( Author's note: When I started writing this last fall, it was going to be a brief leadup to some good, old-fashioned porn. Then a story started to happen, and I went with it. The main focus of this fanfic is gay love, angst, and some misunderstandings, between Engineer and Sniper. Spy also features largely, but the whole team does show up a few times, particularly in the fourth and fifth chapter. If you hate teh homogay fanfics, you should probably leave before you hurt yourself. Otherwise, read on... special thanks go to my beta reader, Drillbot, and my usual suspect for moral support.)
Looking back, Engineer realized that it must have started with that phone call in the morning. Not that he was one to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, he told himself- under normal circumstances, anyhow. But when he passed the dreary little alcove where the RED base's one phone to the outside world was housed, he had felt something catch in his chest. Sniper's low voice had taken him off-guard, and the Australian sounded upset. Doing his best to look casual, Engineer kept moving until he was out of sight, and it was only the absence of a pause in the other man's voice that compelled him to linger. He hadn't been noticed, and something about his friend's tone made him concerned.
"Look, I'm really sorry. I know that you always-" Sniper was interrupted by the faint, muffled sound of whoever it was on the line. He started to speak, seemed to choke, then cut in. "No! No, I'm not just lyin' to try an' make you feel better. If things 'ad- I mean, if I were a different person, I would've loved to just settle down and-"
Another interruption. Lurking around the corner, Engineer frowned and tried to deduce the topic of this discussion from what he was hearing.
After a few moments of awkward, muttered apologies and pleading, Sniper finally said something that clarified the situation for Engineer.
"I know you wanted grandchildren, mum! I just- I mean, it's- Mum, you know why I never got a wife and kids and all... don't you? Mum? You've known me longer'n anyone, I- I don't hafta' spell it out for you, do I? Y- Not so loud, please! What if someone- Dad? Look, would you give 'er the phone back-"
Engineer grimaced sympathetically, feeling his face go red. (Dammit, I shouldn't have listened, shouldn't have stopped here, shouldn't have...) He hurried away as quietly as he could, with an awful sense of betrayal gnawing at his chest.
The day's battle quickly pushed the incident from Engineer's mind. He was too busy maintaining his machines to give it any thought, and the memory was all but lost in the chaos of flying bullets, missiles and body parts. The BLU onslaught was bearing down on them hard for most of the afternoon, driving everyone through the frantic spin-cycle of death, respawn, and a mad dash back to the front line to carry on where they left off. By the end of the day, neither team had gained any ground to speak of, but the frustration of a stalemate was preferable to a crushing defeat. As the REDs shuffled into the mess hall, nobody seemed inclined to offer much commentary on the fight, and even the Soldier sat down to eat without accusing anyone of being a weak link.
"At least dat bitch can't tell us we lost," Scout grumbled, poking half-heartedly at his serving of vegetables. Engineer frowned at him, but felt too tired to berate the boy for his language. When Scout noticed the look on the Texan's face, he rolled his eyes a little. "What? You know it's true, man."
Despite his best efforts, a smile tugged at the corner of Engineer's mouth. "Which part? Yer thoughts on the Administrator, or not losing?" He leaned back in his chair and took a lazy survey of the room, enjoying the concealment of his welding goggles. Seated beside the group's youngest member, Soldier was absorbed in creating an elaborate arrangement of beans and carrots on his mess tray, grumbling feverishly to himself as he did. Either he'd finally lost his shit for good, or his after-dinner art project was some sort of game plan for their next battle. At the other table, Heavy was humoring Demoman with a pointless argument about witches, while the Medic and Pyro started stacking dirty dishes together in an unsteady-looking heap. Sniper had shoved his half-eaten meal away and retreated to a seat by the window, where he was smoking morosely. The RED Spy was nowhere to be seen, which didn't surprise Engineer. (Typical laziness... he's gotta' know it's his night to do the dishes.)
As most of the team left for the common room, Engineer sighed and resigned himself to cleanup duty. He busied himself scraping uneaten scraps and neglected vegetables off plates, only looking up now and then in the vain hope that Spy had come back. Although he found himself completely alone at one point, Engineer eventually noticed that someone else was in the mess- Sniper had returned with two dusty six-packs, and was pounding them back in silence. This struck Engineer as a little odd, since he'd only ever seen the lanky bushman binge-drinking in the company of Demoman. The cyclops did appear a few minutes later, and headed towards Sniper with a cheerful greeting.
"I was wonderin' where ye'd got off to, lad! Why didn't ye say ye were in th' mood for a drink? After the bloody waste o' time today was, I kin hardly-" Demoman seemed to hesitate all of a sudden, and Engineer took a moment to figure out why- it was the look on the Australian's face. He had the demeanor of a stray cat that wanted the whole alley to himself.
Sniper's tone was chilly as he drawled, "Yeah, I'm in th'mood for drinkin'. Drinkin' alone."
The Scotsman looked as though he'd been slapped in the face. His expression bounced around between confusion and resentment, before finally rolling to a stop on uncertainty. "...the hell's wrong with ye, Mundy?"
"I'm sitting here, tryin' to get pissed, and some wanker's interrupted me." Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed hoarsely, lowering his head for a moment. "L- look, mate, I'm in a foul mood and I don't wanna spread it around. Just... gimme some space, alright? I gotta' be alone right now."
Still kind of dazed from the Sniper's rejection, Demoman nodded dumbly and turned for the door. He caught sight of Engineer's goggled stare and a flash of anger started across his face, then faded. The shorter man gave a helpless shrug, and he returned the silent gesture, then left. Engineer abandoned any plans of consoling his sullen team-mate, and took off as soon as his work was done. Sniper didn't seem to notice him go.
After retreating to his workshop, Engineer's evening continued without incident. No alarm bells went off in the base, and if any squabbles broke out between the other REDs, they weren't loud or violent enough to merit intervention. It was several hours later when the mechanic finally rose from his desk, yawning restlessly. A clattering sound issued from somewhere near the door, and it was only fatigue that kept him from yelping in surprise. After a brief, frantic survey of the room, he discovered the source of the noise; some unseen force had just dropped a set of dirty dishes on the floor. Engineer glared at empty space and headed over to collect them, muttering to himself. "That damned Spy... I'd better take these away, the last thing I need is rats settin' up camp in here."
As he walked into the mess hall, Engineer noticed something slumped amongst the empty beer cans on the table. It was Sniper's hat, with the rest of the man holding in loose formation, half-draped over the flat surface and snoring drunkenly. He set the dishes on the counter, then approached the sleeping figure with a mix of concern and trepidation. A firm hand gripped Sniper's shoulder and shook the man gently, trying to rouse him to the point he could leave the mess hall.
"Hey... c'mon, stretch," Engineer said, and gave Sniper a brief, more jarring shake. "Can't spend the night passed out in here, or you're gonna' catch hell come morning. ...wake up, y'hear?" He felt a little bad as some more extreme measures for removing the marksman came to mind, but before Engineer had to resort to punches or a bucket of cold water, Sniper finally stirred.
"Where th'fuck am I? Who's- oh... Whattya doin' 'ere?" Sniper groaned and pawed at his face as he started coming to his senses. He was clearly drunk off his ass, but his earlier stony demeanor had crumbled into something dangerously close to maudlin. Squinting at Engineer through his smudged yellow aviators, he seemed shaky and strung out. "...izzat time t'go?"
Engineer sighed and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Yep, it's closin' time. Time to go home. Yer lookin' pretty rough, boy, you need help gettin' to your feet?"
The tall man growled and started struggling to an upright position, scrabbling for purchase on the tabletop with his unsteady hands. He emitted a sickly sounding belch as he stood up, and hung onto the edge of the table, white-knuckled, pressing the back of his gloved hand against his mouth. Engineer was suddenly unsure if the man's knees were going to support his weight. He gave a dismal moan. "Aw Christ, truckie, I feel really sick..."
This was exactly what the Engineer hadn't wanted to deal with. He sighed and reached across Sniper's back, trying to grab onto the rangy fellow as best as he could, then hooked one of the long, tanned arms over his shoulder. "Think you can keep it down 'til we get you to the head?" Engineer asked, preparing for the worst. When Sniper nodded weakly, he decided to take his chances, and the two of them made a clumsy exit from the mess hall.
The shower room was empty when the mismatched pair staggered in, Engineer struggling to keep his taller companion upright. Sniper lurched from his grasp and made a beeline for the nearest toilet stall, where he toppled forwards onto his knees, leaned over the ceramic bowl, and began to puke. Engineer sighed wearily and tried to tune out the unpleasant sounds of his team-mate throwing up. After a few moments, he steeled himself and took a glance at the open stall; he could see Sniper haphazardly gripping the toilet, his whole body shaking with each spasm of nausea. It was a miracle the man's Akubra hadn't fallen off yet. Feeling a pang of guilt as he remembered the morning's eavesdropping incident, Engineer shuffled over and removed the hat, then put a steadying hand on Sniper's shoulder.
"Just try not ta choke, o- okay? You'll feel better when it's over," he said quietly, keeping his gaze focused on the hat he'd rescued. It was cleaner than anything else in the bushman's vicinity.
Sniper gave a wet cough, and tried to catch his breath as he sagged in Engineer's grasp. He turned to glance back at the Texan, who cringed; the expression on his vomit-streaked face was one of crushing despair. "Naw, mate, it's... it's pretty bad... don't think'm gonna feel better anytime soon..." Before his friend could answer, he hung his head over the toilet again and regurgitated the last of his supper.
Doing his level best to ignore the mess, Engineer grimaced and rubbed the Sniper's back; a twinge of irritation crept through him as he wondered if the situation was exceeding even his patience. Then he found himself thinking of that phone call again, and his heart sank. (Oh Lord, no. I can't ask him about that.) Engineer could feel his face heat up with embarrassment, and he felt horribly certain of what must have transpired between the other man and his estranged family. In retrospect, putting up with Sniper's moodiness didn't seem so taxing after all. "Take it easy, now, it's been a... uh, it's been a long day. You don't gotta' pull yourself together right this second. Just breathe."
"Dunno what the hell 'm gonna do, mate." Sniper's voice was slurred, but he seemed to be regaining his faculties. He spat, then flushed the worst of the filth away and began a clumsy effort to wipe his face off. "...really done it this time, 'aven't I..? I'm a proper bloody disgrace. God, they're never gonna speak t'me again..."
Engineer didn't know if it was better to pretend he hadn't understood the man, or to try and urge him to open up about what had happened. He gave Sniper's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then started tugging him in the general direction of the sinks. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up a little. I- I dunno what's botherin' you, but if you need ta talk about it, I'll- uh, I won't judge..." Sniper groaned and wobbled to his feet, then clutched at Engineer's bicep for support and let himself be led away from the toilet stall.
Sniper slouched against one of the sinks and turned on the cold water, let it fill his cupped hands, then slopped it onto his face and made a sputtering noise of shock. He pried his glasses off and rinsed them as well, somehow managing to soak his shirtfront in the process. After a moment of spitting and cursing, he closed the tap and let his head sag, dripping water everywhere. Engineer's supporting hand was at his shoulder again, and Sniper finally mumbled some words of gratitude for the little guy's help.
"Hey... that's what friends are for, ain't it?" Engineer smiled bashfully and fished a clean rag from one of his pockets, then pressed it into Sniper's hands. As the Australian dried off, he gave a long, low sigh of relief. Maybe talking things over would help, but the drowsy look in Sniper's eyes seemed to suggest that it was something better saved for when he was rested and sober. "Alright, stretch, I think it's time to get you to bed. Your room's the one in here that never gets used, right?"
His answer was rambling and kind of unclear. "Usual, usually sleepin' in... me van's out back, but I... ...aye, thassa better idea. Sleep there." Using the short, stocky Texan as a means of support, Sniper pulled himself to an upright position and draped himself across Engineer's shoulder.
They moved less frantically than before, and after a short, unsteady trip down the hall, the pair was at Sniper's room. With the man's habit of living almost exclusively in his camper van, his quarters in the base had become sort of a storage annex to Engineer's workshop, but there was enough floorspace clear of disused dispensers that they could reach the bed. Engineer led the taller man into the room and let him flop down on the bed, then dragged his legs up onto it as well. While he was rooting around for a blanket or at least a sheet to cover him with, Sniper rolled onto his side and grumbled incomprehensibly, then closed his eyes.
There was a dusty bedroll wedged behind a box of spare parts, and Engineer shook it off before returning to his friend's bedside. He had assumed that Sniper was asleep, but when he leaned over to lay out the impromptu comforter, a long arm suddenly wrapped around his back and pulled him down onto the mattress, pressing his face into the crook of Sniper's neck. His accoster then gave a whimper of affection, and began to snore.
His heart skipped a beat. "Woah, what're ya- ...Sniper? You listening t'me?" It only took Engineer a moment to realize the other man really was asleep this time; he sighed, his breath hot and muffled by Sniper's collar, and gently extricated himself from the bushman's embrace. (That could have been worse,) he thought, making a hasty exit from the room.
Engineer could feel his face burning as he walked down the hall; his pulse was pounding in his forehead, threatening to mature into a migraine.
"Must be losin' my mind," he muttered, shaking his head. A whiff of cigarette smoke tickled the back of his throat and he stifled a cough. "I better head outside for some fresh air, or I'll never get to sleep..." The battlements seemed like a good place to cool his mind, to let his feverish thoughts evaporate so he could shrug off the specter of insomnia and have a good night's rest.
The desert night was cold and clear, and Engineer could see his breath fog as he peered up towards the heavens; the milky way was a gauzy smear across the sky, glistening, pulsating, each star like a droplet of cosmic seed... Engineer pushed his goggles up, then rubbed his eyes and groaned wearily. (Just stop thinking about it. It'll go away, I just gotta' work at it harder.) The day's events were stewing in Engineer's mind despite his best efforts, bubbling up in new, unexpected ways. He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, hoping the air's numbing chill might shift his mind to a lower gear. He didn't want to be wound up like this, to be dogged by thoughts he never wanted, and questions he could never ask. (Mundy won't even remember this in the morning, right? And even if he does, he'll never know what I heard. I don't hafta' ask him, he doesn't have to tell me. Doesn't have to know that I've been there. Doesn't have to know the things I've been...)
"Ze night is a beautiful one, isn't she?"
Spy's intrusion onto the scene had one positive effect on Engineer: it completely derailed his runaway train of thought. He stopped staring at the sky and gave a yell of surprise, turning about on the balcony in a frantic attempt to spot the masked man. "What the hell're you doin' here, Spy?"
He was smoking and perched on a wooden crate, long legs draped over either side, and the point where three planes meet jutted obscenely from between his thighs. "Oh, just enjoying ze local scenery... Ze great panorama of ze night sky, laid out before us in impeccable detail... zis far from city lights and car exhaust, 'e has a clarity you could never appreciate elsewhere."
"Ah'm sure you weren't just stalkin' me, right, boy?" Engineer frowned, folding his arms across his chest. The night air was suddenly a detriment to his mood; his limbs felt rigid and tight from the cold, discomfort compounded by the irritation of knowing he'd been watched. A hand seemed to plunge into his bowels and gave them a good, hard twist. (How damn long has he been following me?) Doing his best to stay composed, Engineer sighed hoarsely and added, "...huh, you're a regular Gerard de Nerveau."
"Nerval," Spy sniffed, correcting him even as a smile played across his lips. "Since you are so trusting, labourer, I will share with you a line of 'is writing. Listen, now... 'Voici le verseau d'o se pr cipitent des flots de lumi re; mais Orion contemple la ceinture et non le verseau.'"
The Texan cleared his throat and continued frowning, wondering if this was some kind of secret message, or if Spy was just being a smarmy bastard. "You'll hafta' forgive me, I only caught about half'a that."
Spy waved one hand dismissively, leaving ghost-trails of smoke with the cigarette pinched between his fingers. "It is nothing important, mon ami, zat was just 'is translation of a sonnet by Gottlieb." He chuckled faintly. "I was reminded of ze 'unter Orion, when I observed you taking our own lofty bowman to 'is room. 'e made quite a mess zis evening, didn't 'e?"
Engineer's frown persisted, along with his standoffish posture. He wanted to be back inside, back in his workshop- or anywhere that Spy wasn't, for that matter. "Look, frenchie... if you've got somethin' important ta say, then spare me the bullshit and start talkin'. ...y'might explain why you were watchin' us, while you're at it."
"Au contraire, labourer, I am merely making conversation! As for ze things I may 'ave observed zis evening, well... I was a little concerned for ze 'ealth and safety of a team-mate, zat is all. You 'andled ze situation so well on your own, though, I was loathe to intrude." He gave Engineer a patronizing smile, and lit a fresh cigarette off his old one. "It was 'eartwarming to see your great devotion to ze bushman, Mssr."
"I dunno how people behave where you come from, but anyone I know would help a friend in need. Nothin' unusual about that at all."
Engineer looked away from the other man and started for the entrance. He definitely didn't want to be up in the battlements anymore. As he started to leave, the Spy spoke to his retreating form, apparently unsatisfied to have anything but the last word. "I never implied zat was odd behaviour, labourer, but I am wondering... would you have any idea what was bothering 'im so much zis evening? Did 'e mention ze source of 'is troubles to you?"
"If he did," Engineer grunted as he left, "What the hell makes you think I'd be tellin' you about it?"