The moon was high in the sky and the stars twinkled and danced on a dark blue canvas. A few dim lights flickered in important sectors of the bases, just bright enough to illuminate the bats dipping and soaring through the night.
Sniper tapped a beer bottle against his boot and looked over at where Demoman was sprawled on the corrugated metal roof. "You've gotta be kiddin' me. You wot mate?"
Demoman burped drunkenly. "I'm not kiddin' ye, a whole horde of em'."
Sniper shifted on the roof, leaning back. "And ya want me ta believe that a few stickies and a propane tank took the whole lot out?"
The other man took another swig. "Yup. Tha's what happ'ned.
"Hmph." Sniper tilted his head towards towards the roof, where he could hear a conversation happening below.
"It'll just be for a little while Doc, the fresh air will do you good."
"Da, Engineer is right. Is not good for you to be inside all the time."
"Vell... I suppose it can vait. You may be right; I should get out."
"That's the spirit! Bring out your violin an' knock back a few beers with us. S'a fine night fer it."
"I vill be up in a moment, danke."
Sniper sat up as he heard scuffling and the sounds of someone on the roof ladder. Engineer and Heavy appeared in succession and he tipped his hat to them.
"Evenin', mates," Sniper said.
"Howdy, fellas. Mind if we join y'all?"
"Not at all," Sniper replied.
There was more scuffling by the ladder as the men sat next to Demoman, and Medic came up the ladder clutching his violin case, breathing heavily.
"Is Doktor ok?" Heavy asked.
Medic pushed his spectacles up his nose and smiled faintly. "Ja, I vanted to avoid Herr Soldat. He is making everyvun in ze base recite ze American pledge."
"If he tries that oot here he'll be gettin' a bottle to tha' helmet," Demoman groaned.
"Last I saw him, he vas trying to find Spy," Medic said.
Sniper chuckled. "He's got a better chance of finding his own arse than that wanker."
Spy chose that moment to materialize on the roof, sitting on the far side. "I 'eard zhat, filthy jar man," he said politely, lighting a cigarette. Medic suppressed a flinch; it had not been a good week.
Sniper smirked. "Told ya."
"Indeed, here I am," Spy replied coolly. "Will you be playing tonight, Doctor?"
Medic shifted his grip on the case, placing it carefully on the roof. He undid the clasps, drawing out the instrument and balancing himself. He hesitated a little, uneasy at playing in front of so many of his teammates. As a man of science Medic was always striving towards improvement, but he would sometimes get frustrated with his lack of skill. Heavy had been very encouraging whenever he listened, but Medic made sure to find time to get ever better. He felt that he owed it to himself, and to his past.
Heavy smiled supportively at him, and he pushed past his unease. Settling into position, he began to work his way through a few scales, and then progressed into an etude. Medic focused on the melody and harmony of the strings, weaving the notes into the song of the night. The background faded away and left him with music and memories that came to life.
"Back again, junge?"
The young boy stood at the edge of the alley and nervously peered in. The man sat cross-legged on a pile of old sacks and looked up from patching a jacket. Bushy eyebrows raised away from kind eyes as the man put the jacket aside and adjusted his weathered cap to look at the child.
"It's alright kind, there's no need to be afraid of me. Is there something you want to say?" he asked, beckoning to him.
The boy crept closer. "I really like your music," he blurted out.
A smile lit up the man's face. "Would you like to learn how to play the violin?" he asked.
The boy hesitated, and then nodded.
"Good! If you want to learn, come to see me every day at, oh, about this time. No money is needed, but bring some food with you when you come. Can you agree to that?"
"Yes sir, thank you sir," the boy saluted.
The man coughed into a handkerchief and blew his nose. "Don't bother with formalities, call me Herr Wiezel. I'll see you tomorrow then, go on."
Medic's hands shifted, and he let his hands wander wherever they chose. He tapped his foot faintly in time with the music, shifting as if in a dance. His pace quickened and grew lively, and he reveled in his experiments with the music as the rest of the men watched in impressed silence.
With time, he learned that Herr Wiezel was formerly a member of the orchestra, but had been unable to continue once the Fatherland had fallen into hard times. There was no work to be had, and he was barred from government work due to not being Aryan, but he still had his violin and that was all he needed to get by.
He was a strict teacher, but he encouraged the boy to work hard and improve his technique. One of the boy's proudest moments during these lessons was when he became good enough to attract a crowd. It dispersed once the police approached to look for extremist groups, but Herr Wiezel let him buy a little chocolate with the money they left behind as a reward. Those were the good days.
The music became calmer, then slowed and blended into a smoother melody. His tempo slowed and drew to a close, and he froze in place savoring the last note. Medic straightened and opened his eyes. The men were staring at him in awe, except for Demoman, who was probably passed out.
"Well, that was really somethin', Doc," Engineer said weakly.
Heavy clapped. "Very good, Doktor!"
"Was that your own composition?" Spy asked.
Medic lowered his bow and smiled. "I suppose it vas. I'm glad zat you liked it."
"That was pretty darn good. Do you know any songs we could hum along to? If it's not too much to ask, that is," Engineer asked bashfully.
Medic frowned. "I don't think zat I know any songs you vould know, I'm hsorry."
"What about Wooden Heart, Doktor? Elvis sung that," Heavy said.
Medic tapped his chin. "Muss I Denn? Ja, I could do zat."
He lifted the violin back up and began to play a simple melody, soft and low. Once the melody drew to a close he repeated it a few times, performing it slightly differently each time, just enough to keep the listener's interest. It was soothing and slightly mournful, speaking of loneliness and sadness. Each man felt a little bit of their own private loneliness at the soft and beguiling tune.
Sniper remembered how it felt to hold his mum's hand, how soft and papery the skin was, and the scent of the perfume she wore. It was flowery, the kind old ladies buy because they think it makes them smell like a midnight rose garden or some other rubbish. Sometimes when he went into town the local grocery store would have fresh flowers, and it would almost smell like her. Those were the days he put extra quarters into the phone booth.
There was a little cafe in southern France that Spy had loved years ago, where he would often meet a contact to pass on sensitive information. She was beautiful and smart, and he enjoyed her company and wit. She gave him a lock of her hair at their last meeting so that he could remember her. It was long lost, but for a moment he could remember her laugh and the shine in her eyes on the sunlit patio.
Sometimes on the quiet nights out in the heart of Texas, Engineer would play a few songs on his guitar and share a beer with the other men. He always played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at the end of the night no matter how much the guys ribbed him, because his little girl loved that song. She would laugh and giggle as a baby when he played it for her, and it brought him back to the nights sitting by her cradle. When he went away to war, she gave him her first bear, named Teddy Roosebelt when she just learning to talk. He carried it into battle on the days he needed strength the most.
Once the cold came into Siberia, that was the hardest time. Human emotions, compassion, empathy, everything that separates man from beast withered away as ordinary people were driven to fight the cold, hunger, and each other in order to survive. Sometimes Heavy would see his mother or sisters working across from him in the gulags, just trying to meet their labor quota so that they could eat. Many were not as strong as him and became dokhodiaga, emaciated goners on the verge of starvation and death. They had empty, cold eyes, and one day his littlest sister stared with empty cold eyes too. Seeing that gave him the strength to make sure that she never looked that way again. He never thought he would, but in this hot dry land he missed the snow.
The Demoman was beyond paying attention to the music, but he dreamed of walking the shores of the Loch by his home, looking for Nessie. He could hear her calling out alone, and he thought of how he screamed his rage to the lake once his adoptive parents were killed by the bomb he was making to blow up the monster. In working for what he dreamed of, he lost what he had. He was just as alone as Nessie.
Scout sat inside by the base of the ladder, his arms around his knees, headset around his neck as he strained to hear the music. His ma worked hard for every hour God sent her, and when she couldn't work she cleaned. She scrubbed and laundered and sewed and sang as she worked. Sometimes they may not have had much food to put on the table, but that table would be clean if she could help it. No matter how hard she tried though, she could not keep her boys clean in the Projects of South Boston. When they brought home money, she tried not to ask where it came from. The house never felt emptier to Scout than when half of his brothers were in prison, and his ma stopped singing.
Medic was lost in the music. He could feel the rhythm and soul beneath the simple tune, and he felt alive. This was worth the stolen time, the hours of practice. This was the feeling of being attuned to the music, and through it the land around him. He let the melody dwindle away, almost as if rocking it to sleep in the final note. The men slowly stirred, and seemed uncomfortable and unwilling to look each other in the eye. Down below, Scout crept off; while they were out there he could read a little without being bothered.
"Have you heard zat song before, Herr Engineer?" Medic asked. "It's not somezhing you can really hum, but it's a little less, eh, energetic."
"That was just fine, Doc, just fine," Engineer said in a faraway voice. "But we should let you sit and enjoy your night too." He turned to the others. "Isn't that right, fellas?"
A couple of them voiced agreement, and Medic smiled. "Danke, Herr Engineer, especially for zhese strings."
Engineer smiled. "Fer a performance like that? It was well worth the trouble, and my pleasure. If yah need anythin' else, my workshop's open to ya."
"Danke schön. Herr Sniper, vould you pass me a beer?"
Sniper handed Medic a beer and he settled down to watch the stars. At times being out in the desert could be lonely, but on that night they talked and laughed to the point where they didn't feel the loneliness anymore.
Chapter Notes: Have you ever looked up Siberian gulags? That, my friends, is messed up.
The 20s-30s was not a good time to grow up in Germany, there was a lot of internal turmoil. The reparations demands really brought the country to its knees, and angry and desperate people will do all sorts of things.
Elvis really did sing Muss I Denn to a puppet on camera once. It's creepy as get all, and you can find it on youtube if you wish.
The comment about Scout skulking off to read is a reference to a lovely fic called It Rained the Whole Time, the loud obnoxious Bostonian learns to appreciate a good book. The story maintains all of their characters with far more humanity than is regularly seen in the game, and is a true delight to read. It doesn't change the way the characters act, it celebrates it in a way that is all too hard to find in a good fanfic. You can find it here: archiveofourown-com-/works/1291843
German:
Danke schön: Thank you