Author's Note: Why oh why doesn't the 'insert link' button work? As usual, my artwork for this chapter is in my deviantart gallery: sanctuscecidit deviantart com, or click the link in my profile . Many thanks to everyone for your responses! Now, enough drabbles, it's time for some proper plot (although the drabbles were important- lots of chekhov's guns in there).
I based Spy's appearance here on my personal favourite artwork of him by Yang on deviantart: yang deviantart com slash art slash Time-to-murder-and-create-298428976 . Love it!
Today's fun fact: Large doses of penicillin can cause a growth of Aspergillus niger, aka bathroom mould, on your tongue. Nice.
Fun fact no. 2: This website's spell checker just suggested altering 'Aspergillus niger' to 'Papergirls tiger'.
Send In The Clones: Part One
Chapter Three: Enlightened Self-Interest
"BLU Medic,
I know what happened to you. I need to know more. The map shows a place with no cameras. Meet me at 1am. I swear you will be safe.
I am an ally."
BLU Medic 029/c frowned as he looked at the piece of paper he had found in his pocket after the battle today. It was crinkled, water stained and splattered with blood- some of it his own, most of it the RED Spy's. The corners of his mouth twitched for a moment, before he remembered Engineer's warning. The man was right, of course- he now knew the price of losing his job. Unlike the others on his team, he knew how expendable he truly was. Killing that Spy over and over had been so satisfying though, even if he had been dressed in red and not violet...
No. Stop thinking like that. You can't afford to.
He looked at the note again. It had been made of letters from a newspaper glued to the page, so he couldn't tell who had written it. Should he go? Would he gain anything from it? He rubbed his neck and coughed, thinking over the hellish last few weeks, and trying to figure out, once again, why he was still alive. I found out that we're all clones, hired by one person to fight both sides of an endless war. The other person that found out was assassinated. So why didn't they kill me too?
Did they think he was cowardly or stupid enough to be threatened into obedience? Well...maybe he was, a little. He did value his own life highly, and preferred not to take stupid risks if there was not a chance of respawn catching him. Maybe this was a test, of sorts, to see if he would take the bait? The late RED Medic had been very secretive, so there was little chance anybody else could have found out. Therefore...
I will ignore the note. It's a trap. He nodded firmly to himself. He stood up and started to pace, and Galileo fluttered down to land on his shoulder. This is my battle and I will do this my way. Not that, right now, he had much idea how to proceed- but he had determination, time and lots of paper. He would find a way. First of all, I need to find out where this entire operation is based...
And that was the difficulty, he realised with a sigh. This needed the entire team, but if he told them the truth- that they were all clones with false memories, fighting in a pointless war- they'd not only consider him mad, they'd all be very quickly dead. The Violet Spy had made that very clear.
"Coo?" Galileo pressed his head against Medic's cheek.
"Life is much simpler for birds," Medic said with a sigh. "You have seen zhe new RED Medic, I suppose?"
"Coo."
"Vhen I saw him, I zhought: Now zhey are taking zhe Jarate. Zhat ginger-haired, red-faced, gangling freak!" He reached back and ran a finger along Galileo's head. "Zhey chose the most ridiculous-looking Medic zhey could, as a reminder."
Galileo just preened a strand of his hair. He coughed again, and Galileo flapped to keep his balance.
"Verdammt Husten!" The cough was worrying. It was getting slowly worse rather than better. The medigun helped for a while, but then it would deteriorate again. He had tried taking a course of penicillin, then a stronger course, and only ended up with an upset stomach and a black tongue for his troubles. He had then taken an X-ray, but it had shown nothing other than a blurry white thickening around the trachea, as if he had a chronic infection. The best solution would be to ask Engineer to help him perform some exploratory surgery. It would be easy enough to do- a dose of morphine for fun, a scalpel, his medigun and a large mirror and he would be all set. Of course, the angle would make it rather fiddly. When he had been placing the Ubercharge device on his own heart he'd lost a retractor in his thoracic cavity somewhere. He had handed Engineer his lungs to hold while he fished it out and he remembered the man being rather concerned about that for some reason. He had even gone pale, but Medic hadn't even been able to tell the man off, since he had been unable to breathe at that moment. Still, he had found the missing piece of equipment and it was all fine in the end.
The only problem was that Engineer had refused to ever help him with any operations ever again- 'Until hell freezes over', was his exact phrase. And he didn't trust any of the other mercs to help him.
"Life is complicated, Galileo. So many problems. Problems and more problems." He looked at the note again. An ally would be so incredibly useful right now. He sat down again and drummed his fingers on the desk, unable to settle to any one task. He crumpled the note up in his hand, feeling the paper crinkle and crush under his fingers, and then reached for a kidney dish and a box of matches and lit the piece of paper. It was oddly satisfying watching it go up in smoke, and for a moment, he wondered if this was how Pyro felt when he burned things. It...simplified matters. No more note, no more complications. The infirmary filled with the smell of burning paper and the smoke gave him a coughing fit.
Schieße!
Enough was enough. He moved over to the gurney, switched on the large medigun and lay down under its healing rays with a sigh. He would forget about the note.
However, the writer of the note would not forget about him.
RED Spy took a long, hard drag on his cigarette and wondered why the nicotine no longer seemed to give him its usual magical calming effect. Admittedly, he had been smoking a lot recently- but it was the only way he could cope, right now. The last few weeks had been hell, and even worse, he knew he could blame no one but himself.
He locked the door of his sparsely decorated room and then removed his balaclava, feeling relief as the cool air hit his sweaty skin and thinning scalp. He took his gloves off and ran his fingers through what hair he had left on his head. Even with his other problems, he felt the usual spark of irritation at his receding hairline. Spy was vainer than most people realised and his balaclava was a perk of the job that happened to hide the way his hairline had become his worst enemy in recent years. He moved his fingers from his offending scalp and rubbed his forehead gently, trying to ease the permanent headache that he had had for the last two or three weeks. There was a knock on his door.
"Herr Spy? A moment of your time, bitte."
He shuddered and clenched his fists. The idea of speaking to anyone right now made him want to throw a very immature tantrum. He needed, so very much, some peace and quiet, some rest, to try and sort out his whirling thoughts. Without consciously thinking about it, he cloaked and went still.
"I know you went in zhere. I can smell your cigarettes. I can get Engineer to remove zhe lock if need be."
"Merde." He muttered. He quickly put his balaclava back on and opened the door grudgingly. "What do you want, Medic? It is getting rather late."
"You have not been eating." The taller man glared at him sternly, although the attempt at intimidation was somewhat ruined by his scorched red nose and cheekbones. "I vas vondering if you are entirely well."
Spy swallowed and sighed, wishing the man would go away so he didn't have to deal with this. "Of course, Docteur. I am simply not a big eater."
"Not good enough." Medic replied. He picked a black bag off the floor behind him. "I vish to examine you. A quick checkup, nozhing more."
"My dear Medic," Spy said, taking another puff on his cigarette, "I will submit to your gentle administrations the day I die, and not before."
"Ah, sehr gut!" Medic said with an evil grin. "You died today, several times."
"Putain." Spy growled. Medic suddenly grabbed his arm and looked at him carefully.
"Your hands are shaking." He commented. "You are most certainly underveight. If you are sick, you vill not be effective on zhe field and zhat could affect our fighting abilities. Ve could lose, and zhat vould be bad."
"Ah, Docteur, you care so much for us all. It warms my heart."
The red-haired man shrugged. "I am paid to keep you alive and healzhy. So, do you vish to be examined here or in zhe infirmary? Zhose are the only two choices you have right now."
"Here then." Spy said shortly. "And make it quick."
Medic grinned and shut the door behind him, putting his bag on Spy's bed. He rummaged around for a while and muttered to himself producing various shiny metal surgical implements, a bag of red lollipops, two speckled brown feathers, a blunt scalpel, an unlabelled bottle of unfeasibly big yellow pills, and finally a stethoscope and what Spy assumed was a blood pressure monitor.
"Take your shirt off."
Spy slowly unbuttoned his fine linen shirt. "If you ask me to turn my head and cough, the answer is no."
"Zhat depends on what I find, ja?"
Much to Spy's surprise, except for the fact that Medic's fingers were icy cold, pointed and bony, the man worked quickly and efficiently and did not bring large needles into the procedure. Spy was a very private man, and had managed to avoid being examined by their previous quack by antagonising the man whenever he got the chance until he would rather slash his wrists than... his breath suddenly hitched and he winced as if in pain as he thought that. Medic gave him a questioning look, hitching an eyebrow up his high forehead.
It worked, far too well. Spy had standards- a kill should be quick, efficient and clean. Unlike Medic, he did not enjoy seeing others suffer and a slow-dying target was a dangerous one that could retaliate. It had happened a few times, of course- sometimes, assassinations went messily wrong- but killing someone on his own team? By driving them to despair?
Unforgivable.
"Hmm. 170 systolic, 110 diastolic." Medic finally said with pursed lips. "And heart rate of 100 beats per minute, sometimes ectopic."
"How fascinating. Now will you leave me alone?"
"Do you realise how unhealzhy zhat is?" Medic demanded, pointing a finger at him like a school teacher. "Your blood pressure is very high and your heart rate is far too fast. Do you vant to suffer a cerebrovascular accident?"
"Are you suggesting I am likely to wet my trousers? I am beyond that stage in life."
"I mean a stroke, dummkopf! Do you know nozhing of medicine?"
"I specialise in ending lives, not prolonging them...much like yourself, in fact."
"Rrrgh..." Medic shook his head and clenched his hand for a moment before forcing himself to relax. "No, you vill not distract me. You are obviously suffering from stress, Spy. According to my psychology books, zhat means I must now ask you to tell me how I can help you and get you to talk about your problems. Once you have done zhat, you vill be healzhy again." The German looked at him expectantly.
"I must be dreaming." Spy muttered, grabbing his shirt and buttoning it up slowly, wondering how he could get rid of the quack. "If you think I am sharing any details with you, docteur, you are the one that needs your head examined, not I. I simply have many things on my mind at this moment."
"Ja, ja, sehr gut. Keep talking." Medic said encouragingly.
"Non!" Spy spat.
"But it is part of the procedure!" Medic was practically pouting, his long face even longer and his bottom lip protruding slightly.
"Listen to me, Docteur," Spy said, grabbing the man's tie and hauling him close. "If I had any problems- which I do not- you are the last person I would ever confide in, understand? Now get out of my room!"
"Very vell." Medic tugged his tie out of Spy's gloved hands and folded his arms. "Perhaps I can advise RED of zheir Spy's deteriorating mental stability, hmm?"
"If you believe they would trust your opinion on sanity, you are even more delusional than I suspected." Spy snarled back, but then swallowed and forced himself to be calm. Why am I picking a fight? I have enough enemies already. He sighed and rubbed his brow. "I...apologies, docteur. That was uncalled for."
Medic looked surprised, but continued to glare at him for a moment, before shrugging and pushing his glasses up his nose. "I am going to prescribe a course of Clonazepam for you. It is a very effective tranquiliser and vill make you capable of doing your job again." He paused thoughtfully and then brightened and smiled. "Of course, a better solution vould be to remove a section of your adrenal glands..."
"Good night, Docteur." Spy shoved the man gently but firmly towards the door.
"Zhey are located just above zhe kidneys...it vould be quick and only briefly agonizing..."
He shut the door firmly and threw himself onto his bed. His head was pounding and he briefly thought of finding out more about that drug Medic had mentioned. He had been unable to get hold of his old contacts since he had taken on this job, but maybe he could acquire some of it through non-medical and utterly illegal channels.
There was a soft knock on the door. Can't I get a moment's peace around here?! Spy found his hands clutching at his balaclava and had to resist screaming at whoever it was disturbing him this time.
"Spy, open door. You did not eat dinner, so I brought you sandwich."
"Heavy?" Spy asked in astonishment. If there was one team mate he expected to hate his guts, it was Heavy. After all, his best friend had died due to Spy's actions. Spy flinched again. You just had to remind yourself of that, didn't you? Curiosity overwhelmed his wish to be left alone. "Entrez."
The large man pushed the door open and ducked into the room, carrying a white plate with the aforementioned sandwich. Spy's nervous stomach churned at the sight of it, and he cleared his throat.
"Merci beaucoup, Heavy, but I have little appetite tonight." Spy said diffidently, not wanting to antagonise a man who could crush him in two.
"Spy is not eating." Heavy stated, shoving the plate at him. "You will get weak and then enemy Engineer's sentries will not be sapped. They hurt very much."
"Ah, enlightened self-interest is something I can understand." Spy said, feeling relieved that Heavy's largess had a sensible reason behind it. Heavy's brow wrinkled at Spy's words, but Spy had always suspected that the brute was not as stupid as he seemed at first- merely not very competent at speaking English. There was the glint in those eyes of one who observed the world and saw a lot more than others suspected- but was happy to be mistaken for dumb muscle. He gingerly accepted the sandwich and took a bite. The soggy bread formed a lump in his dry mouth and he swallowed it piece by piece. "There."
"Eat it all." Heavy ordered, folding his arms and showing no signs of leaving him alone.
"I am not sure I am capable of that, but I will do my best."
Heavy sighed and rubbed the back of his broad neck. He frowned for a moment and stared searchingly at Spy. "You blame yourself for Doktor's death."
The sandwich dropped from his suddenly numb fingers and landed on the floor, and for a moment his stomach knotted dangerously before he swallowed and forced himself to stay calm. He wondered how to reply, and realised that, for once, the plain truth was the only answer.
"I do." He stated bleakly. "How could I not? The facts are plain enough. If I could take it back...well, there it is. Mea culpa. I refuse to try and deflect blame."
Heavy sat down on a battered chair that creaked under his weight, and looked at Spy carefully before glancing away. "It was not your fault."
"Ah...come again?" Spy blinked and sat down slowly on his bed.
"Doktor had...problems. Other things, secrets. He was... troubled. Cannot tell you more." The man looked at him with a measuring frown. "That is why I have not punched you to death."
Spy went silent in thought. He had once been prone to babbling when trying to sort out his thoughts, but in his occupation that was a very dangerous habit and he had forced himself to change. His fingers knotted together so tightly they hurt. "I...see." He replied slowly. "I won't pry. We all have our personal troubles here. Ordinary people do not become mercenaries, after all."
"Hnn. Is true."
"I realise he was a dear friend." Spy cleared his throat awkwardly. He had always found Heavy difficult to talk to- the man was too quiet and it was hard to read his emotions. He was so very closed in, and Spy felt lost when facing people he could not manipulate, if he so wished. "I am sorry for your loss."
Heavy stood up and gave the Spy an icily cold look. "Goodnight, Spy." The large man plodded to the door and left without another word.
Spy blinked, and then carefully picked up the remains of the sandwich from the floor, suddenly feeling exhausted. He had worked for RED a long, long time. He had seen other team members come and go, and he realised he was completely sick and tired of his job and everything that went with it.
After disposing of the sandwich, he threw himself down on his bed dramatically and fell asleep, still in his suit and mask.
In Chapter Four: BLU Medic receives some worrying notes and the BLU team discuss...hitting each other with birch twigs?
Translations:
Verdammt Husten! - Goddamned cough!
Schieβe! - Shit!
Putain. - literally 'bitch', but used in this context to mean 'Bloody hell'.
Ja, ja, sehr gut - Yes, yes, very good.
Entreé - Enter.
Merci beaucoup - Thank you very much.
Mea culpa - I am guilty (latin)