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Always Too Much, Never Just Enough
Summary: Spy contemplates Scout’s behavior and how he affected it by leaving him behind as a kid.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: None (familial Spy & Scout)
Warnings: None
Tags: Angst, Daddy Issues, Scout Doesn't Know Spy Is Scout's Parent (Team Fortress 2), Short, Sad Scout (Team Fortress 2), Scout Needs a Hug (Team Fortress 2)
Wordcount: 287
You can also read it on ao3!
The kid was too loud for his own good. Not to mention annoying as all hell. Constantly demanding attention of any kind. Even the bad one. “Look at me, look at me, did you see that? That was all me!” he would shout at the top of his lungs, then be surprised when others scolded him or gave him a cold shoulder. Spy was the only one to see how his face fell when that happened but never said a thing to a living soul. Scout usually quickly collected himself, acting like his old bratty self.
He was always too much, never just enough. It was the only way he knew how to be.
Spy couldn’t blame him. After all, it was partly his fault he turned out this way. Always craving attention of the man he didn’t even remember meeting (but their paths did cross, even if for just a short while). Tragic, really. No matter how many people came to appreciate him for what he was, he would never feel truly seen.
But Spy did see him. He saw him every time. And even though he didn’t enjoy being the target of his childish pranks, he watched him go about life with pride in his heart. Hope.
Because despite his loud attitude, general brattiness and neediness, it was still his son. The only one he ever had and betrayed when he was too young to know any better. But he did now. He could never hope to undo the damage he had already done, that much he knew, but perhaps he could at least make sure the boy had a future ahead of him. One that was bright and unlike anything he had ever had.
If They Knew Me, They Wouldn’t Want Me (1/5)
Summary: Demoman works as a stripper and doesn’t want Soldier to know that. So of course he finds out in the worst way possible.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Rated: E
Ship: RED Demoman/BLU Soldier
Warnings: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-esteem issues
Tags: Strippers & Strip Clubs, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Self-Esteem Issues, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
You can also read it on ao3!
Juggling three jobs was rough. Even without him mum constantly pestering him about being “lazy” and a “disgrace to his father, who worked twenty-six jobs just to provide for his family”. God, Tavish knew she meant well, but damn… If only she knew.
Don’t take him wrong. He loved each and every one of his occupations. Was pretty good at them, too. But sometimes, slaving for Mann Co. during the day, helping out at demolition sites at the weekends and holding a night job in the town was wearing him thin. Still, given a choice, he wouldn’t change anything. Being busy (and drunk) was good for him. It kept the bad thoughts at bay.
Not always, of course. He wasn’t that lucky. Every now and then, not even a shitton of booze and less than four hours a day of sleep was enough to keep him from recalling that night at the loch. Or the look of surprise on his best friend’s face right before he chopped his head off over and over again, and for what? Some shiny relic? Bah!
It’s true the WAR was long since over, and he and Jane had made up, once again meeting behind the backs of their enigmatic and cruel employers like nothing had happened, but the sad truth was that it did happen. And they could never take that back, no matter how hard they tried. The confusion, heart-break, betrayal, how much he missed his best mate every waking hour and loathed him at the same time…
But he shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not right now, when he was just about to climb into his car and drive off to his other job.
He felt kinda like a thief, sneaking off into the night. Thank goodness no one ever asked where he was going. Pfft, can you imagine? A guy who was hired to kill a bunch of other eejits for wearing the wrong color, embarrassed about having a side gig. He knew how ridiculous it sounded. Still, he couldn’t help himself. He liked his teammates, some more, some less, and they would never look at him the same again if they knew.
Same goes for Jane. If he were to somehow find out about this… Tavish would have no other choice but to crawl into some deep gravel pit and die. And that wasn’t him just being overly dramatic. Well, maybe a little bit. But he knew Jane. His beautiful, passionate Jane, how deeply he felt about things. The best possible outcome he could hope for would be a punch square in the jaw. The worst? Him stopping hanging out with him altogether. And he couldn’t have that. Not when he just got him back after years of fighting.
He would never let work tear them apart. Not again.
The alley was dark and deserted, like it usually was. Still, he took the time to check his surroundings, to see if he wasn’t being watched. Call it a professional deformation. But there was really no one there, maybe except for a few stray cats.
Calm once again, he knocked on the last door on the left. Once, twice, three times in a rapid sucession. He heard a rustle on the other side, then the door opened and a bouncer, a man almost as huge as their Heavy, ushered him inside. There, at the end of the corridor, he ran into an older guy in a tuxedo, who was just making a phone call. As soon as it ended, his attention turned to the newly arrived Demoman.
“Tavish, my boy! You’re here just in time! People are already lining up to see you perform tonight. You don’t want to disappoint them, do ya?”
“Eh, ye know me, Marcel. I wouldnae want tae keep them waiting.”
Marcel, the owner of the club, gave him a big grin and a friendly pat on the shoulder before sending him off to the backstage. Some of his coworkers were already there, getting ready for the main event. Most never wanted to talk, or even exchange pleasantries. Here, they were competitors, not a team. Still, it would be weird not to say hi to them. So he did, before making beeline to his vanity.
Time to get dressed.
The costumes, shiny and leaving little to imagination, were probably the most ridiculous part of this job. At some point, he even considered quitting because of it. Just looking at what he would have to wear for the night made him feel mighty self-consciouss. But the pay was good and Marcel kept telling him it would be fine, so he caved in.
“Oh, c’mon, big guy, people will love this, you have the perfect legs for it!”
“I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m no bonnie lass! What sick bastard could possibly enjoy seeing me in knee-high boots and ton of make up?”
“You’d be surprised. Just give it a shot. You’ll see, trust me.”
He did. And people really loved it, for some reason. There were more of them every night. So much so that Marcel started calling him “his golden goose”. Eventually, Tavish became used to it. The only thing he drew the line on was the stupid pirate costume. That one hit way too close to home.
Tonight, the costume was pretty tame in comparison. A white shirt with some tight leather pants and lacy underwear. Simple and easy to remove. Perfect. He put it on in a hurry, leaving the top of the shirt unbuttoned. It always seemed to drive the customers mad.
Soon, the music started playing, a soft, upbeat tone. Everyone stopped doing whatever they were doing and turned to face the stage, where Marcel would announce the first three performers of the night.
“Now, give it up for our gorgeous and talented dancers – Skye, Travis and Blaze!”
A wave of clapping and cheering followed, loud enough it could be heard even behind the heavy curtain that separated them from the crowd. A gentle smile found its way on Tavish’s lips. Blaze was his stage name.
All right. Let’s get this show on the road.
But first, he gave poor Skye and Travis, twins who just started working at the club, a big thumbs up and a mouhed: “Good luck, lads!” Why? Maybe because he remembered just how utterly nerve-wrecking his first shift was. He could certainly use a friendly face back then, and so did they now.
They flashed him a grateful little smile before they disappeared behind the curtain. With head held high and a sultry grin that spelled confidence (which he didn’t feel deep down, but he learned to act like he did – the more cocksure he seemed, the more tips he would get), he followed after them.
Funnily enough, but as much as he dreaded it at the beginning, he came to love the moment when he stepped into the light of the reflectors. It helped that with a bit of practice, he turned out to be a damn good dancer. Nearly as good as he was at making things explode. The way the crowd was cheering him on as he slowly, ever so slowly took off his clothes to the beat of the music… it made him feel desired. Stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.
Those people down there, when they looked at him, they didn’t see a black Scottish cyclops with a severe drinking issue. They had no idea that the eye patch wasn’t just for the show, that he wasn’t faking the accent or that he was sloshed more often than not. For them, he was just a nice, muscular body to admire.
That was more than he could ever hope for.
As his pants slid to the floor (he never got fully naked on the stage – that was for private shows and lap dances only), he tried not to remind himself of the sheer number of scars he just uncovered for everyone to see.
A monster, an one-eyed monster, his mind kept screaming at him, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of an applause and his own beating heart.
***
The night went spectacular as always. He certainly couldn’t complain about not having plenty of customers singing him praises and asking for lap dances. Got more than a few generous tips, too. So why did he feel like something was crushing his chest?
By now, he was no stranger to this strange, empty void that enveloped his heart. It usually came after a long night at work. But it would be fine. He just needed to have a drink or two and tomorrow he’s going to town with Jane. That always used to cheer him up a little bit.
It Runs in the Family
Summary: Spy finds out that he has an overbite, just like his son. Unfortunately, what looks like a charming quirk on his three-year-old he sees as a fatal flaw in himself.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: Spy/Scout’s Mom
Warnings: None
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Body Image, Implied Sexual Content, Cockblocking, Fluff and Angst, Teeth, Soft Spy (Team Fortress 2), Maskless Spy (Team Fortress 2), Spy Tries to be a Parent (Team Fortress 2), Father-Son Relationship, Parenthood, Spy is Scout's Parent (Team Fortress 2), Spy loves Scout's Mother, Insecurity
Wordcount: 1,234
You can also read it on ao3!
Alain had what he perceived as many positive qualities. He was an excellent spy, who always got the job done and never faltered. He was swift and cunning. And also, according to Ellen, the perfect ladykiller (though nowadays he reserved his charms only for her). He had a lot going on for him. But being good at playing with toddlers was never one of those things.
Not for lack of trying. He always did his best, but still came off as too stiff and awkward around them. Him! Can you imagine? And the worst thing was that it didn’t change once he became a father. It bothered him sometimes. What good was he if he couldn’t even play with his own son? But any time he started doubting himself, Ellen swooped in and reassured him that it will get better once Jeremy gets older.
Until then, he enjoyed watching him play on his own more than anything in his life.
Sometimes, he was joined by Ellen, and they would both watch what was the little rascal up to. He would soon be three years old and was so lively. Always flashing his teeth as he smashed his toys against one another or ran in circles for hours.
It was when he showed them one of his big smiles that Ellen started laughing so much that she teared up.
“What’s going on, chérie?” Alain asked, confused. Sure, their son’s grins made him smile too, but never like this.
“Nothing,” she wiped away the tear from her eye. “It’s just that… look at him! He has the same teeth as you. Isn’t that cute?”
Huh? What was she talking about? Alain shot a glance back at the boy, focusing more on his newly developed pearly whites. Surely, they weren’t the same. After all, Jeremy had a large overbite, and yes, Alain might have a small one too, but there was no way it could be this bad, now, could it?
“He does not,” he scoffed then, frowning.
That night, when everyone was fast asleep, he sneaked into their shared bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. His frown only grew as he scrutinized himself. Truly. He never noticed it before, but now that Ellen brought it up, he could see that he had prominent front teeth.
How awful! was the first thought that crossed his mind. How did he never notice this?
He was so preoccupied with the image in the mirror that he almost missed the tiny creak of the door. He stiffened but forced himself to relax and not immediately reach for the knife. He was safe, his family was safe. It was just Ellen.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. Usually, he wouldn’t let anyone get near his back. But not her.
As absurd as it sounded, he felt safe with her. At ease. At home.
“What’s wrong, honey? Why are you standing in front of that mirror?” Then she seemed to recall their conversation and asked, looking him in the eye: “Is that because of what I said about your teeth?”
Long ago, he promised he wouldn’t lie to her. So in a rare moment of sincerity, he slumped his shoulders and admitted, his accent becoming more prominent: “…it’s hideous.”
“Now, now, hold your horses. So you are telling me that Jer-bear’s teeth look bad?”
“What?! Non, of course not!” In fact, he would kill anyone for even suggesting such a thing.
“So what’s the difference? Why are you saying such a mean thing about yourself?”
He didn’t know. But it bothered him. Jeremy was still young, he would grow out of it. And even if he did not? It would become a charming little quirk. His son could pull it off. But what about him? He was a spy, for Christ’s sake! He couldn’t afford quirks. There couldn’t be even a tiny crack in his perfect façade.
“It’s not the same,” he shook his head.
“You’re acting silly,” she frowned. “So what? Are you gonna pull them all out and replace them with false ones?”
She was joking, but the way he just shrugged in response put a disturbed look on her face. “You’d be surprised how common it is in my line of work.”
They stayed silent for a while, looking at each other’s reflection in the mirror. Then, she wrapped her arms around his waist once more and rested her head between his shoulder blades. That at least put a smile on his face.
“You know I’ll support you no matter what, right? But for what it’s worth, I like you just the way you are. Flaws and all. And I love that Jeremy takes after you. At least I have something to remember you by when you are away.”
Ouch. His heart was beating so hard against his ribcage that it hurt. What did he do to deserve this woman? He finally turned around to face her and lifted her chin, so she was looking him in the eyes.
“Merci, mon amour. I know it’s not always… easy being with me, but…”
She gently shushed him with a finger on his lips. “Ah ah. No more of that, dummy. We’re all lucky to have you. Try to remember that.”
“I will.” He leaned down to kiss her like he meant it. Their lips brushed together in a slow, sensual dance they both knew well by now. It didn’t take long for hands to start wandering, hushed gasps exchanged between them like a secret. Having eight children in such a tiny apartment meant they rarely had the time or space for intimacy anymore. They had to make do in hotel rooms and such. That’s what made this all the sweeter. “The kids are asleep, non?”
“They are. I checked up on them before I went here,” she whispered against his lips. That was all it took for him to lift her in his arms and quickly put her down on the cabinet near the sink, while still kissing the living daylight out of her.
He never wanted to let go. So, of course, it was then they heard a boyish screech coming from the kid’s bedroom.
“Ma? MA! Jeremy has escaped his crib again!”
In unison, the two lovers let out a frustrated sigh. Really? Right now?
“Couldn’t pick up a better timing,” Ellen sighed. She turned towards Alain with a small, apologetic smile. He already knew the drill. This wasn’t the first time they were interrupted, and for as long as all the eight boys lived under the same roof, it wouldn’t be the last. Not that he didn’t love them all like his own, but sometimes, he just couldn’t help wondering how wonderful it will be once they all grow up and move out for college. “Sorry, love. I have to go there. But perhaps we could continue some other time? How about another date night? What do you say?”
“Of course,” he gave her one last peck on the cheek before she scurried off to find their unruly son. Just as he was about to leave after her, he caught his look in the mirror. Cheeks flushed radiant red, hair made a mess and lips chapped from all the nipping. As far from perfection as one could ever get.
And yet, he didn’t hate what he saw.
Even Healers Need Healing
Summary: Medic collapses after a battle and Heavy carries him home despite his protests that he can walk.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: Heavy/Medic
Warnings: None
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Medic Needs A Hug (Team Fortress 2), Carrying, Medic has trouble accepting help (Team Fortress 2)
Wordcount: 1,189
You can also read it on ao3!
The battle was won. Finally! Medic wiped away the sweat and blood that ran down his brow with a manic grin on his face, Übersaw heavy in his hand. He took much more beating than usual today. That’s what you get for getting separated from Misha early on, he thought. Not that he blamed anyone, it was worth it for the rush he felt when he sank his saw into the enemy’s flesh. So what if he took some damage himself?
He headed in the direction where he thought their base was. The whole arena was swimming before his eyes. But it was fine. He could take it. Just a few more steps…
It was then that he faltered and fell to his knees. His white coat, now covered with blood and grime, spread around him like broken bird wings. What a pathetic sight. He forced himself to try and get up as soon as he realized what just happened but to no avail. His injuries were wearing out on him. If only he had brought his Kritzkrieg! He could just take a whiff and everything would be fine. But like this…
C’mon, c’mon, up you go, verdammte!
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. Could hardly even think. Yet, he still struggled to get back on his unsteady feet, paying no mind to how bad it hurt, how nauseated it made him feel.
He always carried the entire team on his shoulders. Surely he could push himself to carry on just a little longer. What use was he otherwise?
He couldn’t let others see him like this. Weak and frail, a mere burden.
So of course he had to hear a familiar voice calling out to him in the distance. Just his luck. “DOKTOR!”
“Misha,” he rasped out. Usually, he would be elated to hear him. But not now. Goddamn, why did he have to be so… wonderful and infuriating at the same time?
Misha abandoned his precious gun (Medic’s heart throbbed – he knew just how much Sasha meant to the gentle giant) and ran straight toward him. He immediately started to check for wounds. Medic let out a watery chuckle. This was usually his responsibility, and he didn’t know what to do or think about someone treating him this way. Maybe he should be upset. He didn’t need anyone to coddle him like a child. But a tiny part of him (which he thought he had surgically removed a long time ago) had to admit it felt good, to have someone worry about him for a change.
“Doktor, what is wrong? Can you get up?”
“Ja, ja… just give me a second, would you?” Ludwig muttered, color rising to his cheeks, before making one last valiant attempt to rise again, only to fall back into the mud with gritted teeth. Everything around him was spinning wildly. He pressed a hand on his stomach, and it came back bloody.
Scheisse.
Heavy’s expression got even more tender. It was driving Medic crazy. Why was he looking at him like that? He wasn’t weak! He could go on, a sure thing he could. He always did. “Is all right. Heavy will help. Here. Hold on to me.”
With all the gentleness he could muster, being such a strong guy and all, he put Ludwig’s shaky arms around his neck as he prepared to hoist the man in his arms.
Once Medic’s brain caught up with what was going on, he started protesting. He never allowed Misha to pick him up like this, not even when there was no one around to see them. He would never allow anyone to challenge his masculinity like this. Not even his own lover. He wouldn’t be treated like some damsel in distress. “Wait, no. I’m more than capable of fending for myself, don’t worry about it, mein Lieber.”
Liar. But what was he supposed to tell him? The truth? Bah!
Heavy hesitated upon hearing this but didn’t let go. “Heavy never said Doktor cannot take care of himself. You are just injured and need a little help, is all. I can carry you back to the base. Is no problem.”
Of course it was a problem! The others would see! They would never let him live it down. He bristled, hissing: “I don’t need your help! Do you understand?”
He regretted it as soon as those words left his mouth. Oh no, no, no. Misha flinched away from him, a pained look on his face before he straightened his shoulders and set his jaw straight. The sight broke Medic’s heart. What has he done?
“Da. Good luck, then.” He turned around to leave. Ludwig panicked. He reached out to him, his vision getting even more blurry, but he just had to stop him. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.
“Misha… wait! I apologize, I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s just that,” he sighed. Admitting this hurt more than getting his teeth pulled out, and it wasn’t the good kind of pain. “I’m embarrassed about being carried around. Others are already making fun of me for not being a man enough.”
For a split second, he worried that Misha might actually leave him. And he wouldn’t hold it against him. It was his fault that he behaved like a complete Arschloch. But then, to his relief, Heavy turned around, eyebrows shot up.
“Not being man enough? You? Who says that? They have to be blind. And stupid.”
Medic chuckled. It was true he didn’t resemble a woman, not even by a long shot. He had wide shoulders and chest hairy enough for both of them, not to mention his height. But when standing next to Misha, one couldn’t help but draw comparisons. It was only natural.
“Compared to you, everyone is girly, Bärchen. It’s just the way it is.”
Heavy muttered something under his breath, maybe some Russian swear word he didn’t know yet, then knelt next to him. “Forget about them. If they want to laugh, let them laugh. Heavy will find them later and bash their heads open. If Doktor won’t do it first, of course.”
They exchanged a short smile like a promise. Oh how much did Ludwig love this obnoxious man, it was beyond comprehension. Heavy outstretched his arms towards him again, and this time, he didn’t fight it.
Not that it wasn’t a bit awkward at first. Finding the best way to wrap his arms around Misha’s bull neck was tricky. But then he picked him up without even breaking a sweat, and everything fell into place. Ludwig let his head loll onto his shoulder with a small, unsure smile on his face. It was… odd, but not bad odd. He was so used to carrying others (both literally and figuratively), he never considered someone being able to do it to him in return. Little terrifying. But also warm. Comfortable. Safe.
But that was nothing new. He always felt safe with Misha. His finest specimen. Silly Kuschelbär.
He felt him smile against the nape of his neck as he slowly drifted out of consciousness.
À la Claire Fontaine
Summary: Before a battle, Scout is trying to work off excess energy, which keeps annoying Spy to no end. When he has enough and throws a knife at him, Scout settles down for a while, only to start humming a familiar song. It brings back some memories Spy thought he would forget.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: Spy/Scout’s mother (familial Spy & Scout)
Warnings: Panic Attacks
Tags: Light Angst, Scout Doesn't Know Spy Is Scout's Parent (Team Fortress 2), Spy Tries to be a Parent (Team Fortress 2), Father-Son Relationship, Scout Has ADHD (Team Fortress 2), Soft Spy (Team Fortress 2), Flashbacks, Spy loves Scout's Mother, Smoking, POV Spy (Team Fortress 2), Spy Being an Asshole (Team Fortress 2)
Wordcount: 2,607
A/N: Inspired by this adorable picture by @wachtelspinat and by French lullaby À la claire fontaine (obviously).
You can also read it on ao3!
Ten minutes until the next match starts. Well, nine minutes and thirty-five seconds now, to be precise. Just enough for his last cigarette of the day, Spy concluded and pulled out a lighter. That… fire-loving abomination sitting on the other side of the locker room visibly perked up at the faint flickering light – he cut it off before it could move. It was on their side, but as far as he was concerned, better be safe than sorry.
The entire team RED was spending its final moments before the bloodbath the only way they knew. Heavy fussed over Sasha, his much-beloved weapon, Demoman had just opened his second – or was it third? – bottle of Scrumpy and was drunkenly offering it to anyone in the immediate vicinity, and Spy? All he wanted was to have a smoke in peace before the fighting started.
Just another ordinary day in the gutter.
Scout sat on the bench right opposite him and, as usual, had a really hard time trying to stay still. His excitement before matches always had this nervous edge, no matter how many times his guts got scattered across the sands of New Mexico. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, his leg bouncing up and down nearly constantly. At first, it was a mere nuisance. Easy to block out with other white noise. Another thirty seconds in, and it made him grit his teeth.
Much like the Scout himself, Spy assumed.
Bah, he’s worse than an eight-year-old child with a bad case of rabies. Can’t slow down to save his life, he rolled his eyes. So much so for having some peace before work. But then again, with this unruly bunch of misfits and criminals, what could have he expected?
Then, as if the noise of a foot slapping against the ground every few seconds wasn’t bad enough, it became accompanied by an even more nerve-wrenching sound.
Scout, completely oblivious to the fact that he was driving one of his coworkers mad with his antics, fished a package of chewing gum out of one of his pockets. Took two at once and started chomping. Loudly. And when Spy said loudly, he meant obnoxiously loudly. That kind of loud that made him regret that he couldn’t send the other mercenary straight back to respawn without having to explain himself to the Administrator later on.
If she were there at the moment, she would have understood, he noted with a huff of annoyance.
But even his patience had its limits. And frankly, he has had enough.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, letting Scout know that he was walking on thin ice. But the buck-teethed youth had absolutely no sense for subtlety, so it flew right over his head. He tilted his head to the side, blew a bubblegum bubble with another loud click of his tongue… and Spy just snapped.
The butterfly knife was in his hand in an instant and before anyone could have even noticed, he threw it. It pierced the wall right next to Scout’s head, popping the pink bubble out. The entire locker room went silent as all heads turned in their direction.
Scout blinked owlishly as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Then his face went ruddy with anger. “Woah, woah, what the heck, dude?! You could have killed me!”
“Oh, please, if I was really aiming for your head, I wouldn’t have missed,” he replied in a snarky tone as he got up to retrieve his knife. It was stuck at least an inch and a half in the wall. Hm. Good to know he wasn’t losing his touch. “Now, would you kindly shut up so I could have some rest?”
Scout huffed out an annoyed breath, but since he didn’t want to start a fight so shortly before having to enter the field, he sat straight and for the first time in his life did as he was told. Smart boy.
Ah, finally. A moment of respite, Spy closed his eyes with a smirk on his face.
He thought this would be the end of it, which only proved he didn’t know Scout nearly well enough. Because as soon as he relaxed, the humming started. And Spy just froze, the lit cigarette fell from his fingers and scattered ash all over the floor.
He… knew that tune. It might be butchered by Scout’s voice, sure, and like in all the other aspects of his life, the boy was rushing too much, but Spy would still recognize this song even with his ears cut off.
À la claire fontaine.
Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. His heart was hammering against his ribs, which grew too constricted for their own good. It felt like he was dying. No, now that he thought about it, dying didn’t feel nearly as bad. At least not after the first dozen times. This, this was a pure nightmare.
Well, what should he do? Dieu, he needed another cigarette, maybe two, to wrestle his nerves under control again. But his fingers shook so bad, that someone might take notice. And he couldn’t let others see him like this.
Not now. Not ever.
“Scout? Where did you learn that song?” His voice shook slightly, and he regretted saying anything as soon as those words left his mouth. What was he even thinking, to blow his cover like this? Thank god Scout wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box, so to speak. Just like his earlier attempt to catch his attention, this too completely missed the point.
“Huh? What song? Ah, you mean that? I dunno, man. Think I heard it when I was little, but…” the boy bit his lips and his eyes grew unfocused as he tried to recall some very old and distant memory. To no avail, of course. So in the end, he just shrugged. “…dunno. What’s it to ya anyway?”
It wasn’t often that he had no excuse at the ready. But anything he thought of sounded incredibly fake even to his own ears. What was he supposed to say? Nothing, I’m just curious. Or: I was wondering who taught you to sing so badly? Scout might not be very bright, but he was no idiot either. He wouldn’t buy it. So there he was, for the first time in his whole career at the loss for words, unable to answer a simple question.
Thank goodness he was saved by a rough disembodied female voice: “Mission begins in ten seconds.”
Pfew, that was close. Scout, with his attention span of a goldfish, immediately forgot what they were talking about and grabbed his trusty baseball bat, shouting at the others: “All right, let’s go, let’s go!”
Everyone ran for the exit. Everyone except Spy, who stayed behind. Nothing suspicious about it, it usually took him a little longer to pick his disguise. Once he was sure he was alone, he pulled out his cigarette case and brushed its contents aside, revealing a small photo hidden inside.
The most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon was smiling at him from the picture. He fondly skimmed his knuckles over her face and raven hair. She was sitting in an armchair, holding a chubby boy no older than a year and a half to her chest. The little rascal was a bit blurry. They couldn’t get him to stay still long enough for them to take the picture. But even like this, it was visible that he had his mother’s nose and vibrant blue eyes.
There used to be a third figure in the photo. The only thing that reminded Spy of it was a part of a man’s arm draped loosely over the woman’s shoulders. The rest he cut out a long time ago. Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder how different their lives would be if the man in the picture stayed.
But no. He couldn’t afford to think about it like that. With him gone, the family was safe. It was the right thing to do.
One day he might believe it.
He was interrupted by the noise of something being blown up into pieces nearby. It was followed by gunshots and someone – from the sound of it, their Demoman – screaming. Well, time to go.
With one last pained look, he put the photo back where it belonged. With one press of a button, smoke shrouded him, and with a blink of an eye, there stood a completely different man. He tugged at the lapels of his disguise, making sure that everything was in order, and ran for the exit.
What use was crying over spilled milk?
South Boston, 1946
He was helping Travis, her second youngest, with his French homework when Ellen peeked into the room, seemingly more tired than ever. Taking care of eight rowdy sons does that to a person, he noted with sympathy – he couldn’t help but admire her for raising them all on her own before he came along. But for some reason, Jeremy was even more handful than the other seven could ever strive to be.
Well, he was his father’s son through and through.
“Alain, dear? Could you please go and tuck Jeremy in? He won’t go to sleep before you sing him a lullaby.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he got up, making sure Travis’ homework was signed and ready to be put in his backpack. Hopefully, he won’t lose in yet another fight with the neighbor’s ruffians. “Of course, I’ll be right there. Go get some rest, chérie. You deserve it.”
Before he went, he kissed her on the cheek. Travis didn’t forget to comment on it with a loud: “Bleh.” He always liked to play a tough guy (as tough as one can be while wearing short trousers), but deep down, he was glad his mom found someone to love her after their father passed away.
With that, he made his way to the small nursery. He heard Jeremy long before he even entered the room. The boy was wailing loud enough to wake his brothers in the next room – maybe even their neighbors upstairs – as he slammed any toy he got his little hands on against the headboard of his bed. Alain sighed. One day, the boy’s gonna grow up to be a real menace.
Like father, like son, he supposed.
The moment Jeremy saw him by the door, the crying stopped. Instead, he started bouncing up and down on the mattress, supporting himself against the lattice of his cot as he squealed: “Dada!”
“Yes, yes, daddy’s here,” Alain cooed as he scooped him in his arms and sat in a nearby rocking chair.
To think how terrified he used to be to hold him when they finally brought him home. The boy was just so tiny! He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’s gonna crush him if he was not careful enough. Ellen used to laugh and tell him that the baby was not made of sugar. Easy for her to say. When he came along, she already had seven children of her own, seven lively boys, and a picture of a dead husband she used to love very much hanging above the kitchen sink.
He always thought he would make an awful parent. But when Jeremy was born, the love for him and his mother made him want to try and be better.
“You should go easier on your maman. She hasn’t had a good night's sleep since the day you were born, mon lapin. Neither of us had,” he said, but there was a gentle smile on his lips. He knew that Jeremy was still too young to fully understand a word he said, so he followed it with a kiss being pressed on top of his head, making him giggle and babble.
“Let’s see. How about I sing you the À la claire fontaine? It was always your favorite.” Jeremy excitedly waved his little hands, which made Alain smile in return. “All right. Here it goes…”
He cleared his throat before he started singing in a soft voice. When he got to the chorus: “Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai.” he felt his voice waver.
Jeremy barely made it to the third stanza before he fell asleep with his head lolled on his shoulder and drooling onto his shirt. When he became a father, he was told that he would get used to having his expensive clothes ruined by various bodily fluids. Shame that one never came true, but at least he fretted less about it.
There you go, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it, he chuckled, keeping his voice down as he put the boy back in his cot. Only then did he notice that Ellen was leaning against the doorframe, watching them with a huge grin on her face. He gently put a finger in front of his lips, shushing her:
“Shh. He just fell asleep.”
She nodded and quietly settled by his side, watching their son sleep. “Look at him,” she whispered. “Sleepin’ like an angel. Without you, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep until sunrise. Always has an infinite supply of energy, this one.”
She sighed, her expression suddenly turning wistful. “Wish you could be here every night to put him to sleep. He misses you when you are gone. So do the boys. And I.”
“I know. Wish there was another way. But I have to work so that you have everything you need, ma chérie.”
She clung to him like she never wanted to let go, which only made the situation that much harder. It wasn’t like he wanted to leave her or Jeremy. He just had to. Especially now, since he had so many hungry mouths to feed. “All we need is you, Alain. Only you. Everything else is unimportant.”
“I swear I’ll try to be around more.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I mean it.” With one hand caressing her cheek, he turned her to face him, before their lips met in a kiss as soft as a promise. “Je t'aime tellement, ma petit chou-fleur.”
She had tears in her eyes when she replied: “I love you too, Alain. Please don’t become a memory.”
For a time, he did his best to keep that promise. But in the end, all it took was one job gone wrong. One stupid mistake, and it all came crumbling down.
One day, he found a letter in their mailbox containing photos of his entire family. Travis on his way to school with French homework tucked in his bag, his older brothers during a baseball play. Even little Jeremy in a stroller with Ellen on a walk. A warning. Someone was out for blood.
Alain hunted down that bastard, of course, and made him pay for even thinking about hurting his loved ones. But how could he come home knowing that he was a risk to his family? So he did the only reasonable thing he could to protect them. He cut himself out of the picture. Well, not entirely, no. He kept sending Ellen money and gifts for Jeremy and the boys, sometimes even visiting under the guise of night and cloaking device, to hold Ellen in his arms for just a little while longer and to watch his petit lapin grow, feeling immense sorrow while doing so (maybe he was an awful parent after all). When Jeremy was plagued with night terrors, he still sometimes sang him À la claire fontaine.
Little did he know those were the only nights when Jeremy slept soundly.
***
Translations
Dieu – god Chérie – sweetheart Maman – mom (affectionate) Mon lapin – my rabbit Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai. – It's so long I've been loving you, that I'll never forget you. Je t'aime tellement, ma petit chou-fleur. – I love you so much, my little cauliflower.
What It Means to Be an Aussie
Summary: Mick Mundy, age eleven, is upset because kids at school laughed at him, telling him he’s no Aussie. When he comes to his mom for comfort, she has to face a dilemma: tell him he’s adopted or keep it a secret to protect him.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: None (familial Sniper & Sniper’s Parents)
Warnings: None
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Bullying, Adoption, Child Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Canon Compliant, Sad Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Australian Slang, Parent-Child Relationship
Wordcount: 737
A/N: This was a spur-of-a-moment fic written in two days, so be gentle, please. Incorporating Australian slang into it was a challenge, but at least I learned something new (ankle biter will never not make me smile), so I can use it later in my main fic Baby It’s All Just Chemistry. Writing Sniper and his family is hard, but I loved every second of it.
You can also read it on ao3!
It was late evening and Mrs. Mundy just finished knitting the last row of Mick’s new sweater. She was about to go to bed. Her husband was away on a hunting trip with his friends, so it was only her and their son in the house. Then she heard it. That small, hesitant rustle lingering by the door, as if whoever caused it was contemplating whether he should enter the room or not. She lit the lamp by her bedside and sat up, squinting at the lanky shadow cowering at the threshold.
Mick. Her little koala bear. Well, not so little anymore. He was barely eleven years old and already so tall. Soon, he would overgrow even his own father. But he never filled out the way his classmates did. “You’re just a late-bloomer,” they kept telling him when he came back from school with tears swelling in his eyes. “Give it time. Your father hasn’t grown a proper mustache until he was nearly fourteen.”
But they knew they were lying through their teeth.
“Micky?” she rubbed her eyes. What time was it? “What’s goin’ on? Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head, the poor thing. Then he slowly ever so slowly entered the room and without uttering a single word slipped underneath the cowers, diving beside her like he used to do when he was still a small nipper. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him like a warm blanket. Jonathan never liked it when the boy came to them at night asking if he could sleep in their bed with them. “He’s too old for that now,” he always argued. “He should just man up and go back to sleep like a normal adult bloke.”
But Mrs. Mundy shushed him every time and lifted the sheets for Mick to crawl under. Not many parents could say that their tackers still came to them at this age when they were hurting. It was beautiful, in its own way.
If only he hurt a little less often.
“They were laughin’ at me again, mom,” he finally spoke up in a shaky voice as if he was about to cry. “Said I’m not Aussie enough if I never want to fist-fight with them.”
Ah. This again. Kids really can be cruel. Mick was special, all of them could see that, as it was getting more obvious with age, and they feared him the way they feared everything they couldn’t beat up into submission.
“What’s wrong with me, mom? Why am I not like the others?”
Now this truly shattered her heart into tiny pieces. Maybe they should finally tell him the truth. But what then? Would he wonder where he was from? Or ask about his real parents and why they didn’t love him enough to keep him? And what would the other kids do if they found out he wasn’t from the outback like they were?
No, it had to remain a secret. Why should any of this matter anyway? He was their son. Maybe not by blood, but they loved him the same. And nothing would ever change that.
She hugged him a bit tighter, letting him snuggle up closer to her. “Oh no, ‘roo. There is nothin’ wrong with you. It’s them who should learn what it truly means to be an Aussie. Because it’s not about havin’ muscle upon muscle and bushy mustaches. It’s about what you have in your heart. And you are good just the way you are.” She heard a small, pitiful sob being pressed into her clavicle. Poor thing. She cooed at him until he calmed down a little, then went to stroke his hair. “You know what? Maybe next time dad will take you on a trip with him. Would you like that? He could even teach you how to shoot a rifle if you promise you’ll be careful.”
Mick wiped away the tear that got stuck on his long eyelashes. “R-really? You mean it?”
“Of course I do. If you’re gonna be good at it the way you are at throwin’ rocks, you will soon become the best hunter around.”
Finally, he smiled. “Thanks, mom. Love ya.”
“I love you too, Micky. You’ll never know how much.”
One day, Mick will grow up into something great and leave all those mean no-hopers behind. But for now... she held him as they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Translations
Nipper – a child Bloke – a man Tackers - children No-hoper – somebody who’ll never perform well
Fic Masterpost (2023)
Organized by year 2020 | 2021 | 2022 | 2023
Updated! (26th February - new gen one-shot - Always Too Much, Never Just Enough)
Team Fortress 2
Heavy/Medic
One-shots
Even Healers Need Healing - Medic collapses after a battle and Heavy carries him home despite his protests that he can walk. Hurt/Comfort, Canon-typical Violence, 1,189 words.
Spy/Scout’s Mother
It Runs in the Family - Spy finds out that he has an overbite, just like his son. Unfortunately, what looks like a charming quirk on his three-year-old he sees as a fatal flaw in himself. Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Dad Spy, 1,234 words.
Scout/OC
Multichapters
Baby It’s All Just Chemistry - Months after the RED team assembled and its members started getting used to one another, they receive some shocking news. They are about to get a new teammate soon. AU, tenth class, humor, slice of life. Minor Heavy/Medic, RED!Demoman/BLU!Soldier and Spy/Scout’s mom. Chapters 2/?,
Genfic
One-shots
Always Too Much, Never Just Enough - Spy contemplates Scout’s behavior and how he affected it by leaving him behind as a kid. Angst, Daddy Issues, Dad Spy, 287 words.
What It Means to Be an Aussie - Mick Mundy, age eleven, is upset because kids at school laughed at him, telling him he’s no Aussie. His mom has to face a dilemma: tell him he’s adopted or keep it a secret to protect him. Hurt/Comfort, Parent-Child Relationship, 737 words.
Baby It’s All Just Chemistry (2/?)
Chapter title: Medic Has the Bloodiest Hands
Summary: Chemist meets the Medic and things go south very quickly.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Ship: Scout/Original Female Character (main), Heavy/Medic (minor), RED!Demo/BLU Soldier (minor) - all in later chapters
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, open-heart surgery
A/N: Me: “I need to look up something about the Cold War, Interpol, and a Berlin Wall for my fic.” My bro: “Eh… and don’t you mind that it takes place in canon where New Zealand sank to the bottom of the ocean, Australians are superheroes with bushy mustaches, and where Tom Jones was killed off twice?” Me: “…I just think it’s neat.”
Previous chapters: 1 |
You can also read it on ao3!
Fate, if there was indeed such a thing, had a strange sense of humor. How else could Chemist explain that not even a week ago, she was waiting on death row, and now? She had a well-paid job, a roof over her head far from the greedy hands of the communist party, and as a bonus from her generous employer, a bunch of guinea pigs to take care of. Sure, most of her new coworkers seemed rather… unusual, but other than that?
It was an odd turn of events, but not an unwelcome one.
Trying to keep up with Spy and his oh-so-long legs was a losing fight. Not nearly as bad as when she walked with Scout, but at least the buck-teethed youth slowed down every now and then to let her catch up with him. Sure, she could have just asked Spy to do the same… but she didn’t want any of those guys to think she was weak right off the bat. They were all trained killers, and from what she had gathered from her talk with Miss Pauling, weren’t half-bad at their job.
Better not to let them think she would make an easy target.
They chatted a lot on their way, both in Czech and in English. It seemed like Spy had a real talent for languages. Any tongue he switched to sounded nearly immaculate if it weren’t for his prominent French accent. It was pretty impressive, to be honest.
She thought her language skills were also nothing to sneeze at – with her Czech, Slovak, English, some German, and Russian (though hell would sooner freeze over before she spoke any of that language). But she was nothing compared to Spy. And it made sense. With his line of work, he must have been to many different countries. Their family trips to Yugoslavia couldn’t compare. But she had left the Iron Curtain behind. She was free to go wherever she wanted once she gets a vacation.
It was a bitter irony now that she could see the world, all she wanted was to go home. She didn’t think she would miss her country all things considered, but she did.
To get rid of all the painful thoughts, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So… that guy who’s just offered me a drink. Is it even allowed here? I mean, it sounds kinda dangerous, to be drunk on the job.”
Spy gave her a smirk. “Mademoiselle, we’re guns for ‘ire. No one cares what we are doing in our spare time, as long as there isn’t some catastrophic property damage. And you’ll soon find out that Demoman is a very ‘igh functioning drunkard. A sad one, certainly, but gets the job done.”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling kinda silly now. It wasn’t her place to judge anyone here. God knows she had her own problems.
Just to keep the conversation flowing, she asked: “And that lanky fellow, Scout, does he flirt with everything that moves?”
This time, Spy groaned and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Unfortunately, yes. But don’t worry. The boy is all bark and no bite. Just ignore ‘im and ‘e’ll go away.”
Called it. She knew a lot of guys like that back in her college days. Loud and obnoxious, but overall harmless. As long as it wouldn’t take poisoning his food to make him back off, they would get along just fine.
They went down a long corridor with many doors. Each had a symbol drawn upon them. They were all similar to the one she had on her Mann Co.-issued uniform. Hers depicted a flask with a skull and crossed bones. She rather liked it. It was simple, straight to the point.
Spy led her to the last entrance on the left. It was the only one without a mark. She glanced at the door next to it to get an idea of who was gonna be her neighbor – the symbol there depicted a shoe with wings. That was most likely a reference to Hermes, the messenger of gods. Whoever stayed in that room had to be quick on his feet. Her best tip was the Scout.
Just her luck. She had to bunk right next to the guy who tried to hit on her. Perfect.
Spy was kind enough to open the door for her and she waltzed right in, setting the crate on the ground next to the bed. Finally! She wouldn’t be able to carry it for much longer. She wiped the sweat off her brow and opened the lid with holes to check on the guinea pigs.
As soon as the lid went off, they all started wheeking and running around, thinking they were about to get a treat. Poor guys. The journey here was a long one and the heat nearly unbearable, but thank god, all six of them made it in a good health.
“Ugh, what’s that?” Spy scoffed, a disgusted sneer on his face. What, did he not like animals?
“My guinea pigs! To run experiments on and such.” Technically not a lie. She did get them for work. So what that she wouldn’t use them for their original purpose?
Spy didn’t seem to approve either way. “Just make sure they won’t escape their containment. I would ‘ate to ‘ave vermin running through my closet.”
“There are far worse things you could have there, you know?” she rolled her eyes. It was a little disheartening. She was hoping some of her teammates would share her enthusiasm for small rodents. But then again, looking at Spy’s neat suit, it was no wonder he didn’t. Fancy people rarely appreciated pets.
His loss.
“But don’t worry,” she reassured him. “They will get a proper cage soon. No escape attempts.”
She started rummaging through her large backpack. There should be a few carrots prepared for her little charges. Hm, but where were they now?
She brushed away her gas mask and a case with her reading glasses until her fingers closed around a pack of vegetables. Excellent.
She glanced back at Spy, who was watching her with a keen eye. “Please, is there a sink somewhere? I need to clean these and refill their water bottle.”
“Stay away from the sinks if you can. The tap water in the whole town is full of lead – that’s why we left some bottled water by your bedside.”
That made her perk up. “Lead? But that’s amazing! I haven’t studied severe lead poisoning in… well, ever! Tell me, has anyone tried it yet?”
Spy looked weirded out at first, but that was fine. Most people did. She was used to it by now. Her methods may be unorthodox, but no one could deny they were damn effective.
Just not always the way she intended.
“You might want to ask Soldier. I ‘ave a feeling ‘e didn’t get the memo.”
She grinned. “I will ask him! Thanks.” Her gaze shifted back to her guinea pigs. They were getting impatient now, climbing one another to try and get out of the box. “Oh, but I have to remember to give piggies only the bottled water. Lead might be too much for their little organisms, poor things.”
Well, she should get down to business.
As she was taking care of her pets, humming a soft tune while doing so, Spy was watching her with his piercing gaze. It made her nervous as all hell.
No way I’m gonna unpack my things in front of him, she thought solemnly.
“There, all done,” she turned to face him once again, trying to appear more stoic than she felt. Only then she realized she was fidgeting with her hands like some damn schoolgirl. Drat! So much so for trying to seem tough. “Eh, you said you need to take me to the Medic’s office for a check-up, right? How about we go now?”
Thank god he didn’t comment on her unease, even though he had to see it clear as day. Instead, he accommodated her, saying: “Of course. Follow me.”
He gave her a quick tour through the entire base, showing her all the important places – shooting range, laundry room, Engie’s workshop, rec room as well as the showers. That last one gave her a pause.
It reminded her of her prison experience. No booths, no privacy, nothing. Just a bunch of ugly shower heads sticking from the walls. At least the tiles looked somewhat clean, but that set the bar pretty low.
Bloody hell. Off to a great start.
“I guess you don’t have a women’s bathroom here, right?”
It wouldn’t make much sense, since she had yet to see another woman on the base, but hey. Hope dies last.
“Non.”
…Hope died in the vanguard.
“But that’s quite easy to fix. We can always create a schedule, so you won’t ‘ave to share with the others.”
Well, it was far from ideal, but it was something. Either way, she was glad Spy was so considerate. He could also tell her to suck it up, that she is now a mercenary first and woman second, but something told her he also wasn’t fond of communal showers. Had to be that balaclava of his. The air of secrecy around him.
Did he ever take it off in front of the others?
“Thanks, that sounds great.” She paused for a few seconds, squinting at the door. There was no lock on it. “And they won’t peek or anything while I’m in here?”
Spy honest to god chuckled. “I doubt it. We may be the scum of society, Mademoiselle, but we would never ‘arass a teammate like that. But if someone does? You ‘ave every right to shoot them right between the eyes.”
Finally, they turned around the corner and went to the Medic’s domain. Spy stopped right in front of the door with a big red cross on it and lit himself a cigarette. Then, he turned towards Chemist. “I’ll ‘ave to leave you now, I still ‘ave other business to attend to. It was a pleasure meeting you, Chemist. Au revoir.”
With that, he pressed a button on his watch and disappeared into a thick cloud of smoke. Some of it got stuck in her nose and made her sneeze. Woah, what the hell was that? Her eyes darted around in a desperate attempt to find him, but no luck. Wonderful. A man who could become invisible on a whim had to be a pain in the neck on the battlefield.
But the clock was ticking. She better get this over with and see the Medic.
It would be rude to enter without knocking, she thought, so she first rapped her knuckles on the door. No response. She heard faint music through the wood (it sounded like Beethoven, but she couldn’t be quite sure), so he was definitively in there. Just didn’t hear her. She tried once more, but with the same results. That’s when she threw her politeness aside and simply invited herself in.
Unfortunately, she ran into a tall dark-haired man who looked like he was about to exit the clinic. He nearly dropped the folder of papers he was carrying. “Ah, entschuldigung, Mädchen! I haven’t heard you come in!”
Oh. So their doctor was German. And a handsome one, too. Not that it mattered or anything! It just caught her off guard. She wasn’t expecting so many fellow Europeans on the team. It made her feel a little more at home.
“No, no, I apologize, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have barged in like this when you didn’t hear me knocking the first time. Anyway,” she pushed a hand in between them for him to shake, but she did it so clumsily that she nearly punched him in the stomach. “I’m Chemist, your new coworker. Nice to meet you, sir…”
Amazing, she had to roll her eyes at her own antics and chuckled nervously in an attempt to save her face. As if anything could save after this horrible display. Are you gonna twirl your hair in front of him like some dumb teenager too? Pull your act together!
Thank god the good doctor didn’t make a meal out of it. He even giggled – did she hear that right, did he really giggle? – before shaking her hand. Much like Engie, he had a nice, steady grip.
“Medic, at your service.” He bowed to her, which made her chuckle a little. It was so silly and charming at the same time. No one has ever done this to her before. “Tell me, have you seen Heavy around? I was waiting for him to stop by, but he still hasn’t shown up.”
Her face fell. “The big guy? Sure. He was in the cafeteria.”
“That does sound like him,” the doctor chuckled while fondly rolling his eyes. “He gets so distracted by his sandwiches he forgets all about time. But nevermind. Let me look at you.”
Once she nodded, he started studying her features with rapt attention. He even circled her a few times, raising her arm as if he were testing her joints. Odd, but she let him do whatever he had to do. In the end, he gave her a toothy wolf-like grin.
“You seem to have a perfect bone structure. That’s wunderbar! At least you’ll be able to take quite a few punches before collapsing.”
“Um, thanks…?”
“A mere observation, Fräulein. Don’t worry about it.” A sinister smile found its way onto his face. No matter how handsome he was, it was still creepy as hell. It wasn’t enough to make her reconsider all of her life choices that led her here, but it was still pretty damn close. “You are also just the right size for me to use that Loch Ness monster’s heart I’ve been saving for special occasions. What a lucky day!”
…Okay, this was weird. What was he even talking about? A Loch Ness monster’s heart? Unfortunately, before she could ask what did he mean, he ushered her deeper into the room, showing her an empty chair to sit on. “But first let’s start with your examination, ja? Take a seat, please. I will be right back.”
Too late to run, she obeyed, looking around so she could figure out an escape route, in case something went amiss. Not that she believed it would, it was just better to be prepared. Being hunted down by the police taught her that.
The room was large, probably fit to serve as a surgical theatre in need, and cramped with all sorts of medical equipment. The first thing that caught her attention was the huge examination table standing right innocuously in the middle. There was some sort of an… instrument? hanging above it. It looked like a homemade gun, but not quite. Hm, what purpose could it possibly serve?
She also noticed an old record player, the one she heard playing before she entered the clinic, lots of buckets for some reason, a fridge (for snacks?), and… wait. What was that noise?
First, she heard a soft fluttering of multiple wings, then, cooing. She looked up and noticed a flock of snow-white birds, just hanging around. One with suspiciously dirty feathers flew down and sat on Medic’s shoulder, who immediately started petting him and crooning at him. Such an adorable view. It took her almost embarrassingly long to realize there were living birds inside the infirmary, which should have high hygienic standards.
“You have doves here?”
Medic snapped his head around as if he only now remembered she was waiting there. “Oh, ja. Miss Pauling ordered me to keep them in a cage after the last incident, but they always seem to find a way to break out and free themselves. Isn’t that right, Archimedes?”
He gently ruffled the feathers of the dirty dove sitting on his shoulder, who gave him an agreeable coo in return. Wait. The bird’s name was Archimedes? Aww. Now that she thought about it, she still had to name her guinea pigs.
“They are cute. Can I pet one?”
This seemed to take Medic by surprise, but after giving it some thought, he shrugged, nearly shaking poor Archimedes off. “Hm, I don’t see why not. Just be careful. They have very sharp beaks.”
He picked some basic medical instruments like a stethoscope and that thing for measuring blood pressure (with that horrible long name in English she could never memorize) and walked back towards her with Archimedes ready on his arm. The little bird was watching her with his tiny bead-like eyes. But once she reached for him, he let out a screech and flew away.
“Archimedes, that’s rude! Sorry, Fräulein, he’s a little bit shy around new people. Give him time. In the meantime, we can proceed with your check-up, hm?”
She nodded with a slight pout. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed Archimedes didn’t take a liking to her immediately. But then again, Medic was right – pets took a lot of time to warm up to a person. Besides, she had more pressing matters to worry about right now.
The examination was pretty standard – some measuring of weight and height as well as blood pressure. The good doctor listened to her heart, took a sample of her blood (probably more than was needed, but hey, she wasn’t complaining), and asked some simple if a bit uncomfortable questions. The usual stuff.
In the end, he seemed quite pleased with the results, which made her feel oddly proud. Like she just got a good mark from her favorite college professor. Completely normal.
But then it took a sharp turn.
“All right, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for the slight arrhythmia. That means it’s time for the surgery!” he flashed her that grin from ear to ear again. “Strip down to the waist and lie down on the examination table, bitte.”
WHAT?!
It happened so fast, her brain had trouble catching up. Confusion and concern in equal measure flooded her mind. And everything became much worse when she saw the scary-looking bone saw he pulled out from somewhere.
“Wait, hold on!” she choked up, her throat feeling way too constricted to talk normally. “You said everything was fine, so what kind of surgery are you talking about?!”
He arched one eyebrow at her, puzzled. As if she was the one who was acting unreasonably, and not him. “You haven’t read the contract?”
Can’t say she did. Not the entire thing. It’s hard to pay attention when you are on the run from jail. The only condition she read thoroughly was that any relationships between the two teams were strictly forbidden, but that didn’t make much sense to her back then. So she frantically shook her head, which made Medic frown.
The only thing scarier than his smiles was his dissatisfied face.
“One of the requirements for this job is open-heart surgery. In short, I’m gonna replace your heart, so it won’t explode inside your ribcage when I use my übercharge on you. Any questions before we get on with it?”
Oh Lord. She was gonna die here, wasn’t she?
But not without a fight.
There was a scalpel lying on the table right next to her arm. It wouldn’t be her weapon of choice under any circumstances, but right now it was her best shot. Her hand shook so badly when she grabbed it. Without thinking twice, she struck blindly in the general direction of the madman.
A sharp hiss told her she haven’t missed.
She opened her eyes only to see a nasty, bleeding scar on one of Medic’s sharp cheeks. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. She wasn’t gonna stand around and wait for him to strike back.
Before he could grab her and probably slam her on the table like a disobedient cat, she slipped right underneath his arm (advantage of being this short, she mused) and ran for the door. Thank god it wasn’t that far.
She reached for the handle, pressed it… and got nothing. The door was stuck. Damn it! This was like a prom night all over again. A living nightmare. Did he lock the door when she wasn’t looking?! Cold sweat ran down her forehead as she started pulling it about with all her weight, praying it would open. But it didn’t.
Well, she was positively screwed.
By now, he had enough time to get to her. He didn’t, though. Why? Afraid of what she was about to see, she glanced over her shoulder, the scalpel still in her hand, prepared to go for the throat if necessary, and was taken by surprise when she spotted Medic at the same place where she had left him, one finger stuck in the air as if he wanted to say something and was rudely interrupted.
The sheer bizarreness of the situation made her stop right in her tracks and stare at him owlishly, waiting for what he was about to do. She regretted not having her chemicals here. Even a stupid chlorine would do.
“Fräulein? Don’t try to force the door open, you’ll only make it worse. It gets jammed quite frequently. Now, calm down, it’s only a minor procedure, we all went through with it, even Herr Scout, so stop being such a baby and hop on the table. I won’t ask again.”
“Open-heart surgery, a minor procedure?!” she sputtered. “In what universe?”
He rolled his eyes at her. “In this one. You’ll see. So, what will it be? Do I have to restrain you or will you behave?”
This was so messed up, but something told her that undergoing it tied down to the table would be much worse, so she decided to obey, at least until she gets another opportunity to run. She climbed on the operating table and took off her lab coat, shirt, and after some hesitation, her bra. Heh, and to think Medic seeing her breasts became the least of her problems right now…
The doctor turned his back towards her, maybe to give her some semblance of privacy or, and that was the most likely option, to ready his instruments. There was her chance. She could knock him out and make a run for it.
Unfortunately, before she could grab something heavy, Medic turned towards her with a sadistic smirk on his face. Shit. Too late now.
“Are you at least going to give me anesthesia?”
Medic looked at her as if she grew a second head. Surely he couldn’t mean… “Nein, nein, that would be a waste. You won’t feel a thing anyway.”
Jesus Christ. She felt her heart beating so fast it could break her ribs and march out of her chest on its own. No need for surgery. Any second now, she was going to faint. Maybe that’s what Medic meant when he argued she won’t need any anesthesia. But then he turned the odd gun-like thing hanging above her on. She was immediately flooded with a strange tingling sensation.
“What’s that?”
“This? Oh, that’s just Quick-fix. It instantly heals you, so you won’t bleed out. Feels good, ja?”
“I don’t know. It’s… odd.”
The mad doctor leaned his head down in front of the scarlet fumes and turned his still-bleeding cheek towards it. A few seconds after that, the wound healed itself, not even leaving a scar behind. Chemist choked up on her saliva. What sorcery was this?! Well, not sorcery, everything had to have a scientific explanation, she just couldn’t find one right now.
“Woah! Doctor, what’s in those fumes? It’s not nitrous oxide, is it? I was trying to make something like this all my life and…”
Medic smirked. “Curious little thing, aren’t you? You know what, I might as well tell you if you stop squirming and let me do my job. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal!” With interest piqued, she ceased wiggling around and observed what was happening.
Having her chest split open with a scalpel was far from a pleasant sight, but she had to admit it didn’t hurt. Not even a little bit. Despite chattering and tittering the entire time, Medic worked fast and his hand was steady.
“Where are you from, Chemist? I’m from Stuttgart myself, but I’ve been quite the globetrotter, so I’m wondering if we’ve ever crossed paths before.”
She sincerely doubted it. She has never been to Germany, and even if, Stuttgart was “on the other side of the Berlin Wall”. Off-limits for people like her. “Perhaps. I’ve lived and studied in Prague.”
Medic’s face suddenly lit up. “Ah, Prague. Wonderful city. I spent some time there when I was younger. But then Interpol caught a whiff of my trail and I had to move again.”
“Wait. You’ve been searched for by Interpol?!”
“Ah heh, ja. It’s a little bit embarrassing. Happened shortly after I lost my medical license. Now now, stop hyperventilating, bitte. You’re spoiling my cuts.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have a man operating on him without a license. But then again, perhaps she should have been more surprised he had one in the first place. Everything about this was screaming malpractice. Even though she couldn’t deny he showed a lot of skill and precision while baring her organs underneath the skin and bones.
It took a while, but finally, her chest was wide open. At first, she tried to avoid looking at her innards, simply because it was too weird – and that was coming from a person who willingly joined a bunch of deranged mercenaries – but then Medic let out a fascinated whistle. She had to see what was going on. So she glanced down… and yelped.
When did her organs become so dark and shriveled? Her heart looked like an ugly little prune, liver resembled stone. Some other parts she couldn’t even recognize. Gross! How did this happen? And what did it even mean? Was she gonna die at the ripe age of twenty-three?
“Uh… this is not supposed to look like this, is it?” she asked, her voice getting an octave higher with hysteria. The piece of charcoal she called a heart immediately started pumping more blood into her body, preparing her for fight or flight. But what was she hoping to escape? Her own mangled guts?
Medic once again pushed his glasses up his nose, careful not to smudge them with her blood, which was still red and healthy-looking, thank god. Only then it came to her that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. How hygienic. Maybe sepsis would get her sooner than this madness.
“Ooh, fascinating! I’ve never seen so much damage in one body before.” Was that supposed to calm her down?! “I would have to run some tests to be sure what caused it, but given your line of profession… have you ever been poisoned, Chemist?”
That’s when it finally clicked. Oh. She gave him a tight little nod.
“Thought so. That had to be one hell of a toxin. I’m impressed you’re even alive.”
Despite everything, she forced a smug smile. “Thanks. It was my own recipe.”
“I see. Have you always had suicidal tendencies?”
“What? No, it wasn’t… it was an experiment gone wrong. I was testing a new solution and the next thing I remember, I woke up in a hospital. It’s simple as that.”
She never liked to talk about it. Not only because it was embarrassing, but also because no one ever understood. Not even her sister. Or dad. They all thought she was sick in the head. Poor little girl, playing with bad things hoping they would do any good. Bah! But Medic, he got it. She saw it in his eyes. That mad spark. His smile full of teeth.
“Splendid. A woman of science who’s also not afraid of experimentation. Though I would recommend using willing test subjects next time, rather than delving into it yourself. The results are more reliable, then. Much more satisfying, too.”
“Perhaps. But I kinda like it my way.” She was hoping he would leave it at that, and he did. With agreeable harumph, he went back to work.
“I’ll have to replace most of this, but don’t worry – you’ll soon be as good as new. Maybe even better.” His eyes shifted toward the mysterious fridge. So no snacks then. Shame. “Hm, now that I think about it, I don’t have any fresh livers at the moment. I used the last one on Herr Demoman. Ah, doesn’t matter. I’ll send Miss Pauling a request, it’ll just take a while. Come back later this week and we’ll get you all set up before your first real battle, ja?”
“All right. Thanks, doctor.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s my job. And also a hobby.”
He started digging around in her chest, cutting free the sad excuse of organs one by one and replacing them for more healthy-looking counterparts (she couldn’t help but notice he stuck some strange metal device in her new heart. Hopefully it was no self-destructive gizmo or something equally bad). She quickly lost track of time. It was taking soooo long. Even though Medic tried to humor her by talking to her, she still grew bored fairly quickly. She wasn’t used to just lay on her back, doing nothing. Solving equations in her head only helped so much.
She was just about to ask how much longer will it take, when Medic wiped the sweat off his brow and said: “All right, all done for now.”
He flipped the switch on the Quick-fix and… Woah! A gasp was punched straight out of her lungs as her flesh and bones started mending themselves right in front of her eyes. Just like that. It was done faster than it began, and Chemist immediately pawed at her chest, trying to find any proof she was operated on but found none. Not even a slight dent. If it didn’t go against everything she believed in, she would say it was a miracle.
Medic handed her her lab coat, so she quickly covered herself, then sat at the edge of the table and with stars in her eyes breathed out: “Doctor, that was amazing! I really didn’t feel a thing! Now you have to tell me everything about those fumes.”
He laughed before indulging her.
***
She spent another hour or so at the Medic’s office, just chatting about his greatest invention, but then Heavy showed up and she had to go. Maybe it was for the best. No offense, but she didn’t want to spend more time than she necessarily had to with some big scary Russian guy. Not after what happened back home.
Besides, the doctor seemed eager to shoo her away as soon as the other member of the team turned up. Pity. Or not. She still had no idea what to think of him. On one hand, he was extremely intelligent and seemed to know what he was doing. On the other, he was unhinged with no regard for ethics or morals. The duality of a man.
Well, it ended up way better than she expected. Which wasn’t saying much, since she thought she was going to be slaughtered and made into čevabčiči, but that wasn’t the point.
She whistled on her way back to her room. She felt so much lighter now. It better not be because the doctor forgot to put something essential back in, she shuddered at the thought, but she quickly put it behind herself. She was fine. Everything would be just fine.
As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned against its frame, letting out a big sigh. Finally alone. Now she could look around, take it all in and unpack her things.
The room was small and very plain with only a simple bed, a small table and a wardrobe, a telephone, and the crate currently occupied by guinea pigs. Nothing special, but as a student, she survived worse. She grabbed her backpack and started unpacking.
She had just prepared clothes and her mask for tomorrow’s training when the phone started ringing. Odd. She wasn’t expecting a call. The only people she knew were still trapped in the old continent, so it could be only her boss. She picked it up and was greeted by Miss Pauling’s warm voice: “Chemist, it’s Pauling here. I got you the bag and all the chemicals you requested. I will drop by tomorrow and bring it to you.”
“So soon? Well, thank you, Miss. I was worried I was asking for too much, but it seems like you have it all covered, huh?”
“You bet,” Miss Pauling chuckled. “You’re welcome, by the way. Anyway, how did meeting the team go? I know they can be a bit too much, but you’ll soon get used to it, trust me.”
She chuckled. That was an understatement of the year, but she would take it. “It was fine. They were all very nice, all things considered. It’s just a lot to take in, I guess.”
“I know what you mean. Take your time. You’ll see it gets better.” A pause. Then: “Oh, and one more thing – I’ll have to speak with you in private once I see you. It’s about your sister.”
That made Chemist straighten up, hope filling her voice as she croaked out: “My sister? Have you found her? Is she… is she all right? Please tell me she’s all right.”
She heard a rustle on the other side, followed by a sigh. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you more right now. I promise I’ll explain when we meet again. Until then… goodnight, Chemist. Try to get some sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
Disappointed, Chemist sank on her bed, the telephone still in her hand. Her only luck was that the wire was long enough so she could lie down without having to cut the call. “I see. Well, it was worth a shot. Goodnight, Miss Pauling. And thanks again. For everything.”
The call ended with a sheepish noise coming from the other end. Chemist held the phone receiver to her chest long after the sound of Miss Pauling’s voice was gone. She was the bravest, most badass woman she had ever met. She singlehandedly led her out of jail and smuggled her out of the country. If anyone could save Marie, it was her. She just had to be patient. Do her job, fight tooth and nail and wait. She could do that.
She stole one last long look at the picture now sitting on her bedside table before she went to undress and slip under the covers.
Hopefully, tomorrow would bring good things.
***
Translations and context: Spy: Au revoir – goodbye Medic: Entschuldigung, Mädchen – sorry, girl Medic: That’s wunderbar – That’s wonderful Medic: Fräulein – Miss Medic: Bitte – please
“family trips to Yugoslavia” – Yugoslavia was one of the few countries people from Czechoslovakia could visit (but getting permission to travel there wasn’t easy and usually part of the family had to stay, so those who went wouldn’t be tempted to emigrate). It was much easier to travel to Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, or East Germany, but Yugoslavia remained one of the most popular. “nitrous oxide” – commonly known as a “laughing gas”, it has anesthetic and pain-reducing effects “Berlin wall” – also called “Wall of Shame” by the western authorities and “Anti-Fascist Protection Rampart” by the eastern ones, was built in 1961 (seven years before this story takes place) to separate West Germany from the East. East Berliners weren’t allowed to cross the border at all and risked being gunned down if they tried to escape “Interpol” – International Criminal Police Organization, founded on 7th September 1923 in Vienna under the name International Criminal Police Commission (ICPC), it got its name in 1956 (so only twelve years before the story of TF2 takes place; Medic would probably use the older name, but for the sake of clarity, I used the “newer” one) “čevabčiči” – common food made from minced meat served in many restaurants during the socialist era (but still popular to this day)
