckles quietly. "Is it so surprising to you, fille?"
Her jaw clicks shut after a few moments, and her face is practically glowing pink as she shrugs and mutters a noncommittal response. Thinking back on it, it shouldn't have been such a shock; all those times Engie had called Spy a 'she' that Scout just brushed off as a mistake. Seeing painted nails or a face full of makeup, covered within a blink of an eye, like a trick of the light. Owning a woman's clothes - nearly half a closet's worth, no less.
"But- are..." Scout starts, hesitated before the words finally slip out. "Are ya...like me? A, um, a..." She can't quite bring herself to say the word, instead just trailing off as the tears finally roll down her cheeks. Fortunately, she doesn't need to.
"A transsexual?" Spy guesses, humming when Scout nods, sniffling quietly. He - she? - ushers the girl back into her room, shutting the door behind them gently. Stepping over the piles of clothes and empty soda cans, he guides her to sit on the bed, scrunching his face when Scout wipes her nose with her arm. "'onestly, fille, 'ave some manners."
Procuring a handkerchief from his pocket, Scout takes it with trembling hands. "T'anks," she mumbles, fumbling with the cloth for a moment before using it to wipe her nose. "So, uh...are ya?"
Spy doesn't sit, instead leaning against the nearby wall, arms crossed. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull out a cigarette just yet. "Oui, in a way," he explains, just the hint of a smile on his lips when Scout scrunches up her face and tilts her head. "I prefer not to restrict myself to masculin or féminin, or neizher, occasionally." The cogs and gears of her brain are audible as they spin, trying to process the information presented to her. Eventually, everything clicks, and something lights up behind her eyes.
"Ohhh!" Scout exclaims, teary ocean blues glittering and wide as she stares up at her dad mom parent. "I gotcha. So, like," she starts, a small scrunch between her brows. "is it different everyday? Or ‘s it, like, when ta moon changes ‘n shit?”
Spy raises a brow, but refrains from sniping back with a taunt. “It can be day-to-day,” he explains, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “But not often. I ‘ave been masculin for..a week?” He can’t help himself, though, and his lips turn up in a smirk. “Contrary to what you believe, I am not a werewolf.”
“Wh- hey, I don’- ah hell,” Scout sputters, pouting as Spy snickers quietly at her. “Ya knew what I meant, jerk.” Foot tapping anxiously, she rolls a bit of fabric between her fingers. When she speaks again, there’s a light shake in her tone. “Will, uh…will ya zip me in, ‘lease?”
If Spy has something to say about the waver in her voice, he doesn’t show it. “Bien sûr.” Bunching her hair in one hand, Scout holds it aside as the last inch of the zipper is pulled. She throws it back over her shoulder when he’s done, and Spy clicks his tongue. “‘onestly, fille, look at zhe state of your ‘air,” he criticises, attempting to comb a tangle out with his fingers. “You must let me do somezhing about zhis mess.” It’s a silent olive branch, one he almost immediately retracts - it’s been years, Scout hasn’t even wanted to come out to him, did she want anything to do with him? - but he doesn’t even get the chance.
“Uh- yeah, o-okay,” Scout agrees, voice thick around the edges, and for both of their sakes, Spy pretends he can’t tell she’s crying. “M-Merci, u-um…papa.” It’s stilted and nervous and certainly not how he would’ve hoped it, but Scout has just called him dad and Spy is afraid he might start crying as well.
“Tout pour toi, mon fille.”