It's a beautiful Saturday morning at the BLU barracks, and all the mercs are relieved to have fewer working hours than usual. Mort is especially relaxed, taking his lovely time to wake up and only rushing himself when food is involved. He carries his daily mountain of breakfast over to the table where Alan and Pasha are seated. “Bonjour, Mortimer,” Alan says, cheerful as ever. “Pasha and I were talking about a used bookstore zhat he visits. You want to come with us?”
“Actually, I was supposed to get something for Zhen-y, since I missed his birthday,” Mort says between bites. “You think there might be something there?”
“Of course! Zhere's also a clothing store, and a toy store, and a candy store, too. We can make zhis a shopping day.” He tugs at a pinch of Pasha's shirt. “Besides, Poppy here needs a new wardrobe. His current one is so boring!”
Pasha gives him a quizzical look. “P-Poppy?”
“Yeah, like 'tall poppy', because you're tall and snooty and stuff. And it sounds like 'Papi', which fits zhat paternal nature of yours.”
“You should not force stupid nicknames on people.”
Chewing on a sausage, Mort says, “Alright, then. How 'bout 'Pashi' or 'Pash'?”
“Those sound even worse than his.” He sighs, exasperated. “Just call me Pasha.”
“Zhen Pash-Pash it is!”
“I never even agreed to that one!”
“Aww, you're cute when you're angry.”
Pasha's face is burning red, but instead of exploding in Alan's face, he sits back down and turns away, embarrassed. “I cannot believe you would say something so cliché.”
“Cliché? I was being perfectly honest. Pash-Pash, you're such a meanie!”
Mort continues eating while watching the two of them kicking up a fuss. It is probably the most half-hearted, cutesy-est argument he's ever seen occur in front of him. They hardly know each other for a month, yet they're already actin' like a married couple. Still, silliness aside, he cannot help but feel a bit jealous. When he arrived here on his first day, he had a bit of a crush on Miller. But after weeks of minimal interaction and the recent reveal of his true colors, he can no longer harbor any feelings towards him. His relationship with Joey seems to be going well thus far, despite being on opposite teams, but work-related reasons have been preventing them from hanging out regularly in the first place. Despite all the friends he's made since he came here, it's moments like the one before him that make him realize just how lonely he is.
“Zhis is zhe problem vith clothing stores: zhere's almost nothing good in my size.” Hartmann swears to himself in German as he browses through the clothes rack. Mortimer skims through the rack as well, distracting himself from Alan and Pasha as they're off in their own world. He picks out a pair of shorts that—while not in bad taste—are barely within Hart's size range and a bit on the short side, length-wise. “Are you seriously expecting me to vear zhat?” Disappointed, the bushman puts it away. “I'm glad you have invited me to help you vith clothes shopping, but perhaps our tastes are a little too different... Morty, vhat are you looking at?”
Standing behind a rack on the far end of the store is Joey, looking rather worried. Mort would have found nothing suspicious about his behavior, apart from the fact that he is flipping through women's clothes. He must not be the only one staring, as a female employee walks over to talk to the blonde Aussie. Joey seems to have convinced her with his answer, but she still gives him a strange look as she walks away. After what happened back at the beach, Mort is hesitant about approaching him, but weighing the options of angering his friend and having to endure the sickeningly sweet antics of the so-called “married couple”, he figures a little meddling will take his mind off of things.
Removing a beautiful red dress from the rack, Joey stares in awe at its silky smooth texture and gilded embroidery. It's perfect! He lays the dress flat against himself and sighs. Well, it's a bit small, but—
“Hey, Joey!” Startled, Joey almost drops the dress, and he fumbles to shove it into the rack. “That's a really lovely dress there. Izzat for Zhen-y's mum?”
“Uh, not really, sorta. I, er...” Thoughts rush through his head like a rapidly-flowing current. “It's fer my mum... sister's... friend. Yeah, that's it!” He strains to make a convincing smile, hoping Mort would not know the difference.
He doesn't smile back. “Joey, can I talk to you for a mome?” The RED Sniper is thrown off, but complies. Picking out a couple of men's clothes at random, they head into the fitting room together. Once inside a room (they got a few stares, but little else), Mort tosses the men's clothes aside and helps Joey fit into the dress. “Are we still friends?”
“What're you talking about? Of course we are.” Turning around, he sees the distressed look in Mort's eyes, and he bites his lower lip. “Well, maybe not 'just' friends any longer. But regarding our situation, I don't think now is the right time.”
“Right. I agree.”
“No, listen, I... Wait. You agree with me?”
“Yeah. I've been thinkin' about it, too. It wouldn't be impossible, but unless we can get the whole 'playin' on diff'rent teams' dealio in check, it'd be hella frustrating to keep it up. Until we can, would it be alright if we hung out more as friends?” He smiles, turning from merely innocent to absolutely angelic.
Joey's cheeks burn and his cheeks well up with a suppressed passion. Instinctively, he grabs hold of Mort and pulls him closer. “Friends forever, mate.” The moment is brief and barely within the public eye, but for that moment, they are transported into another dimension, one in which time stands still and which belongs solely to them. They want to do more, but are frozen in place, too comfortable in each other's embrace.
The thrill of the moment is broken by Mort's voice. “We should hurry up with this. My friends are probably waiting.” He laces up the back of the dress and makes the final adjustments. Though hairy and muscular and more than a little bit on the pudgy side, Joey still pulls off the look well, the bright red dress accentuating his more desirable traits and trimming the waist in an attractive manner. The transformation is astounding, mesmerizing wearer and witness alike.
“I think you'd be a cute woman if you shaved that beard of yours,” Mort muses as he stares Joey top to bottom.
Joey's tan cheeks flush a bright red. “Y-you think so?”
“Sure I'm sure. Perhaps a li'l too good, if ya ask me. I'm not into chicks, y'know.”
The scar-faced Sniper is not quite sure how to react to this. As much as he admires the compliment, he doesn't want to turn his friend off, as well. “Thanks, I guess.” Suddenly, a loud knocking echoes through the cramped room. “In a sec, mate!” In haste, Joey and Mort slip the dress off of his body, then he dons his own clothes again and opens the door. On the other side is Hartmann, who's wearing an expression as if he just saw a pink elephant dancing about. “Er, I'll be goin' now. 'Ooroo, Mort!”
Joey, dress and men's clothes cradled in his arms, tiptoes around the doctor and rushes over to the cashier. As soon as he's gone, Hartmann looks at Mort with suspicion. “Vhat vere you two doing in zhere, anyvay?”
“Nothin', I swear!”
“Doesn't sound like nozhing to me.” He pulls the bushman closer and whispers, “I thought I told you to handle your little love affairs vhere nobody's going to see you. Unless you two are into zhat kind of thing.” A creepy smirk forms on his face.
Mort puts his foot down. “We're not dating.”
“Was?” Judging by his expression, he's genuinely surprised by this revelation.
“'S like I said. We're jus' friends.” Hartmann looks disappointed, but he drops the subject.
After Hartmann makes his purchase, they meet up with Alan and Pasha in the used bookstore. Mort's jaw drops at the rows of tomes towering before him, and walks between them with trepidation. There are books big and small, old and new, in various languages and subjects. Seeing all the letters and titles pop out at him is overwhelming. He would pluck out a book from the shelf and attempt to read it, but the words would become garbled in his brain, and some occasions, he would unwittingly jump from one line to the next, forcing him to reread entire paragraphs more slowly. As much as he tries to enjoy the story, the very act of processing the words frustrates him. Alan, on the other hand, would breeze through an entire book in seconds, gathering a general feel of the narration based on a brief inspection. Watching the Spy skimming pages like it was nothing irritates Mort even more.
Alan gives Mort a side glance, then slams shut the book in his hands and approaches him. “Mortimer, I found zhis book and immediately thought of you,” he says as he shows off a paperback with a beautifully illustrated and adventurous-looking cover. “It's also easy to read, so you can take your time with it.”
Skeptical, Mort takes the book from Alan and flips through the pages. The words do not appear as long or obscure as many of the other books he encountered, and a majority of the vocabulary is recognizable enough that he can read through it at a more normal pace. Reading the summary on the back, it's a story about a boy who runs off to go live in the forest, and chronicles his adventure as he fends for himself in the harsh environment. A warm glimmer of hope rushes through his body. “It's perfect! How can I ever repay you?”
“Just reading it is thanks enough,” Alan replies, waving off the compliment with modesty. “Listen, I... I'm sorry for not paying much attention to you lately. I have just been distracted by Pasha and Luca and ozher things. I hope you have it in your heart to forgive me.” He opens his arms. “Friends?”
Staring into the Spy's deep, blue eyes, Mort can tell he means it. He sets the book aside on the shelf and embraces him. “Best mates for life.” They hold each other tightly for a long, lingering moment until a sudden realization breaks them apart. “Crikey! I forgot about Zhen-y's birthday!”
Alan raises a brow. “Janey? You mean our Janey?”
“Nonono. Zhen-y. Ya know, the li'l munchkin from RED? I promised I'll get 'im something fer this weekend.”
“Oh.” Two 'Janeys'. How confusing. “Well, what does he like? I bet he likes toys, because he's so small and cute.”
“Ya think so? I've never been to 'is place before. I know he likes food, an' pandas. Come t' think of it, I hardly know anything about 'im.”
“And you're considering going to his party. How cute. Hey, why don't you ask him?” Alan points at a certain large Sniper entering the shop. As the Sniper begins to approach them, he playfully nudges Mort's arm and disappears.
Nervously, Mortimer turns away and pretends to read the book Alan gave him. When the Sniper passes by him, he buries his face deeper into the book, and when they start moving towards the next aisle, he sighs in relief, only to immediately tense up and hide again when they look back. “Morty?”
A tap of the shoulder causes Mort to yelp and toss the book. “Oh. Didn't expect to see you here.”
Joey looks confounded, staring him up and down. “I'm more surprised to see you here. What're you up to?”
“L-lookin' for a gift fer Zhen-y.”
“In a used bookstore? I figured you'd look through a toy store or something.”
Crap, he saw right through me! “W-well, I thought I'd look for something more mature, since he's all grown up an' all.”
“I'm thinking of getting a cookbook.” What's the kid need a cookbook for? His family runs a restaurant. “He cooks good food, but his baking's a whole 'nother story. I'm hoping to get a few for 'im to learn from.”
“Can I help? I dunno what to get 'im, and, well, you seem to know a lot 'bout him.”
“I live with the brat. How can I not know?”
“Right, Forgot about that. Hey, we can ask Al where the cookbooks... are...” He turns around, expecting Alan to be just around the corner, but the Spy is nowhere in sight.
As much as the Spy wishes to be around to help Mort, there are other matters he must attend to. Like where the hell is Pash-Pash and the fat guy? Still cloaked, he walks about the store, avoiding gazes while gazing back. They're both awfully tall, so they couldn't have gone far. As he heads towards an isolated part of the store, he starts hearing whispers.
“But I can't! Zhe team—Vincent—zhey'll all fall apart vithout me!”
“I'm sorry, but rules are rules.”
Alan peeks from behind a corner. Hartmann and Luca are together and conversing about something—rather intensely, despite their attempts to stay composed.
“Vhen?”
“Tomorrow morning. Or tonight, if you'd prefer.” Alan notices something different about Luca's speech mannerisms. He sounds more casual, and his accent lacks the fluid slur of a typical French accent. He just does not sound right. “Your replacement will arrive at Teufort tomorrow.”
Alan covers his mouth to hold in a gasp. Hartmann's leaving? Though they bicker and tease each other, the Spy has grown fond of Hartmann, and he's well aware that the doctor thinks the same of him. Then again, he is an old man. Maybe it's high time he retired. But even that reassurance cannot alleviate the painful feeling in his gut.
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