Welp. 'Bout time I got around to reposting this, since I'm still writing it. Hopefully I'll update it at a faster clip this time. Engineer and Pyro are bros. 'Nuff said. (And thanks to FiveTail for beta-reading.) ___________________________________________________ Chapter 1 If he'd been working on the new sentry model that morning, like he was supposed to, he probably never would've heard the tentative knock. As it was, he had a dispenser on the ground, and was frowning at the coils and compressors laid bare, trying to find a better way to place them to keep the sappers from being so doggone efficient, so it only took about a minute of the occasional rapping for him to notice that he was being hailed. "What th' heck d'ya want?" he hollered over his shoulder. An incoherent response came through the heavy steel, and the Engineer sighed heavily as he hoisted himself up. He opened to door to find the Pyro standing there uncertainly, cradling his flamethrower like a hurt pet. "Hreh. Fhs'rrhy t'bhvvr yhh, bhh'..." He trailed off, then held the weapon up to Engie hopefully. The pilot light was off and the gas canister missing. "Hrh'zh bh'rr'kkn." "Yer flamethrower's busted?" Engineer guessed. The Pyro nodded. "Ah. You, ah...y'want me t' fix it for ya, then?" "Prh'zz?" The Pyro nodded, more vigorously this time. Engineer nodded and walked back to his workbench, the Pyro following him. "Hrht wzh mmffh'ig ufh yhhfhr'dh, 'nn Hrh ffh'rt Hrh ffhx'd hrht. Bhr tt'dh hrht jh'zt...sfht'ppdh whrk'ig--rrht hn tt m'ddrh hf tt ffhyt!" "Uh...sure." Engineer had known the Pyro for all of the three months they'd been assigned to this post, but in that time, he still couldn't make out half of what the man was saying. Not that the Pyro did much to make that easier--in all that time, he'd never seen him take off the mask, and the firebug didn't seem keen to change that any time soon. So Engie shrugged it off, made a few educated guesses based on tone and posture, and tried his best to keep his conversations--if they could be called that--with the other man friendly and noncommittal. For his part, the masked man seemed friendly enough, when he wasn't grumbling, shouting, or laughing maniacally (in all fairness, most of the folk on the team had a problem with that last one. Engie himself had been known to indulge a couple of times). But to be honest, the Pyro mostly just made him nervous. "Just, ah...just lay 'er down here, an' Ah'll have a look." The Pyro gingerly placed the weapon on the table, one gloved hand patting the nozzle as if comforting it. Engineer sat down and turned it over, trying to ignore the way the Pyro hovered right over his shoulder. "You disconnected the tank, then?" "Mm'hm. Hrh'zh nnht tt t'nkh." He paused. "Rr tt hhr'zh." "Right. Th' hose givin' ya any trouble?" "Hrh jh'zt fhs'dd thrht!" He sounded annoyed. Engie raised a hand. "Easy now. Just, ah...what exactly's goin' wrong with 'er?" The Pyro launched into a long series of rapid, agitated mumblings that Engineer couldn't make a word of. He held up both hands. "Okay, wait. Slow down, son. Ah can't understand a thing you're sayin'." The Pyro slouched with an exasperated grunt, then sullenly pointed to the main barrel. "Thrht." He pointed to the compression tank beneath it. "Thrht." He moved one hand along the barrel and stopped abruptly, halfway, and made a "ppff" sound, brought both hands sharply to indicate a stop, and waved them away. Engie nodded and rubbed his chin. This was going to be...interesting. ________________________________________________________ Ten minutes later, through a mixture of pantomime, twenty-questions, and simple, one-word mumbles, followed by a thorough check of the weapon (during which Engineer found it impossible to concentrate, and finally had to ask the Pyro to go to the corner, where he stood, wringing his hands), Engineer finally felt that he understood the problem. He leaned back, pushed his goggles up, and sighed heavily. "Ah'm sorry, son. She's done." "Wrrrh't?" "Nothin' Ah can do. Th' metal all along the inside is cracked an' slagged t'hell. Safety seal isn't even there anymore, an' the ignition valve just melted completely. Heck, yer lucky this didn't go the other way an' just blow you ta pieces." He grimaced and tilted the flamethrower idly. "Shoot. An' Ah thought RED was givin' us some quality stuff." The Pyro didn't say a word. Engineer frowned and tilted the flamethrower again, not so idly. He leaned forward and squinted at the the bands and what was left of the valves. "Unless..." He looked back at the other man. "Pyro, did you try ta modify this thing?" He wasn't sure how a gasmask could possibly convey a guilty expression, but there was no mistaking the Pyro's posture as anything but. Engie threw up his hands. "Ya danged idiot, you have any idea how blessed dangerous that was? Heck, I take it back--yer lucky y'didn't blow yerself AN' half yer teammates ta Kingdom Come! What were you thinking?" "Hrih'vh dnn hrht b'fhr!" the Pyro exploded, gesturing violently. "Hrht whrzn't hhrtt hen'hhff!" "It...wasn't..." Engineer frowned, trying to decipher the man's outburst while keeping his own in check. "Whaddaya mean, 'it wasn't hot enough?' Ah seen you melt sentries with that thing!" "Hhyhh, nn Hrih ghht shht tt dh'ff hhvrhy t'mm!" He threw his hands up. "Hhn thhr Phy'rhh'zh hzz hhrttrh!" "BLU's Pyro's is hotter?" He was almost certain that was what had been said. "Hhyhh. Hhr hh'llz khllzh mh, hhvhhn hhf Hrih ghht nn vh fhhrst shht." The Pyro folded his arms and hunched his shoulders abruptly, clearly pouting. "Hhr'zh chht'rhig!" he harrumphed. Engineer scratched his head. "Cheating? Ah don't know 'bout that." He shook his head. "But look now. Y'should've come ta me about this in the first place." The Pyro's shoulders sagged. "Hrih fhh't Hrih cc'hd..." He trailed off, and shrugged. "Nhh'rmnn." He sounded...sad. Engineer sighed. "Not sayin' y'don't know how t'work this thing. But you just don't have th' tools t'make any sorta precise repairs. An' if y'don't mind me sayin', when it comes to canisters of compressed, highly flammable gas mounted onto...did this used to be a leafblower?" The Pyro nodded. "Yeah, well, 'precise' would be th' only sorta repairs I'm comfortable with." The Pyro nodded again, and laid a hand on his weapon. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Fh'h...yhh cnn't fhhx hrh?" "Sorry, pardner. Can't do it." The Pyro didn't move for awhile, and Engie began to get worried. Exactly how attached was the Pyro to his flamethrower? They all had different opinions on that sort of thing. Scout went through scatterguns like candybars, while the Sniper made it a point to break down and clean his rifles every night. The Medic was, for obvious reasons, highly protective of his medi-gun, and Engineer, on the other hand, was used to not a one of his sentry's living to see a sunset. And Heaven help the poor soul who interfered with Heavy's Sasha in any way. Pyro and his flamethrower...it just went together. "Rrh." "She...gotta name?" "...Hrh'zh shhoop'd." "Nah, isn't." Engie shrugged. "Heck, I call my guitar Gertrude." "Hhyhh?" "Yeah." "...Jhu'ia." "Julia?" "Hhyhh." "'S a nice name." The Pyro shrugged. He took a deep breath and looked back up at Engie. "Fh'h, whhr'oo gnnhh dhh whhf hhr?" Engineer scratched behind his ear, looking at the wreck. "Well, she's got some good metal on 'er. Ah could always use that for somethin' 'round here." "Rrh." The Pyro nodded glumly. Engineer thought it over and shrugged. "'Course, Ah got plenty of metal an' all. Could...Ah dunno, give 'er a decent burial or something, if y'wanted to." The Pyro raised his head, clearly thinking this over. After a moment, he shook his head. "Nhh. Yshh hrht fhhr s'hhmfhig khh'ool." Engie grinned. "You say so, son. Now." He clapped his hands together, mind already sketching up new schematics. "How 'bout you bring me th' old tank and hose. Ah'll see what I can salvage and put you t'gether somethin' that'll melt that BLU Pyro's boots t'th' floor." A snicker escaped the gasmask, and the Pyro nodded, perking up. "Srrh fhhig!" Engineer smiled as the Pyro scurried out the door, then grabbed some vellum and a pencil, and got to work. _________________________________________________ "Y'know, you weren't too off with the mods," Engineer said as he checked the work in progress against the schematics. A battered record player in the corner finished the last song on the vinyl, scratching toward the end. Pyro switched out the albums. After a crackle of static Johnny Cash began singing about sugar in the morning, evening, and suppertime. "Rhrl'hy?" "Nah, your math makes sense, the gas works like that in theory..." Engie trailed off as he saw a bolt that needed tightening. He tightened it and continued. "It's a matter of what you had t'work with." He held up the old flamethrower, eyed its primary pipe, and frowned. "No way this grade'a metal could've handled that sorta stress. Surprised it held up as long as it did." "Ghrt lrhky, Hrih ghhs." He shrugged and sat on an upturned crate. "Yeah, well don't trust t'luck too much. Ah don't know if they letcha respawn for sheer stupidity." "Sfhrh fheh dh'--Sc'tt," Pyro pointed out amicably. Engie chuckled. "Th' boy's just young." "Hhn shhoop'd." "Well...maybe that too," he admitted with a grin. He pulled his Hot Rod over his face. "Now gimme a sec. Gotta weld this bit here, so turn around an'--" "Hrih nh'rh, Hrih nh'rh..." said Pyro, turning to face the wall. "Dh'n lrrhk't tt rrhc." "Right." Engineer bent over the new flamethrower, fired up the arc, and set to work. Pyro had practically spent the whole day in his shop, and to his surprise, Engie found that he didn't really mind all that much. The man had had a tendency to hover a bit where his Julia was concerned, but once he'd made his final farewell, he was perfectly content to sit back and watch--which wasn't anywhere near as unnerving as Engie had thought it would be--or else to fetch and carry and hold. And kvetch. Engineer was learning that in spite of (or possibly because of) the fact that no one seemed to listen to him, Pyro was rarely quiet about anything for long, muttering under his breath about this or that in a way that, more and more, was reminding Engie of nothing so much as a hazmat-suited Donald Duck. But he was smart. Maybe not MIT smart, but smart enough not to deserve the rough time Scout gave him. Once Pyro returned with the rest of the flamethrower pieces and Engie showed him the first rough blueprints, Pyro immediately started making notes and adjustments (left-handed at that, which Engie had been surprised to learn). In retrospect, Engineer felt a little embarrassed with himself for not realizing earlier that a pencil and paper what the most practical solution to the communication problem, but once that hurdle had been passed, the two were able to bat various ideas, modifications, equations, and objections back and forth much more easily. That said, communication was becoming less and less of a problem, and the problem, he was beginning to realize, was more that the rest of the team--Scout especially--didn't seem to make the effort. It was like learning to decipher any dialect--Lord knew they'd all had some trouble understanding each other at first, but now no one blinked an eye at Demo's thick Scottish burr. And the more Engie listened, the easier he found it to understand, to follow the awkward cadence and insert the right vowels into the mess of muffled consonants. Pyro hadn't had to write anything down since lunch time. Also, he hadn't once made fun of Engie's Johnny Cash and Hank Williams albums. So clearly, the man had taste. He lowered the welder and raised his mask. Yeah, that looked like it would hold alright. He turned around to tell Pyro it was finished. "Now cut that out!" Pyro snapped the lid of the zippo lighter closed with a guilty click. "Ffs'hhrry." Engie shook his head. "You make a habit of doin' that, son?" Pyro shrugged. "Right, well. Don't do it in mah workshop. Too much--" he paused, wondering if it was such a good idea to tell a man who apparently loved to set fire to everything in sight that most of the stuff around him was incredibly flammable. "Too much of a chance something could go wrong." "Hrih'mm cc'rrfhl," Pyro insisted, but he nodded and put the lighter away. After a moment of looking sufficiently chagrinned, he glanced back up at Engie. "Hrz hrht ddhn?" "See for yourself." Engie slide his chair back and gestured to the final product. Pyro leapt up, eager as a puppy. The new flamethrower lay on the table, looking heavy and deadly, and very much like the old one. He touched it reverently. "Ah know she looks about the same, but this little lady should hold up to th' punishment you're gonna put her through. New head-cone's to give you a little extra protection--it's gonna be hot. Should be twenty-five percent more efficient, at least." He put his hands on his hips and nodded with a satisfied smile. "Let's see that no-good BLU Engineer come up with somethin' like that." Pyro said nothing. "You like it?" Slowly, very slowly, the Pyro nodded. A soft, low chuckle came from the mask, slow and wicked. Then he abruptly turned to face the Engineer, fists clenched tight below his mask. "Rrh'zh ghh trhy hhrh hhow't nnhhow!" Engineer chuckled, a little uneasily, but pleased to see how well-recieved his handiwork had been. He patted Pyro's shoulder. "Well, she's gotta settle for a bit, don't wanna run her while she's still cooling." "Rrh." Pyro glanced down at the weapon, and back up again. "Hh'r rlhhng?" "Eh..." Engie squinted at the ceiling, scratching his shoulder. "Couple'a hours, I'd guess. Give or take. A day might not be a bad idea, especially considering how volatile a lot of this all is. Actually..." He turned his head to look at the dispenser bits, still lying on the ground. "Should give me enough time to take care of this li'l ol' problem." He walked over to his previous project. "Whrrh prh'bm?" Pyro followed, hands clasped behind his back. He tilted his head curiously at the mess of parts. "Oh, just spy troubles, mostly." Engineer squatted down and picked up a compressor coil, eyeing it. "Rrrghhin' sp'hs." "Mah thoughts exactly." He threw the coil to the side. Definitely busted. "I can't keep him from gettin' to mah dispenser. By the time I know it's sapped, it's usually too late for me to do much of anything except get myself stabbed in the back. I'm trying to get the sentry t'lock onto him, even when he's cloaked, but so far it's just not working. An' then he saps that too." He held up a piece of the ventilation tubing for scrutiny. "If I can just bury the key power elements in some insulation, maybe I can keep his sappers from takin' hold so quick." Pyro knelt down near Engie, arms crossed on his knees, bending over the various pieces. He poked at a stray bolt curiously. "Hhr's hrht whrk?" "Huh?" Engie blinked at him, having gotten lost in a world of gears and wires. "Ahh, it's..." He waved a hand. "Complicated. Ya don't want me gettin' all into that." "Nhh, Hrih dhh!" He changed his postion, sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "Rrhhrl'hy!" Engie gave him a lopsided grin and pushed his hardhat back a bit. "Well, alright, son, but Ah'm warnin' yah. It's gonna get a mite technical." They talked for hours. Well, Engie mostly talked, explaining the bits and doohickies, sometimes getting lost on one train of thought and going off on tangents. Pyro mostly nodded and asked questions when there was a lull, or a ridiculously complicated part. He doubted the firestarter was following more than just the basics, but it was a nice change to have someone he could talk tech at--someone a little less stiff than the Medic--even if the gasmask made it impossible to tell if the other man's eyes were glazing over. By the time they both yawned and Engie checked the clock on the wall, it was far too late to do any kind of flamethrower testing with even a modicum of safety. Engie pushed himself up from the floor and stretched. "Mmph. 'S dark out. Sorry, Pyro. Got a little carried away--toldja t'stop me." He offered the man a grin. Pyro responded with an amicable roll of his shoulders, stopped short with a wince and a grunt. He rubbed the base of his neck with a grumble. "Back troubles? Can't say Ah'm surprised--that thing was sixty pounds if it's an ounce." "Ffhv'nty." He audibly cracked his neck and shook out his arm. "Hrih'm ghhud." "You sure?" He patted the flamethrower on the table. "Gimme a couple'a days more to tinker with this, I can probably find a way to lighten that by ten pounds at least." "N'hh." Pyro waved it off. "Hrih'm ghhud. Rhrl'hy." "You just want ta try her out already, don'tcha?" Pyro flashed him a double-thumbs-up. "If Ah let you take her with ya tanight, you promise me not ta fire her up until the morning?" Pyro nodded solemnly. "Promise?" "Yhhss!" Engie smiled and stepped back. "Alright, then. Just come get me before you try anything, okay?" Pyro nodded again, and carefully picked up his new weapon, cradling it. "Thhnk yhh." The sincerity was obvious, even muffled as it was. Engie tipped his hat. "Not a problem, buddy." He set to cleaning up the work area as Pyro carefully picked his way across the cluttered floor. "Hey." Pyro stopped just as he opened the door and turned around, head tilted. Engie grinned. "Don't be a stranger, alright? Drop in next time y'get tired of wherever it is you hole yourself up." Pyro stared at him for a moment, then dipped his head once. "Khhh. G'nhht, H'nghy." "'Night, Pyro."
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂ______________________________________________________________ Chapter 2 The sentry on the roof beeped, swiveled northwest, and fired a hail of bullets. An agonized scream came from the BLU scout in the distance. Engineer smiled. Building the new flamethrower had eaten up all of Sunday, and now their little nine-to-five war was back in full swing. So far, the REDs had been making quite a showing of it. He just wished he'd had a chance to work on those dispenser upgrades. His record of post-backstabbing respawns was getting ridiculous, and the fact that after all this time he hadn't once managed to kill that goddanged spy rankled something fierce. As if on cue, he heard a rustle nearby. Fantastic. He placed his back firmly against the wall behind him and pulled out his shotgun, keeping a careful eye on his buildings. There was a low, soft chuckle, impossible to pin down, and Engineer tightened his grip. Suddenly, everything to the left of him burst into a wall of flames. "FIRE! FIRE!" While the BLU Spy's cloaking technology was impressive enough to keep him invisible while being engulfed in flames, the person-shaped pillar of fire made one beautiful beacon. Engineer placed two calm shots in the man's head and watched him fall. The Pyro was still laughing when he turned around. Engineer tipped his hardhat up. "Thanks for that, pardner." "Nhh prhblm. Dhdjh szhee thrt?" Pyro giggled again, a mite unsettling. He held up a fist in triumph. "Yup. He was on fire, alright." Engineer mirrored the gesture, and Pyro popped his fist against Engineer's. "Thrt whz hhwzhm!" Engineer smiled and turned to double-check his sentry, just in case Spy had managed to slide a sapper onto it before he'd been roasted. "You do one helluva barbeque, son. How's she workin' out for you?" "Fhhntt'stc." Pyro patted the flamethrower with pride. "Yhh dhh ghhud whrk." He hooked up the flamethrower's tank to the dispenser and reloaded his shotgun. "Hheh. Khll'd thrr Mhd'c thrrh t'hms hl'rddy. Ght thrr H'vy whns tuh!" The sentry beeped and fired again. Pyro quickly unhooked his tank from the dispenser. "Thrt's muh c'uu." He gave Engineer a quick salute and took off for the stairs. Thirty seconds later, Pyro's maniacal laughter was audible from Engineer's rooftop as he flanked a whole mess of BLUs nearing the sentry nest. Engineer paused for a moment to watch the man chase a swarm of BLUs from the point, gleefully cackling while waving a steady stream of fire everywhere. It was almost enough to make Engineer feel sorry for the BLUs. Almost. ________________________________________________________ "Lhhk, Hh c'n dh ht!" "Not a chance. I remember what happened th'last time you did your own modifications. I just put this li'l lady t'gether; I'm not about to let her get messed up if I can help it." "Tht whz t'ht'lly dffrnt!" Pyro threw his hands up. "Do you have your own soldering iron?" Engineer asked, pointing with the tool in question. Pyro crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling with a grumble. "Well, then, I reckon it's my call." He turned back to the table and picked up one of the tiny pieces of scrap metal. "Still don' see why it needs teeth." "Bhc'hhz rthr-w'zz ht jhst lhhks lrk hh lr'zhrd." Engineer eyed the freshly painted head-cone. He didn't quite see "lizard." He didn't quite see much of anything, except the angry, cartoonish eyes that Pyro had painted on either side. But Pyro had been making good use of the thing (BLU's Spy had only managed to sap one sentry all week), and he had a feeling if he didn't do it, the man would likely attempt to jerry-rig a homemade blowtorch, and Engineer certainly wasn't keen on seeing how that would turn out. "So, you got a name for her yet?" Engineer squinted to make sure the last piece was aligned. Behind him, he could hear the rubber squeak of Pyro rubbing the chin of his mask with his thumb--something Engineer was beginning to suspect might be a nervous habit of his. "Yrhh..." He sounded embarrased. Engineer waited until he'd set the final "tooth" before looking back. "Well, don't keep me in suspense, son. What's her name?" Pyro crossed his arms and looked at the corner. "Mhh'rfh'i'snt." Engineer blinked. "How's that again?" "Mhh'rfh'i'snt." It still sounded like gibberish. "Yhh knhh--frhm Slh'pn Bhy'tty? Thh dr'ghn." "The...dragon?" Engineer glanced down at the painted eyes and new teeth. Well, yes, it did look a bit like a dragon. Probably would moreso when it was shooting a torrent of flame at some unfortunate BLU. "From that Disney picture awhile back?" Pyro nodded, still staring at the floor. Engineer raised an eyebrow. "Really?" "Shh whz rhlly kh'ool," Pyro insisted. "Scrr'd mh lttl brthrs s' mhch wh hd tt llhhv th th'rtr." "Sure," said Engineer with an uncertain look. Well, if the boy wanted to name his fearsome weapon after some Disney cartoon, that was his business. He shrugged. Pyro was weird. The last thing Pyro said registered. Engineer blinked. "So you got brothers, then?" Pyro froze. After a pause that went on just long enough to be noticeable, he nodded. "Yrhh. Tuh yhnngr brthrs." "That's somethin'. Got an older brother my own self, orneriest fella you ever did see. Treated our sister fine, but used'a beat the tar outta me when we were kids." Pyro didn't exactly flinch, but Engineer saw his fists clench abruptly, his shoulders stiffen. Huh. He stopped for a moment, considering the man. Finally, his momma's politeness won out against his natural curiosity. He cleared his throat. "'Course, we grew out of it when we got older; boys always do." Grew out of it just in time for Avery to be sent to the killing fields of Korea, but that was neither here nor there. "Mm." Pyro gave a jerky twitch that might have been another nod. Engineer decided to let it go. "Anyway." He slapped his hands against his overalls, changing the subject. "I reckon the metal's set and cooled now." "Hm? Rh!" Pyro shook himself, as if he'd been lost in thought. "Yrhh, tht's kh'ool." He ran a finger over the head-cone, touching one of the metal teeth. "Thnnks, Hngie." "Don' mention it." Engineer wiped his hands off on a work rag. Pyro picked up his flamethrower. "Hh knhhw ht's khnda...st'hpd..." He trailed off, shrugging. "It's your weapon, son. Jus' do me a favor and set that no-good BLU Spy on fire a couple more times tomorrow." "Heh. Yss s'r!" Pyro threw him a lopsided salute before leaving. Engineer smiled and shook his head before turning back to the half-finished sentry he'd been working on before Pyro had shown up. That boy was an odd one, and a mystery at that. But then, Engineer had always liked puzzles. ________________________________________________________
Last of the three, getting caught up. ________________________________________________________ Chapter 3 "Vhat is zat?" The Medic's voice shook with disgust. "What's it look like, chucklehead?" It was common knowledge that the Scout had a large mouth, but the Medic now watched in horror as it stretched impossibly wide to accommodate the grotesque...thing, which could only be called a "hamburger" by default. It couldn't possibly have less than three patties on it, and while accoutrements of all description dripped from it like pus from an open wound, there wasn't a glimpse of anything that might be considered "natural." Scout took a messy bite, smacking without the slightest hint of shame. "I..." Medic stopped and reached under his glasses, gently rubbing a dull ache around his eyes that threatened to grow into a truly beautiful migraine. "Please. Tell me zat is not all you are eating." "'Course not!" Coming from around a mouthful of food, Scout's voice was almost as muffled as Pyro's. He pointed to a pile of thick, greasy fries, half-soaked in ketchup. Medic felt something move unpleasantly in his throat and regretted having looked at all. "Und I suppose," he said, with delicate calm, "zat mit it, you are taking zat...drink?" "What, Bonk?" Scout swallowed noisily and swept the back of his hand across his mouth. "Yeah, why wouldn't I? Got plenty'a the stuff. It's great!" "It is sewage." Medic sat down heavily at the kitchen table, massaging his temples. Maybe if he was very patient, the Scout would simply eat himself into some kind of diabetic coma, and then Medic would be able to see if the radioactive waste the boy swilled down like water had mutated any of his organs. "Hey, don't you knock my Bonk, 'Comrade!'" "Germany is not communist; it is Russia you are thin--" Medic murmured to the table top before giving up. It really wasn't worth it. "Herr Scout, as your Doctor, I must insist zat you eat somezing vit actual nutritional value." "Ahh, leave th' lad alone." The Demoman, who had previously been slumped in a boneless heap on the table, startled Medic by speaking up. "Yer alluz on me 'boot me scrumpy too. 'Oo made ye th' nursemaid, ah?" "Ze RED Cooperation, apparently," muttered Medic through clenched teeth. "Since none of you gentlemen seem to have any more care for what happens to your bodies off ze field zan you do on it. It does not make my job any easier if you keel over from liver failure instead of bullets. Und of course I tell you to stop drinking zat horrible stuff." The Medic made a half-hearted grab for the Demoman's bottle before remembering what had happened last time, and changed the gesture to firmly slamming his fist on the table. "It is poison, more lighter fluid zan actual drink. In fact, it is a wonder ze BLU Pyro does not set you on fire from halfvay across ze field, how strong ze fumes are." "Hey, lay off the rummy, he's alright!" "Vould you at least eat some fruit as well? A vegetable?" Medic said wearily. "An apple. Zat is all I ask." "Heh, would it keep you away, Doc? 'Cause that might be worth it!" Scout sniggered and crammed another bite into is mouth. "Yo Hardhat!" he yelled over his shoulder at the Engineer. The Texan looked up from the plate he was fixing near the fridge, having thus far declined to comment. "Back me up here!" "I don't know," he said, setting his plate on the table to Scout's right. "Scout's old enough to look after himself," he said to Medic. "But the Doc's right, son--it wouldn't hurt you none to maybe eat a some veggies or somethin' fresh an' grown now an' again." "Fries are vegetables," Scout muttered, scooping up a glob of ketchup on one. Medic shook his head and caught sight of the Engineer's dinner. "I vould have thought zat you, at least, vould possess some common sense." "What? What's wrong with it?" Engineer looked up, genuinely confused. "I had extra ribs left over from last night." He frowned, picking one up. "Think I'm missin' a few, though." "Sarge ate 'em." Scout was apparently trying to see how many fries he could fit into his mouth at once. "Hm. Next time I'll make more. Anyway--" he looked back at Medic "--I got potato salad right here, and sweet tea. Simple, good food." The Medic shook his head, resigned. The kitchen door squeaked as Pyro walked in, still toting his flamethrower. Engineer raised a hand in greeting and the Pyro nodded in response before resting his weapon against the counter and opening the refrigerator. "It vill not be ze bullets zat kill zis team," murmured the Medic to no one in particular, head in his hand. "It vill be ze ribs und ze meat und ze zucker..." Oh well. On the bright side, he had heard such interesting things about the effect of long-term overconsumption of red meat. To say nothing of the radiation that must be coursing through the Scout's veins. He cast a weary eye toward the Pyro to see what poison the man was shoving into his system, and brightened. "See?" He held a hand out. "Ze Pyro is being sensible. He knows how to eat if one is to be any good on ze field." The Scout rose and dumped his filthy plate in the sink without bothering to even run the tap over it at all. He craned his neck to see the contents of Pyro's plate. "Izzat...a salad? Seriously? Whaddaya, a girl? That's the stuff that comes with the real food, it ain't dinner. Y'gotta be kiddin' me," he snickered. Pyro stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his flamethrower. Scout's smug grin vanished. But instead of roasting his teammate, Pyro reached into the fridge with his free hand and pulled out one of the many raw slabs of cheap steak the RED Cooperation sent with each supply train. Holding it above the nozzle of his flamethrower, awkwardly propped against one leg, he nudged the flamethrower's trigger with his toe. Fire engulfed the steak and the gloved hand holding it for a brief second, then vanished just as quickly. "SHHHHIIIIIIII--!!!" "Holymother'aGod!" "Meine Fresse!" "Oy!" Pyro propped his flamethrower back against the counter and plopped the barely-rare steak on top of the bed of lettuce with a decisive flourish of his hand, as if to say, "There!" For a moment, there was absolute silence. Everyone just stood or sat still, blinking. Then Scout snorted once, twice, snickered, and finally began laughing in earnest. "Ahahaha!" Already possessing the mental prowess of a toddler, Scout was reduced to pointing and giggling. "S-steak salad. Ha! You crazy sunuvagun, what is wrong with you? Ahaha! You're alright, man. You're freakin' crazy. Ha!" He wiped tears from his eyes and leaned against the counter. Pyro shrugged and chuckled, sounding pleased with himself. Gradually, Medic felt his hands unclench from the edge of the table (he was certain he'd left marks in it). His eyes went from the thick slab of meat covering the meager greens, the smoke still curling up from Pyro's glove to the new singed mark on the ceiling and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He lowered his head onto the table with a gentle "thunk." "I give up. You vill all die in some horrible drunken accident like ze idiot children zat you are, und ze autopsies vill only show zat you all possess ze brains of a monkey." The cool formica felt good against the pounding headache that had made its appearance right on schedule. "I vill pickle your deformed organs und show zem in museums as medical curiosities." "Good luck findin' any organs in Mumbles here." Scout poked Pyro in the side before being swatted off with an irritated grumble. "I'm takin' bets on him bein' a robot." Pyro raised his head, looking at the ceiling. "Rr frr p'ty's s'kkh." He picked up his plate and flamethrower. "Ah, don't let Scout get under your skin, son. Why don' you sit down an' eat with th' rest of us?" Engineer kicked out the chair next to him. Pyro glanced at Engineer over his shoulder, and the look did not seem to be a friendly one. With a huff, he shook his head and made for the door. "Doncha know anythin', Hardhat? Mumbles never takes off that mask. It's like his face or somethin'." Scout seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. Pyro stopped but did not turn. Even with his head still on the table, watching the exchange with one listless eye, Medic could see the aggravation coming off Pyro in waves. Scout kept going. "Either that, or he's all Boris Karloff Frankenstein under there, all scarred up an' gross." "Hh sw'rr, whn hf thrss dhys..." The playful exasperation was gone; Medic could hear the squeak of rubber gloves as Pyro's grip audibly tightened on the flamethrower. "I mean, he must be one ugly sonuva--" When he had been younger, Medic had seen a terrier tease an Alsatian. The terrier had badgered and barked, completely ignored, until it finally nipped the Alsatian, at which point, the larger dog had spun around and firmly put an end to the annoyance. It had been quick, unexpected, and brutal, and the memory flashed in Medic's mind as Scout reached out. One second Scout took a grip on the back of Pyro's gasmask. Then there was nothing but a blur of red motion. The plate and flamethrower crashed to the ground, clatter drowned out by the horrible cracking sound Scout's head made as Pyro slammed him into the wall. "HELL!" Engineer scrambled out of his chair. Medic was already on the ground beside the boy. Above him, Pyro was panting, shuddering gasps filtered through his mask. "Vat vere you zinking, dumkompf?" Medic hissed, not looking up from the unconscious Scout. Pyro said nothing. "Boy." Engineer's voice was shaky. "You coulda killed him." The short silence following those words seemed to drag out forever, broken only by Pyro's ragged breathing. "Hh dn't fhkkng nhhd thhs." The masked man picked up his flamethrower and fled. Medic glanced after him, and then up at Engineer. "Help me get him to ze infirmary." ________________________________________________________
I was going lose my TF2chan comment virginity just to ask if someone could re-post this story...now I get lose it to rejoice that this is not only back, but still in the works! I just had to express how much I adore this story! Exasperated Medic was endlessly amusing. The way you write the characters is very charming/endearing. The way you had Engie and Pyro gradually warm up to each other would have in itself made for a nice, 'beetus-inducing short; but then you went and stirred in this delicious chaos...Medic's recollection of the untimely demise of the terrier really painted a vivid picture for that last scene. Potent stuff. I love it when things 180 to hell on a bullet train. I greatly look forward to an update! Comment virginity is gone now. I feel dirty, yet all kinds of satisfied now. marvelous. Things are as they should be. Please do carry on!
I agree with everything Anon said; this is absolutely brilliant! It makes me all sorts 'a happy that Pyro is getting more love from talented authors. Can't wait for the update!
D'aw, thanks. I'm surprised (and flattered) anyone remembered it. I'm afraid I have a bad habit of taking tough, manly characters and writing "'beetus-inducing" fic. ________________________________________________________ Chapter 3 The Scout hated the infirmary. It was bad enough when he had to come in for physicals and stitches and bullets and little things like that, seeing that creepy grin the Doc had whenever he was sewing you up or cutting into you, and having to say things like, "Hey, ain't ya supposed to put somethin' on it t'make it numb first?" and that weird little pause before the doctor said, "Ah, of course!" with that apologetic grin that wasn't really apologetic at all. Really, that was plenty bad enough, even if it was usually over with quick. But just plain sitting there in the infirmary, doing nothing? That sucked. Like, a lot. Scout sighed and rolled his shoulders against the barely-padded gurney, trying to get comfortable. Even without the Medic looking like he couldn't wait to find out what color Scout's pancreas was, the place still gave him the creeps. It was so...sterile. So quiet and clean and neat, which was just plain weird. The whole room smelled like antiseptic, too. Or was it that weird pickle-stuff they'd kept the frogs in back in science class? Whatever, it smelled like that and blood, but not "I just got my arm near-sliced off with a shovel" fresh, in-the-heat-of-battle blood. Old blood. Dripping slowly. And antiseptic. Not for the first time since Medic had gone, Scout thought about just leaving. His legs felt all heavy and far away from some injection the Medic had given him the last time he'd tried to get up ("Just somezing to keep you relaxed," the nutso Nazi had said. Yeah, Deutschbag, real relaxing.), but it wasn't like he couldn't move them or nothing. Scout pushed himself up on his elbows and the room spun. He sank back onto the thin pillow with a groan. Stupid doc hadn't even given him a full dose from the Medi-gun, just enough to make sure he didn't die. Why? Some bullcrap about learning from his stupidity, pain being the best teacher, blah blah blah. It basically translated into "Medic is a creep and a sadist." He'd learned that word from Sniper, just for Medic. Creepy bastard. So Scout could be up and running around the base right now, but noooo, Doc felt like teaching him a lesson. One more reason Scout hated doctors--they always acted like they knew everything. Scout was willing to bet this was because of the burger (which he'd puked up the first time he tried to stand). "Arrrrgh, this is so boring!" He slammed his hand against the gurney. The door creaked. Scout opened his mouth to ward off yet another lecture (aside from Medic's calm disdain, Engineer had also talked to him about being just plum stupid, Demo slurred something incomprehensible about poking bears and "KABLOOIE!" and even Heavy had stopped by to tell Scout that little man should respect teammates). The Pyro walked in. "Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me, what the hell, man!" Scout growled. The Pyro closed the door and crossed his arms. The two men just stared at each other for a long moment (or Scout was guessing Pyro was staring at him--the firebug could be making faces or looking at the wall under there for all he knew). Finally, the Pyro spoke. "Hh'm srry." The muffled words sounded as forced as if the Pyro had a gun to his head. Scout blinked, then cocked his head, a smirk just barely curling his lips. "Sorry, what was that, Mumbles? Couldn' hear ya." "Hh srdh Hh'm srry!" Pyro spat. Scout couldn't keep the smug grin off his face now. "Still can't understan' ya, Smokey. Might wanna speak up." "Whr yhh snn'hva--" Pyro raised his hands above his head, then stopped himself and lowered them slowly. "Ha! I'll bet Hardhat's on the other side'a that door, makin' ya be nice after ya tried ta kill me." Headache or not, Scout was starting to feel good. The Pyro hunched his shoulders, saying nothing. Scout couldn't resist needling him again. "Well? Doncha have somethin' ya wanna say ta me, Matches?" "Yhh. S'hhk." The words were clipped and precise, the meaning unmistakable. Scout raised an eyebrow. Pyro went on in the same delibrate tone. "Yhh're nn hnnoy'ing l'ttl bhstrd, nnd Hh cn't st'hnd yhh. Whn 'f thrss dyys, whn 'f hs ss ghning tt wr'ng yhhr fhkking nhhk frr bhing srch nn rr't'ting l'ttl tw't." The Pyro paused and took a deep breath. "Bhtt Hh'm srry Hh trhd tt smssh yhhr hhdd rgnst thh whll." Scout stared at him, open-mouthed and momentarily speechless. "Ya...yer serious? That's yer apology?" He couldn't help it, he had to laugh. "Dude, that's, like, the worst apology I ever heard! An' I got seven older brothers. Ya think I never heard crappy apologies, 'cause I have. That's...oh man, that's pathetic. That's special." Now he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. It wasn't that funny, must've been the drugs Doc plugged in him. But still. "Aw man, you're...you're crazy, y'know that?" "Yhss." The matter-of-fact response set him off again. He wheezed and waved a hand helplessly. The door opened again and Engineer peaked his head in. "You boys alright in here?" "Yeah, yeah, peachy, Hardhat. Mumbles here's just the worst...I don't even know what. Gahh." Scout grinned, finally catching his breath. "Seriously, man, at least yer honest, but that was pretty terrible." The Pyro grumbled something under his breath and Scout shook his head. "Alright. So you're really really sorry for tryin' ta bash my skull ta bits against the wall?" His voice took on a sarcastic, saccharine tone. Pyro nodded with an exasperated sigh and scout sat back with a shrug. "Cool. Not the worst anyone's done--hell, my brother Mikey broke my arm once for usin' his glove without askin'." He pointed a finger at Pyro. "Ya ain't gonna do it again, man," he said, trying to sound dangerous. The Pyro shrugged. "Dn't tt'ch mh mhsk rg'nn, rrnt." "Fine." Scout spread his hands. "Yer still a jerk, but I won't take my bat upside yer head when ya ain't lookin'." Engineer looked less than thrilled, but Pyro nodded with a snort. "Guhhd, wht'vr. Glhd yhhr nht dh'd." With that, Pyro waved over his shoulder, and left the room in a hurry. Engineer stood in the doorway, worrying his lip and looking from Scout to the direction Pyro had hustled off and back again. At length, he sighed and shook his head, planting his hands on his toolbelt. "I can't say that's exactly the apologies I was hopin' for," he said. Scout shrugged. "Whaddaya want, man? Us ta kiss an' make up? He smashed my head against a wall. He's a freak." "He ain't--" Engineer broke off and shook his head again. "Shouldn'a messed with his mask, son." "Jeeze, how was I supposed ta know he'd go nuts like that?" Scout whined. Engineer gave him a look. "Okay, okay, whatever. I ain't gonna do it again." "I'll bet not." Engineer stepped toward the door. "Hey, can you find Medic already? I gotta stay in this room much longer an' I'll go nuttier than the firebug." "I'll see what I can do," promised Engineer as he closed the door behind him. Alone again, Scout laid back and stared at the ceiling, making pictures out of the water stains. God, he was so bored.
Hnghhhh. I require more of this delicious fic. Seriously, it's fantastic!
Bad habit? I hope it's one you'll never break! Who's complaining? Ah, Scout. You've learned nothing. Something tells me Scouts face will become well acquainted with that wall. Good ole Engie, just trying to keep the peace! What a mess! I'm with Fookmah Backsigh all the way. Please ma'am, might we 'ave summore?
The only reason I still visit TF2chan is in the hopes of an update to this wonderful fic.
So much for that "update at a faster clip" thing. Sorry, here's to trying harder next time. ________________________________________________________ Engineer didn't see much of Pyro for the rest of that week. Already reclusive, Pyro practically became a ghost around the base, rarely in the same room as anyone else for longer than it took to leave it. On the battlefield, Engineer only saw him for as long as it took the Pyro to lean against the dispenser, grab some ammo, and scurry off again after a cusory spy-check of the equipment. The firebug never spoke a word the whole time. It had Engineer worried. Pyro wasn't exactly the most stable of his teammates, which was certainly saying something. There wasn't any reason to be surprised by a sudden outburst of brutality from a man who set people on fire and giggled while hacking them to pieces with an axe. It wasn't the craziest thing Engineer had seen since signing his contract with RED, not by far, and he had actually enjoyed the little time he'd spent with the Pyro of late. But it was more than a little disconcerting. The sudden silence, the disappearing acts, it was all a bit unsettling, and Engineer couldn't help but wonder if Scout's brash actions hadn't spooked Pyro away from any future interaction with his teammates off the field. The day's battle had gone...well, it had gone. When the dust had settled and the final halt had been called, the REDs had only managed to hold onto one out of the three tracks of land they'd been defending. A technical victory, if only because they'd be in a better position to press the attack tomorrow morning and drive those BLUs back across the desert. But it wasn't much of a victory, and if they didn't start pulling together as a team[iI], Engineer wasn't sure they wouldn't lose that last point. He sat at his drafting table, chewing on a pencil and looking over maps of the Badlands, marking ideal teleporter spots. There was an out-of-the-way nook behind what was now "enemy lines" that the BLUs certainly hadn't had the time to find themselves. If he talked to Spy, he could see about-- A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. Speak of the devil. If it wasn't Spy, it was probably Medic with his own brand of strategy. "It's open," he hollered, eyes not leaving the map. Yeah, an exit right there would be dandy. "Hhr." Engineer turned to see Pyro standing in the doorway, rubbing his elbow and staring at the ground. "Cnn...cnn Hh cmm nn?" "Sure." Engineer swung around in his chair to face Pyro. "What's on your mind, son?" Pyro shifted awkwardly. "Hh..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hh'm srry. 'Bhht wht hppn'd. Whth Sc'tt. B'fhr." "Oh." That strained silence fell, and Engineer had a feeling he was supposed to say something. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what. "Well, no harm done. I mean--nothin' Scout didn't walk away from. Eventually. Ah." What were you really supposed to say? And why was Pyro apologizing to [I]him anyway? "It's all good." "Ht's jhhst...yhh wrr..." Pyro raised his hand and dropped it again. "Hh shdd gh." He turned. "Hang on." Engineer pushed out of the chair, startling himself more than the Pyro. He wasn't sure where he was going with this, but if the Pyro had finally come out of his self-imposed seclusion, it seemed to Engineer like a good idea to keep him from hiding himself away again. Engineer looked around and pointed at a shelf near the Pyro. "Ah...that spanner, there. Can ya bring it here?" He moved to his workbench. A half-finished teleporter exit lay amid the spare parts on the table. "Uhh...sh'rr." Pyro picked up the tool and handed it to Engineer, head tilted uncertainly. "Thanks. Could you do me a favor an' hold this steady for me?" Engineer demonstrated, his hands on top of the 'port exit. "These hex caps on the side ain't in good, an' the whole mess moves around when I try to tighten 'em." "Hhkay..." Pyro put his hands where Engineer's had been. Engineer nodded. "Just like that. Hold it tight; it won't break." Engineer set the wrench to the first of the bolts. If Pyro noticed that there was a perfectly serviceable vice at the far end of the table, he didn't say anything. They worked in silence, mostly, except for the brief instructions Engineer gave. As he pieced the machine together on auto-pilot, Engineer tried to think of something to say, some way to invite conversation. It was awkward, especially with Pyro being so quiet. Engineer could tell the man was uncomfortable, but wasn't exactly sure why. They'd been getting along fine for the past month, even if that day Pyro had spent in the workshop had only been a one-time occurance. Was it...what? Shame? Guilt? Over the whole Scout thing? Engineer shook his head. He'd been hoping to have some sort of breakthrough before he finished, but before too long the completed teleporter exit sat on the table, ready to be deployed, and he still had nothing to say. The Pyro shifted from side to side, wringing his hands. Engineer tapped a finger against his chin and decided what the hell. "Would ya mind stayin' a bit? Help me get some more of these set to go for tomorrow?" "Hh gu'ss." Pyro gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Hf yhh wnnt mh tuh." "Sure," Engineer grinned, a little easier. "I like th' company." He grabbed the box of teleporter parts from the corner. "Hm." It was just a little noise, but Pyro sounded pleased. "Cnn Hh ptt nn smm mh'sc?" "That's fine. Record player's right over there." Engineer nodded to it as he set out the pieces for the next portal. Pyro picked out an old Marty Robbins album and moments later, the two of them were back to work, the tension gradually vanishing like rainwater on the ground. "You listen to much country music?" "Mm. Smmtrrms." Pyro handed him the screwdriver. "Hh lhhk Jhnny C'sh. Nn Wll'h Nnls'n." "Willie Nelson?" Engineer snorted. "He's a hippie." Pyro shrugged goodnaturedly, with a noncommital noise. "Anyone else?" The work was going faster with another set of hands around, and Pyro fell into the rhythm of it quickly. "B'b Dhl'n." "Dylan? Okay, that ain't country at all, an' he's definitely a hippie." "Hr's guhd. D'd nn llbm wth Jhnny C'sh." "No kiddin'?" Engineer frowned thoughtfully at the portal as he tested a hinge. "Here, hold that up for a sec." "Whh dh yhh lhhk?" "Oh, y'know. This an' that. Always had music comin' up." Engineer nodded toward the guitar propped up in the corner. "I got Getrude there from my father--he taught me how t'play her when I was just a kid." "Yhh hny ghhud?" There was a grin there, as muffled by Pyro's mask as his words, but audible. Engineer smiled and shrugged modestly. "I reckon I'm alright. Nothin' fancy, but then, I don't have to be to enjoy it." He looked up at Pyro. "You play any?" "Nhh." Pyro flexed his right hand casually, and for the first time Engineer noticed a slight stiffness there, the last two fingers not quite bending properly. Muffled voice, muffled face, muffled injuries. The boy was quite the riddle, and Engineer was vaguely aware that some bit of his brain was already trying to lay him out and solve him like any other puzzle. He shook his head and went back to work. "I'll play for you sometime, if you like. Can't promise it'll be any good though. Hold that there steady for me." "Tht'd bh n'ce." Pyro grabbed the spinner. "Lhhk ths?" "Nah, I need you to hold the platform there..." While he was speaking, Engineer picked up Pyro's gloved hand and put it in the right spot. He was about to position it correctly when he realized the man at his side had tensed. He removed his hands. "Sorry," he said. Pyro said nothing, but relaxed, just a bit. "Don't like to be touched, I guess?" "Whtvr ghv yhh tht hder?" There was a slight hesitation to the words, but the sound of the grin was back, maybe a little more sardonic than before. Pyro's free hand gave the tiniest flick to indicate his entire rubber-suited self. Engineer laughed ruefully and rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, well." "Srry." "Nah, ain't...ain't no thing." And it wasn't, really. If anything, Engineer had another bit of data to add to the equation that was Pyro. Pyro bent back over the teleporter, holding it fast, stance guarded. "Hh knhw Hh'm..." He trailed off, shoulders hunched. Engineer chuckled, not unkindly. "Son, ain't a one o' us here who isn't a little off." He set the wrench to one of the little feet in the platform. Pyro glanced at him sideways. "Yhh srrm prtty nhrml." "Hm." Engineer frowned at the platform. He was sure he did. After all, hadn't his life been perfectly normal until RED approached him with that contract? He couldn't see Pyro living in an everyday world, or Soldier or Spy or Medic. Any of them, really. When he'd first arrived on the base, he'd been under the mistaken impression that, while Soldier and Pyro were clearly a few screws short, at least most of his team were sane and rational human beings. It had only taken him seeing a battle-maddened Medic or hearing Heavy's booming laugh as his chaingun cut the enemy BLUs into swiss cheese to disabuse him of this notion. These were men who killed other people for a living, who had specifically chosen it as a career path. What kind of sane man chose that, let alone enjoyed it? Sure, Engineer had signed on with the RED Corperation as well, but that was different. That was a slick RED lawyer offering him triple his yearly salary in return for taking his favorite hobby and turning it into a job. It may have made him an opportunist, but it didn't make him a mercenary. He was an engineer, an oil field technician, and a professor. He built things, and maybe those things happened to kill people that his employers wanted dead, but he didn't enjoy it, and that was the difference between Engineer and his teammates. He may have been able to respect their skills on the battlefield, but he wasn't anything like them. He had thought. And he had kept thinking, listening to Scout and Sniper compare kills, hearing Pyro giggle as he reduced BLUs to charred corpses. Until that day, about three weeks into the campaign. He'd finally figured out a RED-approved upgrade for the sentry guns, adding dual rotational miniguns that would double its firing capablities. And around the corner came a whole mess of BLUs. Their Heavy, their Medic, their Pyro and Scout...all of them, ripped apart in seconds in a steady staccato of gunfire. Even the BLU Demoman had been taken by surprise before he could hurl off a single grenade. Looking at the red-streaked BLU corpses piled up in front of his new baby had filled Engineer with a well-deserved sense of pride. And why not? A man had a right to feel proud of his guns, proud of his hard work paying off so well. So he'd earned a satisfied smirk, maybe even a bit of a snicker (after all, the BLU team had been very surprised). It had been a job well done indeed. And then he'd heard it. Back at MIT, the students subjected to his sinister chuckle as he passed out a test had called him a mad scientist. He'd heard a handful of "Dr. No" remarks from his co-workers on the oilfields, but always in good fun, the sort of thing he had taken with a smile and a good-natured guffaw, occasionally adding his terrible impression of Joseph Wiseman to the joke. This hadn't been anything like that. He wasn't even sure how long he'd stood there, his enemies' lifeless bodies strewn in front of him. Not half a minute, even. But somewhere in the midst of it, he became suddenly aware of a viciously gleeful "Mwuhahaha" that no Bond villain could have managed ringing in his ears. And it was coming from him. He'd choked and the sound gurgled to a hiccupped stop in his throat. And then the only noise had been the battle's gunshots, more distant than they should have been, and his own ragged breathing as he stared numbly at the corpses he'd created. That he'd gloated over. That he'd laughed over. He'd stood, shaking and shaken, until the BLU Spy's butterfly knife had found his back. He'd woken in Respawn, stared at the white walls, and buried his face in his hands, and hadn't left the room until well after the day's truce was called. Sane? Ha. Hell, maybe it was this place--a constant battlefield, killing and dying and coming back on a daily basis, that was enough to drive anyone a little nuts, and after almost a month, nevermind four, maybe it had just started to seem normal. So he buried the malicious glee that he sometimes felt rising after a kill. But not so far down that he couldn't help but feel it, hidden, like rot in an apple that you couldn't see until you cut into it. And he knew, even if he couldn't admit it, not even to himself, that it wasn't just something born out of the surreal, violent life he currently lead. This...this sickness had always been a part of him. The only thing the battlefield had done was bring it out where he couldn't ignore it. He could pretend, clamp down on the occasional giggle that surfaced in the melee, pull himself away from plans for even bigger, more spectacular guns even as the blueprints formed behind his closed eyes when he laid down for the night. If he just buried it, kept it locked tight, then he wouldn't be the same as his other teammates. And in four and a half years, he'd go home the same man, a sane man. A quiet, normal man to a quiet, normal life. Normal... "Hngie!" Engineer shook himself, returned to his surroundings like a drowning man surfacing in the ocean. Pyro leaned towards him, concern written in every line of the man's thickly-padded body, one gloved hand holding Engineer's wrench still. It was obvious Pyro had been trying to get his attention for some time. "Hh thnnk tht's t'ght 'nff." Engineer looked down at his handiwork, for a moment as blind as a layman to the intricacies of the machinery laid out before him. Slowly it swam into place. "Aw hell, th' bolt's stripped." He prodded the over-tightened screw and gave it an experimental counter-clockwise turn with his fingers. It spun easily. "Hell," he said again, pressing the platform and feeling it wobble. His throat felt raw. He dropped his wrench and turned to a shelf of spare parts. "Gotta unbolt th' whole thing an' start over." Did his voice sound strained, or was it just the blood rushing in his ears? His fingers flicked over various bits of metal, aimlessly busy. "Can't have a teleporter with shoddy support, it'll just..." He broke off and rested his forehead in his hand. Hell. After a lost, long moment, Engineer felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Pyro's head tilted so Pyro's eyes (presumably) were level with his own. "Mhybh yhh shhld gh tt bhd," he said, voice gentle even through the mask. Engineer nodded numbly. "Yeah. Maybe." His voice sounded far away in his own ears. The hand on his shoulder paused, then tightened. "Yhh knhw, Hh'm...Hh'm glhd yhh'rr nn rr trrm. Yhh'rr...Wh'rr lhcky tt hhv yhh." Engineer managed a weak smile and patted Pyro's hand before remembering that the other man didn't like to be touched. "Thanks, pardner." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it's about time I hit the sack anyway." "Yhh'll bh hkay?" "Yeah, I'm good." He nodded. Pyro eyed him uncertainly and took his hand from Engineer's shoulder. "'Night, Pyro." "G'nhht, Hngie." The door clicked shut. Engineer sighed heavily and turned back to the teleporter on the table. He still needed to throw together another couple of them for tomorrow, just in case. Just a few, no big deal. He could assemble these things in his sleep. After the third misconnected wire, ten minutes later, Engineer threw in the towel. A dispenser maybe. Heck, even a sentry gun he might risk. But teleporters were tricky buggers, and he was having trouble even seeing straight. His team deserved not to have their atoms split and reassembled by half-cocked machinery put together by a sleep deprived hack. Just a few minutes of shut-eye, that was all he needed. Engineer laid down on the cot in the corner without even bothering to take his goggles off. Just a few minutes... His dreams that night were filled with the cacophony of gunfire and screaming, with smoke, and with his own maddened laughter. ________________________________________________________
Oh balls. That's why you don't do things at 1AM. Because it figures I forgot to bother with a password. The italics stop after about a paragraph. Any chance a mod can just delete that thing? Sorry.
Don't think it's a big deal really. I like this new chapter, it kinda makes Engi seem more human and normal in a way. Not that he wasn't before.
Okay, apologies in advance, because I think I'm just gonna post these as soon as I edit them myself without getting them beta'd. FiveTail is lovely, but I figure I'm more likely to actually finish this monster if I just post as I go (nevermind that I've got the next three or four chapters already written, waiting to be checked over.) Anyway. ________________________________________________________ Chapter 5 "YO! INCOMING!" Engineer swore under his breath and gave the sentry one last mighty whack with his wrench, finally knocking the sapper off. The machine beeped and swiveled around to unleash hot lead and hell just as Scout came flying around the corner. The boy leapt over the gun and landed with his back to the wall, panting and holding his shoulder. "What the hell, where's the dispenser?" "Gaddang Spy sapped it," growled Engineer, turning to the smoldering hunk of metal. He could get it up and running again if he just had a minute. Behind him, the sentry beeped and spat out another round. Not a kill, from the sound of it. "What's it look like out there?" "Like BLU hell, that's what. Their Medic is a machine, man--I can't make a dent in 'em." Scout winced, the hand clutching his shoulder tightening convulsively, bandages stained red. "Gaaaawd, c'mon, c'mon, I need a dispenser here, man." "Hold yer horses, son. If y'want it up quick-like, you could run and get me some metal--should be a mess of it around the corner to the back." "Do I look like a dog to you? I don't fetch," Scout retorted. Engineer fixed him with a fierce glare from behind his goggles. "Son, get out there and do your gah-danged job, or so help me, I'll take this wrench to you like a hickory switch." "Okay, okay, geeze!" "COWARDS! I KILL ALL OF YOU FOR THAT!" "Heavy, no! Ya great daft git! Jus' grab 'im an' retreat!" Engineer glanced up to see the Heavy charging out of the tunnel, still roaring like a wounded bear. He held Sasha in one hand, the Medic slung over his back Demoman came after, running backwards and littering the area behind him with stickybombs. A grenade detonated in the tunnel just as they left, and Engineer heard the sound of rocks falling. "Demo, Heavy, over here!" Engineer waved from the recess in the rocks where he'd planted himself. They collapsed next to the sentry. "It's bad oot there." "Doktor is hurt! Where is dispenser?" "It's comin', Heavy." A slight moan from Medic was the only proof Engineer had that the man was still alive. The Heavy shifted the doctor in his arms, practically cradling him. Not nearly far enough in the distance, they could hear Soldier blasting away and cursing. Almost...almost up. The sentry fired again and began beeping. Fine time to run out of ammo. "There's your freakin' metal, Hardhat. Now get the thing up!" Scout unceremoniously dumped an armload of metal next to the buildings. Engineer bit back on a curt reply and focused instead on finding the right pieces. A BLU rocket hit far too close for comfort, throwing up a cloud of dust and debris. "I SEE YOU HIDING THERE, YOU SPINELESS MEALWORMS! COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE MEN INSTEAD OF COWERING BEHIND YOUR SHINY TOYS, YOU GUTLESS--" The BLU Soldier's ranting abruptly broke off and Engineer reminded himself to thank the Sniper when this was all over. He turned the final screw on the dispenser and flicked the switch. Nothing. "Aw hell no!" He smashed it with his wrench once, twice, three times, more in frustration than anything. The machine coughed and whirred to life, sparking faintly in a worrisome way that Engineer dismissed for the moment. It would have to do. "Alright, Medic first. Set him down gentle now, Heavy." Medic's eyes flickered as the red waves of the dispenser engulfed him. One lens of his glasses was cracked and his middle looked like raw hamburger steak. BLU Scout's scattergun probably. Gradually the fumes knit his torn flesh back together over bullet wounds, leaving healed skin visible under a bloodstained coat and shirt that were more hole than cloth. Engineer watched for long enough to make sure the dispenser was functioning properly and turned back to reload the sentry. "We are gettin' screwed out there! Where's Sarge an' the firebug?" "Probably oop front doin' their bloody jobs!" "Ja." Medic grimaced as he sat up, his back to the dispenser. He took his glasses off to polish on the edge of his coat before giving up the gesture as futile. Placing the ruined specs back on his face, he frowned at the Scout. "You are supposed to be offense as well, ja?" "Hey, I'm plenty offensive!" "On this we agree," muttered the Medic, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. The Heavy laid a bear-like paw on his shoulder. "Doktor should not speak now. Was hurt very badly." The look of concern on Heavy's blunt face surprised Engineer. Medic waved him off irritably. "I will be fine, just give me a moment..." "Yeah, well hurry up, Doc, you ain't the only one who got shot around here!" Scout was starting to look a little pale. Heavy turned a glare on him, and Engineer hastily put himself between the two. "Save the fight for the BLUs, boys. Medic, can you see about fixin' up Scout's shoulder quick-like?" "Nnng...ja," Medic hissed through his teeth. "Just...let me get the Medi-gun out..." The sound of fast-approaching footsteps made them all stop and grab their weapons. A moment later Pyro came running from the direction of the respawn. He all but slammed into the dispenser, leaning on it and breathing heavily, free hand clutching his flamethrower. No one lowered their weapons. "Mm Hh thh nnly whun d'hng hhs ghddmn jhb 'rrhnd hhr?!" he roared in uneven gasps. Engineer relaxed. Definitely Pyro, then. He noticed the bloody rips in Pyro's hazmat suit, already being tended to by the dispenser fumes. "What happened to you, son?" "Ghddmn Sp'hh rt th Rrspwn, tht's wht." Pyro pushed himself from the dispenser and took a firmer grasp on his flamethrower. "Whhy thh fhk ss 'vry-bdy stndng 'rrhnd hvvr hhr?!" "Hey, I don't know what he said, but I don't like the way he said it!" "Will you please just shut up?" "We're sittin' dooks 'ere, lads!" "Well, if you hadn't blasted the tunnel closed, numbnuts, maybe we'd have a way to get around an' flank 'em!" "Is no good vhining about tunnel. We must stop BLU here!" "Um, hello? Th' control point's right the hell ovah there!" Scout flung his newly healed arm out to indicate the final control point, not a hundred yards away. "I ain't gonna get mowed down trying to do some last stand of pudding or whatever!" "Wha--" Engineer shook his head. "Listen, Scout's right--we gotta push 'em back. Too risky stayin' this close to the point. One good push from the BLU's and--" "Shht shht shht!" A sudden volley of grenades rained down courtesy of the BLU Demoman. Pyro scurried around the sentry gun, trying to blow them all back with his compression blasts. One or two flew wide of his aim, detonating nearby. Behind him, Engineer heard Scout's scream cut short. The dispenser beeped and shot up a puff of vile-smelling smoke before giving up the ghost. He pulled out his shotgun. "Plant yerself on the point, Heavy!" he yelled over his shoulder as the BLU team poured in like the Red Sea crashing down on Pharaoh’s army. Beside him, Pyro bellowed incomprehensibly, setting up a desperate wall of fire that the BLU Heavy stormed through with a savage cry. Above the tumult of the gunfire and hollering Engineer could just make out the piercing scream of the rocket that was the last thing he saw before the world went red, then black, then white. ________________________________________________________ The chamber swam into being in a rush of too-bright sterility and a ringing silence. Engineer sat up with a gasp, lungs suddenly learning how to breathe with all the finesse of a newborn. He sat there panting and rubbing his head, naked as a jaybird and twice as ornery. After a few moments of trying to orient himself and clear the ghost-echo of battle from his mind, he stood and donned the spare clothes that always waited in the corner of his Respawn chamber. He set the hardhat firmly on his head with a grim determination, then opened the door to the locker room. It was chaos. Scout, Soldier, and Medic were engaged in a screaming match at the far corner of the room. Heavy looked on, arms folded, a steady, rising smolder in his eyes. Demoman was leaning forward, poking Spy's chest and yelling. Pyro emerged from his own spawn chamber and marched steadily for the door without so much as glancing around him when Soldier grabbed him by the collar of his hazmat suit. "JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, PRIVATE? OFF TO KILL YOURSELF IN HUMILIATION? YOU HAVEN'T EARNED THE RIGHT!" "Bloody 'ell..." Sniper, as usual, being the last one killed, was the last one to respawn. He blinked at them as Pyro shook the Soldier off. "That was--" "A DISGRACE! A COMPLETE AND UTTER DISGRACE! YOU ARE ALL THE SORRIEST EXCUSES FOR MEN THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN! EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU HAS FAILED!" "Yeah, well I didn't see you out there when we needed ya, Helmet!" Scout retorted. Soldier looked as if the dirt on his combat boots had suddenly started talking back. "I WAS KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY--THE FRONT LINE, SONNY-BOY." "Yes, you blew yourself into the midst of the BLU bullets most heroically," said the Spy, frowning around a cigarette. "Yhh rnn nn thrr lkk nn hd'ht nn lft mhh tt dhh, yhh jkkhss!" Pyro added his own incoherent ragings to the mix. "NO ONE WAS ASKING YOUR OPINION FRENCHIE!" "Yeah, where the hell were you, ya bloody spook?" "Hidin' behind a rook like th' bloody backstabbin' snake tha'e is!" Demoman belched and swayed in place. "I was doing my job, quickly and quietly, apparently better than any of the rest of you gentlemen." "Oh you can suck my cock, you freakin' frog!" Scout made a rude hand gesture. "I could not help but notice that you were nowhere near the front, little boy." "Shove it! Ain't my fault I hadda fall back--Engie's the one who built his sentry all the way back there!" "I can't put my gun on ground we ain't got, boy," Engineer growled, feeling his patience fray. "THAT THE SORT OF COWARD TALK THEY TEACH YOU IN CANADA, HIPPIE?" "For the last time, Soldier, I'm from Texas." "OH! MY MISTAKE!" Soldier's voice actually dropped a few decibels and took on a sickening tone. He gave Engineer a knowing leer. "You never had to scurry off to the Great White Wasteland with your tail between your legs. That's what all those fancy degrees you’re always waving' around were for." Engineer sucked in a breath and felt his fist clench. It hadn't been like that. At all. Mostly. "But you might as well be a cringing Canuck, because everyone knows all the REAL Texans jumped at the call to serve their good old Uncle Sam like MEN!" "Why you sorry sonuva--" RADADADADADADA Everyone stopped in mid-shout. In the pin-drop silence that followed they could hear the distinct whirr of the chaingun as it slowed and spun to a stop. What was left of the door to the hallway teetered and crashed to the floor. The dull metallic clatter echoed throughout the base. They all turned to face the Heavy, who stood, gun in hand, looking at them impassively. "Is disgrace," he finally said in a deliberate voice calm with barely restrained fury. "Not in losing--is no shame in that, so long as we fight well. Is disgrace to be losing like this. Every man do his job, he say. Maybe. I do not know. I do not see, am doing own job. Trust team will do theirs. But we do not. Every man act like he is own team, no one else is important. "This. Does. Not. Work." He paused and took a deep breath, looking down his nose at the rest of them. "And so...we lose. Is bad, but not so bad. "But then to come back and to...to...пререкатьÑÑ...to fight with team? We should fight BLUs! Not team! To yell and scream like babies who will not have their toys...?" He slowly swung his head around, fixing each of the men in turn with a steady, disappointed gaze. Finally he closed his eyes and shook his head, with a tired snort. "Is shame." And without another word, he lumbered out of the room, leaving eight thunderstruck men behind him. In the tense stillness after the Heavy's words, no one moved. At last, Engineer drew in a shaky breath and looked around him at his team. Most of them stared desolately at their shoes. In the corner, Spy held his cigarette to his mouth, trying and failing to look disinterested. Medic's gaze was fixed on the hallway Heavy had gone down, an unreadable expression on his face. "He's right," Engineer managed eventually. Despite the unnatural quiet, his voice carried no more force than a lamb's bleat. The sound broke the spell, and the men began moving again, subdued. One by one, they filed out of the locker room, until only Engineer remained. He turned off the light as he went.
I love Heavy so much. Figures he'd be the voice of reason.
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I like this chapter, it's hard to describe the excitement and chaos of battle but you did it great! Also, I like the "last stand of pudding" comment, that one took me awhile but made my day.
>>14 Heh, yeah I think between JLI and early 90's cartoons, I'll always see the Token Russian Guy as being the one who's all about teamwork. >>16 Thanks! I'm still a little embarrassed by the "last stand of pudding" because it sounds way too forced, but if it gave you a giggle, I'm glad. Pretty sure I've finished editing this one. I'm going to post it and then suddenly remember whatever it was I meant to change. Anyway. Needs Moar Medic. ________________________________________________________ Chapter 6 The ancient pipes sang as water gushed into the allegedly-stainless steel sink. Medic ran his hands under the water on autopilot, not taking his usual care. What was a little blood, after all? Except for that spot, right there. Ugh, under his thumbnail too, in spite of the gloves, in spite of the Respawn. And then it would just sit there for weeks, old blood, old contaminant on his skin, right against his pores, getting older, growing things... Medic did his best impression of Lady Macbeth, losing himself in the maddened ritual while his mind was focused on other matters. Such as the Heavy. And his little speech. How very...unexpected. The pipe quivered, the water slowing to a trickle--one of the others having a post-match shower, no doubt. Medic blinked down at his hands. Yes, well...that was clean enough, then. He did not mind blood on the battlefield or the operating table--quite the contrary, in fact. There was a thrill of seeing another man burst open like a ripe fruit, his organs laid out like so much seeds and pulp, telling a sanguine fortune. To be able to look at the inner workings of the human body as they struggled and strained and slowed. The screams, the pleading, the glistening insides, that copper smell, the warm, sticky liquid everywhere because you were in control, and the sorry misbegotten creature before you knew that now...the blood was important then, coating skin and hair like primitive warpaint. But afterwards, it was just messy. A cooling, stinking, meaningless mess. And Medic couldn't abide a mess. He removed his glasses, neatly folding them on the countertop, and shook the last of the soap from his hands before splashing his face. The cool water brought him back to himself, the smells and tastes of battle fading to a distant chaos, quiet and contained, and eventually distilled down into three words to be included in his next letter to Elsie: We lost today. The letter itself was a thing so pat he could write it in his sleep; the words droned unbidden into his head, a too-oft repeated prayer that had long since become only a collection of syllables--Sept 6, 1967. My Dear Elsie, I hope this finds you well. I miss you and hope I will be able to see you soon. For Christmas holiday, maybe. We lost today. The men on my team are grossly incompetent-- Medic shook his head with an irritated grunt, rubbing at his eyes as he turned the faucet off. His glasses he unfolded and put back on, frowning into the mirror. The Heavy's words came back to him. Disgrace. Shame. He remembered those blue eyes, so cold beneath that heavy brow, and so very...disappointed. Especially, it seemed, when they had met his own. With a growl, he brought his fist down on the countertop, the sharp throbbing adding to his frustration. He was doing his job. The Heavy had no right to tell him otherwise, great brutish oaf that he was. He was a thug--impossibly strong, with muscles that shifted like iron cables under his skin every time he moved, and a frequent, mighty laugh--a jovial, gargantuan destroyer of men, to be certain, but a simple thug nonetheless. A shaved Russian bear with a big gun and little else, and yet that mistake of nature presumed to pass judgment on him? Ridiculous. The man was little more than a meat-shield, and an atrociously demanding one at that. Always he tried to tell Medic where to go on the field, what to do, telling Medic to follow him into absurd odds, telling him to put away his Bonesaw and use his Medigun instead when there were enemies right there. Yes, Heavy's precious Sasha was a very large gun, but did that neanderthal really think Medic was going to walk around unarmed in the thick of a fight and trust that massive goon's bullets instead of his own considerable skills? Really, it was the Heavy's fault that they had lost today. And the Engineer's--what had the man been thinking, building his nest so far back? Surely they'd held more ground than that! And also the Soldier's, diving headlong into a suicide push, to say nothing of the Scout, hiding back in the defense. Pyro certainly hadn't helped matters by getting himself killed. Sniper was clearly useless if he couldn't lay down enough cover-fire to give them a fighting chance, that sot Demoman had likely been too drunk to be any use whatsoever, and as for the Spy, it wouldn't have surprised Medic in the least to find the man had been having a nap under his cloak, or sniggering as they had been slaughtered. He could only hope that RED was taking note of their massive shortcomings and would be sending replacements for the least competent, if nothing else. Honestly, the only man on the field who ever was doing his job properly was... Shame. Disgrace. Every man act like he is own team. Medic sighed and turned the water back on, running his hands under the faucet. Those blue eyes were back, locked onto his. And they wouldn't go away. The Heavy had pulled him from an ill-fated encounter with the BLU Scout, literally imposing his own body between Medic's and what would have been a fatal blast from the boy's shotgun, shrugging off the damage (large and stupid he was, but still, a breath-takingly magnificent specimen in his own right) as his chaingun turned the little nuisance into a chunky pulp even as the BLU team advanced. And then he had carried Medic back for help. Well. That part had been more than a little humiliating, slung over that broad back like a sack of potatoes, to say nothing of the way Heavy had been holding him like some kind of child. Really, there was carrying a fallen comrade, and then there was...that. Humiliating. And pointless. What was it if he died on the field? That was what Respawn was for, after all. But still... A knock on the door pulled him back to his scrubbing. "What do you want?" he snapped, shutting off the faucet with more force than he'd meant to. "Is me, Doctor. I can...come in, please?" Medic's breath stopped at the sound of Heavy's voice. It was one of those uncomfortable moments, like being lost in thought on a train, only to suddenly make eye contact with a stranger, the awkward, dangerous feeling of being caught thinking the wrong thing by the wrong person, having someone walk in on a personal moment. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "If you must." Medic watched in the mirror as the door slowly opened and Heavy shuffled in, shutting the door behind him with care. Strange to see such a big man look so apprehensive, like a child expecting a scolding. Even moreso because not an hour ago, it had been Heavy doing the scolding. Medic did not turn from the mirror, did not glance up to meet those blue eyes. The silence stretched on. "Did you want something, Herr Heavy?" Medic said at last, with an impatient sigh. Heavy still stood with his huge hands clasped in front of him. "Da. I wanted to, eh...ПроÑтите. Er, forgive or..." The Heavy paused, thick brow knit in concentration, one hand raised just a little, searching for the word. "Sorry--no, apple...app...apologize. Is word." He sniffed thoughtfully, frowning, and nodded, apparently satisfied to have found it. "Da. I want to come and apologize." He said it slowly, carefully, as if reciting a code. "About how battle went. And about...t'ings I am saying before. In locker room." Now Medic did turn around, an eyebrow raised. "You are taking it back, then?" he asked. Heavy frowned and shook his head. "Nyet. I mean these t'ings. They are true." He looked up, meeting Medic's gaze with his calm, blue stare, no longer accusing, but solid and honest, and not even a little bit stupid. Medic felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. Heavy sighed and lowered his eyes again, and Medic released a breath he had never meant to have held. "But I am saying them...not so right, I am t'inking. Is hard to...to find right words. And so I say it wrong, and instead make team angry even more. We should feel shame, yes, but I did not mean to make everyone worse." He sighed again and shrugged, massive shoulders shifting under his vest. "I say it wrong." Medic stood there, blinking. Heavy did not move. Medic's eyes darted about, he licked his lips nervously, trying to find the right response. For some reason, a casual acceptance and dismissal didn't seem to be it. After a brittle moment, he nodded. "Nein. No. You did not say it wrong, Herr Heavy." The big man looked up at him again, with a hopeful puppy's gleam in his eyes. Why did it matter so much? Medic didn't know. "English...this is a stupid language to learn anyway, ja? It is very easy to make mistakes, even if one has been studying for many years." "Da, is true." Heavy nodded, and some of the tension broke. The subject wasn't so much changed as it was shifted slightly. Two foreigners' shared frustration with a complicated language--it was almost as safe as talking about the weather. "Doctor must have studied for many years to speak so well." "Since I was a boy." There was a chair nearby, but Medic stopped himself from sitting--what would that be? There was only the one chair. Would the Heavy take it as a cue that Medic was done and leave, or try to sit on the gurney, or stand there awkwardly while Medic sat, just as awkward? Which did he hope would happen? Better to stand, for now. "How long have you known English?" "Ah." Heavy shrugged. "Since RED gives me assignment." Medic blinked. "This assignment?" "Da. Before, I am speaking a little for, eh...contracts." He made a see-sawing motion with his hands. Of course. Contracts. "But then in..." He stopped, squinting up. "In Февраль...eh, early spring, RED tell me: 'You have new assignment in America. will work with team.' And it seems like good time to learn English more well, to speak with others, to...ah, what is word? With people, to speak and understand?" He made another searching gesture, passing one hand over the other, back and forth. "To communicate?" Medic ventured. The Heavy beamed. "Da! Yes! Is word!" He pointed at Medic triumphantly. "So I start learning English more, to communicate with team, on field and off. So we can be, типа, team, da?" "Instead of nine men acting on their own on the battlefield?" Medic murmured. Heavy's bright, broad grin quieted to a small, serious smile. He leaned over, bending his head so he could look Medic in the eye. "Da. Exactly so." He hesitated. "Is why I come to Doctor now, first--ну, one reason." He stopped abruptly, looking upset with himself, then continued, the sad smile back in place. "Doctor...you must trust me. On field. You must listen to me also." Medic opened his mouth for a defensive retort, then found he had none. He said nothing, and Heavy went on. "Is no good for you to run into fight, firing your tiny needles. Is cute, yes, but not so good. We need a Medic--need healing on battlefield so we can be strong." Medic pressed his lips into a thin line and dipped his head, not quite a nod. Heavy straightened, a fierce grin stretching over his face. "You stay near, Doctor. Bullets, knives--these are not your worries. Worry about healing. Sasha and me, we will make sure nobody touches you. You see!" He laughed. "Many BLU cowards will run screaming the next time we meet them. We work together, Doctor, yes?" Heavy held out a massive hand. Medic stared at it for a moment, as though he had forgotten its purpose. His own hand twitched, almost rising to grasp Heavy's, to seal some kind of bargain, flesh against flesh, before he stopped himself and lowered it again, unconsciously rubbing his fingers against his palm. He felt rather than saw the slight, disappointed slump of Heavy's shoulders, the smile slipping from his broad face. Heavy's hand wavered and began to drop. Before it fell completely, Medic surprised himself by raising his chin and meeting Heavy's eyes with a tight grin, the best he could manage. "Ja. Yes. Next time, Herr Heavy," he said. "We will try it your way." Medic felt his smile become less tight as Heavy's grin returned, strangely smug. Heavy tilted his head, regarding Medic with that knowing grin. "Very good, Doctor. I know you are being smart enough to listen. It will be good day." Heavy nodded, pleased. Even as he just barely bit back an indignant retort at the backhanded praise, Medic felt a quick warmth, small but surprising, in the pit of his stomach, seeing that smile. He stopped, blinking it away, and took a deep breath. Childish. The Heavy did not appear to notice. "так, I know you are busy, Doctor." Heavy straightened and reached for the doorknob. "I will leave you to be. Is good talk." He opened the door. Medic wasn't sure what made him speak up. Well-remembered admonishments from boyhood told him to be still, to be silent, to let it go and soon he would have his infirmary back, alone and comfortable, and he had every intention of obeying those warnings, as he always had. But he heard his own voice, speaking over the old memories. "Eigentlich...I am not so busy. Just now." Heavy turned around and met Medic's eyes for a moment, before the smile, the quieter, knowing one returned, slowly. "Ah. Then maybe, Doctor...you would be liking a game of chess?" he offered. "We have board." Medic hesitated, just for long enough to take another deep breath, and nodded, smiling in return. "Ja, I think...that would be nice, yes." ________________________________________________________
>>17 im saddened by the fact that this isnt in /afanfic/, but nonetheless your writing is downright clever and enthralling. bamp and hope for update
I hope this won't get abandoned; I'm really adoring it so far.
Moar please!
this is excellently written and a really wonderful observation of the characters and their interactions. you have their personalities and voices down pat, I think. seeing that it hasn't been updated in almost a month and a half is discouraging, but I hope you continue sometime, i'd love to read more!
I'd like to read more too! >>21 sometimes good things take time though. I mean, when was the last time eximplode updated the Nucleus Incident? It's always long between updates but they're always so good!
>>19 >>21 >>22 Hey, thanks, y'all. Sorry about the long time between updates. I've got some heavy RL deadlines pushing down on me that are keeping me from getting the next chapter edited (it's teetering close to narm). I'll try to get an update up later this week, though, since most of it's done. Believe me, I've got way too much of this thing written to just abandon it now.
>>23 Aaand, that would've been me. Sorry, browser-related derp.