The perfect couple they knew nothing of

by CrazyGirlMe

Many things could be said about Heavy and the man that he was. The team only knew the English speaking side of him and in all honestly, that wasn't much. He was much more than that, not that they would ever know being the mentally disturbed bunch they were.

Not mine so don't sue, yadiyada ect.

Don't like? Don't read.

Yep, Jamie back again with another music related fic (though I assure you this is better then my Scout one, promise). So this one is based on the song 'Perfect Couple' by Fozzey & VanC, just with this, I done my own take on the ending for obvious reasons haha.

The perfect couple they knew nothing of.

Many things could be said about Heavy and the man that he was. The team only knew the English speaking side of him and in all honestly, that wasn't much. He was much more than that, not that they would ever know being the mentally disturbed bunch they were. They all had issues in one form or another. Things that they couldn't live without no matter how hard they tried, as crazy as it sounded that in the life they lived, it was ok. Who was going to judge them for holding on to something so dearly if it ment they coped better in the waking world.

While many considered Soldier someone who would be more better off living locked up with a bunch of people just as crazy as him, the only thing preventing him from such life was the life he lived itself topped off with his shovel. War, while it was what made him crazy, unscrewed his sanity and put it back together in a mess of memories and ideas with a mighty concussion the icing on the cake. His shovel on the other hand, that was what help kept him in tip top shape, it was his blood, his life-force. It was, in his own mind, his general. While others saw it as a mere shovel, Soldier saw it as a powerful and strong woman to whom he formulated ideas with.

For Demoman, his lifeblood was his drink. While many considered it a filthy habit, that he was an uncontrolled alcoholic who knew no better, in truth he wasn't. Alcohol was what kept him sane; it was the only think that helped him relax after a longs days work. The team didn't know he suffered from uncontrollable nightmares to which left him a bruised and battered man on the inside. They didn't know that still to this day the incident with his eye still haunted him. They didn't know his history let alone how hard he worked just to keep on the right track. To him, alcohol was the only thing that helped ease the pain; it was what helped to prevent him from making that one last step.

In terms of Medic, it was his sadistic medicine and experiments. It was his history that turned him into the man that he was today, not that they cared to ask about it. They all had it in their heads that he was some German stereotype Nazi doctor that contributed to all those things years ago. They had no idea. He wasn't that man; he was far from that man. What they didn't know was that all them years ago, the German Nazi's themselves turned him into the man that his team sees before them. Kind and gentle, only wanted to help, offering his service to the people unknowing of the horrors that his people inflicted upon them. It was only after they caught him doing such that they made him into the monster that reality saw him as. 'Do upon to them what they did upon to you', the first words he remember hearing to his ears after all them experiments they inflicted upon his self.

Spy, well he was a different story. Vices that held him together were only coping mechanisms to which helped him survived the many life's that he lead. Cigarettes, one night stands, visiting every known place to man, assassinations, his mask, the works. He was a spy, there was no changing that. He had done many of things in his life, and while he wasn't proud of some, others made his life worthy of living. Take away everything, strip him of his money and vices and he would be a shell of someone that used to have a name but was a nobody in the public's eyes. But build him back up into the man that the world knew him as and you would have someone to which laughed in the face of danger and fear, uncaring that every step could be his last one. It was what made him the man he was, and for these few that knew him, they wouldn't have it any other way.

While some would say that Scout was just an annoying little brat who had nothing else better to do with him time then to drive his fellow eight mercenaries to the point of wanting to kill him themselves, they didn't know his history. For Scout, his vice was sugar and holding onto things that he held so dear in his childhood. While on the outside he was an energetic hyperactive youth that didn't care for consequence of his actions on field, on the inside he was barely holding it together. He was barely out his twenties and seeing things that were so sick and disturbed, it fucked him in a way he never thought possible. It was why he held on to the things that he loved while growing up. If he could stop himself from making that one last step, hold on just that little bit more till the war finished, he would be alright, he would be free to go back to a life with family.

Pyro had many vices, its suit, its mystery, its mumbled voice as well as its fire. It considered itself just as bad as spy was in terms of protecting who it was. Nobody, not even Medic knew what gender it really was, the suit hid that. It was the mystery that surrounded it that helped it feel better about living and fighting in a war that it has long ago considered pointless. The muffling of its voice through the mask, while it was just another step, another perk into protecting its identity, it was something that helped it to feel secure. Fire was the last hope it had into seeing a better life, it was the light in the dark, and it was what contributed in protecting its only remaining family, the team. Pyro felt that holding onto these things would make everything alright; there was nothing wrong with hoping.

While some considered Sniper a very messed up Aussie, he wasn't. He was who he was for a number of things. He held onto his vices in order to hold onto himself. If he was to lose just one of them then his whole world would come crashing down. Separation from the outside world, pushing people away by throwing jars of piss at them, being self sufficient. It was who he was, if he couldn't separate himself from people then Sniper feared that he would become attached, a history of bad things happing to those he loved the core reason for such. His team, this team, while secluded as he was, loved them dearly; they were fathers and brothers to him. Fear itself the only reason why he was the man that he was, determined to protect from afar. It was the least he could do.

Even the quiet southerner that was the Engineer had his own vices that kept him sane. It was his machines and his thirst for knowledge in terms of PhD's. If he didn't have all that then he wouldn't be the calm collective logic speaking member of the group. Not that they cared much for that in the chaos that was their lives. With everyone to their own, he was left with the next best thing in his life. In a way he was alone and the machines were the only things that could keep him together. Stop him from falling apart. It was also half the reason behind the loss of his hand, and the replacement of a mechanical one, if he could just be closer to that to which kept him sane, everything would be alright, right? Hope was all he had left in this cruel unforgiving world.

That only left the Heavy of the bunch. Even he of all people needed something to keep him from going to the brink of no return. While many considered his over passion for his weaponry and sanviches his vice to which helped him remain calm and cool, little did they know that it for a completely another reason. A reason being on the opposite end of the scale; a vice to which help keep him at bay from his depression, something that was eating him from the inside out. Something that not even his best friend of a Medic, a being to which he spent most his social time with, knew of.

The Russian was dead inside.

He tried to appear happy, tried to appear in control and focused for the morel of his team. He tried to lead them to victory day in and day out in order to appear normal to the waking world. He tired. However come the end of the working day when the team would retire in order to relax and recover for yet another day of un-understandable bloodshed with machines to bring them straight back into the world of the unforgiving all to do it again. While that was something to which many classed as bringing the guy some form of pleasure, the way he would go round laughing and singing at the sight of his destruction; it wasn't the case. They were the times to which his mind was utterly focused on something other than the battle to which waged inside.

What they didn't know was his past, his dark past, nor would they if light didn't spark to life from within anytime soon. With every passing day it became darker and vaster of a pit, every passing day he became more lost to the world around him, every passing day he lost more and more of himself to it.

It was all because of a love.

She broke his heart and soon she shall have his life.

Just like everyone else on the team, with the exception of Scout, he had a lover. While for some, it was a thing of the past, but for the Heavy; it was now. She was his life, that was till the last weekend when he flew all the way back home to Mother Russia and caught her getting with who he classed as his best friend in the country.

He cherished her with all his being and might. She was everything to him; she was his world, his love and his life. She was all he found himself living for and for Heavy; that ment a lot. He wasn't always like this. He was once a family man, working day and night to ensure that his parents and sisters were cared for, that they had enough to eat, that they were accordantly dressed and had a sturdy roof over his head. He was happy. His life had purpose; he wouldn't change it for the world. That was till the day he met her. His word, on that one moment she entered his vision, collapsed around her. She had walked into his life and he instantly classed her as a part of those he worked his hands to the bone for. He wasn't just happy, he was now complete. He had everything his heart contended for in life.

He pursued her and he didn't stop till he had her. It took a while but in the end he got her. They had become the perfect couple, as his best friend classed it as. Heavy allocated his free time between the three; his family, his friend and his girlfriend. When the time was spent with his girlfriend, they kissed and shared the passion that their cold hard world lacked. On the inside; his world was warm and secure. He was happy and nothing was going to change that.

One day he decided it was time to give her something that he could give no one else but her, a personal and interment part of himself. He gave her his heart with the warning of not to drop it. For her it was the most priceless thing she owned. Just like Heavy, her life too was hard. Growing up the way she did, this guy had had thawed her world and helped her see that there was more to it then the cold. She held his hands tightly as she told him that she would put next to hers, that it won't move, ever.

As time grew on, his priorities changed and he started putting his girl before his friend. He said he didn't mind. But in truth it was when Heavy found out that by putting his love first, it hurt considerably. Over time he had come to learn that she wasn't as faithful as he had hoped nor planned, she was always going out and getting around, word got around and during his work, many of the jobs he took in order to keep his family from drowning to world, he would hear whispers and gossip, the men not knowing that he was within earshot or that the girl was his.

It hurt in more ways than that. Over the time, whenever he would become down or really needed her, she wasn't there. His mind played out images of the gossip that he would overhear, bringing him further into despair. His love could only withstand so much before it would crumble but instead of breaking it off and finding himself someone to which loved him as a whole, he let it slip. The world was a cruel place. Neither one of them had any of life's pleasures while growing up so he let it go with a sigh.

When growing up in his life, he never really was shown the proper way of love; his parents fought, his father did his mother the wrong way. Being the brother that he was; he took care of his sisters, stopped them from hearing or seeing the abuse or screaming, stopped them from seeing the tears that fell after from their dear mother's eyes.

He said that he would be different so he forgave. He forgave her even when she used the money he gave to her in order to brighten her life to go out and get high. Because he was different, because he loved her too much, he let it slide.

Even in his native tongue, he couldn't understand as to why she made it so hard for him. He loved her with all his heart, he done anything to which she asked of him, he done everything in his power to make her happy. Wasn't that enough? She said she loved him back, but her actions spoke differently than her words. Being the man that he was, the love that he had for this woman, the way he grew up; he didn't talk his worries over with her in hope that they could make it last.

He even took the job with Team Fortress in order to better cater for their needs. This job offered a stupidly high amount of money, way more than the many jobs he held. He thought it was worth it. That their love might change, that it might strengthen, that she might love him better if he could give her more to life.

Over the time it started taking its toll on his body, both mentally and spiritually. Sometimes he even considered that she got a some sick form of pleasure out of trying to break his soul. But being the fighter that he was, he put on a brave face. Continued facing the days like there was nothing wrong, like she was still the love of his life and that he was she's.

That was all till the past weekend when after flying all the way back home; he saw her getting with who was his best friend.

He turned and left, without a word and without a sound; taking the next flight straight back home, straight back to the one place that accepted him for who he was, however loosely the word was applied. We went back to work despite how his stomach had dropped, despite how his chest caved in. He saw the look on her face; it was the same one that she gave him. It broke his heart.

The team noted that something was wrong with the big guy. They asked but he shrugged it off. Put on a smile and said that all was alright, to not worry. She had his heart, his love and his best friend. This was his thanks for all he gave her. Was there any wonder why he was dead inside?

That Friday he made up his mind. The Heavy weapons guy couldn't go on any more with nothing to live for. The battle was what he lived for in order to support his love. The battle only kept his mind busy, stopped it from going dark, but that was gone now. His mind was made up. He knew what he had to do in order to be freed from the burden of it all.

He attended dinner just like any other night, played the same charade, the same fake smile's like he had for the past week. The team could see that in his eyes; something wasn't right at all. But just like any other day he shrugged it off, who would argue with him when he could break bones at a simple squeeze of the hand? He retreated to his room, claiming to the team that he was too tired to play their compulsory poker game tonight.

Tonight would be different. He sat down at the desk and wrote out two letters; one for the team and one for his girl. With a sigh, he set to his finial task. 'No one will miss me, I'm sure that they'll be alright. I mean look at me, I can't even find hope.' Before setting to tie the rope.

An hour passes before anyone notices, before anyone walks past his room. The game had finished and lights out had been called, the team walking together laughing off the last of their fun and alcohol. Medic was first leading the group, seeing Heavy's door a jar open with not a sound nor his gun polish emerging, he knocked. "Herr Heavy?"

He knew that Heavy and he were probly one of few that held a strong friendship as they did. Just like he also knew that something was deeply troubling his friend this past week, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it just like any good friend would. With no answer, he called once more before slowly pushing the door. "...mien gott..."

The team stoped and gathered in the doorway, wanting to see why the Doctor was standing there in a state of shock. To see why the two words left his mouth in a mix of distress and whisper. There, hanging from the fan in the middle of the room was their team member, white with a note in his palm, his face in a state of calm, burden free.

As the team stood there in disbelief gathered around their Doctor at the sight, Sniper and Spy eased past, hand touching the man's shoulder in comfort as they entered, an mutual bond between the two as they set to cutting the man down and easing him to the floor with respect. The Frenchman picking up the letter, looking it over afore passing it to the German. "I think this is for you, mon ami, it's in Russian."

Medic absently accepted the letter, silent tears starting to fall at the sight of the one person he classed as a friend, the one person that didn't think he crazy or infuriated. Spy handing the Doctor a hanky seconds after as the team crowed around the man holding the letter, waiting to see what it said. Waiting to see what had drove one of the strongest people they knew to such an end.

The first three words he read were 'I hate love.'

'My team, my family.

I've done it; I've become free of my burden that I have been passing off all week from you guys. There is no more hiding my story, not when the outcome is as appears. I had a girlfriend. One to which I held too dear to my heart. One to which I done absolutely anything and everything for. Such love was what I thought was right but I was mistaken. Last weekend when I went home, I saw her with my best friend in Russia. The look she was giving him was the same that she gave to me.

I should have ended this a long time ago when she first starting hurting my heart, my heart to which I gave to her, which she put next to hers. However due to our upbringings, I forgave her because I was different, but I was wrong.

Please, tell my family that I'm sorry that it came to this; that there is money in my bank account that should be sufficient to hold them abroad for the rest their life's if they plan right.

I'm sorry that it had to end this way for me, the time felt right. There is nothing I regret about my life, it feels right. The hard work was nothing. I'm sorry Doctor; I know you saw me as good friend. You saw me for who I was and not how I appeared. Perhaps it was you knowing my language, and me knowing yours. But regardless; I'm sorry. Please take good care of Sasha and Natasha for me, their yours now. I hope that one day they can bring you the same pleasure they brang me.

Goodbye my friends,

Heavy Weapons Guy.'

It was taking all Medic's strength and more to not break down right there on the spot. Scout being the one to pull the guy into an awkward hug, Medic wiping the tears with his comrade's hanky chief.

Spy noticing on the desk there was a pile of photos, Heavy and the girlfriend throughout their relationship next to a sealed envelope with a address and stamp, ready to be sent out. He had no doubt it was for the female in question. Just like there was no doubting the look in the Russian's eyes in the photos, he loved her with all his life. He bowed his head for a moment before composing himself, gathering up the photos and envelope, placing them inside his jacket before leaving the room, placing a hand to Sniper's shoulder as he walked past the guy, still next to their passed friend.

The two assassins shared a look of agreeance as the Australian followed. Spy had a mission to do and he was going to ensure the girl paid for her destruction of their friend. Sniper on the other hand was going to make sure that the so called best mate suffered for his lack of respect. You don't mess with assassins. Never.