A/N: Hello, and sorry for the radio silence. I've had a number of things come up in my personal life and as a result Hold Your Fire's update schedule has been pushed to once a month. Please be assured that the story will not be abandoned, but also please don't bother with leaving reviews prompting for updates. It won't get chapters posted any faster and honestly they just make my days a little worse.
Thanks and enjoy!
It was nearly seven in the morning by the time Pyro got all of her gear stripped off and put away. Respawn would have taken care of it all for her, but shooting herself sounded particularly unappealing just then. She was already wide awake, and wanted something to do that she could be sitting down for. Most of the team had gone back to bed, but Red joined her a few minutes after she'd started cleaning her shotgun. They were wearing layers of baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, all soft, solid-looking curves without the suit. Pyro could see old burns on their forearms and the side of their neck.
Pyro herself had swapped her chemsuit for holey jeans and an old black t-shirt that was too big for her, and a jacket. Her nice jacket. She'd seen it in a boutique in one of her trips up to Phoenix back home. It was hunter green with gold trim, and the salesgirl had called it a utility jacket, and said two or three times that it was for men and if Pyro wanted she could show her some ladies' styles instead. Pyro had mostly ignored her, and only realized it was probably rude of her after she'd left with the jacket. She could have bought three months' worth of groceries for the same price, but it looked so much like the one she'd had back in Boston that leaving it behind hadn't even been an option in her mind. She wasn't sure why. It fit like a glove, anyway.
Anyway. Red had sat down beside her on the bench someone had dragged into the weapons room, and sat quietly cleaning their fingernails with a Swiss army knife. The two of them sat in silence for a while as Pyro fussed with her gun. Finally she said to Red, "So do you have pyromania?"
Red jolted, blinking. They'd been staring out the window at the gray sky. "Me? Oh … well. Sort of? A little bit, I guess."
"I just wondered. That's what I've got, officially. There was a trial and everything."
"Really? A trial?"
"Yeah, the store I worked at when I was a teenager got burned down and they blamed me for it." Pyro paused. "Kind of. I mean, it was an accident. I didn't mean to set it on fire, but it was the second time it had happened."
"The second time you'd set it on fire?"
"No, the second time I'd burned it down." Red let out a low, impressed whistle. Pyro grinned despite herself. "So they put me on trial for arson. I got really lucky. The DA the state sent was really, really good, she liked me. Not a lot of people did. Back then, I mean, I was kind of … messed up? But she got me acquitted by having someone evaluate me and diagnose me with pyromania. And there was … I think there was a technicality, because I guess it's not really arson unless someone lives there. So that's why I'm not in jail."
"Nicely done," Red said, grinning back. "I once burned down a little junkyard. God, that was just something. Have you ever burned anything big? Besides the store, I mean, you probably didn't get to stick around for that one."
"Umm, a couple things. A bookstore and a … textile mill? I think?" Red's eyes widened. Pyro hesitated. "A hockey stadium."
Now Red gaped. "No way," they said, and then, "I have to know about that one, tell me right now," and that, Pyro would decide later, was probably the exact moment they became friends.
Red was twenty-nine and a half years old, had been born and raised in New Mexico. They had grown up on a farm. They had five cats back home, all of whom were assholes except for the one Clarence had brought in as a stray. They played clarinet and followed college basketball, and had been building a collection of miniature succulents since they were seventeen. They wouldn't say how RED hired them (that was fine, Pyro didn't share her hire story either–no one on BLU team did, really), but assured Pyro that it involved a very large, very dramatic explosion.
Pyro learned all of this in under half an hour, and all of it was information freely offered. It made her feel a little out-of-place, not being able to share much back whenever Red asked her about herself, because she didn't have much to share. She had a dog and a fireproof house and brain damage, and only two of those were things she was comfortable telling anyone not on BLU. But it was nice that Red wanted to know.
They chatted well past the time Pyro would've normally gone looking for breakfast. She didn't notice she was hungry until Red said they needed to go and find Clarence for something, leaving her alone with her stomach. It growled as she put her weapons up, reminding her that eating was something she needed to do.
Now she had to find the cafeteria, which was a trick unto itself in Mannwork's frustratingly large expanses. She took two wrong turns before she found the big double-doors leading into it, and stepped inside in a slightly worse mood than she'd been in a few minutes ago. But: food was imminent. That was at least something.
The cafeteria was empty, a little surprisingly. She wasn't sure what time it was, but by now Pyro would have figured a few people would have gotten back out of bed already. Then again, maybe she was being an idiot by not getting her sleep when she could. Would the robots return soon? Hell, how long were they going to be at Mannworks? There were other Mann Co. properties that needed defending, surely. Were they ever going to be moved to those?
Whatever, she decided, making the walk across the vast and empty room to the little kitchen and its little yellow fridge. All she wanted right now was something to eat.
Leftovers from the last day and a half: bread, cheese, apple slices, pigs in a blanket, lots of rice, lots of sliced ham. A lonely and questionable-looking banana. A few other staples. Absurd quantities of milk. She pulled out some of the apple slices and the things to make a ham sandwich, and when she was done she didn't bother sitting down at the clustered tables to eat. The counter was fine, and anyway the fight was really catching up to her, now. If she sat down it would probably be a lot harder to get up. She leaned back against the fridge and shut her eyes.
Approximately three minutes later, someone cleared their throat. Loudly, very close by. Pyro jerked so hard she slammed her head right against the fridge, and dropped into cussing before she could properly realize that the offending noise had come from the RED spy standing directly in front of her. Automatically, Pyro bristled. "What the hell?"
The spy gave her a bored look. "You are in front of the fridge. I have not eaten in something approaching fourteen hours, and it would be very obliging of you to move."
Pyro glared at him, just for a second, and then got out of the way. She went back to stuffing apple slices in her mouth while he lingered in front of the fridge, turning his nose up at most of its contents. This damn spy. She hadn't spoken to him since Coldfront—since before Dell left. "I didn't see you at all in the fight," she said eventually.
The spy did not answer at once. Instead he selected the remaining apples, from the fridge and straightened his back, turning to her as he closed it. "Then it seems likely I was doing my job, don't you think?"
"I guess," Pyro said. "What do you guys even do, can you backstab a robot?"
"Not quite. Our electro-sappers have proven quite effective in disabling them, though. We were in among them for much of it, slowing them down. And they seem unable to distinguish us from their fellows—Mann Co. was able to provide us with schematics for disguises.
"Oh." She finished her apples. "… Where did Dell go after Coldfront?"
The spy gave her a cool, slow blink. Pyro fought down another glare, holding her tongue, waiting. And at last: "Our mutual friend Mr. Conagher? He was not my teammate. Why would I know such a thing?"
"Don't play stupid, I know it was you that made him leave. I saw you talking to him. I know that's why you helped him fix me."
Now the spy looked amused. He leaned back against the fridge, taking a bite of his food and looking her over. "Fix you," he repeated. "I was not aware you were broken."
"Oh my God," she hissed, putting a hand to her head. Unbidden, her mind leapt back to Scout, here in this same room, just yesterday. A surge of paranoia snapped at the back of her mind. No, no, no. This was the RED spy. He was a bastard to start with, and if he was anything like BLU's he was cagey and played games and never gave anyone a straight answer.
She hadn't made her recovery up, anyway, she assured herself. She couldn't have, that didn't even make sense. Anyone on her team, even Scout, would corroborate the story of how she'd changed. "Look," she tried one more time, dropping her voice. "We're on the same stupid team now, it's my skin too if the Coldfront stuff gets out. I just want to know what happened to him."
Before he'd died, obviously.
But the spy just said, "Then you must look for your answers elsewhere. Dell Conagher and what became of him is no concern of mine."
Damn it. Just damn it all. Pyro dug her fingers into her palm as she watched him roll his shoulders and stroll out of the kitchen.
Twelve times. Scout had died and respawned twelve times in the two or three hours the battle had taken place over. On a good day, in a regular fight against RED, across eight hours, Scout would maybe respawn two or three times. Four if he was careless.
Twelve goddamn times. And he'd finished the fight with a torn tendon and a broken foot, wound up shooting himself in the face to get rid of it. The medics were frazzled and dazed-looking, and he never got targeted for heals anyway.
He felt better coming out of respawn, of course he did, without his whole leg screwed up. His mood could have been better, though. It was one thing to have an off day, but—God. He felt like he'd barely done anything, like he might as well not have been there. The robots were too deadly for him to get in close, and from a distance he couldn't do much damage. He was chewing on this as he sat down to let the nausea wear off; he wasn't expecting to hear the respawn doors slide open a minute or so later.
Out walked the RED sniper and scout. Clarence, wasn't it? The sniper hadn't given a name, had barely said anything, in fact. Even now he was silent as Clarence launched off about something. Scout watched in silence, wondering if they'd notice him where he sat behind the resupply locker.
"Jus' I swear, man, damn, it was fun as hell at first but then you got them big bastards? The, the, what was they callin' em. Eng said it. Titans? Giants? I dunno, the big ones. Those scare the shit outta me, dude. Didja see what one of 'em did to Heavy? Jus', I get damn nightmares about that sorta shit."
"Mmm."
"Yeah, an' like, I dunno, I mean you was tearin' em new assholes left and right with that big damn gun'a yours. But me I'm down here with, what, a sawed-off an' a pistol an' a bat? That don't do crap against robots. You ever try to hit five robots in one swing? It ain't a picnic."
"I got seven in one," Scout said aloud as they passed. Both REDs stopped; the sniper glanced over at him from under his hat, and Clarence grinned, spinning on his heel. "S'easy," Scout went on, "anybody could do that shit."
"Sure, Babe Ruth. 'Ceptin' I saw that swing, an' I am pretty sure you tripped on the backswing an' died like right after."
"The hell I did, I stepped in mud was all, lost my balance, wasn't expectin' it."
"Yeah, an' then you rolled right in front'a one of them guys what blow up. And then you ran back toward the damn sentry with the thing on your ass! Almost got it blown up again! You gotta think about shit, dude," Clarence said, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping back against the wall next to him. His sniper went on without him. "I mean I died like pretty much right after, Red said I about drowned in a pile of them wiry ones. Still doin' better'n you, though."
"Screw off."
Clarence lifted an eyebrow, his grin twisting into a plain smirk. "Aw, you gonna be like that? We're on the same team now, buddy, we gotta be pals." Scout rolled his eyes. "Come on, we burned t'death together, man! That's some real forged-in-battle friendship stuff."
"Right, yeah, except we shouldn't'a died at all, fuckin' pyros not doin' their jobs."
"What, nah. They ran over, or yours did I guess. I didn't see mine. They couldn't'a done anything anyway, Red told me that too. It was napalm, you can't put it out with air I guess. It's like, gasoline jelly, air just spreads it around."
"Oh, sure."
Clarence squinted. "You callin' Red a liar?"
"I ain't callin' nobody nothin', all I saw was our goddamn Pyro pullin' up short soon as she saw who was burnin'."
"You serious? Man, she wasn't kiddin' about you two not gettin' along."
Something angry prickled along the back of Scout's neck. "Whatever," he said, pushing it aside before it could catch fire. "What was your name again, C-somethin'? Clarence?"
"Yeah, don't wear it out? And I been meanin' to say, I ain't real interested in callin' you Scout, I'm Scout where I come from an' it'd be too damn weird. What's your name?"
Ugh. Scout grimaced. On thinking about it, though, he would rather be the one disclosing it, instead of, say, the RED spy. "Jeremiah."
Clarence made a loud pfft sound, biting back a grin. "Nice. That is too damn long, that's like four syllables. I'm callin' you Jerry."
"The hell you are," Scout said, swiping at him. Clarence leapt to his feet and darted off, laughing, and when Scout bolted after the chase was on.
They ran breakneck through the long halls at top speed, skidding around corners, pushing off of walls, leaping deer-like over abandoned office detritus and cardboard boxes and once a kneeling BLU Soldier that had stopped to re-lace his boots. He hollered after them as they fled, laughing. The winding labyrinth of Mannworks was the perfect stage for an obstacle course, and despite himself Scout found he was grinning fiercely as he tore after Clarence. Clarence was a jackass and a show-off and couldn't hit a ball to save his life, in Scout's opinion, but the bastard could run.
Less than a minute later they had burst outside, whooping, yelling at each other between breaths. The sun was still climbing and the air was cold and crisp, like a good September morning should be. Maybe that was what happened, maybe the sun and the air and the thrill of their victory at the sight of the silent battlefield got into them and shook them up. In seconds they were racing, really racing, vaulting over low concrete blockades and the remains of blasted trees and buildings. They shot up the hill, where the robots had come from, and threw themselves headlong into the woods, heedless of danger. Turf sprayed up behind their heels like water, pine needles scraped at their skin as they blew past, deeper and deeper into the forest. The wind tore across Scout's face and pulled at his cap, hit his lungs like ice water, this was living, God, he was alive.
And then a few feet from him Clarence fumbled, skid, and fell flat on his face. Scout realized it an instant later, jogging to a halt and breathing hard. He looked down at Clarence as he rolled over, his counterpart sprawled and gasping. He considered things, and then kicked dirt over his face. Clarence sputtered, throwing his arms over his face. "Hey, screw off!"
"I ain't the one tripped," Scout said, grinning. His bad mood had vanished like so much exhaust, left behind, out run. "Get up, jerk, c'mon, you tired already, what is this? Fallin' over like an idiot, how'd you even make the team?"
Clarence pushed himself to a sitting position, pawing dirt off his face, and then dropped one arm to the ground and twisted. His leg slammed into the side of Scout's knee. Scout fell on his ass, stunned, and Clarence sat back on his hands and laughed. "Speak for yourself! You gotta work on those reflexes."
"Shut the hell up, I ain't gotta take this," Scout said, snorting, but his grin hadn't gone away. Maybe Clarence was alright after all. "Damn. Ain't done that in forever."
"Me neither. Where the hell are we?" Clarence picked himself up and brushed earth and pine needles off his legs, looking around as Scout followed suit. "Hell, I'm all covered in sap. It's in my hair, damn."
"I catch you callin' me Jerry, you're gonna have a hell of a lot worse to worry about than sap."
"Oooh, real scared."
"Yeah you oughta be, an' whaddya mean 'where are we,' what kinda scout are you? The factory's that way," Scout said, pointing southwest.
"I knew that," Clarence said, and started loping down the path they had torn through the woods. Scout caught up in a few strides.
They walked in silence for a while, catching their breath. A light breeze ruffled pleasantly through Scout's hair and across his skin, and the sun filtering through the branches and needles cast a sense of the ethereal across the forest. He stretched his arms over his head, taking in their surroundings. "So, what, you outta New York? You sound like you're outta New York."
"Yeah, Queens, closer to Bronx. You from Massachusetts?"
"Yeah, Boston, Southie."
"Boston Southie?"
"South Boston, man, c'mon, get with it. What about baseball, you play baseball?"
"Nah, not so much. Only when my sisters wanted, really."
"Sheesh, ferreal? How many sisters you got?"
"Six, all older 'cept one, they're all nutty. Every single one'a'em can kick my frickin' ass, too, even the younger one. It's a damn travesty. 'Least I don't ever gotta worry about them gettin' hurt much."
"Shoot, how'd you go an' get hired if you're gettin' beat up by girls all the time?"
"They taught me everything I know," Clarence said with a grin. "What about you, you got sisters?"
"Jus' one. And seven brothers." Clarence whistled. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard every damn joke in the book about it, don't bother."
"I wasn't gonna, relax."
On they went, swapping life stories. Clarence was three years younger than him, had just barely been scratching eighteen when RED snapped him up after getting wind of his four-minute mile. "Four an' sixteen seconds," he admitted, "but that don't impress people so much as four flat. And it weren't just the runnin', but that was a lotta it. How'd you get hired?"
"I dunno, I got into a hell of a lotta fights as a kid, me and my brothers all did, kinda we were a gang of our own. Got real good runnin' places quick and real good at battin' heads in, mostly, is what it was." Clarence nodded, and didn't press. Good. Scout didn't tell that story to people, how he got picked up by BLU.
The walk back seemed a lot longer than it felt like the run had taken them, even accounting for speed. As they went, Scout counted four rabbit-trails, five or six squirrel nets, and the deep, lumbering tracks of what must have been a moose. He didn't have his compass, but he didn't need it; the sun was bright and clear, and he could tell direction by the sun without even thinking about it.
The trees began to break apart, and now Scout found scuffled, torn grass and kicked-up needles. Speak of the robots, this was probably where a lot of them had moved through. There was too much disturbance of the tracks for him to really learn anything, but he was still studying them when Clarence said, "Hey, so, so yeah I was talkin' to your Pyro before the fighting and all. Just 'cause I was wonderin' why Pauling put me and her together and you with my Red? You two don't get along?"
Scout had to make a conscious effort not to sneer. "No, we don't."
"Okay, well, I mean, what's that about? She seemed nice enough t'me."
"Yeah, sure she does, if you buy that shit. She's a goddamn psycho is what she is, fuckin' murderer too. Don't fuckin' trust her, she'll backstab you quicker'n the damn spies."
Clarence looked puzzled. "Damn. Really? She just a snake?"
"Her whole stupid friggin' suit's full'a 'em."
"Huh," Clarence said. "Okay."
If it hadn't been for her encounter with Scout the day before, Pyro would have written the whole thing off as the spy being uncooperative. Now she worried as she picked around the battlefield, outside, taking in the sun as it showed itself through gaps in the clouds. She had always felt better moving than standing still.
The field was the same wasteland it had been when she'd left it that morning. A handful of robot remnants remained, in halves and pieces, and the last of the fires had either burned themselves out of been extinguished. She made her way from ash pile to ash pile, kicking through them until her boots were stained with gray.
There wasn't any way the spy wasn't just playing dumb. Right? She wouldn't be here if he hadn't prodded Dell into it, or that had been what Dell told her there at the end. She wouldn't even be worrying about it because she'd still be too far gone to understand anything was wrong, if he hadn't.
Maybe Scout had been screwing with her, too. That sounded like something he would do.
Ugh, this was stupid. If she kept thinking about it she'd work herself into a panic.
Seeking distraction, she started following the paths the robots had taken into the factory yard. The grass was trampled flat, or scorched, or simply gone, uprooted by metal feet. Here was where the blockbuster had blown up the sentry nest. Here was the spot Pyro had been standing when she realized the ceramic had been shooting napalm. Here was where one of the demomen had dragged her out of the way of another titan. The titans were horrifying, she had decided. She had seen one pick up RED's heavy and just crush him in its hand. Like a caterpillar. A shudder crept through her as the memory resurfaced, and then she shoved it down with all the other horrors she'd seen in the last seven months.
Seven months. It'd been seven months since she saw Dell, five or so since his death. And the damn RED spy wouldn't answer any questions.
Pyro wished she'd gotten to see the body when Miss Pauling had dug him up, at least.
By now she had reached the top of the hill outside the bounds of the yard, where the guard dog robot had stood watching them. The grass was trampled even flatter, here. Looking around the spot the guard dog had stood, she found mostly bullet shells and fragments of metal. One was larger than the others, half-buried in overturned dirt. She nudged it with her boot and it did not budge until she crouched and started tugging at it. It came free, earth still clinging to it. She turned it over in her hand, brushing it clean with the other. It looked like a satellite dish, dented. Severed wires hung from the bottom.
Interesting. There was only one thing she could think to do with it, as she went back down the hill and into the base.
Mannworks had a basement. It was high-ceiling and seemed larger than it could have possibly needed to be, and it harbored underground railroad tracks that led into black tunnels. Strange machinery that Pyro couldn't begin to guess at the purpose of littered the concerted platforms. Old metal shipping crates sat along the edges of the walls, stacked in twos, with RED's stylized bomb logo stenciled on their sides. There weren't any BLU ones, at least as far as Pyro could tell. She brushed the surface of one as she made her way along the concrete floor; dust came away on her bare fingers. Her footsteps echoed.
This last was probably why the RED Engineer looked like he was waiting for her when she found him near the mouth of one of the tunnels. It was colder here, and Pyro pulled her jacket closer around herself, shivering. "Hey, uh, Engineer."
The Engineer had looked at her when she'd been coming toward him, once or twice. It was a long walk. By the time she'd reached him, though, he'd put his focus back on the little machine in his hand, something riddled with wires and dials and gauges. He didn't look up at her now. "Hey yourself, Scarface." Pyro narrowed her eyes, but didn't get a chance to answer before he went on. "Hope you ain't come to light me on fire, none."
"I wasn't planning on it. Could change."
The Engineer laughed, a loud, wry wheeze. It wasn't anything like Dell's laugh. "Yeah, well. So it goes, huh? What's got you down here?"
Wordlessly, she produced the metal dish from one of her jacket pockets, letting him take it when he reached for it. "I found it outside," she said. "Where that one robot was. The dog one."
"That four-legged thing? Huh."
"It's a satellite dish, isn't it? Like for radios."
"Looks enough like it," the Engineer said, turning it over in his hand like she had. "Somethin' like that, anyway. Hmm. You shown this to Pauling?"
"Not yet. I thought you'd probably know more about it than her."
He gave that wheezing laugh again, and thumped her shoulder with the back of his hand. "You'd be damn right about that. Guess you ain't so dumb as you look. C'mon, we'll go track her down."
The Engineer started walking back toward the stairs without another word to Pyro. She glared after him for a few seconds, rubbing at her arm where he'd touched her, and then trotted after.
The sun was all the way up by the time the two scouts stepped back into Mannworks, and Clarence yawned and stretched and said he was going to go crash. Scout waved him off, without speaking. The subject of Pyro coming up again still had him sour, and if he went to bed now he'd just stew on it. He kicked around the halls for a few minutes before realizing he was drifting toward the room Miss Pauling had showed him the night before, the one with the telephone.
That sounded like as good a plan as any, calling home again. His mother might be around still, this early, having coffee like she always did. Brightening, he made his way to the office and dialed home.
Ring, ring, ring. No answer. Huh. Scout cast around for a clock and found one that read 7:49AM; it'd be around ten back home, at least one person should've been home. Oh well. He'd try back later. As he hung up the phone he remembered with a twinge of irritation Roger's news about their mother's stalker, and the RED spy's cagey answers about the same. Stupid. His mother was fine.
... Hell.
Scout left, shoving the worry to the back of his mind. It was hard, not worrying about people. Had been hard for about four years now. It was sort of a pipe dream now, not worrying and fretting about dumb crap like people not picking up phones, or being late. He hadn't always been like this, he used to be able to go a damn day without the impulse to make sure his people were all still alive.
Impulsively, he reached for his back pocket. Found it empty, of course, because he wasn't so stupid as to bring his brother's lighter out to the field anymore. No, that was tucked away safe in his bag back in his room, in a secret pocket he'd gotten his brother's girlfriend to show him how to sew. Jennifer had looked at him a little funny when he'd asked, especially when he wouldn't explain why he wanted it, but she'd done it. He didn't like leaving it behind, was all. It had vanished once already, he didn't want to lose it again. But, finding nothing, his hand instead drifted up to the tags that hung around his neck on their beaded chain. It was stupid of him to wear those everywhere, too, but he just … needed to. Nevermind the fact that they weren't actually his brother's, not really.
He was still thinking about the unanswered phone when he turned a corner and walked square into somebody. He grunted and jumped back a step. Opposite him, Pyro had done the same, throwing her hands up and blinking hard. Her expression blanked out when she realized who it was. Pointedly, she stepped sideways, as if to go around him.
The flash of anger from before blazed up again, clawed its way through him. He mirrored the action, drawing himself up to his full height-not a lot taller than Pyro, but enough. "Watch where you're frickin' goin'."
She just looked at him, without saying anything. Apathetic, of course she was. Scout hated listening to her stupid fucked-up voice anyway, all gravel and smoke-damage. Matched her ugly face and the weird, "off" cadence to her speech. Why was he the only one on the team that could see her for the monster she was?
Scout was about to open his mouth again when he noticed someone behind her. "Hey," said the RED Engineer, brusque, "you gonna get your skinny ass outta the way, or do I got to shift it for you?"
"Like you ever friggin' could," Scout shot back, but he let Pyro step around him this time. The Engineer snorted and followed her, and Scout watched them turn into the stairwell that would take them to the upper levels.
Great, he thought. Just what they needed, Pyro shacking up with the other Engineer. She'd probably drive this one away, too.
