Totenkinder Madchen: I will update until it kills me. I can't wait to get to the end, and have faith, I certainly plan on it! Oh.. btw... It'll get darker. (Where'd that evil music come from just now?)
Wild Okapi: I am elated that you're enjoying it! ^.^ thank you!
Numbuh six-sixtysix: Spytech industries supplies stuff to RED and BLU. They have their own website! www . spytechindustries . com / support . asp (I had to do the spaces cause sometimes this site removes formatting if I don't.)
ArmoredSoul: Get on Steam!!
Without further adieu.... The saga continues...
EARLIER
Pyro awoke to the sound of metronome beeping and the feeling that her gut had been stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey. Her mouth stuck together like she'd been asleep for days, and her skull felt like it was packed with sand. She recalled the incident involving the RED Demoman, and quick wiggle of her toes dismissed the worst of her worries.
She opened her eyes and scanned the room from left to right through Vaseline-coated vision. Her heart jumped when her gaze fell upon the dark outline to the right of her, and she blinked the blur away enough to make out an older gentlemen in a dark blue suit and tie sitting in the chair beside her bed. He had salt and pepper hair and glasses that made him look like a lawyer or a used car salesmen, she couldn't decide which. Her visitor smiled brightly, his aged skin stretched along his face.
"Good morning, Miss," he said gently. Pyro wasn't sure where she was just yet, but it didn't smell like bleach so it probably wasn't the BLU infirmary. She studied her visitor; she hadn't ever seen him before, and although he didn't appear to be a threat she kept her guard up anyway. Not that I could really do anything, she thought bitterly.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, still holding onto her hand. She didn't have the energy to pull it away. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to speak or not, so she nodded instead. He smiled. "Good, good to hear," he said even though she hadn't said anything. "I'm from Beatty City Family Resources and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your domestic situation."
Pyro couldn't have been more shocked if he'd bludgeoned her with a sledgehammer. Her face must have relayed her surprise, and he began talking again, "It's quite alright, you're safe here." He took his hand back finally and lifted a leather bound notebook and uncapped a black pen that was so fancy she was sure Medic would be jealous. "Are you able to speak?"
She nodded, and her visitor smiled. "You don't have to be afraid. I promise that whatever is said will not leave this room."
She didn't know what to think. She did learn where she was, somewhere called Beatty city. This man was probably not from BLU, but he could be a RED. If he were a RED why would he be asking her about her domestic situation? Surely he would have smothered her with a pillow already if that were the case. Pyro glanced around the room again, and halfway hoped that Spy might be lurking in a corner. Where was everyone else? Why did they leave her alone with… this guy?
"Let's start with your name," and he poised his pen to write. If he was from BLU, he'd know her name already. If he wasn't, then he couldn't know her name at all. Best to go with an alias. She pulled her first name from the book Medic had loaned her, and paired it with the German word for 'fire,' and gave herself a pat on the back for creativity.
"Beatrice Feuer," she admitted in her dry, raspy voice. He wrote her name in his book. "Beatrice Feuer," he said the name aloud and Pyro realized that it wasn't the worst fake name she could have come up with. It certainly sounded made up to her, but he seemed satisfied.
"How long have you been married?" he asked, and she tried not to raise her eyebrows. Why would he be asking her if she were married? She put this together with the fact that he was from some kind of family resources department and came up with nothing. Could he be mistaking her for someone else? Were there that many flame haired, half-scarred arsonists around here?
"Three years," she said, giving him her time of tenure at BLU, which in hindsight wasn't very tactful if he were from RED. The man smiled and wrote another note. "How would you describe your relationship with your husband?"
Uhmmmm, was all Pyro could think at the moment. Relationship with the husband, relationship with the husband…
"Fine," she said finally, and hoped this would suffice. It didn't. His face became solemn and he put his hand on hers again. He was turning out to be a real touchy-feely kind of guy, a trait that bothered Pyro. "You don't have to lie to me," he said softly, "Your husband will not find out about our conversation."
Pyro remained frozen. She didn't know what he expected of her.
"Now, I've already had the chance to talk with him, and he didn't say much, which is quite common in these sorts of cases. He said that you fell down a flight of stairs," he explained quietly, looking genuinely concerned, "but the doctor here says that your injuries and his story don't quite fit. He says it looks more like someone laid hands on you."
That sure is a nice way to put getting slammed out of mid air into a table, Pyro reflected sarcastically. Since they had been so far from the BLU base, Medic was most likely the one who brought her to this civilian hospital and rationalized the explanations. Pyro reminded herself to scold him for thinking of such a flimsy back story that merely suggested she was clumsy, and setting himself as her savior-and-husband. She had to stop herself from smiling at that moment; as if she would ever marry a pigheaded control freak like Medic. Then she stepped back in her thought process, alarmed that she'd even thought about getting married in the first place.
So a flight of stairs had been responsible for her injuries? What would Medic want her to say now? Probably anything to get him to stop him from asking me any more questions...
"Yes, I had a tumble down some stairs. I really can be quite clumsy. I was very lucky that my husband had been close by," she tried to add a shy smile to her explanation. How did normal women act? The visitor tucked his face into a fake sympathetic smile. "It's okay Beatrice. You can tell me what happened later on. I understand that this is a traumatizing event for you."
Pyro scoffed inside. If he could see just a fraction of the gore she'd induced, he'd shit his pants.
There was a knock on the door and she and the suited man turned to look towards it. A blonde nurse entered after a moment. "Mr. Leatherman, the patient's husband would like to see her?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, best to keep him away for now." If Pyro's blood hadn't been thick with drugs she'd of kicked him.
"He insists that I—" and the nurse didn't get the chance to finish, because Heavy carefully parted his way between the nurse and the door. He strode over to the bed and Pyro's visitor Mr. Leatherman looked appalled.
"We must go, now," Heavy said urgently. He stopped on Pyro's left side; Mr. Leatherman had stood up on her right.
"Mr. Sanvich, your wife is in no condition to be moved," he said weakly, obviously intimidated by his gargantuan size.
Mr. Sanvich? Pyro suddenly felt proud of her on-the-spot alias, and stifled the laughter pulling her cheeks taught. She glanced at Heavy, and other than a playful glint behind his dark blue eyes he looked as serious as the grave.
"We must go. Missing train home," Heavy gruffly explained and began removing the adhesive tape securing an IV into Pyro's arm.
"I'm calling the doctor," Mr. Leatherman picked up the bedside phone and angrily pounded the buttons.
"I don't think I can walk," Pyro whispered to Heavy, and he nodded. He would have no problem carrying her. He was still detaching wires and tubes when the door opened and the nurse entered again, a look of confusion piled on top of the worried one she'd worn earlier. "Uhm, Mr. Leatherman? The patient's husband is here to see her?" the pitch of her voice went high with confusion and her head cocked to one side like a perplexed dog.
"I can see that!" he said loudly, gesturing to the bearlike man fumbling the medical equipment.
"Uh," the nurse backed out of the door and peaked down the hall, "This man says that he's her husband, too…" she trailed off. The receiver slipped slightly from Mr. Leatherman's hands as Demoman strutted through the door.
"Ey, babe," he nodded casually to Pyro, walking like he'd had a few drinks already. "Who are you?" the civilian Mr. Leatherman asked, failing to hide his appalled frown. Demo was still wearing his blue plaid kilt, black sports jacket (sans one button) and argyle socks pulled up to his knees. Neither Heavy nor Pyro protested to the additional husband and Mr. Leatherman looked at the three like they were sprouting extra heads.
"I'm 'er husband, tha's who," he pointed to Pyro and went to stand by Heavy, giving the Russian a quick look-over. "We gotta go, was only here visitin' family, ya know," he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. "Not my side, hers," he added quickly. The nurse scurried away.
"You're Beatrice's husband?" Mr. Leatherman asked doubtfully.
"Damn right'cha are!" Demo swayed in spot, hardly making an attempt to contain his anger. He'd definitely found something to drink. Pyro shook her head and smiled grimly. Heavy was just finishing with the tangle of tubes and wires.
The door opened again and everyone turned to look. Mr. Leatherman was relieved that it was the doctor this time and not another one of Beatrice Feuer's husbands.
"So sorry Mr. Leatherman, I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen," the doctor shook his head in frustration, speaking as if Heavy, Demoman and Pyro were deaf.
"I'm going to call the authorities, we need to straighten this out," Mr. Leatherman looked proud of his decision before he'd turned to see Demoman's scowl. "You're gonna put tha' phone down, n' we're gonna leave. Ain't no cops gonna come." Demo's voice was so cold Pyro thought icicles would start forming at the ceiling.
"N-no, I'm afraid I can't do that," he faltered. Pyro gave him credit for not crumbling under the weight of Demo's lively glower.
Demoman took his time to saunter over to Mr. Leatherman and the phone, now repeating a hang-me-up tone. Pyro knew that look. It was the same look he had when he was figuring out the distance of his grenade launcher to a particularly troublesome RED sentry gun. Ah-oh, was Pyro's next thought.
"Pu'tha phone down."
"No." Mr. Leatherman had balls.
"Pu'tha phone down b'fore I shove it down yer throat," Demo rephrased, his voice a low growl. Heavy had scooped up Pyro into his arms with a blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. She held an arm around his thick neck for support so she could keep an eye on the confrontation. The doctor who'd come at Mr. Leatherman's call couldn't have scampered away fast enough at Demo's ominous resolution to his calling the authorities.
Mr. Leatherman was not accustomed to being pressured by men like Demo, and that was clear by the stream of sweat accumulating on his forehead. He shakily set the phone back on its cradle, visibly gulped and turned to face the kilt-wearing, six foot tall, black Scottish Cyclops that was threatening his life.
"Heavy," Demo addressed, not breaking his stare from the well-dressed white man saturated with fear. "Take'r outta here. I'll make sure ya don't git followed," he added menacingly. Mr. Leatherman trembled.
Heavy didn't hesitate to trudge out of the door (he only slowed to duck below the doorframe) and down the winding halls until they came to the hospital lobby. The nurse yipped when she saw them, and sensibly remained seated in her swivel chair behind the receptionist desk. She didn't pick up the phone until Heavy and Pyro were out of the door.
Heavy lumbered as gracefully as a giant could while successfully moderating the shock of his movements on Pyro. He rushed through the open area affront of the hospital and darted for the opposing set of buildings where he saw the veiled outline of Medic in the thin alleyway between the post office and a brick shopping center.
"Vhere is Demo?" Medic whispered harshly when Heavy came near. His white silk ensemble was still stained with dark blotches of blood, and in the shadows he appeared to be wearing a black-and-white cow skin suit. His hair stuck up in awkward directions from the crisped, dried blood. The shades of grey around his side burns had been dyed dark with it as well and he looked at least ten years younger.
"He is inside," Heavy explained as he forced his cocooned team mate into the Doctor's arms.
"Vhat are you doingk? Ve have to go!" Medic held Pyro a bit too tight for her taste, and she felt the stuffing in her stomach squeeze like a wet sponge. Sniper's frame emerged from a gloomy corner of the alley and Heavy gave him a quick glance before returning his attention to Medic.
A whooping siren called in the distance, and all three turned toward the source of the sound. Pyro craned her head around Medic's arm and silently swore at Sniper, who was blocking most of her view out of the alley. Three white police vehicles flocked to the Beatty hospital entrance, paving their way over the cobblestone sidewalk. Heavy counted seven armed men jog into the glass enclosed anteroom. He could see two officers stationing themselves at the receptionist desk and the other five disappeared, presumably to find Demoman.
Heavy looked down near his feet to the miniature flower garden at the curb of the building on the right side of the alley. It was lined with copper colored bricks angled into the ground so most of the block except for one corner was exposed. He knelt down and wiggled a brick out of its snug position and familiarized himself with the weight of it. Medic and Sniper weren't sure what to make of this, but neither had the chance to ask since Heavy swiftly turned and jogged toward the hospital without looking back, "Going for Demo, get Ms. Pyro on train!" he yelled.
Sniper and Medic shared a dumbfounded chagrin before Sniper regained his composure and took flight, "You heard the man!" and the Australian made large strides to catch up with Heavy.
"Now, if ye don't mind me askin', wha'the 'ell you doin' ta my wife? EH?!" Demoman raged, curling his hand into a fist and cementing the small white Mr. Leatherman against the tiled wall.
"N-nothing!" he shrunk in his suit and held up his arms over his face and suddenly understood why Beatrice Feuer had been so adamant for silence.
Demoman snarled and Mr. Leatherman cowered some more. "Alright ya sniveling piece 'a shit!" Demo snatched Mr. Leatherman by the collar and yanked him away from the wall, "Where's my wife's dress?!"
"Dress? What d-dress?!" he cried out with his arms protecting his head.
"You know what I'm talkin' 'bout, ya white faced devil," Demo hoarsely accused. While is exterior was shielded with blazing rage, everything inside him was melting. The miniscule spot of logic at the back of his mind screamed for self-control, but it was drowned out by the storm of pain and perverse retribution.
Though at the moment it was impossible for him to unsnarl his interlacing mass of volatile emotions, deep down the root of his retroactive rage was crystal clear. In nearly losing Pyro, the bottled up fever that he'd collected when he'd lost his wife to the man with the black Mercedes, and then to his own cowardly solution to his marriage, had fermented over the years and was bursting at the cork. His veins rippled with regret, acrimony and woe. He'd come so close to losing the only other woman he… did he love Pyro? He wasn't sure. It wasn't love exactly, but something close and Demo was erupting at the seams to preserve it, to avenge Pyro, to right his mistakes, to feel that for once in his life he protected something instead of destroying it.
A far away siren shrieked and stopped abruptly, and instead of withering his fortitude, it reinforced it. Let them come, his internal voice snarled, and the realization that he might finally die did nothing to mitigate the blood lust smoldering inside of him.