I apologise. Most rules I read do not include this rule about emoticons, so I thought it would be fine to use them, and I admit, I did not read the rules here, but I have now.

Did Cat die? It's been a month since an update. Just wondering since you usually updates within a week or so.

WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BUMP THIS? I THOUGHT IT WAS AN UPDATE! AUGH ALKJSDLF;SLK

Aw man.. I got all excited for nothing...

Sorry about the lack of updates. January was a rough month for me, I'd suffered the loss of both my dog and my grandmother within the same day. It kind of put a dent in my work ethic.

Hopefully with this update I may start to get back into a writing groove.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Doc? Hey, Doc?”

Medic didn’t even look up from his desk. He’d only just excused himself after dinner to finish some paperwork, and already he was being interrupted. He never minded when it was Heavy, who would usually come in to give his shoulders a rub and ease the tension from his body, but he could expect no such thing from Soldier. Archimedes lifted his head from his thorough investigation of Medic’s pen collection, and offered a curious coo.

“Ja, Herr Doe?”

“You’d better not be busy because I want to talk with you,” said Soldier, opening the door to Medic’s office and poking his head in. “That is, unless you are busy, then I can just leave.”

The doctor swiveled around in his chair, turning to face Soldier and giving him a stern look. “Please, Herr Doe, I know you better zen zat,” he said, his voice flat and tired. “Speak your piece, bitte.”

Soldier slid in through the door and shut it behind him quietly, turning his head as if to confirm that he’d not been noticed. With a sweep of his hand Medic gestured to the only other chair in his office, and Soldier sat down. His posture was rigid as a scouting prairie dog, hands in his lap, his eyes boring into Medic.

“Is zhere somezing I can help you viz?” Medic asked.

“I felt like we needed to talk,” said Soldier bluntly. He cleared his throat. “I never… I never apologized to you about all those Nazi comments I’d made about you.”

“Oh?” Medic cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Soldier, his body stiffening up even more. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d covered all those comments I’d made about you being queer, but… I hadn’t said anything about that other thing…”

“Your accusations of me being a Nazi,” said Medic.

“Yeah, those,” said Soldier with a curt nod.

“And you have come to apologize for zose as vell?” Medic asked.

Soldier bit his lip. “Well… actually, I wanted to ask you a question,” he said. “I need to know whether or not you were actually a Nazi. I need to hear that from you.”

Medic didn’t answer right away. He was completely still, as though he were slowly trying to process this new occurrence. Finally, he shook his head and offered a faint smile. “I vas nevah a party member, no,” he said cautiously. “I had family in ze party, and were it not for zose ties I may not be here speaking viz you now. But I hated zem as much as zey’d hated me.”

The relief that Soldier felt was visible and visceral, as his shoulders slumped and he let out a great sigh. “Well,” he said. “I was wrong. I guess I owe you an apology, Doc.”

“You’ve been giving out zose viz increasing frequency lately,” Medic said, the faintest of smirks upon his lips. “If you keep zis up, it might become a habit.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Soldier, crossing his arms.

Medic turned away from Soldier and went back to his papers, writing about two lines before he realized that Soldier hadn’t left. He looked up from his paperwork and regarded Soldier curiously.

“You have more to say?” Medic asked.

“I have another question,” said Soldier. “This might be going out on a limb, but…” he curled and uncurled his fingers, beckoning Medic to lean in closer as Soldier leaned in towards him. “You ever kill a Nazi, Doc?”

The doctor was taken aback by this question, sitting up straight in his chair and putting away the pen he’d had in his hand. Archimedes immediately started pecking at it, admiring its shiny coating and cooing in delight. By contrast, Medic stared at the bird for a moment with a distant look in his eye, before turning his attention back to Soldier.

“I must have killed dozens,” he said in a very subdued voice.

Immediately Soldier shot up from his chair. “You did?” he asked, startling Medic and Archimedes both. “You killed Nazis and you didn’t even tell me? It never even crossed your mind to tell me that you were a cold-blooded Nazi killer?”

“I nevah zhought it to be any of your business,” said Medic, pushing up his glasses. “And even if I did zhink to correct you, I never would have zhought you’d believe me.”

“Well, now I want details,” said Soldier. “This is something we’ve got in common! Hell, we should have been talking about this years ago!”

“Soldier,” Medic sighed, and massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “I’d razzer not get into this now. Zhere ah simply too many bad memories. Unlike you, I wasn’t exactly electing to go and turn myself into some war hero.”

“Right,” said Soldier, “you did it to get even, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t feel like discussing zis viz you now,” said Medic, taking his pen back from the cup that held it, and returned to his paperwork. “Tell Heavy I von’t be much longer.”

Soldier sat in his chair, not budging an inch. He was grasping for something to try and change Medic’s mind about this, lifting his hand to say something, but unsure of what. He frowned.

“Is this because they killed your... y’know... boyfriend?” Soldier asked.

The pen Medic had been holding clattered to the desk and rolled to the floor, and the doctor sat frozen in his chair, petrified, like he’d stared into the face of Medusa and turned to stone on the spot. His head began to turn, slowly, like a great stone wheel being pushed forward and moving by agonizing centimeters at a time, until his eyes locked onto Soldiers, bright with an icy fire. Soldier tried his best to pretend this glare did not faze him.

“That… that was… I guessed,” he said, straightening his back. “Heavy didn’t tell me anything.” As soon as he uttered that last sentence, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have.

Medic’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Soldier just shrunk back in his chair and ground his teeth, and just grumbled to himself quietly.

“I am disappointed in Heavy, but I’m not angry,” Medic sighed, turning away from Soldier. “He had good intentions. He alvays does.” He looked up from his desk, and looked Soldier straight in the eye. “Do you really vant to know so badly? Is this the only vay I can get some peace?”

Soldier just responded with an unabashedly earnest nod.

“I didn’t zink I’d be telling you, of all people,” Medic muttered, leaning over to open a drawer on the lower part of his desk. He shuffled a few stray documents around to produce a yellowed envelope, and opened it, closing the drawer with his foot. He seemed to hesitate, giving Soldier a wary glance over top of his glasses before he handed it over to Soldier.

The photograph was probably almost 40 years old, and was marked by creases from being folded and stuffed away. Depicted in this photograph were three young people who appeared to be in some kind of bar; one of them was clearly a much younger Medic, holding up a beer mug as he wrapped his arm around another man. This man was slightly shorter than Medic, but was built like a brick shithouse; barrel chest, arms like pythons and linebacker shoulders. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, as was the hair upon his head, and tiny curls of chest hair could be seen poking out from his unbuttoned shirt. But with the two of them was a thin woman with bobbed hair and large, bright eyes, framed with smoky make-up that made them seem even larger and brighter. Everyone in the photograph seemed to be of good cheer and perhaps a bit drunk. Soldier flipped the photograph over to see a hastily scrawled date on the back: 31/12/1937.

“That,” said Medic, sitting up straighter in his chair, “vas Eli.” He reached over to point out the other man in the photograph with his index finger. “He vas killed in 1940. Executed in the street. First day after ze Kristallnact that he’d dared to venture outside and he vas discovered and shot just outside our vindow…” Medic stopped talking, choked out by old grief.

“He was Jewish?” Soldier asked, looking up at Medic.

“Yes,” said Medic, sounding a bit annoyed. “He vas.”

“Oh,” said Soldier. He flipped the photograph around and pointed to the woman. “And who’s that?”

“Zat vould be his cousin,” said Medic. “Ilse. Zey vere very close. After he had died… I’d taken it upon myself to make sure zat no harm vould come to her… I helped hide her heritage and she helped hide my homosexuality.” With his thumb and forefinger he plucked the photograph out of Soldier’s grasp, and placed it back inside its envelope. “As you can see, your comments about my being a Nazi vere not only inaccurate, but extremely upsetting as vell. But I said nozzing.”

Soldier looked pensive for a brief moment, averting his eyes from the doctor’s in what might have been shame. This illusion shattered, however, upon his next question. “So how many of those Nazi bastards did you drop?”

“Verdammt, Soldier, I should have known!” Medic threw up his hands in the air, and then ran his fingers through his hair. “Mein Gott, vhy did I evah tell you zis? You’re just as single-minded as evah! Dummkopf!” The bird on his desk had been startled by his outburst, and had retreated to the top of a cabinet. It now looked down in curiosity and confusion. Medic bowed his head and rested his brow in his palm, and shook his head.

Soldier shifted in his chair. He reached for his back pants pocket, and pulled out the pink plastic shovel that had been there the entire time. He twiddled with it between his fingers for a while before he spoke.

“I ever tell you why I went to Poland?”

Medic flinched before he lifted his head to look at Soldier. His expression was quizzical, but there was a hint of interest in the arch of his eyebrows. Soldier smacked the flat part of the blade of Shovel Jr. against his open palm while he searched for the words to say.

“You get along with your father much?” Soldier asked.

“Nein,” Medic said, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t. I hated him.”

“My father was my hero,” said Soldier. His voice was soft and low, very un-Soldier-like, something that seemed to becoming increasingly frequent as of late. “He was a veteran. He fought in the Great War, in the trenches, in Berlin… lost a leg back there. People said he’s lost his mind back there too. But when he did talk about it… he’d sounded brave. Like a real man. A man’s man. A goddamned American hero. Said he came from generations of soldiers… but he didn’t expect that out of me.”

“Is zat so?” Medic adjusted his glasses.

“Yeah,” said Soldier. “But I knew I had to. I had to make him proud. I had to get back at the Krauts, no matter what. And when I got rejected by the Army, the Marines, the Navy, even the goddamned Air Force… I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. So I went Poland and I killed every goddamned Nazi I saw. I did it for America… for my father…”

“Interesting,” said Medic, pressing his fingertips against each other as he flexed his hands. “Did you make your fazzah proud?”

“Don’t know,” said Soldier. “By the time I came back again he’d blown his brains out.”

“Zat must have been very upsetting for you,” said Medic. “You seemed fond of him.”

“Yeah…” Soldier looked uneasy, wringing the shovel with sweaty palms. “I guess he was but… after what you said happened to your… to your…”

“My partner,” said Medic.

“Yeah, him,” said Soldier. “After what you said happened to him… I think you had a better reason to kill Nazis than trying to impress your old man.”
Medic seemed to consider this for a moment. “You have been far more open viz us lately. Ze medication vouldn’t happen to be playing a role in zat, vould it?”

“Maybe a little,” Soldier admitted. “Maybe I’m trying to follow Engie and Shovel Jr.’s advice. I don’t know. I normally wouldn’t even give a rat’s ass if somebody didn’t like me, but…” he paused, his eyes turning to the floor and darting around as he searched for the right way to say what he was thinking, like a man groping for a light switch in the dark. “You and everybody else are different. You’re… like family. Only better than my family.”

“I, for vone, have not stopped being impressed by zhis growzh of yours,” said Medic, leaning back in his chair. “I am sorry I blew up at you, Soldier. But please, you really must have more respect for vhen someone tells you zhey don’t vish to talk about soemzing. Zat’s simply being polite.”

“I guess you’re not going to tell me about how you killed those Nazis then, are you?” Soldier asked.

Medic smirked. “Perhaps some ozzah time,” he said. “I am sure you, of all people, could appreciate zose stories. But right now, I have papervork to finish and I have had enough reminders of past turmoil for vone evening. You may let yourself out, Herr Doe.”

Soldier stood up from his chair, but didn’t leave right away. He lingered by his chair for a moment, before speaking up. “You can call me Soldier,” he said. “That is… if you want.”

“Soldier,” said Medic with a nod.

Soldier gave a sharp salute, “Medic, sir.”

“You are dismissed,” said Medic.

With a quick turn on his heel, Soldier seemed to march out of the office, his posture straight and confident, and more like he had back in 1968. Medic watched him leave through the door, and turned to work on his paperwork again, humming Beethoven to himself as he scribbled away.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Flying with Pyro was turning out to be an ordeal, to say the least. The stares from people were bad enough, seeing a person completely covered from head to foot in cloth without even a sliver of skin showing seemed to make every person walking past them uncomfortable. Mothers grabbed their children by the hands and steered them away from Pyro, old people quickly turned their gazes away and scuttled off, clusters of women stared and chattered amongst each other.

All in all, it was nothing that Demoman wasn’t already used to in some capacity.

Getting Pyro past security, however, was another matter. The two airport security guards no doubt had every right to be suspicious of someone wearing layers of clothes with their face completely obscured, and when Sniper, Demoman and Pyro approached the giant metal detector tunnel, Demoman knew that they would run into some trouble.

“Whoa there,” said the closest guard, a chubby, balding man with a face like soft dough and a chin that looked like a bump in his neck. “excuse me, sirs? Can I, uh, check out your friend here? I don’t think any of the other passengers are going to be comfortable being on a plane with someone like, uh…”

“Like wot?” Sniper asked, looking down at Pyro and playing dumb.

“Like a burn victim?” asked Demoman. He put a hand on Pyro’s shoulder. “Is tha’ it, then? I s’pose ye’ll be wantin’ tae make ‘im take alla’ this off then, aye?”

“O-oh!” The guard stepped back a bit in alarm. “O-oh, no, sir, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

“Jes’ wanted tae single oot a poor sod who dinnae wanna show th’ world ‘is horribly mutilated face then?” Demoman asked, raising his voice loud enough for bypassers to hear. “Wanna strip ‘im a’ wot dignity ‘e has left an’ display ‘im like a freak, eh?”

The guard raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sir, I didn’t mean that, I’m sure he…”

“A’ course ye dinnit!” Demoman boomed. “I bet ye wouldn’t know wot it’s like tae have people starin’ atcha, ey? Me ‘n Bruce do, look at me! I’m a black Scottish Cyclops. ‘E’s an Australian with no muscles an’ no natural mustache.”

“Well that’s not-” Sniper was about to protest that last point before he changed his mind. “I mean, yeah! ‘E’s not yer freak t’ humiliate, ya stupid yank twat!”

“Yeah!” said Demoman.

Pyro meanwhile just watched the two of them go, hugging himself with a sense of self-consciousness. “Yrrr,” he said with a nervous nod.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” said the guard. “Just please, don’t… don’t be so loud, all right? I didn’t know.”

“Serves ya right fer assumin’,” said Sniper, his arms crossed.

“Right…” the man looked back to his coworker, who was rolling her eyes. “Sorry. These new rules and all… we’re just trying to do our jobs. Now, if you, uh, don’t mind…” He reached back and produced a plastic bin, “just place any metal items you might have in here, please.”

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Sniper, removing his aviators.

“That’s wot ye said when we were flyin’ over here,” said Demoman, removing a pocket full of loose change, his wallet, and his house keys.

“I know, but it’s still bloody daft,” said Sniper, placing his sunglasses, his car keys, a Swiss army knife, his watch and a few quarters.

“Them’s the brakes,” said the guard with a shrug. “People’ll do crazy things these days.” He held the tray in front of Pyro. “You too, sir.”

Pyro stared blankly at the tray for a moment, and then started to rummage through his many pockets. He pulled out a pocket watch, then a lighter, a spoon, a corkscrew, another lighter, a pocket full of jacks, a fork, a fist full of pennies… the entire time, Demoman just rolled his one eye and Sniper watched with mild growing concern, looking back and forth between the tray and the face of the guard. Pyro had weighed the tray down with a seemingly random collection of assorted junk, and finally stopped after he pulled out a greasy bicycle chain.

“Is that everything?” the guard asked in a flat, almost bored voice.

“Yrrssh,” said Pyro.

“Thank you,” he said, and pointed to the giant cylinder. “Please walk through.”

Pyro dashed through, seemingly excited by this giant, metal behemoth, and Demoman and Sniper followed him though with quiet resignation. Once they’d made it past security, they headed for the terminal. There were a few older folks that still felt the need to gussy themselves up when boarding on a plane, and they regarded anyone else in the terminal that was younger or dressed in more casual clothing with disdain. When Pyro waddled into the terminal, a few of them turned to each other and spoke in hushed tones, trying not to stare. Demoman looked from the onlookers to Pyro, and fortunately Pyro didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. He’d taken a seat in a chair and folded his hands in his lap, kicking his legs back and forth with anxious energy.

“Ye excited, lad?” Demoman asked him.

Pyro nodded. “Uhh-huhh!”

“Good,” said Demoman, and took an empty seat next to him. On Pyro’s other side was an older man in a suit who had fallen asleep in his chair, snoring softly as his toupee threatened to fall off his scalp. Sniper just stood nearby, arms crossed, staring off into the empty space around the smattering of passengers moving from one place to the other.

“‘Ey, Sniper?”

Sniper was broken out of his brief daydreaming, and turned to look at Demoman. “Yeah, mate?”

“Wot’re ye gonna do once we take Pyro back, eh?” Demoman asked.

“You talkin’ about wot I’m plannin’ t’ do about Moon… Samantha?” He shifted his weigh and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’m gonna hafta find where she is.”

“Ya know where that is?” Demoman asked.

Sniper nodded. “Yeah… town called Bountiful. In Utah.”

“Utah, huh?” Demoman asked. “An’ yer gonna jes’ drive up there?”

“Yeah,” said Sniper. “It’ll be a long drive, but I reckon it’ll be good t’ have some time t’ m’self, ya know?”

“That sounds aboot right,” said Demoman. He gave Pyro a nudge. “We dinnit’ git tae tell ye, but Sniper’s been a daddy fer a while now.”

“Rrrurrlee?” Pyro perked up a bit.

“Yeah,” said Sniper. “Gonna see if I can try an’ work somethin’ out… here,” he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and opened it, showing it to Pyro. “There ‘e is. His name’s River.”

Pyro took the wallet from Sniper’s hand, and adjusted his scarves to get a better look. He stared at it for almost half a minute before he handed the wallet back and nodded in what might have been approval. “Uh wurrnuh murrt hurrm,” said Pyro.

Sniper gave him a smile. “Yeah, hopefully you’ll get to,” he said, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “He’s so bloody smart, Pyro. I think he gets it from his mum.”
“She cannae be that smart,” said Demoman. “She left ye.”

“Yeah?” Sniper asked. He didn’t sound sure.

“‘Ey, Pyro,” Demoman nudged his disguised companion. “Ye ever ride inna plane before, lad?”

Pyro nodded. “Uh-huurrh,” he said. “Uh lurrng turrm urgoh.”

“Ah, good then!” said Demoman, patting Pyro on the back. “Ye jus’ keep on yer best behavior an’ we won’t git kicked oot th’ window!”

Pyro gave out a little chortle, and Demoman laughed along with them. Their laughter died down, and Demoman grew pensive.

“Sorry aboot tellin’ them ye were burned,” said Demoman. “I mean, I dunno if ye are or not… I jus’ wanted t’ come up with somethin’…”

Pyro shook his head. “Ursh furrn.”

“Ye sure?”

“Uh-huuh,” said Pyro, his voice a quiet muffle.

Demoman looked up to Sniper, who simply shook his head in discouragement.

“Right then,” said Demoman. “Don’t worry aboot it, ey?”

“Urrkeeh,” Pyro said, bouncing back without missing a beat.

It was about another hour before they could board the plane, but once they did, Pyro was barely able to contain himself. There was a bounce in his step as he made his way to his seat, plopping himself down between a window and a stern-looking gentleman in a beige uniform with a air marshal badge on his chest. Sniper stumbled, trying not to freeze. He continued to his seat, which was in the row behind Pyro’s, and sat down, only to look up and see Pyro peeping over the seat at him.

“Siddown, mate,” said Sniper, raising a hand to press down on his head. “Behave yerself.”

“Ah, let ‘im alone, we’ll be fine,” Demoman said as he plopped himself down next to Sniper. “How much trouble could ‘e git inta anyway?”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After having been detained by the airport security for two hours once they’d landed in Albuquerque, there was not much talking during the drive back to Demoman’s house. Pyro sat between Sniper and Demoman, head bowed in shame, twiddling his thumbs.

“Surreh,” he said softly.

“Should’a been sorry before ya lit a Sky Mall catalog on fire next t’ th’ bloody Air Marshal,” said Sniper.

“We got off pretty lightly considerin’,” said Demoman.

“Yeah, if Pyro probably never bein’ able t’ fly on a plane ever again is ‘light,’” said Sniper, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. “Crikey, I’m bleedin’ exhausted.”

“Look on th’ bright side, lad,” said Demoman, “it’ll be a good story at least, aye?”

“Yer only sayin’ that ‘cos ya had all those cocktails on th’ plane,” said Sniper, rolling his eyes.

Demoman leaned forward and opened his mouth to protest, but fell back against the seat and just shrugged. “Aye, I s’pose yer right then.”

“Whrrn urr weh gurrn tuh Erngeesh?” Pyro asked, eager to change the subject.

“Don’ worry, lil’ fella,” said Sniper. “Once we git ta Demo’s, it won’t be very long ‘fore we’re at Truckie’s house, just you wait.”

“Hurr buy!” Pyro said, bouncing in his seat.

Sniper gave Pyro a quick side glance, and smiled. He couldn’t stay mad at him for long; that weird, child-like man beside him in his van… even if he’d caused a panic and had gotten both him and Pyro tackled down… and then get detained and questioned and lectured sternly for two sodding hours…

Well, he was still a bit mad. But at least they’d be at Demo’s in an hour’s time, and from there, he could get some much needed rest.

All of my love.
Take it.

It was worth the wait.

Who HASN'T wanted to light a SkyMall catalog on fire at some point?

Ohmigosh. I nearly peed myself when I saw that this was update. Brilliant update, too. Anything with your Medic in it makes me happy, really.

I have been really enjoying this story, and I wanted to let you know that. It's not been a comfortable read, and I mean that in the best way- the story disturbs me on a personal level, and I actually found it difficult to sleep after reading the part with Jane's brother and the aftermath of him breaking into the Engineer's garage. (Well, not breaking into, but I can't come up with a word that accurately describes what actually happened).

It's affected me so strongly that I find myself wanting him to take a shotgun shell to the 'nads so that he'll stop using his penis as a club to beat everyone around him with- I feel that would take the wind out of his sails very quickly, to lose that part of him that defines his manhood. I find myself wanting this sort of outcome with an almost painful intensity- and very, very few stories get that kind of a visceral emotional response from me. Very few.

Thank you, Cat, for writing this story.

Bountiful, Utah? Oh craaaaap, I think I know what happened to Samantha.

stop
fucking
bumping
the
thread

>>192

Chill, man, it's only been about two days since this was updated. Bumping is still acceptable; give it another few days before you start raging at people showing appreciation for this story.

>>191
What? What?! I wanna know!

Totally meant to sage that and I forgot. Apologies.

Not Shubert, but two things: 1) Ted Bundy snatched a victim in Bountiful, Utah in 1974 and 2) Made up of mostly members of the LDS church. Either one could be bad.

> 196
Geez, I went and looked up the town on Wikipedia to find out about Ted Bundy, and all I needed to do was scroll down some more...

That's going to be interesting if you tie him (or something... "inspired" by him? Doesn't seem like the right word) into the story here, Cat.

When will the Heavy and Medic adopting subplot from reunion be brought back. I had the best mental image of them at a parent-teacher conference :)

My throat got tight during the scene between Soldier and Medic, and I was actually laughing aloud at the Skymall incident. Well done as usual, Cat! Can't wait for the next chapter.
Also, I was re-reading RoTD like the big ol' nerd I am, and for the first time I noticed Sniper's chance meeting with Moonchild in the Epilogue. Gotta love cross-universe (?) continuity!

You really are an amazing writer Cat, and I loved this chapter the most so far. This one just by itself stirred more emotions than most /completed/ stories I have read. Great job.

Can a literate person get their butt over to tumblr? Cat finished the next chapter and is looking for a beta!

Testing thread bump limit.

Did someone say 'beta'? I can totally beta. Cat, my email's listed if you decide to contact me.

Conversely, I can send you a message on Tumblr and we can figure stuff out from there? Email, Dropbox, whatever works for you.

OKAY HERE IS PART 11 NOW I CAN FUCK OFF TO BED.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The phone in the kitchen rang and caused Engineer to jolt out of his sleep. He’d nodded off in his rocking chair on the porch, and the sky had gone black, save for the stars spilled across the dark expanse like glitter on black velvet. He placed the shotgun he’d had resting in his lap aside and got up with a grunt, shuffling inside to the kitchen. As he reached for the phone, he hesitated for a moment as the cobwebs in his mind cleared; with a call this late at night, there was a good chance that this might not be one he’d want to take. He sucked in a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice soft and tentative.

“‘Ey, Engie!” said a familiar voice in a grog-soaked, Scottish accent. Engineer let a sigh of relief. “I dinnit wake ye, did I?”
“Yeah,” Engineer admitted. “I must’a dozed off while I was sittin’ outside.”

“Should we wait ‘til tomorrah tae come o’er then?” Demoman asked.

“No, no, you can bring Pyro over,” said Engineer. “I could use th’ company. I just gotta move yer teleporter outta th’ garage first…”
“It’s nae too much trouble, then?”

“No, no, not at all,” said Engineer. “Can you hold on th’ line for a few minutes, I’ll go lug it on out…”

“Take yer time then,” said Demoman, and Engineer set down the receiver on the counter.

Engineer walked back outside and headed for the garage. He unlocked the padlock on the bottom of the garage door and pushed it up until the door rolled back. As he walked inside, he sucked in his breath and averted his gaze from the slashed tires on his truck and the threat scrawled onto his desk, as well as the wastebin filled with broken glass. He approached the row of teleporters and picked up a flashlight sitting on top of a tool box. Switching it on, he shone the beam over the teleporters, reading the labels until he found the one that said “DEM-EXT” on the side. He set down the flashlight and crouched over the machine, lifting it up with a strained grunt and getting his arms around it. Turning around, he shuffled past his truck and his desk as he lugged it out and set it by the exit he’d kept his eye on. He looked at the teleporter that went to Soldier’s house and knelt down beside it, checking the counter on the back. It still read “04,” which meant it hadn’t been used since Soldier’s brother went back.

Good, he thought. He got up, locked the garage door again and let his arms hang loose at his sides as he strolled back to the house.
“All right,” he said as he picked up the phone and put it to his ear, “yer good ta go.”

“Brilliant!” said Demoman.

“You gonna be on yer way over, then?”

“Aye, aye, dinnae fret,” Demoman assured him. “We’ll be o’er in a few minutes. Be seein’ ye then, mate!”

“Be seein’ you,” said Engineer, and he hung the phone in its cradle. He walked back out to the porch and sat down in his chair. He felt as though something were off in the garage, besides the obvious. Where did he even put that photograph that Jane’s brother had… contaminated? He didn’t want to touch it, or even look at it… yes, he remembered now he’d put it in the waste bin with the broken glass and the frame… but he didn’t remember seeing it in there.

He shuddered, feeling as though a tiny earthquake was shaking him right up his spine, and he hugged himself, rubbing his arms with his hands. There was no breeze, and the air was stagnant. Not cold, he thought. But he had still gotten the chills.

The bar on the teleporter started to spin, slowly at first, but rotating faster and faster. Engineer lifted his head and stood up from his chair as the teleporter started to glow. With a bright flash that illuminated the entire front yard, the form of a short person appeared, wearing several layers of clothing that would have been more appropriate for much colder weather.

“Pyro?” Engineer called out.

Pyro turned to look at Engineer and let out an elated and muffled cry, running towards his friend with open arms. Engineer came down the porch steps to meet him, and he was nearly knocked off his feet as Pyro embraced him at full speed.

“Whoa there, fella,” said Engineer with a chuckle, “I’m just as glad t’ see you but yer fixin’ t’ bowl me over there.”

“Urhm surreh,” Pyro said. “Urhm jsssh shurrr hurrpeh!”

“Me too, lil’ buddy, me too,” said Engineer, patting Pyro on the back. “It’s good t’ see yer safe an’ sound.”

“Wurrr yur urn trrrbull, Erngee?” Pyro asked, looking up at Engineer through thick tinted goggles.

“Trouble?” Engineer echoed. “Oh, well… I’ve been havin’ a bit a’ trouble, yeah, but now that you’re here… I think I’ll be jus’ fine.”

The teleporter spun again, and with a flash of light, Demoman appeared In Engineer’s front yard. He stumbled off, clearly disoriented, and righted himself. “S’been a while since I done that,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Demo!” Engineer called out, waving to him. “Glad t’ see ya again!”

Demoman looked up to Engineer and grinned. “An’ so soon, too!” he said with a chuckle, strolling up towards the porch. “Tole’ ye we’d bring Pyro back, dinnae we?”

“That ya did,” said Engineer, extending a hand to Demoman.

The Scotsman took a hold of Engineer’s hand and pulled him in for a brief hug, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Heard ye were havin’ a bit o’ a problem with Soldier’s kin, aye?”

“A bit,” Engineer replied with a nervous laugh.

“Well, we’ll see ‘ow tough ‘e is when ye’ve got some reinforcements then!” Demoman swung a friendly punch at Engineer’s shoulder. “Jes’ watch, we’ll blow th’ bastard tae kingdom come!”

“Geez, everybody seems t’ be offerin’ t’ kill this man for me,” said Engineer. “It’s startin’ t’ get a bit unsettling.”

“Really, Engie?” Demoman asked, giving him an incredulous look. “Think aboot who yer best mates with. Wot we used tae do fer a livin’. If anythin’ ye shoulda’ expected this.”

“I s’pose I should,” Engineer said, as the teleporter bar started to spin again, bringing Sniper to his front yard with a flash of light.
Sniper rubbed the bright spots out of his eyes. “Crikey,” he said, blinking as his eyes adjusted, “gonna take a while t’ get used t’ that again.”
“Sniper!” Engineer called out and beckoned his friend to the porch. “Good t’ see you again!”

“Not too soon, is it?” Sniper replied, strolling over to the porch. “How ya hangin’ in there?”

“As well as I can be,” said Engineer. “I sure am glad you fellas have come by. My nerves ain’t exactly takin’ too well t’ this new development.”

“I’m sorry ya have t’ go through this,” said Sniper, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Have ya heard anythin’, or…”

“Nope,” said Engineer, opening the screen door, “Jus’ bidin’ my time… waitin’.” He jerked his head to gesture to the kitchen. “Y’all can come inside, if ya want.”

“Hold on a bit,” said Demoman, looking out to the teleporter. “We got one more comin’.”

“One more?” Engineer asked. “Who could-” his voice trailed off as the bar started to spin again, and as the yard lit up in a bright burst of light, a tall, middle aged woman stepped off the teleporter, brushing aside her short blonde hair as she turned back to look at the device she had just used.

“Vell,” she said with a smirk, “zat’s certainly a useful piece of technology.”

“‘Ey, ya made it, luv!” Demoman called out to her. He rushed down to meet her with open arms. “Wot I tell ya? Amazin, ’ ‘innit it?”

“Vhen vill ve have zis technology on ze market, I vonder,” she said, and put a hand on Demoman’s shoulder as she approached Engineer. Her silent gaze beckoned for an answer.

“Oh!” Engineer cleared his throat. “Well, uh… not any time soon… technically, I’m not even sure if I should be usin’ these things.” He gave a little chuckle. “I assume you must be Ilse?”

“Zat is correct,” she said, stepping up to the porch, her posture perfect, and her air like that of a dignitary.

Engineer took her hand and bowed slightly, refraining from kissing her hand, as Demoman was watching. “It’s a pleasure an’ a privilege t’ finally meet you, ma’am,” he said. “If I may ask, what brings you here with us this evening?”

“So glad you asked,” she said, her smirk evident in her eyes. “I don’t know if Tavish told you zis, but I am a licensed psychiatrist, and I specialize in abnormal psychiatry. I would like to offer you my assistance, if zat is alright wiz you.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The sound of clinking glass caused Johnny’s eyes to fly open. He stared into the darkness of his bedroom and laid there, wide awake, for a good few seconds. A second sound, the sound of a chair shifting, caused Johnny to sit upright. Miriam groaned and wriggled in her sleep beside him, but she did not wake. He turned and opened the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out his revolver. After checking to confirm that it was, in fact, loaded, he slid out of bed, moving as though he were treading on broken glass. He crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs, placing his foot carefully on each step so that it would not cause them to creak. There was light coming from his den, dim and warm. Whoever invaded his home had lit a fire in the fireplace. His nostrils flared as he stopped, and he just listened. There weren’t any more noises, but this did little to reassure him. He reached the end of the staircase and tip-toed towards his den, gun in hand, peering in to see one of his chairs turned away from the entrance. There was a glass of scotch sitting upon a caddy beside it, and a thin ribbon of smoke could be seen coming from behind the high back of the chair.

“It certainly took you long enough,” said the stranger, his gloved hand reaching for the glass, picking it up and swirling it around before disappearing behind the chair. “And here, I zhought I might have to go upstairs and wake you myself.”

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” Johnny demanded, aiming the gun at the back of the chair.

“If you’re worried zat I am a thief, I assure you zat you have nozzing zat I want,” said the stranger. “At least, nozzing material, anyway. I merely wish to talk.”

“You’ve got about five seconds to get the hell out of my house before I waste you right here,” said Johnny. “I’ve got every right. You’ve broken in. It’d be self-defense.”

“I do not zink zat would be wise, my friend.” Spy lifted the chair by the arms and turned it around, setting it down as he faced Johnny. He smirked. “You see, my employers, zey keep track of me… should you kill me here, a distress signal would be sent to zheir headquarters, pinpointing my location… I do not zink zey would take kindly to you killing one of zheir agents.”

“I don’t give a crap who you work for,” Johnny growled. “I want you out. Now.”

“Oh please, Mr. Doe, at least be kind enough to hear me out,” said Spy. “Have a seat. I zink you will be interested in what I have to say. It is about your younger brother, after all.”

Johnny lowered his revolver, regarding Spy with caution. “What do you know about my brother?”

“Oh, I know much about both you and your younger brother,” said Spy, swirling around the contents of his glass again. “I’ve done my homework, Mr. Doe. I know, for example, ze bozh of you are descendants of one Jensen Dahl, a man who fled from Norway in 1806 after murdering his wife and her lover in a fit of rage, settled in Pennsylvania, fathered two children and eventually went mad after contracting syphilis, ultimately ending his life by jumping from the roof of a church, convinced zat angels would catch him before he landed.” Spy took a drag on the cigarette between his fingers. “Is zat accurate?”

There was no visible reaction on Johnny’s face, just a blank, unreadable expression.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, really,” said Spy, waving his hand dismissively. “I was simply trying to make a point. Zat point being, I know a great deal about bozh you and your brother. Perhaps… I even know more zhan you do about each ozzer… or even yourselves.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny said, lips curling up into a snarl.

“Tell me,” asked Spy, “where is your brother right now?”

“Texas,” said Johnny.

“No, but I can see why you would guess zat,” said Spy, and he clapped his hands, lightly rapping his fingertips against his palm. “Zhanks for playing, zhough.”

“Get to your point, already,” snapped Johnny. “You gonna tell me where the hell Jane is, or what?”

Spy took another drag on his cigarette and breathed out a stream of smoke through his teeth. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Johnny had his gun lowered, but he stepped a few paces closer to Spy, looking down at him with steely eyes. “If you’re not gonna tell me where he is, then why the hell are you here?”

“I told you I know much about bozh of you,” said Spy. “I must admit, I found you far more interesting zen your brother, Mr. Doe.” Spy reached into his waistcoat and produced a crumpled white envelope, waving it between two fingers. “And quite frankly, I am far more partial to your younger brother than you.”

Johnny’s facial features went slack in realization. “I know who you are,” he said, and jabbed a finger at Spy. “You’re one of the guys Jane worked with, aren’t you? You son of a bitch…”

“Oh, did he tell you about me?” asked Spy, visibly amused.

“He mentioned a smarmy, fruity French asshole that worked with him,” said Johnny. “I’m gonna assume that’d be you.”

“Well, zat certainly sounds like him,” said Spy.

“Enough stringing me around,” Johnny growled. “What do you want?”

“Here’s ze deal,” said Spy, holding up the envelope. “Wizhin zis envelope, I have information on you zat I can guarantee you will want to keep a lid on.” Johnny reached to grab the envelope and Spy snatched it away. “Not so fast, my friend. In exchange, I want a favor from you.”

“And what’s that?” asked Johnny.

“I want you to sign away custody of your younger brother to Dell Conagher.”

Johnny’s face turned a bright shade of scarlet, and his fists clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Go fuck yourself.”

Spy pouted and opened the envelope, pulling out the contents and looking them over. “Have it your way, mon ami, but I do not zink zat you would want zese getting out.”

“Give me that!” Johnny lunged over and snatched the envelope and its contents from Spy’s hand. As he examined the photographs he held, his eyes grew wide and his face turned red. His jaw clenched tight, and he let out a guttural bellow as he threw the envelope and the photographs into the fireplace, causing the flames to shoot up at the new kindling.

“Please,” said Spy, nonchalant as ever, “as if I could not produce more. I still possess ze negatives. It certainly would be incontinent for you if zose photos found zheir way to ze authorities… or perhaps, your wife?”

“How long have you been following me?” Johnny asked through gritted teeth.

“Long enough,” said Spy.

“You sneaky motherfucker.” Johnny approached Spy, grabbing onto the back of the chair and staring Spy in the face. “You slimy, shit-eating faggot…”

“And what are you going to do now, hmm?” asked Spy, smirking. “You wish to kill me?”

“Sounds like a good start,” said Johnny, the muscles in his forearms flexing like steel cables.

“Zat wouldn’t be wise of you,” said Spy, shaking his head as though he were tut-tutting a child, “as I have arranged it so zat zose photos would be automatically released to your local authorities should anything happen to me.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“You doubt me?”

The two of them stared at each other; Johnny’s eyes were alight with fury, and Spy’s were half-closed with smug satisfaction. Johnny let go of the chair and swung his arms at his side, taking deep breaths through his nostrils. He turned to the fireplace, to the warped and bubbled photographs.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Johnny.

“I’m simply doing a favor for a friend,” said Spy.

“Jane doesn’t have any friends.”

“How long are you going to keep telling yourself zat?” asked Spy. “He clearly has more allies here zan you could have ever anticipated. One man cannot fight so many people alone.”

“You’re making a mistake,” said Johnny, turning to Spy. “You can’t control him. I can. Everything I’ve done for him, it’s been for his own good.”

“Do you really believe zat?” Spy asked. “Come now. Surely you know better zan zat.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny shot back.

“How sad,” said Spy, taking another drag on his cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke at Johnny’s face. “Look at you… all of your accomplishments zat you take so much pride in, your medals and your ranking and your obedient little wife and your brood of handsome young sons… and yet you still don’t feel complete unless you control every aspect of the life of one man.”

“Shut up,” said Johnny. “Shut up before I break your goddamned arms.”

“So brutish,” Spy sighed, “just like your brother.”

“Don’t you compare him to me,” Johnny growled.

“Very well,” Spy said with a shrug, and he ground his spent cigarette in the ashtray that was set upon the caddy beside him. “Listen, I understand zat all of zis may be very sudden for you. Perhaps I should give you some time to zink all of zis over… I’m sure you’ll come to ze right decision.” He set his hands on the leather arms of the chair and pushed himself upright, adjusting his tie and cuffs.

Johnny didn’t say anything, instead raising the hand which was still gripping his gun and aiming it for Spy’s head, square between his eyes. Spy stared back at Johnny with lidded eyes and lifted a delicate finger to set atop the barrel, gently guiding it away from his face.
“Please,” he said, “let’s not make zis any messier zan it already is.” With that, he sidestepped Johnny and strolled towards the hall. He stopped just short of leaving the den and turned to look back at Johnny one more time.

“Oh, and don’t worry about trying to contact me once you’ve made up your mind,” said Spy. “I’ll contact you.” He gave the man one last sly smirk and slipped off into the hall.

“Where the hell do you think you’re-” Johnny finally moved forward to chase after him, finding that the front door was already closing. He rushed to open it, only to see that there was no sign of Spy to be found. No car, nor motorcycle, nor even a goddamned fruity moped, just an empty street and an emptier yard, save for his pet Doberman. Hagar had collapsed in the front yard, snoring loudly with a tranquilizer dart stuck in his neck. That certainly explained why he hadn’t been woken up by barking.

He wondered if this stranger were just a bad nightmare, or perhaps even some ghost haunting him. No, he thought, that was stupid; just wishful thinking. But nothing like this had ever happened before. He’d never been in a position where he didn’t feel like he had some kind of control. The nerve of that frog-eating fuck, blackmailing him into surrendering custody of Jane… and even worse, implying that his treatment of Jane made him pathetic and weak… he could feel the blood grow hot in his face, so hot he could almost feel his eyeballs start to boil, as though they’d been dropped in a stew. He raised his fist and let it fly blindly as he roared, knocking off a chunk of the wooden pillar on his front porch and sending a spray of splinters onto the walkway. Now there were splinters embedded in his knuckles, drawing blood, which was now trickling between his fingers. It dripped, dripped, dripped onto the porch, seeping between the wooden slats, staining it with bright, stark red.

And yet, Johnny couldn’t feel a thing.

-internal screaming-
wonderful update, Cat. I was squirming with excitement during the whole read. I certainly didn't expect that turn of events, but it made me smirk.

IS GOOD DAY

I never expected to feel such an overwhelming fondness for Spy, especially not in a Cat Bountry fic. If anyone has the low cunning to gain the upper hand here, it'd be him.
Thank you, Cat--this only gets better with each chapter.

Cat, I'm just going to say, whenever you need a proofreader for this fic again, just send me a message. Email and/or Tumblr will work, either way. I can't guarantee the turnaround time will always be as fast as with this chapter, but I'm definitely willing to do it again.

Thanks for letting me beta for you.

It's nice seeing your Spy have a heroic turnabout, after RotD. I always worry a bit when writers villainize a character in one story that they're just going to use him as a stock 'bad guy'.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

The pictures are probably of something creepy like child porn or something, isn't it? How many must suffer at the hands of this douche bag until your sick lust for suffering is satisfied, Cat?!

AMAZING!!!!
JUST MADE MY WEEK!!!

I love Spy, always calm and in control

The moment when Spy pushes the gun aside is a really elegant one, actually - it's a very powerful way to show how much Johnny clings to the idea of being a credible threat, and how easily Spy sees through that.

As ever, waiting patiently for more.

Why no one beta next chapter for Cat!? WHY

Found a beta! Sorry the updates have been less and less frequent. This chapter is uh... pretty heavy. You've been warned.

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___


“Checkmate.”

Medic adjusted his glasses and looked down at the board. “So it is,” he said. “You’re far better at zis game zen I would have zhought, Soldier.”

Soldier smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You gonna stop going easy on me, Doc? I think I’ve proven I’m ready for a challenge.”

It was Medic’s day off, and normally on his days off he’d be devoting his time solely to Heavy or his flock of doves. But Soldier could not be trusted to be left to his own devices, so as Heavy caught up on his Tolstoy, Medic decided to teach the brute the fine game of chess. Much to his surprise, Soldier picked it up with an alarming speed and showed an uncanny knack for strategic thinking. He’d now lost three quick games to Soldier, and Heavy, who had only mastered the game after a year or two training with Medic, pretended not to be envious as he buried his nose deeper in his book.

“Zat certainly sounds fair,” said Medic, already arranging the board’s pieces into their starting positions. “Are you sure you did not play zis game before?”

“No sir,” said Soldier. “Never much saw the appeal of it until now. I always assumed it was for eggheads and communists. No offense.”

Heavy just shrugged, not even bothering to look up from his book. “None is taken.”

“I’ll let zat pass, for now,” said Medic, as the bird sleeping on his shoulder stretched out a wing, “if only because your turnaround as of late has impressed me so.”

“Yeah, well,” Soldier swung his foot back and forth in the air with an uncomfortable nervous energy, “I guess you spend enough years in a hospital with a bunch of quacks shoving pills down your throat, and a sawbones like you doesn’t seem so bad in comparison.”

“I suppose I’ll take zat as a compliment,” said Medic. “Care for anozzah game, Soldier?”

“Affirmative,” Soldier said, leaning forward and placing a hand on his knee. “You go first.”

Medic made his first move on the board, and Soldier made his almost reflexively. They went back and forth with a steady pace, until Medic made a move that visibly caught Soldier off guard. Soldier put a hand to his chin, and rubbed it in thought.

“Hey, Doc?”

“Yes, Soldier?” Medic asked, sounding more than a bit smug as he leaned on the table, hand in chin.

“Can I ask you a question?” Soldier scratched the side of his neck.

“Zis isn’t an attempt to distract me, is it?” Medic cracked a grin.

Soldier shook his head. “Negative. Just a question I’ve been wanting the answer to for a long time now. Just never got to ask.”

“Oh?” Medic cocked an eyebrow. “And vhat is zat?”

Soldier inhaled sharply, and held it briefly. “How does somebody turn into a homosexual?”

The smile on Medic’s face melted away into a confused, blank stare. “I beg your pardon?”

“How does it happen?” Soldier pressed, and made his move on the board, maneuvering out of Medic’s trap. “How does a man turn into a homosexual?”

“You don’t become a homosexual, Soldier,” said Medic, countering Soldier’s move. “Zat’s a ridiculous notion. You simply are one.”

Soldier frowned and shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Soldier.

“And vhy not?” asked Medic.

“Because,” said Soldier, making another move, “it’s not natural. It’s not the default.”

Soldier was now encroaching upon Medic, so Medic moved to sacrifice one of his pawns. “Ze default being heterosexuality, I assume?”

“Well, of course,” said Soldier, moving away from Medic’s sacrificial pawn. “But it’s a mental illness, isn’t it? It’s abnormal and it’s useless.”

“And why is zat?” Medic asked. “Is it because homosexual sex doesn’t lead to procreation?” He moved his rook in an attempt to trap Soldier’s advancing knight. “Is zat it?”

“That’s what’s sex is for, is it not?” Soldier fell right into Medic’s new trap, and Medic smirked as he took his knight.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Medic scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Sex is so much more zan zat, so much more complicated… it can be an expression of intimacy between partners, it can be for pleasure… It doesn’t matter if some of us choose to do it wiz zhose of ze same gender. It’s simply an enjoyable experience, Soldier.”

“Not that enjoyable,” Soldier grunted. His hand hovered over the board, fingers flexing as he tried to recover from his captured knight. “Nowhere near as good as fighting, anyway.”

“You do not enjoy sex, Soldier?” Medic asked, lightly resting his thumb and forefinger upon his chin. “Is zat vhy your views of it are so stunted?”

“I don’t recall that being any of your business!” Soldier snapped. He moved a random pawn forward, only to have it quickly taken by Medic.

“I figure if you’re going to unnecessarily prod into my sex life, I should be allowed to at least ask some about yours,” said Medic. “Or, from ze sound of it, lack zhereof.”

Soldier grumbled something under his breath, and sent another piece forward. “I still don’t buy that you just are a homosexual. Something had to happen to make you like that, right?”

Medic’s brow knitted in bewilderment, bordering on consternation. “Vhat… vhat on earth are you suggesting, Herr?”

Heavy had stopped reading his book, and was now glowering at Soldier over his comically tiny reading glasses. Soldier could feel that stare burning into him like a soldering iron on wood. He did his best to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Well,” said Soldier, adopting a very matter-of-fact tone, “it’s common knowledge that a lot of homosexuals either didn’t have their fathers around very much or they were… you know… touched as children.”

“Touched?” Medic developed a distinct tic in his eye.

“Sexually,” Soldier clarified.

“Are you insinuating,” said Medic, his voice slow and deliberate as though he were trying to keep a lid on the pot of his bubbling anger, “zat Heavy und I vere molested as children?”

Soldier looked between the now red-faced Medic and Heavy, who was shaking his head and frowning so hard it almost appeared as though his mouth might permanently cleave through the flesh on his cheeks. “Well,” said Soldier, “that’s how it works, isn’t it?”

“No, zat is not how it vorks!” Medic hollered, and smacked the table, causing the chess board pieces to jilt. The bird on his shoulder flew away in alarm. “Zat is junk psychology, perpetuated by men who are less interested in science zen confirming zheir own prejudices! You know zey had people like me killed in Germany for zhinking zat exact same zing, zinking zat men like me could not be trusted around ozzah men, around children?” Heavy had gotten up from his seat and put a hand on Medic’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. This caused Medic to instantly deflate, looking as though he were a hot air balloon that’d had the flame keeping it afloat extinguished.

“Vhy are you asking dese tings?” Heavy squinted at Soldier as he rubbed Medic’s shoulders. “Vhat is the matter vit you?”

“What?” Soldier threw up his hands in defense. “I just wanted to know.”

“You lack tact,” said Medic, still bristling under Heavy’s touch. “Just as before. Just as you have alvays been…”

“Well, pardon me!” Soldier spat back. “I thought maybe you could confirm these things for me, Doc! Thought you’d be an expert! I thought since we were on good terms, I could ask!”

Medic stared at him, mouth agape. “Soldier, you cannot just demand information like zat from someone, especially given your past behavior towards Heavy and I. Just because you apologized, zat does not allow you to act like vhat you did nevah happened!”

Soldier gave Medic a confused look. “It doesn’t?”

The doctor let out a long, frustrated groan and slumped back in his chair. Heavy let go of his shoulders and just gripped the back of Medic’s chair, still keeping a cautious eye on their guest. “Soldier,” said Medic, his head lolled back against Heavy’s chest, “vhy are you asking me zese questions?”

“I told you why,” Soldier said, arms crossed. “I was curious.”

“But vhy are you so curious, hmm?” Medic lifted his head to meet Soldier’s gaze. “Vhy would you even care?”

Looking back down at the chess board, Soldier was looking as though someone had dropped a rather large and hairy insect down the back of his shirt. “You never made your move.”

“Answer ze question, Soldier,” said Medic. “You brought zis up. Zis is your bed, you made it, now sleep in it.”

“Is not bed though,” said Heavy. “Is chess game.” Medic just rolled his eyes and said nothing in response.

Soldier tucked his hands into his armpits, and avoided Medic’s heated glare. “I… I can’t.”

“Vhat do you mean, you can’t?” Medic asked. “Vhy not? I mean,” he let out a rather nervous laugh, “it’s not as zhough you zhink you might be homosexual yourself, is it?”

“I AM INSULTED THAT YOU WOULD EVEN SUGGEST SUCH A THING!” Soldier shouted, his face flushing bright red. “OF COURSE I AM NOT. I WOULD NEVER BE. IT DISGUSTS ME.”

Medic cocked an eyebrow. “Awfully defensive, aren’t you?”

“I AM NOT BEING DEFENSIVE!” Soldier shot back, standing up from his seat with such speed he nearly knocked the board over. “YOU’RE MAKING FALSE ACCUSATIONS ABOUT ME AND SLANDERING MY CHARACTER, SIR! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!”

“Your sexuality has nozzing to do wiz your character,” Medic said. “Stop acting like a child, Soldier. You are far too old for zat. Sit down, bitte.”

“NO, I WILL NOT SIT DOWN!” Soldier slammed his palms down onto the table, causing the chess pieces to jilt. “I WILL NOT SIT DOWN WHILE YOU INSINUATE THINGS ABOUT ME THAT ARE UNTRUE!”

“Soldier,” said Heavy, letting go of Medic’s shoulder’s and straightening his posture, “sit down.”

“You don’t scare me!” Soldier wagged a finger at Heavy as he kicked aside his chair and stepped back. “I’m not scared of you! I’m not doing what you tell me!”

“You realize zis overreaction is doing little to sell your case, Herr,” said Medic. “Do you fear zat you could become a homosexual?”

“OF COURSE I DON’T!” Soldier shouted. “I DO NOT BECAUSE I AM NOT AND YOU CAN GO TO HELL!”

“You said zhere vere two reasons men turn into homosexuals,” said Medic, leaning forward with interest. “You said zat zey eizzer turn out zat vay because zheir fathers lacked a sufficient presence in zheir childhood, or zat zey vere molested as children, is zat correct?”

Soldier went stiff as an ironing board, his face having gone from one of anger to apprehension. “Y-yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”

“Tell me,” said Medic, folding his hands and pressing the tips of his forefingers together, “vas your father… absent during most of your childhood?”

“Uh…” Soldier was shaking now, his palms growing sweaty and his face draining of color, “he was… he was around… was never much of a talkative man, kept to himself… he… I admired that man, Doc.” He straightened his back and nodded to himself. “I had a father figure. You know that.”

“I see,” said Medic, leaning back in his chair. He tapped a finger to his chin. “Interesting…”

“What?” asked Soldier, “What’s interesting? What are you…” he started to sweat again, his face now glistening with perspiration. “Stop it. Stop it right now!”

Medic said nothing. He looked at Soldier, his eyes scrutinizing and analytical, and yet also filled with what might have been pity. After a few moments of looking Soldier over, he started to speak. “Soldier…”

“Stop thinking it!” Soldier said, jabbing a finger in Medic’s direction. “You stop thinking that! YOU STOP THINKING THAT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

Heavy looked down to his doctor, and Medic looked back at him. They said not a word, but they turned to look back at Soldier. Heavy’s distress was written all over his face, and he took a step toward Soldier, opening his arms. “Is not true, is it?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

“NO IT’S NOT TRUE!” Soldier hollered. “IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! JUST STOP… STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” His voice was fraught with panic now, and he was looking around the room with a frantic energy, searching for escape. “STOP TAKING PITY ON ME, GODDAMMIT!”

Medic stood up from his chair, looking as though he might advance towards Soldier with outstretched arms. “Please, Herr,” he said, his voice filled with concern, “it’s not your fault…”

“Vas it your brother?” Heavy asked.

“SHUT UP!” Soldier screeched. He grabbed hold of the table in front of him and threw it with violent force to the side, sending the chess board and its pieces flying through the air. “YOU SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU! I DON’T NEED YOUR GODDAMNED PITY, YOU HEAR ME?” His face was bright red now, and he stood poised like a cornered animal, ready to strike at anything that came near. Nikita was barking madly at the commotion, but keeping her distance within the kitchen. Medic and Heavy said nothing. There was nothing they could say. So they stood, just looking at him in silence. Soldier’s breathing grew hard, taking in deep breaths through flared nostrils, fists clenched hard enough that his knuckles turned white and the veins in his arms could be seen raised blue against the skin. His bright blue eyes were wide, both angry and unstable, the lids beneath them starting to shutter as Soldier let out a cry, sounding like some large, wounded animal. He fled the room, running down the hall and slamming a door shut behind him. The dog barked after him, but she was the only one to pursue him; Heavy moved to go after him but was stopped by Medic, who gently swung his hand back into Heavy’s chest.

“Leave him be, Schatz,” said Medic. “I zhink he needs to be alone.”

Heavy nodded. “Da,” he said. “Of course…”

Medic stooped down to the floor and picked up the chess pieces from the floor, moving like a tired man much older than he was. Heavy watched Medic pick up the pieces and place them back on the board for a while, but soon moved to look down the hall.

“It vas too good to last,” sighed Medic, setting the last of the pieces in place. “He’s far too damaged to stay civil for any real length of time.”
“Ve pushed him,” said Heavy, his eyes not leaving the hallway. “Has right to be upset.”

“I nevah said he could not be upset,” said Medic. “But he did bring zis up.”

“He did not expect you to turn on him like dat,” said Heavy. He gave his doctor a stern look, his wide mouth drawn in a thin, grim line.

Medic’s annoyance wilted under Heavy’s gaze, leaving him looking like a naughty schoolchild. He cleared his throat. “Give him time,” said Medic. “I’m sure he’ll be out again acting like nozzing happened.”

“I hope so, Doktor,” said Heavy, coming back into the living room to pick up his book and tuck it under his arm. He turned to walk towards their bedroom, and Medic went to follow him, only for Heavy to turn back at him with narrowed eyes and a disapproving frown. Medic stopped in his tracks, and watched as Heavy went back to their bedroom without him. With a sigh, Medic retreated back into the living room and went to the bookshelf, hoping he might find something to help him with dealing with Soldier… or perhaps just Heavy.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
_


Medic had been reading up on childhood trauma and psychology for about an hour when he heard thumping beneath him from the first floor, accompanied by yelling in Italian. His neighbors downstairs were banging on their ceiling, something that rarely happened unless Heavy and Medic were making love at a particularly loud volume. Medic slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose at he stared at the floor, and listened for any loud noises coming from nearby. He heard nothing aside from the sound of running water, which had been constant since Soldier ran in there…

Wait.

Medic stood up and went down the hall, towards the bathroom. As he approached the door, he stepped in something wet, and picked up his foot in surprise. He’d stepped in a puddle of water which was seeping out from underneath the bathroom door.

“SOLDIER!” Medic shouted, and started pounding on the door. “SOLDIER, OPEN ZE DOOR ZIS INSTANT! VHAT AH YOU DOING IN ZHERE?”

Soldier didn’t respond. Medic’s brain started to play out every grisly scenario he could imagine, and the thought of Soldier lying in the tub bleeding out from slit wrists caused him panic as he reached for the doorknob and rattled it in desperation. “HEAVY!”

The bedroom door flew open, and Heavy peered out, fully alert. “BREAK DOWN ZHIS VERDAMMT DOOR!” Medic cried, and Heavy moved without hesitation, pushing Medic aside, taking a step back, and ramming his shoulder into the door… once, twice, three times until it gave, swinging open.

Soldier was in the bathtub, wholly unresponsive to this break-in. He was fully clothed, but unharmed, most of his body submerged in water as the shower head continued to spray more water on his head, which was bowed. His expression was hard to read, but he appeared to be deep in thought. Rivulets of water ran down his features, flowing down the creases in his stony face and dripping off the tip of his nose.

“Soldier!” Medic shouted, stepping through the water that had accumulated on the bathroom floor and reaching for the bath faucet, twisting it off until there was naught but a dribble of water coming out of the shower head. “Vhat in Gott’s name do you zhink you’re doing?”

“Taking a bath,” said Soldier. He made a weak splash in the water with a limp wrist.

“You have flooded our bazhroom!” Medic cried in exasperation. “Ze neighbors downstairs have a leaking ceiling! Do you not have any consideration for ozzahs?”

“Do you?” Heavy asked.

Medic spun around and glared at Heavy, only for his features to soften with defeat. He turned back to Soldier. “I am sorry,” said Medic. “I did not mean to bring up any traumatic memories of yours earlier, Soldier.”

Soldier said nothing, but just continued staring at the stagnant bathwater that he was soaking in.

“Soldier,” Medic knelt down beside the tub, getting his knee soaked, “are you going to be all right?”

Again, Soldier said nothing. He idly splashed the tub water some more.

“Come on,” Medic took hold of Soldier’s arm to lift him out of the tub, “let’s get you out of here and dry you off, hmm?” Soldier shook Medic off of him and let his arm dangle out of the tub, limp. Medic pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Vhat is wrong, Soldier?” Medic asked.

“I’m pretty sure we both know the answer to that,” said Soldier, his voice flat.

“You know zat it vas not your fault, Soldier,” said Medic. “You vere just a child.”

“Ve do not judge you,” said Heavy, stepping further inside the bathroom. “Does not make you any less of man den you are.”

“Neither of you had that happen to you, though,” said Soldier, still staring at the bathwater between his legs. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I cannot say zat ve do,” said Medic, giving out a pained sigh. “But bozh of us have had our share of tragedy in our lives. You have never been sent to a Gulag or tried to stay alive in Nazi Germany…”

“That’s not the same!” Soldier snapped, and slapped the water in frustrating, causing a loud splash. “You don’t hide that! People can know about and think of how tough you were to live through it! Nobody pities you! You’re not victims for it!”

“Vell,” Medic looked uncomfortable. He looked back at Heavy, who gave him a reassuring nod. “You’re right, Soldier,” he said. “It’s not ze same. Neizzer of us have had zat kind of abuse inflicted upon us. I cannot imagine vhat zat must have been like for you as a child.”

Soldier just grunted.

“Heavy is right,” said Medic. “You are no less a man for having lived zhrough zat. You’re a strong man, Soldier, and no vone can take zat strengzh away from you. Not unless you let zem.”

Silently, Soldier turned his head to look to Medic. His eyes were the only part of his face showing any sliver of emotion; they looked vulnerable, frightened, like the eyes of a child. “You know,” he said, speaking softly, “you and Heavy are the only other people that know about this…”

“Ve vill not tell,” said Heavy. “Ve can keep secret. Promise.”

“Good,” Soldier said with a nod. “We can’t tell anybody else. Especially not Engie.”

“You have not told your doctors?” Medic asked.

“No,” Soldier said, looking at Medic as though he’d suggested something absurd. “Why would I? I don’t think they’d even believe me.”

“Soldier,” Medic put a hand on Soldier’s arm, “vhy vould anybody lie about somezing like zat? Vhy vould zey not believe you?”

“I don’t know,” Soldier sunk back deeper into the tub. “Because I hate my brother that much. They wouldn’t believe me. They always side with him. Nobody believed me over him, ever…”

“Ve do,” said Heavy. “Your brother sounds like filthy coward.”

“I zink,” said Medic, “zat it would be of great benefit to you if you sought out new doctors. It sounds as if your current ones are doing far more harm zen good.”

“Yeah?” Soldier sat up a bit.

“In my professional opinion, yes,” said Medic. “I am sure Engineer vould agree.”

“You think… you think he’d help me find some?” Soldier asked.

“I’m sure he’d be happy to,” Medic assured him. “Now, how about we get out out of zis bazh and dried off, ja?” He lifted Soldier up by the arm, until both of them were on their feet, and Soldier was dripping, soaking wet. Soldier stepped out of the tub and onto the slippery bathroom floor, and Heavy swooped up from behind him and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Reflexively, Soldier brushed Heavy off and toweled off his face.

“Thanks,” said Soldier with a sniffle.

“You are velcome,” said Heavy. “Next time, perhaps you take clothes off and unplug drain vhen you shower, da?”

Soldier gave a grunt as he dried himself off. “Did you… need help cleaning up?”

“Nein, just… take off zose wet clothes and get dry,” said Medic. “Ve’ll take care of the mess.”

“Right,” said Soldier. He hung up his towel and peeled off his sopping wet shirt, and wrung it out over the sink as Medic fetched more towels. He didn’t stick around, as he felt uncomfortable being the cause of a mess other people had to clean up. He moved to the kitchen and stripped off his pants, wringing them out over the kitchen sink just as he’d done with his shirt. Nikita just watched him with mild curiosity from by the refrigerator. Unsure what to do with his pants, he laid them down on the counter and just stood in the kitchen in his underwear.

“Soldier?”

He turned around and saw Medic standing just outside the entrance to the kitchen. “Do you need a change of clozhes?” he asked.

“Oh,” Soldier said. “Uh… yeah. I didn’t… I forgot to bring any. I should go back…”

“Nein!” Medic cried out, putting a hand to halt him. “Ah… I mean… no. Zat’s not necessary. It’s probably safer for you to stay here. Actually… ve can send Heavy back if you need anyzing.”

“You think I can’t just get it myself?” Soldier asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Think I’d get lost?”

“I just don’t vant to potentially leave you alone viz your brother,” said Medic. “He could see you come in and cut off power to ze teleporter…”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Soldier relented, his head bowed as he stared at his feet.

Medic picked up on his reluctant resignation. “I can lend you some of my pajamas… and, vell, I know you prefer coffee, but I could fix you a cup of tea…”

“That’s fine,” said Soldier, crossing his arms and rubbing his biceps with his hands. Come to think of it, he was a bit chilly. “Thanks.”

“You’re velcome, Soldier,” Medic said, trying his best to give Soldier a friendly smile, forcing it just a bit too much. It was clear he was trying very hard to somehow smooth what had just happened over, Soldier could at least read that much. But as Medic slipped out of view, Soldier was hit with the realization that no… things would not be okay. Even after he would escape the clutches of his brother, he’d still have to live with his own victimhood. He didn’t like being a victim, and he liked other people knowing about it even less. Even if Heavy and Medic would never tell another soul, they knew. And that knowledge would forever alter how they’d perceive him.

Soldier sat down at the kitchen table, and was still sitting there staring at the tabletop when Medic came back in with a pair of his pajamas folded under his arm. Heavy also came into the kitchen, having finished up cleaning the bathroom. The two of them looked at Soldier, exchanging nervous glances before Medic spoke up.

“Soldier,” he said, approaching the man delicately, “please, tell me... are you going to be all right?”

Looking up from the table, Soldier gave Medic a hard stare, his gaze hard and stony and fitting of a man who’d gone through hell.

“Doc,” he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

Huh. Thread's not bumping anymore.

Damn.

marry me.

I knew it, I just knew it!
Why are you such a wonderfully horrible person, Cat?

SOBS FOREVER

Poor Solly. And, if it's not bumping up anymore, it's your fault for writing fanfic that so many people comment on.

Oh my gosh poor Solly. This kind of silly, but this chapter made me feel like crying.

I have never been so heartbroken at a reveal that I'd figured out for myself long ago. I would hug that man if he wouldn't shove me across the room for it.

Aw, shucks, you guys.

So, next time I update I'll be making a new thread. Until then, I have uploaded chapters 1-13 on Dotchan.com for your viewing pleasure:

http://dotchan.com/?p=2096

I guess the fact that it's not bumping anymore means that it's auto-saged or something?

>>224

I should say so, yes.

First, the wonderful uplifting joy of Spy's fantastic machinations and manipulations turning to the forces of justice.
Then, the crushing ache and tear-jerking inner twist of having the suspicion, the creeping edge of something terrible, being confirmed as truth.
GDI, Cat, you got me on an emotional roller coaster than puts the fecking Cyclone to shame.
Geebus, I need a tissue...

I just caught up on the last chapters. Sweet jebus, Cat, this is amazing. Thankyou for writing it.

“Doc,” he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”
That broke my heart. Cat, you wonderful person, don't ever stop writing and stuffing me full of mixed emotions.

I kind of caught on pretty early about what happened between Soldier and his brother, so it didn't take me as a surprise, but shit man. Shit.

I didn't know there was a new chapter! It wasn't bumping so I didn't see it at the top! Poor Soldier, I don't know how to react to someone who doesn't want to be pitied.