A/N: More explanation next chapter, but to clarify: This is new (or partially new.) Next chapter is the old, original ending, preserved for posterity. But, honestly, the old ending was crap, and rushed and left too many threads hanging...
I like this one better. Hopefully you guys will find it amusing.
The Medic wasn't quite sure how he'd got there, but suddenly he and the Heavy were outside the base, and he was leaning on the big man. More like hanging, actually, since to lean on the Heavy, he'd need a stepladder. Or possibly stilts. Regardless, it was obvious that only reason he was still standing, much less walking in what could be considered a straight line, was due to the Heavy's help, and semantics didn't really need to come into it.
Difficulty balancing, he noted, absently. Impaired motor controls. Any light sensitiv-Ouch. Ja, light sensitivity. Ringing in zhe ears?
He tried listening, and realized the Heavy had been talking to him. "Vhat?"
"Dispenser is right over here. You will be fine, da? Do not worry."
Even with the concussion-and the Medic was fairly certain it was a concussion, the symptoms seemed to line up, even if he couldn't remember how he'd gotten it-he could tell that the Heavy was trying to reassure himself as much as the doctor. With his free hand, the doctor reached up to pat the Heavy's shoulder, and only missed on the first two tries. "Yes," the Medic agreed, "Nothing to worry about."
Conversely, this didn't seem to reassure the Heavy at all. The Medic felt a bit put out about that. He should have been better at comforting people. He was a doctor, after all. But he'd never really seemed to get the hang of it. On the other hand, this was a battlefield, so what did they all expect? He didn't have time to save his teammates lives and coddle them. They weren't children, it wasn't as if they needed a reassuring pat on the head to go along with all their newly unperforated organs. Honestly. They had absolutely no reason to complain.
Not that they were complaining. He was fairly sure. Not about that anyway. Vhat was I zhinking about? Oh, yes, that was right. Symptoms.
Vas I slurring my vords? He couldn't be sure. Maybe he should try saying something else and pay better attention. But, no, then he'd just be talking to himself, and the Heavy might think he'd gone crazy. That probably hadn't happened. Though, the Medic had to admit, he wasn't feeling terribly lucid at the moment.
The Heeey, I am Completely Uninjured, Over heeeere feeling twinged and the Medic winced. Gottverdammt, people were trying to talk to him again. Couldn't they see he was busy? And that twinge was emphatically nothelping. "Ja?" He snapped, half thinking. "Was ist es?"
"You got banged up a bit, Doc," said a somewhat blurry someone, who wasn't the Heavy. The voice sounded familiar. The Medic felt inclined to be irritated at it, just on general principle, though he wasn't sure why. Besides the fact they seemed intent on stating the obvious. "You feelin' alright?"
Vhat a stupid question. The Medic pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled, "I have a concussion. How do you think I feel?"
There was a pause. Then a sigh. In a tone that suggested he was trying very hard to stay polite, the Engineer-because it was apparently the Engineer, the Medic had finally connected the distinctive American twang to a face-asked, "Couldja repeat that, Doc? Maybe in English?"
The Medic frowned up at the Texan-and the up gave him momentary pause. How did he get so tall all of sudden? Oh. The Medic was sitting. When had that happened?
Trying to turn his attention back to the matter at hand, the doctor growled, "That was English-" And then caught himself. Because, this time he'd actually heard himself. And, "No. No, that was not." The Medic winced a little, chagrined. Whoops. No wonder the Heavy had looked so worried before.
"Dang right, it vahs neeshed," the Engineer agreed, with just a touch of sarcasm, his accent brutally murdering the German words. The Medic tried not to wince. Even the Scout's attempt had been marginally better. "I reckon my ears work just fine."
"Sorry," the Medic grumbled, grudgingly, pronouncing it with two syllables. Please excuse me for having my head cracked open.
Oddly enough, though, his head was actually starting to feel a little better. Funny, he would have expected it to take longer than-Oh, he was sitting next to a Dispenser. That explained a lot. For some reason, however, the Engineer, and the Heavy (who was still hovering nearby, looking worried), were still blurry. His eyesight really should have been one of the first things to clear up.
The Engineer, oblivious to the fact he was stubbornly refusing to come into focus, rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. The doctor couldn't make out much of his expression, but apparently he hadn't been expecting an apology, even an extremely begrudging one. "Yeah, well. This somethin' we should be worried about?"
The Medic gave this some slightly more coherent thought. Without being able to give himself a proper examination, he would have to guess it was just disorientation. He discovered he could manage a "No" in the correct language, without much trouble.
The big blurry shape that was the Heavy seemed to relax, fractionally. The Engineer's blur turned to the Russian's. "I'll keep an eye on 'im. You'd better go let th' boys up front know we need a plan B."
The Heavy shifted his weight, looking reluctant, and glanced down at the Medic. "Doktor?"
He really didn't want to let the big man out of his sight. Besides just the fact that he'd feel safer. What if something happened to the Russian, while the Medic wasn't around to watch his back? But that was silly, the big man had managed this long without him, he could manage for just a couple minutes more. So the Medic gestured vaguely towards the ramp (which was, inexplicably, more in focus than his teammates were) and assured him, carefully, making sure it was in English this time, "I vill be fine."
"You are sure?"
The Medic caught himself smiling, just a little, and quickly stopped. Still... It was probably just the head trauma, but suddenly, this insane mess, this crazy, complicated, horrible accident that had been the last few weeks felt... worth it.
...Definitely the head trauma.
"Of course," he replied, firmly. Then, before he could stop them, the Medic found the words, "Be careful, ja?" coming out of his mouth.
Even though it was still persistently a little blurry, the doctor could still make out the Heavy's grin. "Da. Of course," he echoed. Hefting his minigun again, the Russian turned to start making his way towards the ramp.
x x x
This, the RED Scout decided, had to be the most boring battle he had ever, ever been in. Nothing even close to interesting had happened. The BLUs were just hiding behind their stupid Sentry gun, and he wasn't quite bored enough yet to see if he could outrun auto-targeted high caliber bullets. (He totally could, though, he just didn't feel like it right now.)
The only one currently keeping him company was Cap'n America, too. Pyro had mysteriously disappeared sometime around the start of battle, and everybody else was off flanking, or somethin'. The Scout woulda much rather been off flanking, too, but Cap'n might go crazy and decide he could outrun auto-targeted, high caliber bullets, and he totally couldn't.
Hopefully the Doc would hurry up and Ubercharge the Heavy, already, and then the Scout could stop listening to how many ways Sun Tzu would have killed these BLU pansies with just his thumb.
"So. We need Plan B," boomed a voice behind him, interrupting the Soldier's tirade.
The Scout whirled around to find the Heavy looming behind him, with a whole boatload of absolutely no Medic following him. Shit! "Where's the Doc?"
The Heavy jerked a meaty thumb over his shoulder, back up the ramp. "By Dispenser."
Which explained absolutely nothing. Which didn't stop the Soldier from jumping all over it. "WE ARE NOT HERE TO SIT AROUND THE WATER COOLER, LADIES, WE ARE HERE-"
The Heavy looked like he was seriously considering pummeling the Soldier into the ground. "To take down tiny baby Sentry. Yes. So. Are we coming up with plan, or are you to be yelling?"
"Mmph," said the RED Pyro, cheerfully, appearing out of thin freaking air, practically. "Mh mphh mhh mphhm mhh hmmh Mhhmphrh."
The Scout, who had caught something about Spy and Sentry, had just barely enough self restraint to keep from making a Lassie joke. What's that, Pyro? Spy fell down a well?
Cap'n, though, had apparently understood every frickin' word. "So, he's finally decided to stop sipping crumpets and get his hands dirty with the REST of us AMERICANS."
"Still Russian," the Heavy muttered.
To the Scout's disappointment, that the Spy chose that moment to start picking on the BLUs. Just when things were starting to get interesting.
x x x
The RED Spy almost tripped over his own corpse, and didn't have time to contemplate how bizarre that ought to have been. The golden pocket watch he'd filched off of the BLU Spy's charred remains was counting down the seconds before he'd be visible again, and when that happened, he did not want to be here.
This "Dead Ringer" was a handy little trinket, to be sure, but the Spy still thought he preferred a more... conventional method of cloaking. Needing to be shot to turn invisible seemed counter productive, somehow.
And it certainly hadn't helped the BLU Spy, in the end...
Once the screaming had stopped, and the flames had died down-and the RED Spy had determined that at least some of that had probably been real-he stepped away from the wall. Picking his way through a hail of hallucinatory gunfire, the Spy made his way over to greet the ace he'd had hidden up his sleeve.
The RED Pyro turned towards him, and the lenses of the man's gas mask glinted in the dark, catching what little light there was that filtered through the window, reminding the Spy of some kind of sinister insect. It was more than a little unnerving, though, of course, the Spy was careful not to let any of that show on his face.
Abruptly, the Pyro brought up his hand, in his customary thumb's up, and asked, "Mh mffmhh?"
The Spy smoothed his tie, "Perfectly."
...It had been tricky, relying on the Pyro. But, if there was one thing that few of his fellow Spies could comprehend, it was the concept of teamwork. So he'd taken a gamble, assuming, correctly, that whatever insidious plot the BLU had been plotting-really, his cigarettes? Now, that was downright underhanded-his counterpart would not consider the possibility that the RED Spy might actually tell someone about their little venture.
The Spy allowed himself a small, private smirk at that thought, as he ducked into the darkened hallway again. And narrowly missed tripping over the BLU Spy's corpse. Really, this was getting ridiculous. The Spy didn't object to killing people, of course, but it certainly made the battlefield feel rather cluttered after awhile.
The Dead Ringer's cloak dissipated with a rather loud electric crackle. The Spy winced and glared at it. Loud and impractical. Tsk. Fortunately, there did not seem to be any pursuit. Not that there should have been-as far as the BLUs were concerned, he was dead, after all. Cautiously, he crept back over to the doorway and took a moment to inspect the tide of battle. Though he hardly needed to, since, at the same moment, the Announcer declared, "Alert! The final control point is being contested!"
Indeed, the Scout and the Heavy were both standing on the point, watching the Soldier and the BLU Demoman trying to beat each other to death with their bare hands just a few feet away.
After a moment, the Spy realized what was missing, and frowned. Just the Heavy. The Medic had been, to use the vernacular, sticking like glue to the Heavy's side, particularly on the battlefield. His absence on the point, therefore, was notable.
I'm sure zere is a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Surely, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
And, just possibly, he should get over there, post haste, and hear it. Just incase it turned out to be less than reasonable, and more on the side of utterly catastrophic.
x x x
"Success!" the Announcer purred over the loud speakers, as smug as any Spy who knows something you don't know.
So glad you noticed, The RED Medic grumbled, ducking down a side hallway, careful to avoid the main room that housed the Control Point. He had a sneaking suspicion she was only pleased because it meant she got to berate the other team. Or watch them get slaughtered. Or both.
Really, he probably should have waited for the Heavy before going off on this little errand, into enemy territory, all by his lonesome. Except that, the REDs were in the midst of routing the BLUs-the Sentry gun guarding the Control Point had gone down, though the Medic hadn't seen how, and everyone but the Engineer and the Sniper had charged in...
And, unlike the Announcer, he couldn't watch. He just couldn't do it.
No one would notice one little Medic sneaking off to go find his old room, and see if his spare set of spectacles were still there. And it was a good reason to excuse himself, anyway: He could see well enough without them, at least to avoid getting himself killed, but he wouldn't be able to read. Besides, it was irritating not to have them.
Not that, right at this moment, they would have done him any good either way. Something had happened to the overhead light that was supposed to be illuminating this hallway, and now the Medic was having to feel his way around in the dark. The blurry dark. It was enough to make him feel nervous despite the deceptive feeling of relief that the BLU base had affected him with. A Spy wouldn't even have to cloak to be practically invisible in these shadows-
He tripped over something soft and only barely managed to keep his feet. A body? Not terribly surprising. Battlefield, et cetera, et cetera. Automatically, the Medic knelt and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He moved his hand to feel the face, trying to get some clue as to who this had been, but thick surgical gloves weren't really made to facilitate the sense of touch. It wasn't until he found the cracked sunglasses that he realized Sniper.
Their Sniper was back up at the top of the ramp. This had to be the BLU.
It belatedly occurred to him that he hadn't had to correct himself.
In any case there was nothing he could do. (Though he made a mental note, just in case the RED Sniper found himself missing some integral body parts in the next few minutes, that there were spares available.)
The Medic had barely made it to the other end of the hall before he nearly tripped over another body. The smell of cooked meat left cause of death as no mystery, but the Medic still checked for a pulse. You never knew, after all.
Again, nothing. Again, he felt for the face, trying to discern who the body had belonged to. There was nothing immediately identifiable, which was, in itself, a fairly reasonable clue. With some trepidation, the Medic ran a hand along the side of the dead man's head. Smooth. Still nothing obviously identifiable, and the Medic knew that, if it wasn't for the glove, he'd feel cloth. It was a mask. Which meant Spy.
Oh no.
No, no, don't panic. He couldn't make out the color, this could be a BLU Spy. Who knew how many there were, after all. BLU Command seemed to be fond of providing the team with ample spares. The Medic felt for and found the dead man's tie, and slipped it off the corpse's neck.
Stuffing it into his pocket, he made his way the rest of the way down the hall, and back out into the light. Ducked through another doorway, and kept going until he was sure it would be safe to stop for a few moments, and then took the tie out again.
He'd never been more relieved to see the color blue in... well, alright, since this battle started and they showed up at the BLU base, but being logical took all the emphasis out of it. This didn't, of course, mean that the RED Spy was safe and sound, but at least it wasn't definitive proof that he wasn't.
The Medic let out the breath he'd been trying not to notice he was holding, and shoved the tie back in his pocket. Enough of this. He had an errand to run, after all, that was completely legitimate and not at all an excuse. And maybe if I keep telling myself zhat...
It wasn't hard to find his old room. Possibly, he could have found it in his sleep. Unfortunately, it was locked, which really hadn't been something he'd counted on. Racking his brain, the Medic tried to think back. Had he left the door locked when he'd left, that morning, on the way to the battlefield? Not that it mattered, but it'd be nice to know who he had to blame...
A muffled growl drew him away from the locked door. Startled, the Medic glanced over, and found himself looking down the muzzle of the BLU Pyro's flamethrower.
x x x
The RED Engineer watched the Doc disappear into the base with a frown. Instead of heading straight down the end of the ramp and out into the room that held the Capture Point, the Medic had hung a left. Pretty quickly, too. The Engineer had just enough time to register the tail end of the Doc's coat disappear around the corner before the abrupt change in direction had really sunk in. Which was when a little alarm bell began ringing in the back of his mind.
Call it irrational paranoia if you will, but something about that just didn't sit right with him. There was no good reason that he could see why the Medic shouldn't just head straight in to catch up with the Heavy. Especially over taking some side corridor that led who knows where... Almost like he wasn't trying to catch up with the Heavy.
Yeah, scratch that. There were a couple of reasons the Engineer could think of for why the Medic wouldn't just head straight in to catch up with the Heavy, and none of 'em were good.
But maybe he wasn't giving the Doc enough credit. Maybe he had an entirely innocent reason for his little detour.
Maybe I oughta follow him. Hell, even if the Medic had a squeaky clean conscience-and the Texan sure doubted that-the Doc might just get himself killed. The Engineer's machines hadn't been much help this battle. Might as well make himself useful somehow, right?
x x x
"I'm... just gonna go make sure he gets there alright," Truckie spoke up, abruptly, tearing the Sniper's gaze away from his scope.
The Engineer? And the Medic? Armed and unobserved? Oh, wouldn't that just be bloody brilliant. "I-" The Sniper started. But something of that line of thought must have shown on his face, because the Texan was suddenly glaring at him. Accusingly.
You think you know what the next words outta my mouth are gonna be, and you don't like 'em, do you, mate? Because the next words were going to be don't know if that's a good idea, but if it were anyone else's idea, it would have been a good one. And they both knew it. Finishing that sentence was as good as saying I don't trust you, mate.
So, did he?
It wouldn't have been a question, before. The Engineer was a reliable bloke, after all, and until the Medic showed up, the Sniper hadn't had any reason to doubt the Texan's ability to make rational, logical decisions. Though, truth be told, it had started before the Doc had even shown up-on their side of the battlefield, anyway. The Texan seemed to be on edge more often. Touchier. His previously inexhaustible patience had shortened considerably.
And his team had noticed. Even the ones like the Soldier, who probably hadn't even realized they'd noticed. They'd been dealing with him a little more delicately, in as much as any of them knew the meaning of the word, even if it just meant giving him some extra space. Even the Scout had been leaving him alone, for the most part.
It hadn't occurred to the Sniper that the Engineer might see things differently. From his perspective, his team was either treating him like he was unstable, or avoiding him altogether.
Bit unfair, really, come to think of it. Especially since a lot of the ones avoiding the Texan had gravitated towards their newest teammate, instead.
The Sniper owed the Medic one. His near miss wouldn't have missed if not for the Doc, and he knew it. And he honestly didn't know if the Engineer was likely to do something rash and potentially violent if he got the Medic alone for a few minutes.
But.
He had to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise they might just lose themselves an Engineer. And that'd be a bloody shame.
"-can keep an eye on your machines, mate," the Sniper finished, getting his feet.
The Engineer's accusing glare derailed itself. Looking a bit startled, then a bit suspicious, he eyed the Sniper, like he wasn't quite sure he believed what he was hearing. "You don't hafta do that."
The assassin shrugged. "'Aven't managed to get a shot off this whole fight. I might as well make myself useful."
Truckie didn't seem to know what to say to that. After a moment, he just nodded, and started after the Medic. The Sniper meandered nonchalantly over to the Dispenser and tried not to worry over much about the fact he might, just possibly, have to explain all this to the Spy.
x x x
When her Engineer's Sentry went down, the BLU Pyro had grabbed the Texan's unresisting arm and hauled him away from the explosions. He'd been staring at the remains of his machine like it had been his child, or something, but he'd get blown up himself if he kept standing there. She gave him a little push towards the door behind them. If he started for the barracks now he could probably hide safely until the round was over. She had some REDs to set on fire.
The Pyro turned back to the fight just in time to see her Demoman charge in to meet the oncoming REDs with a small cacophony of explosions and curses. She started forward, moving to join him, but her Engineer grabbed her and hauled her back behind cover.
"Don't be an idiot," he told her, quietly. "Its over, they got us."
As if in agreement, the Announcer shrieked, "Our Control Point is being Contested!"
Well screw that. The REDs could pry the Control Point out of her cold, dead fing-
...The Engineer's expression finally managed to sink in, past dark lenses and through a (she had to admit) pretty thick skull. He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't really looking at anything. His whole, well, everything was slumped. He looked defeated, and she knew that, if the REDs got to him, he wasn't even going to fight. He'd just stand there and let them shoot him.
Well, crap. She couldn't just leave him. But she couldn't just leave the Demoman, either. Could she? There wasn't any time to think. She had to choose, right now. Save one friend, or save the other. But, no, that wasn't true. Even she could see that wasn't the real choice.
This was the choice: Save one. Or don't save either.
In the end, it wasn't really any choice at all.
She grabbed her Engineer's shoulders and, turning him towards the door again, started shoving. He actually protested a little. "I ain't-"
"Yes, you are. Shut up."
x x x
"You failed!" the Announcer accused them, though the BLU Engineer couldn't bring himself to care. Of course they'd failed. She wasn't doing anything but state the obvious.
Behind him, the Pyro muttered something extremely rude through the filter in her mask. She'd stopped pushing him when he'd consented to walk on his own. He'd consented to walk on his own when it became obvious that she was going to keep pushing him if he didn't. They were making their way to his workshop. Or, at least, the Pyro was, and he was just going wherever she dragged him, because he couldn't get her to leave him be.
It was around the time she hissed "Someone's coming!" and manhandled him through the nearest doorway that the Engineer realized he had something else to be utterly fed up with. Namely, being hauled around like a sack of grain. 'Course, he apparently wasn't going to do anything about that either. Because he was spineless.
Footsteps passed them by, and then the Pyro edged back over to the door to peek through it. And growled.
She had been sure that she'd just been imagining things, before. The REDs' new Medic wasn't her Medic. They just looked the same. It wasn't that hard to believe, much easier to swallow than the idea that it really was her Medic. That he'd left them to join up with the REDs. That he'd abandoned them for the winning side.
But if the RED Medic wasn't her Medic, then what the hell was he doing here? He couldn't just be trying to hunt down hiding BLUs. He hadn't been checking doors-he'd headed straight for that one. Her Medic's old room.
That bastard.
Even if it wasn't her Medic, if it was just a horrible coincidence, then he was still looting her Medic's old room. And if it was her old Medic, then... then... she was going to set him on fire.
x x x
The Medic flinched away, reflexively stumbling back a few steps and reached for his syringe gun. Then stopped himself. What did he think he was going to do, shoot her? He knew he didn't have it in him. Knew it without a doubt.
She had no such qualms, however. Fortunately, when the BLU Pyro's finger squeezed the trigger, her flamethrower just hissed uselessly. The pilot light had apparently gone out. "Fhhk!"
Dropping the weapon, she reached for her axe. The BLU Engineer caught her arm, and she tried to tug it out of his grasp. "Mht mh!"
"Nope." The other BLU looked grim. "Wont work anyway."
"I..." The Medic started, and realized he had absolutely nothing to say. What could he say? I'm sorry zhat I abandoned you? I'm glad to see you didn't killed, considering zhat I have been helping zhe ozzer team now und can't watch your back...? Oh, yes. Because that would obviously go over well.
When he was saved from this dilemma, the Medic emphatically wished that he hadn't been. Among the list of noises that would immediately capture someone's attention as quickly and meaningfully as possible, the distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked was one of the top three. The RED Engineer suddenly had the center spotlight. He'd come up behind the two BLUs before the Medic had even noticed, and now he had his gun trained on them.
He could feel the desperate No! trying to claw its way out of his throat, and wrestled it back down. No. He couldn't stop this. He had no right to. He'd made his choice. Now he'd have to accept the consequences, whether he liked them or not.
The Pyro spun around to face the RED Engineer. Before the Texan's BLU counterpart could stop her, she swung her axe up, ready to bring it down on the newly arrived RED. When the weapon reached the top of its swing, however, the axe head continued on the same path, blissfully unaware it was supposed to be changing directions, and leaving the shaft of the weapon behind. The Medic ducked, reflexively, as the hunk of sharpened metal went sailing over his head, and then landed further down the hallway, bouncing a couple of times, with a few sharp sounding tinks.
The Pyro stared in surprise at the suddenly-less-than-lethal stick in her hands, then threw it at the ground with a furious curse. "MhdMMNmht!"
It was dawning on the Medic that the RED Engineer hadn't fired yet. And, for some reason, it didn't look as though he was about to. The Medic wished he could make out the other man's expression more clearly, but, to top it all off, he still didn't have his glasses, verdammt. Still, it was clear enough that the Engineer was the one running the show, just now.
Until the shorter man shifted his gaze from the BLUs to the Medic. Studied him critically for a long moment. Then asked, flatly, "What should we do with 'em, Doc?"
x x x
It wasn't until he saw the doctor's expression that the Engineer realized that the question had been inadvertently cruel. He'd meant to let the Doc know that the Engineer would follow his lead, whatever he wanted to do, but apparently the Texan was just no Spy when it came to subtext, and the Medic had got the wrong idea.
He'd seen the No! look on the Doc's face, when he'd shown up, despite the fact the BLU Pyro had just tried to kill the Medic. Twice. Humorously, sure, but only because it hadn't worked (and the Medic was damn lucky the round was over, otherwise the BLU's weapons might have worked). But the Texan had also noticed that the Doc hadn't said it. The Doc might not like it, but he wasn't going to take the BLUs' side against the RED Engineer. Despite the fact the doctor hated his guts.
It just didn't make any gosh darn sense.
Maybe he thought it wouldn't work. Or he didn't want to give his new team any (more) reasons to second guess his loyalty. Which, the Engineer realized a little guiltily, wasn't completely off the mark. Whatever the reason, the Doc hadn't tried to talk any of the REDs around, hadn't tried to convince them to go easy on the BLUs. Couldn't be because he didn't want to, because it was obvious to the Engineer now that the doctor very much wanted to.
The Texan wasn't as practiced in reading subtle nuances of expression as, say, the Spy was. But he didn't need to be some kind of professor of facial expressions to read the dread on the other RED's expression. Didn't need a fancy translator to get the message: Don't make me do this.
He must've thought it was some kind of trap. A test of loyalty, or some such thing. If he didn't doom these two, he'd be twice a traitor and couldn't be trusted at all. Or some other load of horse manure. Dagnabbit, the Engineer hadn't meant it like that.
"Don't reckon there's any point in killing 'em," he added, slowly and pointedly. "They've already lost." And if that didn't get through, then the Engineer was gonna need a drawing board and some diagrams.
The Medic's look of dread melted into muted surprise. "I... vould agree vith you," he replied, cautiously.
x x x
If the BLU Pyro had bristled at the RED Engineer's words, she'd gone livid at the Medic's. That was it? That was all he had to say? Not only was he not going to beg for their lives, but he was agreeing that they were too worthless to kill! This couldn't be happening. The Medic couldn't do this, she wouldn't let him. He couldn't just leave his team high and dry. It wasn't supposed to happen like that, it couldn't happen like that, but it was happening anyway, and he was just letting it.
Before anyone could stop her, she'd grabbed a double handful of the Medic's coat and pulled him down so she could shout in his face. "We're your teammates!" She wanted to shake him until he came to his senses. Until he did something, instead of just standing there, not saying anything.
She started to, but he stopped her with a quiet, "No." Glancing past her, towards the RED Engineer, he indicated the other man with a small nod of his head, and added, firmly, "Zhey are mein teammates."
The Pyro let go. He'd really left them. He'd really ditched them for the winning team, like a rat leaving a sinking ship. Even the Sniper had stuck with the team, and he was an asshole who hadn't even cared about them. But the Medic was supposed to look out for his teammates. And he'd left.
"I'm sorry," the RED Medic said, still quiet.
She hit him.
x x x
...Ow.
The Medic felt his teeth click together painfully, when the BLU Pyro's fist connected with his jaw. But, really, compared to the bludgeoning his head had received earlier, this was more startling than particularly agonizing.
In a way, it was almost a relief, which wasn't the sort of response to getting hit in the face that he would have expected. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, after all. Maybe it was easier to let it go, knowing that someone else wouldn't. Maybe he just needed it to matter to someone.
There were just some things that a person didn't want to be forgiven for.
Alternatively, maybe he just needed to stop being so melodramatic about it, and pay attention to more important, pressing matters, such as the RED Engineer getting ready to shoot the BLU that had just assaulted his teammate.
"Don't," the Medic snapped, a little more harshly than he'd intended. But, if they hadn't been planning on killing these BLUs before, then they certainly weren't going to do it now, just for throwing one, entirely justified punch.
To the Medic's surprise, the Engineer actually listened, though he didn't look particularly pleased. Lowering his gun, slightly, the Texan glared at the two BLUs.
The BLU Pyro steadfastly ignored him. Her attention was on the Medic and the doctor could tell by her expression (such as it was) that she was attempting to set him on fire with her mind. Though that may have just been his imagination.
Which just left the BLU Engineer. He seemed unaffected by the glare his counterpart was pointing at him. Defeat was etched in every line of the man, and the Medic suspected that BLU had hardly even noticed a little thing like a disgruntled expression. It would be like a sprinkle of rain falling on the rubble that remained after a carpet bombing.
The two Engineers considered each other for a very long moment. Then, with a jerk of his chin, the RED indicated further down the hallway, and ordered, "Go on, then. Git. You're lucky the Doc's not holdin' a grudge." His glanced over at the Medic, and added, with a tone cast and plated in irony, "This time."
The Medic decided to ignore that.
x x x
The BLU Engineer didn't feel particularly lucky, though he knew the other Engineer was right, that he probably should. Instead, he was trying not to feel disappointed. And disgusted with himself, for feeling disappointed. What, was he a quitter, too?
He'd recognized something in the RED's expression. Something familiar. He'd seen it before, not all that long ago. In the mirror.
Frustration. Exasperation. The gnawing, grating, inescapable feeling of uselessness, like he kept running head first into an invisible wall. And it just gets worse from there, don't it?
He could warn the RED. But it probably wouldn't make a difference. Taking the Pyro by the elbow, the Engineer tried to steer her away. "C'mon..."
She resisted him, just long enough to spit something muffled and insulting at the Medic. She sounded as if she would have liked to literally spit, if the gas mask hadn't made that idea extremely inadvisable.
x x x
The BLUs disappeared down the hallway. And that was it. It was over. The other shoe had fallen, and it had not been quite as terrible as he'd imagined. These particular consequences, the Medic thought he could live with. It was enough that the worst had not happened. The thing he had been dreading had not come to pass, and now, the vice grip of fear was being replaced with relief. And... gratitude.
The funny thing about endings, though, was that the rest of the world never seemed to stop for them. In this case, there was a silence stretching out in the wake of the BLUs, filled with the sound of everything else waiting not very patiently for the Medic to hurry it up and move on with things.
Things, for example, such as just possibly saying Thank you. He had... not expected this, not from the Engineer. If it had been the Heavy, it would have gone without saying. The Spy or even the Sniper would have seen it as doing him a favor-and after the trouble the Spy had caused him, the Medic could have made a decent argument that the masked man owed him one. Even the Scout, he might have been able to convince.
He had... misjudged the other man. And the Medic was deeply grateful for this fact. The man might be irritable, obstinate and contrary, but he'd... refrained from being cruel when it mattered. And that was important.
The Medic cleared his throat. He was aware that the Engineer was looking at him, though between the face obscuring goggles and hard hat and the general blurriness, all he could really tell was the man wasn't scowling.
"You could've just said somethin', Doc." The words came out like very exasperated steam being released from pipe that had been about to burst at the seams, and reminded the Medic that oh yes, remember zhe person you're feeling grateful to? Maybe you should thank him.
Yes.
...Right.
He'd get right on that.
Any second now.
Bullying his nerves into something that resembled courage, the Medic took a deep breath and, absently reaching up to rub at his tired eyes, began somewhat awkwardly, "You didn't have to do zhat..."
As it turned out, this was exactly the wrong thing to say.
x x x
Why that no good, lousy, ungrateful sonnava- Like hell he didn't have to. Like not being a blind, insensitive, murderous bastard was a stretch. Like it had been some kind of inconvenience to be some kind of decent human being and not just think with his trigger finger. What kind of crazed, gun toting, violent madman did the Doc think he was, exactly? Not that-to back pedal a bit there real quick-there was anything necessarily wrong with being a crazed, gun toting violent madman. It certainly seemed to be working for the Soldier and the Engineer didn't have anything against him so long as he was pointed in the right direction. But that was the Soldier, and the Engineer had always prided himself on being the one of the more sane, reasonable, rational thinking members of their little crew.
He was not unhinged, damn it!
Indignant fury boiled up inside him, drawing him upright to glare at the Medic. "Now, just what-" he started to demand... before an oily, accented voice smoothly cut in, interrupting his tirade before it could begin, like a Ferrari suddenly pulling out in front of a rusty old jalopy as it putted along on the freeway.
"Ah. Zere you are."
The Spy's voice drifted out of the air behind them. Almost in union, the Medic and the Engineer jerked around just in time to see the masked man become visible, striding briskly towards them as if he'd just arrived on the scene. The Engineer didn't believe that for a single second. The Spy's arrival was just too damn convenient. "Ze ozzers have met on ze Control Point. What are you doing down here?"
"Uh," the Medic stammered, and cast a glance in the Engineer's direction, with what was clearly uncertainty written in broad strokes across his features.
"The Sniper told you where to find us." The words were forced out between his teeth. He seen the hesitation in his friend's expression, when he'd mentioned going after the Medic, he knew he had. Dang blasted Aussie had turned around and blabbed to the spook the first chance he'd got. And then that lousy Spy had followed him. He'd probably been watching the whole gosh darn time, just in case the Texan snapped and murdered his new little pal. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Did the whole damn team think he was some kind of lunatic?
"Non. Should he have?" the Spy lied, blatantly, with the same unconcerned nonchalance he was currently radiating. Tapping ash off the end of his cigarette, he strolled up to the door and bent to inspect the lock. Which, the Engineer noticed, put him smack dab between the Medic and the irate Texan. Ain't that a damn fine coincidence. "I saw you come zis way, myself."
"So you just figured you'd tag along."
Rolling one shoulder in an unconcerned shrug, the Spy fished out a set of lock picks from somewhere in his suit and set about unlocking the door. "Eventually. Wiz ze BLUs routed, it was not as if you could get into much trouble."
The Engineer snorted, which made the Spy glance up from his task to arch a brow at him.
"Did you run into trouble?" As if the slippery bastard didn't know the answer to that perfectly well.
"No," said the Medic rejoining the conversation at last. With another wary glance in the Texan's direction, the Doc added, "Ve... didn't have any trouble."
"Marvelous!" The lock clicked open under the Spy's hands, and he stood, opening the door to just a crack to demonstrate his success. "You see? Zere was never any doubt."
The Texan just scowled. He wasn't about to let the slippery snake twist his way out of this one with a clever patronizing tone. "And if there had been?" he demanded.
The Spy turned and gave him an arch look, as if the answer to the Engineer's question was obvious and the Spy was surprised he'd had to ask. "Zat is what your teammates are for, non?" And there was nothing smug or patronizing in the Spy's tone, just a simple statement of fact. "When zere is trouble, we are zere to get you out if it."
The anger froze into a cold lump of lead that dropped into the pit of his stomach. Was that what they all thought? That... that struck him harder than it rightly should have, just the idea that his team, all of them believed he needed looking after. That was worse than thinking they were all handling him with kid gloves, like he was a Demoman's sticky bomb, liable to go off at any moment.
Thinking that had irritated him. Just wound him up more.
This, though... This was all that wound up tension not breaking, but crumbling to pieces, turning to dust.
Weren't they right, after all? Seemed like lately all he did was get himself into one mess or another. And as soon as he did, there was someone dragging him out of it again.
Like now.
"Guess so," he admitted. The words tasted bitter in his mouth.
x x x
The fires of the BLUs Pyro rage had guttered down to smoldering embers surprisingly quickly. They hadn't even made it to the garage, when an unfamiliar feeling began to creep in and start to smother her angry sulking.
Guilt. This was what guilt felt like.
I'm sorry, he'd said.
She'd left the Demoman behind. She'd given up, and run away, without trying to help him. Okay, it was because the Engineer needed her help, but the Demoman had needed her help, too. She'd had to pick one, but she didn't like it.
It was all her stupid Medic's fault. If he had stayed, maybe they wouldn't have lost so badly, maybe they could have all gotten away...
I'm sorry.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was sorry. It wasn't fair that she didn't get to be angry about this. She shouldn't feel guilty! She should be furious! He had picked the REDs over her!
And she had picked the Engineer.
Craaaaap.
The Pyro stopped in her tracks and stared at the ground for a long second or two. Then she heaved a sigh, turning her gaze up to glare furiously at the ceiling, and muttered, "This sucks."
Then she turned on her heel.
Behind her, her Engineer demanded, "Hang on a minute... Where're you going now?"
"I'll be right back," she grumbled at him, and stomped back down the hallway, back towards the REDs. And the stupid RED Medic. With his big stupid face.
x x x
"Guess so," the Engineer said, grimly.
They had handed out scripts again, the Medic decided. And once again neglected to give him one. What had started out as an obviously poor attempt at expressing his gratitude had turned into... this. Whatever this was. Somehow, and he wasn't sure how, there was obviously an entirely separate conversation going on between the Spy and the Engineer that was completely divorced from the conversation that he was hearing.
Well, fine. Dealing with one dummkophf of a teammate who couldn't just come out and say what he meant was quite enough for the Medic. He didn't need two of them. Yes, because you are so good about zhat, yourself, aren't you. Say it viz me now: Zhank...
"Now hang on-Where're you going now?" It was the Engineer's voice, but not from the RED Engineer's mouth. The exasperated question came from somewhere farther down the hall, in the direction that the BLUs had disappeared.
At which point, the BLU Pyro reappeared, marching purposefully towards them with hands fisted at her sides. Vhat is she... Vhat is she doing? It was over. Things had been decided. Concluded. Finished. Consequences had... concequenced. She would go away, somewhere, and hate him forever (justifiably so) and not be killed by anyone he knew. While he would move on with his new life, secure in the knowledge that somewhere out there, someone was despising m for the tings he'd done; It was no more than he deserved.
No part of this one-sided arrangement called for her coming back for Round Two. He could already see, out of the corner of his eye, the Engineer fingering his shotgun. Even the Spy was giving their new arrival his full attention.
"Somezing we can help you wiz...?" The Spy asked, a politely interested tone veiling the threat under his words.
"Mph fhmph," said the BLU, and without slowing down, without stopping, stomped right up to the Medic.
He tried to take a step back, and was stopped by a pair of asbestos-wrapped arms that had flung themselves around his waist. The arms squeezed, and the Medic found himself lifted slightly off his feet while the air was crushed out of his lungs.
The hug went on for several seconds, and when she finally put him down, it took him a moment to catch his balance. He did not, however, catch his breath. At the precise moment he'd gathered enough wits to say, "Vhat-"
She punched him, square in the gut.
It was ell placed, he had to grudgingly admit, while he was bent over, gasping for air. It had very effectively knocked all the air out of him and kept him from asking any stupid questions. Or saying anything at all, really.
"Jhrk," she growled at him, then turned on her heel and stomped back the way she'd come, collecting the bemused BLU Engineer in her wake, and leaving the stricken Medic behind.
Somewhat distracted by the necessity of re-inflating his lungs, it took the Medic several moments to realize that the strange noise he'd been hearing was the sound of the Spy trying to stifle his laughter.
The Medic, unable to verbally threaten him with dismemberment, settled for shooting a death glare at him, instead. This did not have the desired effect. The Spy abandoned all attempts to stifle his laughter and braced himself against the wall, wrapping the other arm around his apparently aching ribs.
This was obviously some sort of karmic retribution, and the doctor briefly regretted not taking the time to laugh at the Spy, back when he'd found him lying in the gutter, bleeding to death.
The Engineer was looking at the pair of them like they were both crazy. After a moment or two of watching both his stricken teammates gasping for air, he drawled, dryly, "Well, looks like you two can manage just fine without me." Turning to go, he added, "Guess I'd better go pack up my Sentry."
x x x
By the time the Medic had collected his belongings, such as they were, into a bag and trooped back out to the battle field, the Spy seemed to have regained his composure. He suspected that this was partly because the Spy had no intention of cackling like a hyena in front of the rest of their teammates. He, at least, still had his dignity.
The small crowd of REDs were clustered there, looking around their newly captured point with an air of smug victory. (Or, in the Soldier's case, angry delirium, but this was par for the course.)
REDs. On the RED Control Point. Red, red, red, red, red. Ah, well. It really wasn't that bad of a color, he supposed...
The Heavy spotted them, and waved. "Doktor! Everything is okay?"
"Ja," the Medic replied, absently.
And, quite suddenly, realized that everything was.
...For the moment, anyway.