I wrote this a while ago. Not sure where I'm going with it but enjoy.
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"Mandated team therapy, my ass."
Heavy glanced over at Scout who sat in the chair next to him. The Bostonian was slumped in his chair, hands behind his head, and looked about ready to shoot his brains out. But he couldn't, not today.
Although Heavy's day started out relatively normal, that is with bacon, cheese, and toast, and a large cup of black tea, it was soon obvious that today would be much different. A few days earlier they had been moved to Teufort – the morning they arrived consisted of hurrying into base and suiting up for battle, which did not end until the announcer called a stalemate at 5PM. The following day, RED lost their briefcase, managed to retrieve it right before the battle ended, only to once again lose it the next day.
It was no surprise when the announcer called them up one evening with very angry message. Heavy didn't understand a lot of the words she spewed out, given his limited English vocabulary, but he could tell she was aggravated, and looked about ready to come through the com-link screen and strangle each of her mercenaries. She didn't, thankfully. Instead, she simply told them that tomorrow there would be no defending, no fighting, no killing, and instead they were to report to the third floor of the base at 9AM sharp. When asked why by Scout's loud mouth, she retorted that it was mandated team therapy and that if one person showed up late, or God forbid, didn't show up at all, he would find himself in a very peculiar situation later that night.
No one dared to find out what that was, and so at 8:55 AM, the entire RED mercenary team was assembled in the only room on the third floor of the base. It was large, open, and had stacks of chairs on either side. The walls were lined with large, drape-less windows. Heavy thought perhaps it was a room to watch movies, if they had a projector, or maybe to work out if it was too cold out on the field. Regardless, the mercenaries all found one seat or another against the walls and waited impatiently to figure out what exactly would happen that day.
"I bet this is all a bunch of bullshit!" snapped Scout, standing up. "She probably wants us to just sit here until we kill each other."
"Don't tempt me," Spy muttered, lighting a cigarette. Scout shot him a glare – he still wasn't over how Spy had basically wasted his three days to live with a bunch of useless date training.
"I think I agree with the lad," Demoman declared, taking a moment for a sip of his ever present booze. "This here be somethin' strange I tell ye." He gave everyone around the room a suspicious eye, only to be met with furrowed eyebrows and shrugs.
"Stop being a bunch of pansies," Soldier snapped, standing at attention in the front of the room. He seemed to have fancied himself the leader of this official meeting. "This is because you all did TERRIBLE yesterday!"
"Heavy did his best."
"Mmphee mphoo!"
"Ah, piss off. You were the one rocket jumpin' around like an idiot," Sniper shot back, coffee in hand, and looking much older than usual. Medic nodded from next to him.
"You wouldn't even stop to let me heal you. And you kept yelling 'medic.'" The doctor's annoyance did not go unnoticed.
"I blame everyone but myself," the war hero grumbled, refusing to humor any of the absurd accusations his teammates shot at him.
"Yo! Is anyone else here already tired of this meeting?"
"C'mon guys, let's just settle down. I mean, no one wants to be here but-"
Engineer was interrupted by a knock at the doorway that led to the stairs. All eyes turned to the back of the room.
A tall, slender, brown-skinned woman stood there, wearing a pair of oval glasses and a gray dress. She had on shear stockings, flat black shoes, and a soft purple cardigan over her dress. Smiling, she revealed somewhat uneven teeth, and crinkled the wrinkles already starting to form under her eyes and along her forehead.
"Helloooo," the woman announced, a little too happily, waltzing in with a large black purse. "I'm Miss Whitman, your therapist for today!" The nine mercenaries just stared, watching as the curly haired woman looked around the room, still smiling.
"My, I didn't know we had such a large group! Well, let's get the seats in a circle and do introductions." Everyone continued to stare in silence. Miss Whitman continued to smile.
"Uh," started Medic, glancing at his fellow teammates. "Are we correct to assume you've been sent by ze administrator?" Miss Whitman nodded, hair bouncing.
"Uhhuh. Now, I'm sure she told you guys it's mandatory therapy. I'm required to report any lack of cooperation or trouble." With that subtle threat, the nine men leaped into action, starting to pull their chairs from the wall and form an uneven circle. Miss Whitman nodded surely and dragged her own chair over, setting it between Sniper and Spy who had the widest gap in the circle.
"Excuse me, but exactly what is this therapy for?" Spy asked, cigarette still hanging out of his mouth and hands folded in his lap. He looked all manner of proper and polite, strengthening his accent to perhaps somehow seduce Miss Whitman into giving him the truth.
"Sir, you're going to have to put out that cigarette." Spy's eyes narrowed.
"I think not."
"Mmhmm," Miss Whitman nodded, taking out a notebook, pen, and folder from her purse. She began to write, nodding to herself. "And what is your class name, sir?"
"Scout."
"Hey!" The real Scout shot out of his seat, and waved a fist. "I'm Scout. That bastard over there is Spy."
"Don't listen to him, that is Spy. He lies all the time," Spy defended.
"Lies!" shouted Soldier, pointing at both the men. "The crouton is Spy and the brat is Scout!" The group looked ready to break into an unnecessary argument, so Miss Whitman clapped her hands.
"Now, now. Let's all settle down. Please put out your cigarette, Mr. Spy. I don't want to report you." Spy just stared, before slowly removing the cigarette from between his lips and putting it out.
"I'm guessing the balaclava gave it away?"
"Well, yes, and I also have your files right here." Miss Whitman smiled again, as if they were playing a game, and Spy frowned in response.
"Okay, guys! I'll start with myself, and we'll go around with introductions. Be as honest as you feel comfortable with. After that, we can start the real gory stuff!" Soldier seemed to perk up at the word gory, but remained silent.
"As I mentioned, my name is Miss Whitman. Also, you don't have to tell me your real name, class is fine. I have a PhD in Psychology from Yale University. Otherwise I guess I'm your average northeast girl. Oh, and I got engaged last month!" Miss Whitman shot out her hand to show the mercenaries her engagement ring, a diamond that only Pyro seemed to be curious to lean over at. She nodded over at Sniper.
"Uh. My name's Sniper and-"
"I throw piss!" Scout filled in. There was the muffled sound of laughter as his coworkers tried to hide their amusement. Sniper sneered, setting his coffee on the floor next to his chair.
"Well, none of you blokes seem to mind it when you're on fire."
"Let's try not to interrupt," Miss Whitman smiled, flipping through her folder. "Now it says here you're 34, Mr. Sniper. That's not an error, is it?" Sniper gaped, and in the background, he could hear Scout laughing it up. Even Spy was smirking, knowing Sniper's age was a sore spot.
"It's not!" the Australian defended. "So I look a little old and I throw piss, that's not nearly as bad as the rest of you mongrels!"
"Eh."
"I don't know about that."
"Mmmpry."
"Okay, we should move this along, guys. Next?"
"I'm the team's engineer and I, uhm, well I'm from Texas. And I guess I like to play guitar and make sentries, and teleporters, and even dispensers, though you gotta ask nicely for that." Miss Whitman nodded along.
"And any dislikes?" Engineer's light smile turned to a scowl, and if anyone were to pull off his goggles, they might have sworn they saw death that day.
"BLU Spy."
"Mhm, yes, yes. Next."
"I am Heavy Weapons Guy. I have minigun name Sasha." There was silence, as everyone stared at Heavy to continue. The large Russian glanced around, unsure of what American taboo he committed this time. Scout elbowed him.
"…and I like sandviches."
"Nice introduction, fatty," Scout snarked, before standing up for his turn. "Now, let me tell ya all who I am. Fastest and most good-looking guy here, I-"
"Boooooo!" Demo jeered, throwing his beanie at the young man. Soldier laughed then, and Spy threw a cigarette at the Bostonian, not wanting to miss the humiliation. Medic tried to throw his handkerchief but it simply floated and landed awkwardly in the middle of the circle.
"Yeah, yeah. Just keep on hatin', chucklenuts," Scout defended, throwing the beanie back at Demo. "Anyway, name's Scout, fast, handsome, young. Got a great ma', but none of you are allowed to date her. Eight brothers, all confirmed assholes. Use to be a baseball star, but RED noticed how awesome I was and hired me. Though, before that, I worked for-"
"She asked for introduction, not life story," Heavy pointed out, earning a scowl from Scout.
"Well-"
"That's enough, Mr. Scout. Everyone has to have a chance." With that the therapist gestured toward Pyro.
"Mmphy mphame mpis Mphyro. Mphye mpke mmphire mhnd mphending mphime mpit mphye mphrends!" Pyro finished, clapping his hands together. Miss Whiteman's smile softened.
"That's really sweet, Pyro."
"Lame."
"Ye almost made me cry, lad."
"If you weren't a man, I'd give you a hug, son." With that, Soldier stood just as Scout did.
"I'm the only one with real military experience. World War II veteran, and winner of multiple medals, I am the soldier of this team. Respected and feared, I make BLU wet its pants at the sight of me. Also, it is nice to meet you lady, and I would appreciate it if we did not bring up my collection of heads because I was supposed to clear them out but haven't really gotten around to that."
"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Soldier," returned Miss Whitman, seemingly having ignored the entire second half of Soldier's introduction. "Next."
"I am ze medic. My job includes healing and carrying the team, and-"
"Actually, that's me," Scout volunteered.
"Wot do you do, put the team on your scrawny back?" Sniper sneered, earning a snort from Spy.
"Go on, Mr. Medic."
"And I am from Germany. I do not wish to share more with these…schweinhunds."
"That's okay. Last two."
"Well-" burp "- I'm the demolitions expert here. And yes, I'm bloody one-eyed and black! And maybe an alcoholic. Maybe. I apologize for the burp, lassie. I'm usually proper polite to the ladies and all, me mum raised me right."
"That's okay, it's a safe environment," Miss Whitman said, earning a set of murmurs from the other mercenaries. "Finish us up Mr. Spy!"
"I am the Spy. My specialties lie in espionage. My likes include French pastries that, no I will not share, BLU Scout's mother, and stabbing people in the back. My dislikes are bushmen, those with annoying accents, and team meetings."
"Wot, why did you single me out!"
"Annoying accents? Hmph, you are one to talk."
"Yeah, that's actually mighty offensive. And possibly racist."
"Notice he doesn't say which people he likes to stab in the back…"
Before it turned into an all out, rag on Spy moment, Miss Whitman calmly clapped her hands, the universal gesture to gain attention. It worked, and the men once again settled into their seats, but Miss Whitman could see there was a lot of negativity and tension in the group.
"Helen told me my goal should be to help you all work together better on the field. Now, I'm a firm believer in trust, and I think that's what makes a good team. So everyone pair up and we're going to do a trust fall!"
"Who the hell is Helen?"
"You can not be serious."
"I am, Mr. Spy. Now choose partners or I'll chose for you." Surprisingly, no one chose to put their back to Spy, so the Frenchman just rolled his eyes and stood off to the side as the rest of his team tried the trust fall.
"Catch me, maggot."
"Heavy knows you will catch him, Doktor. No need to show."
"No problem, pardner."
"Eh, you weren't my first choice."
"I'm not falling back into you."
Everyone glanced over at the only pair that had yet to do a trust fall, Scout and Sniper. They stood at an impasse, the holdup due to Sniper's own considerations.
"I'm not trusting this piker to catch me. No way," the Australian said, crossing his arms. "We may fight on the same field, and hell, shit our pants on the same roller coaster, but there is no way I'm trusting him to catch me."
"What about Mr. Spy," tried Miss Whitman, gesturing to the red-suited man raising his eyebrows in annoyance.
"Nope."
"Does anyone here trust Mr. Spy to catch them?" There was silence, and for a second, a very somber mood fell over the group. Suddenly, Pyro threw up his hand.
"Mmpll mprst mphim!" Miss Whitman smiled, and beckoned Pyro over from his previous partner, Engineer.
"Okay, Pyro. Just turn around and let Mr. Spy catch you." Without any warning, the mumbling menace turned and brought his arms to his chest before falling back. Despite his surprise, Spy put his hands out in time to catch him. The room was silent once again.
"You did not expect me to really drop him while you all watched, did you?" the Frenchman noted dryly, setting Pyro back on his feet. Miss Whitman smiled, shaking her head.
"That's not the point of the exercise. The point is to see who amongst you sees you as someone to depend on. Everyone here who chose a partner picked the person they could depend on most, and trust to protect them on the field. No one chose you Mr. Spy, and even Pyro hesitated before raising his hand," Miss Whitman elaborated, and for once, no one butt in, interested to hear her evaluations from the silly game that had just occurred.
"It's not surprising that you, Scout, and Sniper had the most difficult time finding a dependable partner. Your jobs on the field require you to be on your own, and that has forced you to not really put much faith in your other teammates."
"That's not true," broke in Sniper, "I'd trust Pyro, definitely. Engineer too. I mean, maybe not Soldier but that's because he's a bit unstable and all…" Sniper paused then, realizing that Miss Whitman was somewhat correct. He would really only put his back to Pyro and Engineer, expecting them to catch him with no fuss. Not anyone else, not even Medic, who everyone depended on. Maybe, thought Sniper, it was because the doctor hardly ever healed him, hardly ever made an effort to reach his sniping position for much needed assistance. Not that Sniper minded much – he already knew he would die for Medic if needed, being that his medical assistance is what often tilted the battles in their favor.
"By God," Soldier mumbled. "She's right. The lady is right! This explains it all. Quickly, form a trust circle!"
"Okay, okay, hold your horses," Miss Whitman interrupted as Soldier looked ready to fall back onto Medic, who shot him a look of disdain. "Trust isn't the only thing this team lacks. Communication is probably the other. It usually is. I'm sure there's a ton of unresolved conflicts going on that you guys don't talk about."
"I have an unresolved problem!" Scout snapped, "multiple unresolved problems. First, them pics of my ma'! I know you bastards have the copies BLU Spy's been circulating. And second, can we please know if Pyro is even a dude or not? Cripes man, that's been buggin' me since he got hired."
"There are pictures?" Soldier brightened up considerably.
"He has zis strange delusion zat Pyro is a woman," Medic supplied to Miss Whitman, who slowly nodded.
"Not a delusion! It's a real mystery I tell ya!"
"Have you asked Pyro?" There room quieted and everyone looked over at Pyro, who simply stared.
"Uh," Scout stared back. "Pyro are you a chick?"
"Now wait!" Miss Whitman threw her hand up before Pyro could answer. "Does it really matter?"
"Yes, it does!" yelled Scout. He glanced over at the rest of his teammates who either frowned or shrugged.
"I do not care. Pyro fight well. He is credit to team," Heavy announced, crossing his arms. He was never one to care if a woman was fighting or not, as long as she held her own. It seemed to be a big issue in America though.
"I agree with Heavy. It does not really change anyzing," Medic added.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie, it's easy for you to say, you have her files." Everyone turned to stare at Sniper. The sharpshooter raised an eyebrow.
"Wot?"
"Ye said her," Demomen stated. "Bloody hell, Pyro's a lass, ain't he?" There was an eruption of shouting and declarations of gender.
"Eh, wot?"
"Why did ye say her?"
"THERE ARE NO WOMEN ALLOWED ON THIS TEAM."
"I don't know, I mean – sometimes I get vibes-"
"What the fook are vibes? Is that some sort of Australian thing?"
"Why do you fellas keep being racist?"
"THERE ARE NO WOMEN ALLOWED ON THIS TEAM."
"I'm not saying I would kick her out, but if she's ugly…"
"It is Pyro! Who cares if he is ugly. He is good comrade!"
"Ja, you are being silly. Pyro's gender is unimportant."
"THERE ARE NO WOMEN ALLOWED ON THIS TEAM."
"Yes, dance my puppets, dance -snort- hehe…"
"Hey!" Miss Whitman clapped, but this time the men did not listen, already engaging in was looked to be a verbal brawl. Even Spy was poking around, adding his own tidbits to rile everyone up before slithering away. Miss Whitman sighed and shot Pyro a sympathetic look. The mercenary shrugged and tilted his head.
The dark-haired woman shook her head and stepped up onto her chair. Placing her fingers to her mouth, she let out a sharp whistle. This quieted the group down as they turned to the unexpected noise.
"Good, I have your attention. Mr. Heavy and Mr. Medic are correct to say that Pyro's gender is unimportant." Soldier looked ready to speak out, but Miss Whitman held out a finger, no longer smiling.
"Yet, I do understand your qualms. However, what I see in front of me is a group of mercenaries, who have the potential to work very well together. And you are all arguing about the gender of one of your fellow killers. Mr. Engineer!" The Texan snapped to attention, blinking behind his goggles. "You let Pyro catch you. Would you do the same if he was a woman?" Engineer paused for a moment, in consideration.
"I reckon I would, though it would be really odd…"
"And Mr. Sniper! You said you would fall back onto Pyro too. What if he suddenly was a woman?"
"Well…no, it wouldn't really change. I mean, I don't trust Pyro 'cause he's a bloke, it's 'cause he's a real good teammate is all."
"Do any of you trust one another, if you do, because you are men?" The room fell to silence, and even Soldier did not make a sound. Miss Whitman nodded happily to herself before hopping off the chair.
"Now, who's ready for sock puppets?"
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I have no idea where this is going or if im even going to continue it. Review to let me know what you think!