The Lady and the Tramp
When he first met her, he was a nobody at the bottom of the food chain running errands for whoever would pay him, and she might as well have been a Goddess: ethereal and unattainable, but men still lined up at her door to worship her beauty.
By the time he worked his way up the ladder so he, too, could step through the Gates of Paradise, he had seen enough of the world to realize that much of what he saw of her was a lie. Like himself, she made her living playing whatever roles her clients required of her. Unwilling to admit to himself that the driving motivation in his life was little more than an illusion, he approached her as a Knight intent on “rescuing” her from her gilded tower. Perhaps she believed him; or perhaps she saw an opportunity to retire in luxury. Either way, for a few, brief, glorious years, he was living the fairy-tale ending.
Then Real Life happened, and he had to spend the next few years listed as “Killed In Action”. She, of course, moved on with her life—how could he expect her to do anything else, when she had done just fine without him? And he would have been content to just watch her in the distance, checking up on her every once in a while to satisfy his own curiosity, except he was assigned to investigate her connection to his new employer’s greatest business rivals. So he approached her again, this time as a Rogue offering her the intrigue and excitement that had been missing in her life long enough for her to think fond thoughts about wanting something more than the mundane.
It wasn’t until he used the information he gleaned from her to infiltrate the BLU base in the guise of her youngest that he discovered that she’d once again pulled a fast one on him. His mission to wreak chaos complete, he picked out one of the pictures left scattered on the desk, both as a trophy and a souvenir of his time with her, and was about to stuff it into his jacket pocket and go on about his business when he noticed that there was writing on the backside.
The loops and swirls of her handwriting were unmistakable, as was the bright red lip print she used in lieu of her signature.
Your French is still atrocious. Love, your ‘little cauliflower’.
Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:
Inspired by TV Tropes’ Wild Mass Guessing page, where it speculated that BLU Scout’s Mother was just as much of a Spy as RED Spy himself (not in those exact words, but there was a joke guess along those lines at some point). Plus, I like the idea of the Spy, who obviously thinks he’s a master manipulator, having the tables turned on him by the least likely person.