A/N: Yikes this... took a lot longer than I meant it to. I apologize, folks. In any case, I promise I wont keep you waiting for the next chapter, cross my heart.
We're almost to the finish line. :) I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far. I'll yammer on a bit more about what I've got planned after Autobalance at the end of next chapter. But for now: Story!
The BLU base.
It felt a little eerie, coming back. The Medic had certainly never been sentimental about the building: it was just a place to stay, not significantly different from any other he'd found himself in. Save for location, this base was practically the same as the last one had been. Or the one before that, or the one before that. It wasn't home. It never had been.
But, oh God, it felt safe.
Which was completely irrational. He was a RED now, everyone inside the building, all his former teammates would be attempting to kill him as soon as they saw him. But he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. For the first time in his life, he had to remind himself to be paranoid. It was utterly ridiculous.
The Medic had expected to be sick with dread, when this moment finally came. There was nowhere left for the BLUs to run to, after all, and, despite the Heavy's good intentions, it was almost inevitable that someone he knew, someone he used to have a duty to, would die. And the Medic would be at least indirectly responsible. It was hardly a situation that he could just forget.
He'd certainly been guilt stricken the night before. If he had got more than a few minutes of sleep, he'd be surprised. Now, however, the Medic was calm. Calmer than he had been in days. But he shouldn't have been. Seeing the BLU base had been a relief, as if he'd let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. And they were going into battle.
Admittedly, his mood was probably at least partially the Heavy's fault. Not that the Medic was complaining. There was just something deeply reassuring about having a friend watching your back, especially one built like a brick wall who would cheerfully volunteer to stand between you and the hail of bullets you often had sailing in your direction. Except... there was more to it than that.
The Medic was well aware of the rumors and speculation about what really was going on between Heavies and their Medics, and had always dismissed them out of hand. The idea was not only ridiculous, it was almost insulting. He was a professional. Now that he had some first hand experience, however... Well. He still thought it was ridiculous. But he was starting to understand how some people might get the wrong impression.
Because he'd suddenly found himself trusting his life in the hands of a virtual stranger, someone who he had, really, only met a handful of days ago. All he really knew about the Heavy was that the big man liked tv shows about cowboys and made extremely delicious sandwiches. (Which were apparently called Sandviches, with a capital S. And they deserved it.)
The point was, the Medic had never trusted his life with anyone before. In his experience, trusting people on the battlefield was an insanely stupid idea. It wasn't that he didn't think his teammates were trustworthy---well... alright, he didn't, usually, think his teammates were trustworthy, but that was besides the point. He didn't hold it against them. It was perfectly reasonable of them to be distracted, in the middle of a war, by important things like killing the other team and (often) trying to discover how many bullets they could catch with their body before they horribly, horribly died. He didn't expect them to consider his welfare. That wasn't their job. If he couldn't take care of them and himself, then how useless was he?
Don't answer zhat.
Except then he'd met the Heavy, and it had just been... instinct. The Medic hadn't even thought about it, not until later. Like there was a little voice in the back of his head going Here is somevun you can trust viz your life, and he didn't once think to question it. In fact, he felt almost safer in the Heavy's presence than he did in the BLU base, though he couldn't honestly put words to the why. He felt safer walking into a death trap with the big man, than he did waiting back behind the front lines, behind the Sentry gun, without him.
Which was how he ended up here. Hiding in an alcove in the BLU base, around the corner and back a few paces of hallway from the main room that held the Control Point, from which they could hear the incessant beeping of the BLU Sentry Gun. (The Medic was really starting to despise that noise.) He and the Heavy were waiting for his Medigun to build up an Übercharge. It was the safest way to take down a Sentry, though it was hardly surefire. And it was a little reassuring to know that, at least, the Heavy's first priority would be taking out the BLU death machine. The Medic was happy to avoid having a direct (or mostly direct) hand in the demise of his former teammates. There was nothing he could do to prevent their deaths of course. (At least, not without turning traitor again, and, really, he didn't think he had two unspeakable betrayals of duty and (at least alleged) loyalty in him. At least, not in one week.) But... at least he didn't have to cause them.
Please. Just... don't let zhe Pyro come after us...
Of the three remaining members of the BLU team he had actually known, she was the one he'd actually worked with. The other two he wasn't too worried about: The Sniper and the Spy were well equipped to hold their own against a Medic-Heavy team. But the Pyro...
Running feet pattering down the hall behind him made him glance back and take a reflexive step closer to the Heavy. But it was just the Scout. The Medic wasn't entirely sure why the runner was here---the narrow corridors in this entrance didn't provide a lot of room to maneuver, and the young man had opted for following the Pyro and the Soldier down the main ramp. He must have changed his mind...
Except...
There was something wrong. The Medic couldn't put his finger on it. The Scout definitely wasn't a Spy, he was running far too fast... But he wasn't stopping. Was he crazy? There was a Sentry ahead, the Scout couldn't just-
A second, identical Scout came into view, pelting after the first. Who was raising the bat he carried as he closed in. And finally, finally, the Medic noticed the little voice in the back of his head that had been frantically waving its metaphorical arms at him and screaming BLU YOU IDIOT HE'S A BLU AND YOU'RE NOT.
Several things happened almost at once.
His finger tightened on the trigger that would release the Medigun's built up Übercharge, just an instant after the "weapon" jolted slightly under his hands, informing him that the charge was ready. Just an instant after the BLU Scout's bat had descended on his head and the world exploded into stars.
---
The battle had started off tolerably well for the BLU Sniper, despite the fact his team was rubbish and his employers, in their infinite wisdom, had assigned him, a long range specialist, to defend the interior of a building from attack. He'd taken up a position at the bottom of the entrance ramp, and greeted the RED Engineer with an arrow that nearly took the other man's head off, and would have, if the Texan hadn't ducked out of the way in time. A second arrow went right through the Sentry the RED had been setting up.
But then the RED Pyro and Soldier showed up, and the Sniper suddenly had not only rockets, but his own reflected arrows being shot at him. Deciding he definitely wasn't paid enough to put up with this, the assassin retreated back into the main room. He'd been planning to stand back, by the far wall, where he could get a good angle on the wankers when they reached the bottom of the ramp. That is, until he heard a Spy's cloaking device go off around the corner, where there was a long hallway that ran parallel to the main room. It was pretty much useless, unless you wanted to get around and flank the enemy. Or if a certain sneaky wuss in a cheap suit wanted to slip in without getting caught in the crossfire. The smarmy wanker probably was heading towards the BLU Engineer's Sentry.
The BLU Sniper smirked to himself. Trouncing the Spy would be much more satisfying than trying to take out that bloody Pyro and his posse. Ready for round two, ya fancy bastard?
Keeping one hand near his kukri, the BLU Sniper stalked towards the source of the sound, cautiously probing the air in front of him with one end of his bow, searching for invisible bodies.
He made it into the hallway without finding anything, and the hallway itself appeared empty. The wanker hadn't got past him, had he? Nah, the Engineer would have started making a fuss if there was a Spy mucking with his machines. 'E's got t' be in 'ere somewhere...
The cloaking noise, a soft, electric sort of hum, sounded somewhere at the other end of the hall, and the Sniper frowned. Damn. Don't tell me its our bloody wanker that's lurkin' about. That would just ruin all his fun. But it wouldn't hurt to go check.
When he reached the end of the hallway, the room beyond was empty. Outside, there seemed to be a lull in the fighting, because it had gone pretty quiet, except for the odd insult being flung, and the beeping of the respective Sentries.
He listened to the silence, searching for footsteps, but nothing was moving in the hallway. Well, he wasn't going to go hunting Spies right into the line of fire... As much as he would have enjoyed wiping the smug smirk off the slimy bastard's face, the BLU Sniper would just have to settle for trying to bow-and-arrow one of the other REDs to death from a distance. There was that RED Heavy still running around here, somewhere. Maybe the Aussie could go hunting for him, instead.
The Sniper turned to head back down the corridor... and there was the RED Spy. Standing in the middle of the bloody hallway, undisguised, uncloaked, and smirking. The glorified pea shooter that the spook called a gun was in one hand and, seeing he had the Sniper's attention, the Spy raised it. But not to point at the gunman. Instead, his smirk growing decidedly sinister, the Spy aimed for the solitary light bulb, hanging from the ceiling above them and fired. Then silently melted into the shadows that had suddenly spread around them.
And a second Spy uncloaked behind him.
Two Spies. Two. Grudgingly, the Sniper muttered, "Clever." And ducked.
---
The gunshot drew the BLU Pyro's attention. There were windows along the wall, and the hallway beyond was not completely dark. But the main room wasn't exactly adequately lit, either, and it didn't seem willing to share much of its illumination. It begrudged her just enough, however, to make out some tall, lanky shapes moving in the dim light. Spies? Definitely. Sniper? The Pyro glanced around at her team and decided, Probably. Everyone else was pretty much accounted for, except for the Scouts, and neither of them were tall enough to be the mystery figures. A second glance at her team indicated that no one else seemed to have noticed. They were all riveted on watching one of the other entrances.
Oh dear. It looks like the Sniper might need a hand. Behind her mask, the Pyro grinned, nastily. Too bad I'm busy.
Feeling decidedly more cheerful, the Pyro turned her attention back to guarding her Engineer's Sentry.
---
The Medic felt fine. Felt wonderful, in fact, though he was familiar enough with Ubercharges to know that it couldn't last. Because, while you might not notice trivial things like broken bones or sucking chest wounds while you were Übered, the charge only lasted ten seconds, and reality would, inevitably, come rushing back in. With all the pain and agony that might entail.
But, even with that depressing fact hanging over his head, it was difficult to let a little thing like imminent death ruin the mood. Because, for ten seconds, he was invulnerable. Untouchable. Safe. Ha. Try and backstab me now, schweinhunds!
Of course, the giddiness might be partly due to the blow to the head, but the Medic didn't think so. For one thing, that shouldn't be able to affect him for another 8 seconds. 7... 6...
The Heavy had obviously realized something was wrong. For one thing, the Medic had activated the charge too early for them to get to the Sentry. For another, the unpleasant crack of wood on bone had seemed surprisingly loud to the Medic. Possibly that had been something of a clue, as well. Whatever the reason, the big man had turned, swinging Sasha around to point down the hall behind them, and seeing the BLUs, the gigantic gun started its warning growl, preparing to fill the narrow hallway with lead.
"Crap!" The Medic wasn't sure which of the Scouts had said it, but it did seem to sum up the situation nicely.
The second Scout backpedaled and bolted back the way he'd come. The first Scout, however, finding himself standing right in front of the minigun wielded by an irate glowing RED giant, holding the bat that had just dented the skull of said giant's best friend... decided he'd be clever. He jumped. Touching down briefly on top of the minigun's barrel, he kicked off and tried to escape over the Heavy's shoulder. And he would have made it, too, if the Heavy hadn't let go of Sasha with one hand and snatched the BLU runner out of the air. Then slammed him into the wall. There was an unsettling crunch, and when the Heavy let him go, the BLU dropped bonelessly to the ground.
The Medic had backed out of the way, and found himself bumping into a corner. He probably would have felt worse about the BLU Scout's fate, and if there was a later, he would probably find the time to brood about it, but at the moment the Medic was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything happening outside his head.
3 seconds.
No one had ever really suggested that the Übercharge might be addictive, as far as the doctor was aware, but he had his suspicions. Of course, it might not have anything to do with whatever technological science was actually involved in producing the effect. After all, who needed chemicals when you contemplated the psychological draw of suddenly being immortal. On the middle of the battlefield, suddenly realizing you just couldn't die was exhilarating. At least in the Medic's experience, and, judging by the way most of his patients tended to break out in maniacal laughter whenever he Übercharged them, he expected they would probably agree. He'd never, in his entire career, met anyone who didn't want to do it again.
Well, except for the ones who died. That happened regrettably often. Not that the Übercharge itself was inherently dangerous (though the Medic doubted if the CEOs of RED or BLU would particularly care if it was). But it did have the tendency to override a person's normal sense of self preservation. It made you invulnerable, after all, so what did it matter if you walked into a Sentry gun nest? Or waded right out into the thick of the enemy team's defense? You couldn't die!
Then, of course, the charge would run out and you'd find yourself surrounded by irate enemies, all of whom suddenly had a deep, personal grudge against you and the ability to act upon it. If you were lucky, your poor, hapless Medic, the one that had loyally followed you on your insane, suicidal run, might make it back to safety before you died a horrible, painful death at the hands of your enemies.
Still... the Medic wasn't actually aware of anyone who had died a horrible death after an Übercharge from the horrible wounds they'd sustained before the charge. Usually, if you were Übered, that meant a Medic was healing you. In this particular case, however...
2 seconds.
Vell... I suppose I'm going to find out.
---
The RED Spy had to admit, the BLU Sniper was a tolerably fair brawler. He supposed it probably had something to do with his chosen "long range" weapon, which was, really, significantly shorter range than the rifle typically favored by other members of his profession.
However, brawler was definitely the word. The man lacked finesse, not to mention class or dignity. Which was hardly surprising, considering the man carried around jars of... disgusting, unspeakable bodily fluids. Nevertheless, his tactics were blunt and to the point, and he turned what might have been an elegant test of skill and cunning into something closer to a battle of brute strength. Something neither of the Spies had in great quantities.
So far, neither side had any clear advantage over the other. Besides the obvious, circumstantial ones, of course. The Sniper kept trying to get a hold of one of the Spies, and the Spies were not yet willing to commit themselves, instead carefully testing his defenses, looking for any weakness they could exploit.
Then the idiot, that incompetent BLU Spy stepped so he was in between the Sniper and the window, and was, therefore, silhouetted against the only light source. The Sniper seized the opportunity with both hands. Literally. Lunging at the other BLU, he bull rushed the lighter man, slamming him up against the window. Then, grabbing two fistfuls of cheap, tacky suit, the Sniper hurled the BLU Spy at the RED.
Who easily slipped out of the way.
The Sniper, however, had apparently expected him to dodge, because he had lunged again, blindly, following in the BLU Spy's wake. Of course, he might as well have telegraphed the move. The RED ducked under his arm and sidled around behind him, planting an encouraging kick in the small of his back. There was a satisfying thud, and an equally satisfying snarl, as the Sniper stumbled headlong into the wall.
Of course, it was just about then that the Spy suddenly realized he was now silhouetted against the window, and narrowly dodged out of the way as a kukri was thrown, haphazardly, at his head. Stupid, the Spy snorted, though he wasn't entirely sure which of them he was referring to.
The Sniper followed his weapon, and the RED Spy sniffed, dismissively. This is getting predictable. Instead of sidestepping the lunge again, the Spy leaned out of the way of the assassin's swipe, and, with a precise jab at the Australian's midsection with the tip of his knife, forced the Sniper to quickly reverse directions in order to avoid impaling himself. Determined to keep the lanky gunman off balance, the Spy stepped in with another stab to force his opponent backwards. Possibly the BLU Spy was back on his feet by now, and would have the sense of mind to take advantage of the Sniper's unprotected back... but the RED Spy rather doubted it.
The question quickly became moot. The Sniper, instead of stumbling out of the way, took a leaf out of the Spy's book, and side-stepped the strike. Grabbing the Spy's arm, he twisted, and would have possibly broken, or at least dislocated, said appendage if the Spy hadn't let the rest of his body follow the motion. Flipping over his own arm, he landed in a crouch, and then returned the favor: seizing hold of the Sniper's arm in return, he slid back and pulled, sending the taller man tumbling over his shoulder.
The Sniper tried to pull the Spy down after him, and the Spy responded by trying to stomp on the man's face. Not the most elegant move, perhaps, but it wasn't like anyone was watching.
Or, at least, not anyone who mattered.
Unfortunately, his foot didn't connect, but the Sniper did let go of his arm in order to roll away. He used the momentum to help him leap to his feet, retrieving his kukri as he did so. The Spy was unconcerned. It was a clunky, inelegant weapon, just like its wielder, and the easily annoyed BLU telegraphed his swipes with it.
"Bloody phony two-faced backstabbin' filthy useless snake," the Australian snarled, and taking a furious slash at the shadows in front of him.
The Spy smirked, easily dancing out of the way. Go on, tell me how you really feel. He was not, however, so idiotic as to say something out loud, and give his position away. Which was lucky. Because, this time, the deranged assassin hadn't followed up his attack. Instead, the man backed cautiously away, weapon up and ready, and his free hand reached for something in the pocket of his vest.
The Spy froze, gripped by a sudden thrill of terror that, before, he would have insisted was well outside the range of genuine emotions he allowed himself.
He has anuzzer jar.
No. No, no, no. He couldn't go through that again. In fact, he refused. The sheer indignity of it was unspeakable. And this time, there would be more witnesses.
The Spy didn't so much as twitch. The smallest footstep, the softest rustle of cloth, and he'd have a thoroughly unspeakable projectile lobbed at him. And then he might actually survive, and have to regroup with his team mates, whilst covered in... ugh. It didn't help to consider the fact that the Australian almost certainly already had a reasonable idea of where he was.
---
Where the 'ell is that bloody piker and 'is bloody fancy suit?!
The BLU Sniper only had the one jar, and if he missed, then that would be that. The bloody spook had to've moved, too, not to mention the Sniper had no idea where the second one had got to. He had his ears peeled for any kind of clue to their whereabouts in the shadows, but if these bastards were good at anything, it was lurking in the dark. Not to mention, he could hear both the RED and BLU Sentries beeping, and it was beginning to grate on the gunman's nerves. Normally, it probably wouldn't have bothered him half as much. Normally, he had a bit more patience than this.
Normally, he wouldn't have let himself get ambushed by a couple of spooks in, essentially, a dark alley. Normally, he might have had team mates that he could actually rely on.
Though, on second thought, that last one was probably just wishful thinking.
The assassin had half a mind to chuck his Jarate randomly and make a break for it. But that would be admitting defeat, and the day he couldn't take on a couple of lousy hacks in bad suits with one hand tied behind his back was the day the BLU Sniper ate his hat. Better not muck about. It was a reasonable guess that at least one of the Spies was somewhere between him and the wall. Even if he missed, there would have to be some kind of reaction that would give away at least one of the wankers' positions, and then he could pounce.
Hefting the gently sloshing jar, the Sniper got ready to lob it into the darkness... when suddenly the Powers That Be presented him with a faint footstep on a silver platter. One of the bastards had moved. Suddenly provided with a target, the Sniper chucked the jar straight at the noise. There was a crash, a tinkling of glass, a startled cry, and then a rather more horrified wail.
The BLU Sniper smirked. That's what ya get for thinkin' you're clever, mate.
There was a soft click, a few inches away from his ear. It was the loudest quiet noise the gunman had ever heard.
Oh, bloody-
---
The RED Spy lowered his revolver. Calmly, he bent down and retrieved the BLU Sniper's hat, then straightened, settling his purloined chapeau on his head with an air of quiet smugness. "You missed," he informed the dead man, politely.
There was a strangled, furious protest from the BLU Spy. The other man was, apparently, not amused. "He most certainly did not," the BLU snapped. Then, his already cracking composure slipped a few more notches, and he moaned, teetering on the very edge of hysteria, "Oh, Dio... Its everywhere..."
"Mi dispiace," the RED murmured, making an effort to sound sincere. Honestly, though, he was feeling rather smug. He'd never understood the saying "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." Because he would most certainly wish this on his worst enemy. In fact, he'd probably wish it on the most inconsequential of his enemies, as well. The Spy was generous, after all. He wouldn't want to keep all of that indignity and abject horror to himself.
The BLU Spy, of course, did not buy his sincerity for an instant. "Vaffanculo," he snarled. The RED Spy merely smirked and reached for his cigarette case. This moment definitely deserved a moment of proper celebration.
It was only after he'd taken a drag that he realized the BLU Spy's moans had ceased. The sudden silence was full of anticipation. The RED Spy froze, and glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. He couldn't have-
A rocket burst out of the floor and zipped through the air in front of his face and then exploded somewhere above him. The Spy stifled a yelp, and darted back---only to duck again, just as quickly, as a burst of submachine gun fire went off in the dark behind him. What? It took him a second, and a grenade exploding at his feet, to realize that none of it was real.
"You put somezing in my cigarettes," he observed, trying to stop himself from flinching away from the sound of a Sentry spitting out bullets a few feet from his head, and not entirely succeeding.
There was a knowing, rather sadistic chuckle from the BLU Spy. "Sì."
Rather than irritation, the Spy found himself feeling a touch of grudging admiration. And here he'd assumed the few times that the BLU Spy had stumbled into him, during their little deadly dance with the Sniper, had been due to the other man's incompetence. Obviously he had been mistaken. That, coupled with the realization that the BLU had been left in his room, unobserved, for several minutes at least, supplied the rest of the picture. If he checked now, the RED Spy was sure he would find one of his packs missing several cigarettes.
Really, the RED Spy should have seen this coming.
There was a rustle of cloth, and a soft "Aaugh," as the other man reached into his drenched, pungent suit for his weapon. "I am not so sorry to say that this, I think, is where our partnership ends."
The RED Spy realized he'd backed himself up against the wall. Probably for the best, really. "Ze feeling," he assured the other Spy, dryly, as an imaginary rocket zipped past his nose, "is mutual."
The world was suddenly filled with flames.
---
A few minutes later, the BLU Engineer looked up at the Pyro's warning growl, to see their BLU Spy, looking a bit on the battered side, making his way towards them. The Spy drew up short, frowning at the Pyro. "I merely wished to use the Distributore," he informed her, icily, with a gesture towards the machine.
The Engineer frowned at him, expression hovering somewhere between caution and concern. "You look like somethin' the cat dragged in, son. What happened?"
The Spy smoothed his tie, looking a bit sour at the Engineer's description of him. "Our Sniper had some Spy trouble... I went to give him a hand. Though, unfortunately, not in time."
Not that the slimy bastard sounded very regretful.
"And the Spy?" the Pyro asked (he was fairly sure). She didn't sound particularly put out to hear about the Sniper, either, though the Engineer supposed he couldn't hardly be surprised. To be perfectly honest, the Engineer wasn't exactly devastated by the news, himself. It was difficult to feel sad about the death of a teammate when you were convinced it was just a matter of time before you all went.
"Taken care of."
The Pyro grumbled, sounding a bit disappointed.
The Engineer sighed and waved the Spy towards his Dispenser. "Well, don't just stand there..." He wasn't entirely convinced by the Spy's story, but it wasn't as if the double talking sneak could try anything, not with the Pyro and the Engineer right th-
Before she could stop him, the Spy calmly reached out and slapped a Sapper down onto her Engineer's Sentry. The BLU Pyro yelled "Spy!" and pointed her flamethrower at him, but he was right next to the Engineer. She'd set them both on fire and it was marginally more important not to set her teammate on fire than it was to light the Spy up. Which was saying something, really, because she really liked lighting Spies up.
"Spy sappin' my Sentry!" the Engineer barked, sounding indignant. Instead of trying to knock the Sapper off, however, the Texan reached for his shotgun.
Several things happened almost at once.
The RED Soldier took the opportunity to step into view and start firing rockets at the inactive Sentry. The Sentry exploded. And the BLU Engineer blew the Spy away, with his shotgun at point blank range.
((Tiny A/N: I never actually played Team Fortress Classic, but apparently the Spies had a grenade that made you hallucinate and see gunfire etc that wasn't actually there. Just in case you were wondering where the hell I was coming up with some of this stuff. ;) ))