The Blu Spy refused to cooperate.
It didn't matter how many times Conagher tried to reason with him, or how often the Texan threatened to bring Fischer in for 'firmer interrogation.' The man sat rigid, his cowl contorted behind the balaclava, and glared straight through Conagher any time he tried to talk.
Conagher would never admit it, but he was starting to think maybe Fischer was on to something.
Temper rising, Conagher kicked at the leg of the chair the Blu Spy was tied to. It connected with a thud, rattling both the chair and the man sitting on it.
"How long has the Blu team been sittin' on the serum? Did y'all know Helen was gonna bring us back?"
Nothing.
Slowly, Conagher's hands curled into fists. "What do y'all plan to do once we're all outta the picture?"
Silence.
"Can'tcha tell I'm tryin' to be the good guy here, can you?" Conagher made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "Siccin' Fischer on you... I don't want t'do that, but this whole situation's got me forced into a corner."
No reply. The Blu Spy's eyes were fixed firmly on the other end of the room.
"Is that what y'want, then?" Conagher wanted to kick the chair again, but harder this time, so it toppled onto the floor and sent the Blu . "You know what'll happen to you. You know we're playin' for keeps now."
Finally, the Blu Spy's bright green eyes met Conagher's.
"Death is the greatest mercy any of us on this trou d'enfer can hope for."
Stepping back, Conagher fell silent. The way the Blu Spy looked at him, his eyes round as saucers and expression serious as the grave, was unnerving. And what he said...
With a sigh, Conagher turned, hoping he looked more sure than he felt. He couldn't guarantee the Spy's – or the Blu Soldier they'd captured, for that matter – safety. He'd tried his hardest to keep the men on the straight and narrow, and for the most part they'd complied. But with Fischer growing more insistant every day, Conagher had a feeling his ability to be the team's voice of reason became more and more precarious with every passing minute.
The Texan could almost feel the Blu Spy's eyes boring into him. Biting back a sigh, he left the room, heading toward the barracks where Lawrence had remained since his encounter with the Blu Soldier.
Niklas met him on the way out. The doctor's eyebrows raised when he saw Conagher.
"Is everysing alright, Herr Conagher?"
"Yeah." Conagher ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Just- just tryin' to get answers, is all."
The wooden barracks door creaked shut behind Niklas. Glancing back at it, Niklas squared his shoulders and leaned against the wall. "I am beginning to sink ze only vay ve are going to get answers is to vin."
Another chink in Conagher's tenuous armor. He pushed past Niklas, ignoring the doctor's curious frown, and headed into the barracks, pulling the door closed behind him. Inside, Lawrence sat on his bunk, knees tucked to his chin. The Australian was pale in the low light, and the cheap mattress had leaked bits of fluff all over the floor.
"How y'feelin'? Better?"
Lawrence looked up. His eyes were dark and red-rimmed, but they were clearer than they'd been before, in the hours following the injection. "Like I been through hell and back, mate. Wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy." He gave a rattling cough that echoed through the room. "Well, maybe my worst one. But I'm better, I think. That gun'a Doc's can work wonders. Didn't completely patch me up, but- but it took the bite off."
Briefly, Conagher considered patting Lawrence's shoulder, but one look at the man's face was all it took for him to reconsider. "Sorry to hear it, but glad you're better."
"Yeah, me too. Thought I was a goner for a bit there." Grimacing, Lawrence straightened on the bunk and began to pick at a loose thread sticking up near the edge. "So now what? We're seven on seven?"
"Somethin' like that." Far as Conagher was concerned, the Australian needed to focus less on their objective and more on not feeling like he'd been hit by a bus. Then backed over, and hit again. But the frown Lawrence directed at the Texan told him Lawrence was less concerned about himself and more interested in fixing their current situation.
Finally, Conagher took a deep breath and dropped onto the bunk across from the one that belonged to Lawrence. "The Blu Spy, the one Fischer stuck, he got me to thinkin'."
"What about?"
"Well, somethin' he said. Like, he hates bein' here, wants to get out just like we do."
Lawrence raised his eyebrows. "Y'think we might could work something out-"
"No." Conagher shook his head. "This late in the game, I reckon we can't go tryin' to forge alliances and all that. Not with two of our men down."
Then he thought of the fire in Fischer's eyes and the way the redhead had gone, alone, into enemy territory to settle a vendetta, "Or, well, one down, temporarily. Guess we'll have the advantage once you're feelin' up to snuff again. Since we got two of 'em trussed up outside."
The mattress shifted below Lawrence, but he didn't reply. Instead, he stared at the loose thread like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
The last thing Lawrence wanted just then was to talk about the Blu Soldier, tied up less than a dozen feet past the barracks door. He'd never admit it to Conagher, but the attack had left the Australian felt like something had rattled loose inside him. He dreaded the thought of walking outside the barracks, of having to walk by the man who had hurt him so badly he absolutely, positively knew he was going to die.
"How's ol' Bluehat doin', anyway?" Lawrence's voice was too light, but if Conagher noticed he didn't show it.
The Texan leaned back so his shoulders were against the wall. The bunks, while they were comfortable enough when the men fell into bed bone-tired, weren't terribly wide, and Conagher's feet were still firmly planted on the floor. "He's alright, I reckon. Runner stuffed a sock in his mouth to shut him up, but that won't do any lastin' damage. I ain't tried talkin' to him yet. Need to, though." Conagher shrugged. "Anything that might could help me figure out what we need to do next."
"You're tellin' me you don't know?" For the first time, Conagher saw amusement in Lawrence's eyes. "We've got the upper hand right now. I might be outta commission, but let's be honest here, mate – I'm nothin' compared to a soldier or a spy. Long-range work, and with everyone turtling behind the walls ninety percent of the time, there's not much I'm good for."
Conagher didn't want to see people dead. He didn't want that on his conscience. And who was to say whether or not another go at rounding up their Blu counterparts would result in someone dying.
Much more of this, he thought, and he'd wind up with an ulcer.
A creak, and Niklas appeared in the doorway.
"Herr Conagher, you might vant to come look at zis."
The twisting in his gut told Conather Niklas was wrong, but he stood anyway. With one last nod at Lawrence, the Texan made his way back through the barracks and the holding room where they kept the Blu Spy and Soldier. Niklas stayed at his side, his face giving nothing away.
Billy sat just outside the barracks, baseball bat in his hands and still eyeing the Blu Soldier and Spy like he wanted to treat them like squishy pinatas.
"Herr Walsch, if you vould keep an eye one zese two?"
"Sure, doc."
"Danke."
The quiet resumed. As they reached the end of the holding room, Conagher couldn't stand the silence any longer. "What's goin' on?"
"Perhaps it is best if you see for yourself."
Sighing, Conagher pushed through the door and walked into the hayroom. The doctor nodded toward the balcony.
"Out zere."
Dust and bits of hay swirled around Conagher as he passed, catching rays of sunshine and glittering like stars. The boards creaked beneath the Texan's feet when he rounded the corner, blinking at the sudden, stark sunlight after being in the darkened barracks for so long. Fischer, Doe, DeGroot and Ivan all stood along the wooden lip, staring down at something with varying expressions of disgust and fury.
But once his eyes adjusted, Conagher wished he was back in the dark.
The Blu team – or the seven of them the Reds hadn't captured – stood along the covered bridge, barely visible but obviously wanting to stay somewhere that a stray arrow or bullet or rocket couldn't reach.
It wasn't that, though, that made Conagher's stomach knot and his heart wrench so hard he swore it was about to crawl out of his chest.
Antoine knelt at the Blu team's feet, facing the Red fort and his snarl visible even from the balcony. Smiling, the Blu Engineer held a knife – it took Conagher a moment to realize it was Antoine's own butterfly knife – against the Frenchman's throat.
"Y'all come on out now, you hear?" The Blu Engineer's Southern drawl was even more pronounced than his red counterpart's, and it made Conagher wince to hear it. "I'd hate for this'n to grow himself a new smile."
"Now, wot'd we go an' do somethin' like that for?" DeGroot's good eye was narrowed, the other hidden behind its patch. The Scotsman's gaze flicked to Conagher as he approached, then back at the assembled Blus. "Seems t'me we're all snug'n safe up here."
"Y'all stay up there, then this'n dies." The Blu Engineer pressed the knife against Antoine's throat. Conagher didn't need to squint to see it bloom red. Antoine hissed, his expression contorting beneath the balaclava, but he said nothing.
"What do you want?" Conagher asked, even though he already knew the answer. He patted DeGroot shoulder and sent the man a silent thank-you for stalling the Blu team until he'd arrived.
"Now that's a stupid question if I ever did hear one." But the Blu Engineer let up on the knife, allowing Antoine to take a gasping, frenzied breath. "Y'disappoint me. I ain't never pegged you fer a simpleton, Tex. We want our men. You give us that, we give you yer Spy back, safe and sound. And afore y'think we're bluffin', know this'n's dirt nap'll be permanent."
Antoine locked eyes with Conagher. The two men eyed each other, trying to communicate without words. Conagher saw anger, stubbornness, a despair that told him Antoine believed his teammates would give him up without a second thought. And that hurt, to Conagher's surprise. After everything he'd done to try and keep the team together, they still spiraled out of control, ready to shatter at the slightest problem.
They'd been a team once. They'd laughed and fought and died together, and they'd lessened the horrors of war by relying on each other.
But no matter how much he'd tried, this time around wasn't, and would never be the same.
Conagher glanced at Niklas, who gave a slow, miniscule nod, and Doe, whose fingers twitched for the rocket launcher resting against his leg. If Lawrence weren't out of commission, they might've been able to set him on the roof, see if he could get a clean shot at any of the Blus. Maybe take one or two of them down, even if it meant Antoine's death.
"Let 'em in," Conagher said. Then, raising his voice, "Come in and get your men. We won't attack, so long as you don't do the same, and so long as our Spy ain't hurt."
A smug smile spread across the Blu Engineer's face.
"Now I reckon that is just swell."
Antoine tried to shake his head, to warn his teammates that they'd made the wrong decision, but a hand clamped against his mouth and the Blu Demoman dragged him to his feet with a chuckle. He tried to struggle, but the arm around his throat went tight, until the world around him swam.
The Blu Engineer spoke, more softly this time.
"As soon as we're inside, kill them all."
Author's note: Sorry for the late update and the short chapter. It's been a busy couple of weeks.
See you all in two weeks.