AN: Sorry for the delay, but writers block is a thing and it's a bummer. Oh well, here ya go, hope you enjoy and aren't too irritated by the wait. Thanks for the reviews and follows and favorites I've received during my absents.
Alright, it'll be fine. We're just fine, totally fine, completely fine. Nothing's wrong here, nothing to worry about. You're good, man, just breathe.
I repeat these same lies over and over in my head to try and calm down. As I get closer and closer to the BLU base, my heart beats faster in correlation. I finally reach the building and the pressure of my racing heartbeat is forcing blood to my face and making my eyes water. Oh Lord, why did I agree to this? They're gonna know immediately that I'm a fake. I'm taller than she is, and I'm sure the suit fits differently on me than her. As the thought hits me, so does a hand on my shoulder.
"Ah-ha!" declares the BLU team's Sniper. "Got ya now!" he says victoriously, guiding me forcefully toward the entrance. His teammates notice, all ceasing their search and, with whoops of excitement, rush inside to continue their drinking and shenanigans. The BLU Pyro wasn't exaggerating, it seems. They really were going to hunt her down. I look to the BLU Sniper, still with a firm grasp on me, bracing himself for any escape attempt I might try.
The first thing I notice is that he is strikingly similar to RED Sniper. They're about the same height and he sports very similar clothing—though that's just the TF Industries Sniper uniform. And although he looks pretty much the same at first glance, there are distinct differences. His hair seems several shades lighter, his eyebrows thinner, his nose more rounded; little things like that. They're both Australian, and around the same age. It's strange, but I suppose that if the same people are drawn to the job, they may look similar. Now that I look more closely, he is far different, actually. His eyes are bigger and darker, and his face is clean-shaven.
I drop my eyes before he notices that I'm staring at him and feel embarrassed that I know so many details of my team's Sniper's face. We enter the BLU base together and I'm struck by uncanny familiarity. I want to say it all looks the same, but I can't quite—everything is similar at best. It's a bit unnerving. Everyone's face is like the Sniper's in similarity to my team: strikingly similar, but not the same. The more I look, the less comparable they become. This team's Engineer, for example, has a darker complexion and is skinnier, with a fatter nose and higher cheekbones.
Their Scout is nowhere to be seen; I guess he's a lightweight just like RED's. I notice this team's Spy hasn't completely dismissed himself from the festivities, unlike my team's. He sits at a distance from us and watches while casually puffing a cigarette and sipping what looks like brandy. I don't look at him, worried it'd draw attention to myself, not to mention the fact that I can't see his face hardly at all through the balaclava, anyway. Just like RED's Spy, he never looks anything less than his best.
The others have obviously already been pouring down the drinks before I arrive, because they were all playing a rowdy and disorganized game of cards. I'm placed in a chair at the table and the game ceases. Their Soldier, features obscured by his helmet, and Demoman, with differently shaped beard and sideburns than RED's, turn to me along with everyone else playing like they expect me to do something. Before I can wonder what, a freshly-opened bottle of beer is slammed on the table in front of me. I look down at it, then back up to the men surrounding me. That's all they want from me? To take a drink?
I lift my mask to reveal the lower half of my face, but I don't think it matters. I snatch it up and readily dump the contents down my throat. I drain the bottle, ready for another; I already feel my nerves settling. They watched me in silent awe, struck dumb by their Pyro's apparently sudden change in heart. I slide the empty bottle away, hinting that someone should grab me another. Suddenly they all bust out in laughter and we all drink together and start a new game of cards. It feels kind of like I just passed some sort of initiation.
Instead of poker, we play spades, which I'm far more partial to. I end up getting put on a team with the Heavy, who could be twins with RED's large Russian gunman—the two shared the same hard, square features and visible scalp. It was he and I versus the Engineer and Sniper. Stacked teams, if you ask me. The game became more fun as we all got drunker and the Heavy's "subtle" hints to tell me what cards he had became less so.
"Table talk!" the other team would declare every time Heavy would mouth "Ace of spades" with much exaggeration. I'm sent into a fit of giggles when the Engineer bolts out of his seat in anger.
"I ain't playin' with no cheaters!" he bursts, glaring at us, the best team ever. He's just jealous that our team has fifty thousand points while his has, like, two. I mean, I think that's the score. No one's actually keeping track, but those numbers sound right to me. Engineer's head snaps toward me with fury when he hears my unceasing laugh.
"Shut your hole!" he yells, causing everyone to join me in laughter. Even the Sniper was struggling to repress his snickering. "Why don't you just go back to the RED team!" he spits with a final burst of venom, which shut me right up. My jaw snapped at its hinge and was left to hang loosely. He knows? How could he possibly know? If he knew, why didn't he say anything before? Oh God, not only is my secret out, so is the BLU Pyro's. I knew this was a terrible idea, why did I even agree to do it?
My silence isn't noticed, because as soon the words left his mouth, the Sniper finally broke and threw his arm over the Engineer's shoulders, tears forming in his eyes from the effort of keeping his laughter at bay.
"Whoa there, mate," he chokes out with a beaming smile, "Oi wouldn't go that far, that's just downright mean!" he jokes, ripping on my team. Everyone's joy is renewed. That must be what the Engineer meant, right? He was just trying to insult me, that's all. There's no way he could know, anyway. I sigh and let the anxiety seep out of my bones and replace itself with the warmth of alcohol as we continue the game.
The Heavy and I won, obviously. There was a great deal of celebrating on our end, and a great deal of sulking on theirs. I scoff, while the Heavy challenges anyone who thinks they can win.
"Who is leetle man who thinks he can ween?" the flushed giant calls for competitors. I back him up with agreeing noises as we're promptly challenged by the Demoman.
"He doesn't have a partner!" I say, yelling it for some reason; it just seemed an appropriate way to let everyone know. "Forfeit forfeit!" I call, realizing we've just earned another victory; a victory by default is a victory nonetheless. The Heavy bellows with laughter and slams his hands down on the table, causing the cards to bounce up before falling back.
"HAAAA," he hollers with laughter, "Come back weeth partner, silly Demo." he tells the frowning cyclops. The Demoman throws down his drink to start the inevitable fight that happens when too many people get drunk together. I prepare to push up my sleeves, just in case the Heavy needs backup, when a calm voice speaks as though it were the eye of the storm.
"Zere's no need for zat." it says, "I will play."
The Spy joins the group, removing his gloves and setting aside his beverage. Oh man, I can't wait to mop the floor with this punk! We take our seats and I crack my knuckles and neck in preparation. I sit across from my partner with the Spy on my right. When the game starts, I immediately peek at his cards in a way that is completely undetectable. Even someone like the Spy wouldn't be able to pick up on my super tactful cheating.
"If you are going to cheat, you could at least be ze slightest bit discreet." he mumbles so only I can hear. My head snaps forward and I pretend he's crazy for accusing me of something like that. As the game presses on, it becomes more and more clear that the Spy's sobriety is giving his team an edge. Our points go deeper and deeper into the negatives because of gross over-bidding from both the Heavy and I. More like gross blatant thievery from the Spy; he snatches those cards with his sticky fingers like they belong to him.
My internal flame kicks up to high each hand that we lose until my blood is on a full, no holding back, rolling boil. I can barely keep my hands still from the fury that shoots through my joints. After a few more hands the Spy opens his stupid, ugly, dumb mouth after a puff of his cigarette.
"Iz zere really a point in continuing? We air nearly five 'undred points ahead." That many? No way. He's full of it! In fact, I think someone oughtta let 'em know! I smack my useless cards on the table and rise from my chair abruptly. He looks at me with mild surprise and taps the end of his cigarette out. I hike my sleeves to my elbows and thread together the meanest words I can. I was ready to spit them, when I realize he won't even be able to hear me.
He casually takes of his blazer and begins cuffing his sleeves while I try to think of something to do other than take off my mask and give him the what for. Then I realize: actions are stronger than words, right? I shove my chair out of the way and take a fighting stance. He stands and flips his tie over his shoulder. With his fists up, he quirks a cocky smile and I strike. He dodges. I can feel the alcohol slowing my movements as though I am fighting through molasses.
He strikes me square in the face and I fall to the floor; what an embarrassing brawl. The BLU team helps me up while stopping the Spy from pursuing my beating any further. That bastard! Somehow he must still be cheating. I stand back up, mostly on my own, and search for a way to take out the anger in me. I settle on flipping the table which left only silence after its crash to the floor. Part of my actions were fueled by anger, while the the rest was used to make it so that the BLU team wouldn't like their Pyro as a drunk anyway. I hate this team! I hate everyone around me! Why did I even start playing with this dirty, cheating team?
"Yurall dirt!" I slur, yelling at the group. "You're a dirt team with dirt cheaters—" Then I realize that my team also has a dirt cheater: the Spy. Am I on a dirt team? Am I dirt? Angrily, I go for the BLU Spy again because he's the closest thing I have to RED Spy. I almost hit him this time, but as I charge at him I'm clotheslined by his fist in my face.
That doesn't hurt nearly as much in comparison to the way I've landed on my wrist. I don't make a sound, no one does. We take a moment to allow the hard crack to echo through the air and to just stare at the rapidly swelling, unnaturally bent angle of my wrist.
"That don't look right…" the Engie murmurs, voicing everyone's thought. I keep my mouth clamped shut and begin to rise. With a little help, I'm on my feet; I turn to walk toward their basement. Nothing like a broken bone to sober you up real fast. If I ever needed a Medic, this would be the time. I lock eyes with the Spy as I walk past him. He looks a bit surprised and I find my face mimicking his when I notice the other emotion distorting his features: concern and guilt. What a wacky twist of fate to see a man who has repeatedly stabbed me in the back, literally, with no hesitation, feeling bad and worried about me—about the BLU Pyro, rather. He reaches toward me immediately with an apology poised on his lips, but I unthinkingly flinch and he pulls back.
I suppose the BLU Pyro would've wanted me to accept his gesture because of the feelings she has for him, but right now I can feel numbness taking hold of my wrist and shock shaking my steps. Perhaps his help would have been good. Whatever thought I settle on, he's there to catch me when my legs go out temporarily. I'm fine a second later, but he then helps me all the way down to the basement and knocks. The Medic answers and is nothing but exasperated at my state. The healing process begins when he approaches and instantly snaps my bones back into place. I cry out for the first time since I fell.
"Can't you be more careful? Zere's enough pain az 'e is!" the Spy snaps. The Medic replies with a cold look. My cheeks flush at his defense of me, and I think I'm beginning to understand the Pyro's feelings towards him. This Spy certainly does treat her differently than mine treats me, though his words could just be fueled by guilt. Then again, I doubt my Spy would do anything but blame me for the situation.
"He iz fine. Now, are you going to let me vork, or not?" The Medic replies crisply with a grip still on my unfortunate wrist. I let the tears stream now. I miss my Medic. I look to the face of this one and I can see he has more gray in his hair, and a more angular jaw. His cheeks are more hollow and his eyes seem sharper. Overall, he just gives off a harsher vibe than RED Medic. God, I wish I was at home right now. There I could at least take off my mask.
The Spy holds his tongue and fishes out a cigarette. He's puffing on it when the Medic unrelentingly presses on my damaged bones, feeling for...I dunno, something important, probably. I manage to keep my voice still; the tears, on the other hand, are unavoidable. When he finally lets up, he injects me with something. I feel whatever he injected inside of my arm as though it were a solid. I begin to panic, looking frantically to the Spy, then the Medic, repeatedly. I squeeze my arm, right above the wrist to see if I can feel anything, and hear myself groan quietly. It doesn't hurt, I don't think, but it feels horrible. I think—I think my bones are moving. I see the cold doctor roll his eyes as the Spy freezes mid inhale to look concerned.
"What iz 'appening?" he questions as the feeling begins to subside, taking the pain with it. I exhale and relax the muscles I didn't realize I had tensed.
"He iz fine, so it doesn't matter, yes?" the Medic replies. I really don't like this man. I can tell the Spy doesn't either by the snarl on his lips. I wonder if the RED Spy would ever be so caring toward me. I doubt it, he doesn't even care for his own team! With my wrist healed, I'm eager to finally leave. I want to sleep in my own bed and see my own team.
Review pretty please if you want to make me happy. If you don't care about my joy, that's cool, I get it. Also, if you look carefully, you can see that follow and favorite button. I hear those are pretty fun to click if you enjoyed what you read. I'll try to get the next update done sooner than this one. Duces.