The Soldier didn't know where the hell he'd ended up. After his flight had been canceled, the airline had given him a "stipend" and "their deepest apologies" and told him to fuck off. He'd taken a bus, then another bus, and another bus until he was in what could unequivocally be called the middle of nowhere.
At least there was a bar here. Soldier used the weird foreign money to buy himself a beer.
The fact that he was lost was no exaggeration either. He didn't even know what country he was in right now (Iceland or England or some shit like that), let alone where to find the hotel room he knew he was supposed to get. What he did know was that no one here spoke American, although if Soldier listened hard enough he could pick out bits and phrases of familiarity under the ridiculous accents. Better than German, at least.
Despite that, the bar still made him twitchy, even with the beer in front of him to calm his nerves. It smelled of pine, probably from the green branches that hung everywhere in the bar. (On closer inspection, they had little sticks of peppermint hung neatly in their boughs.) That didn't overpower the smell of booze, or the drunken hollering of patrons crowding the lone TV. The chosen entertainment looked to be a soccer game, and Soldier couldn't care less.
So, combined with the language, the shouting, and the fact that he was in a crowd of people he wasn't supposed to kill, the Solider understandably tense. It wasn't even a surprise when an accidental shove from his left was met with one hard, reflexive punch.
The chaos was instant. Soldier wasn't even off his stool when the man that had bumped into him was hitting him back, prompting other patrons to be onlookers no longer. Soldier didn't hesitate of course. There wasn't even a thought in his mind as he flew to action, throwing himself back into battle just like he'd been doing for the past however-many years.
He dodged, a fist came from somewhere to his left. A man raised a bar stool over his head and Soldier realized that it wasn't twelve-on-one like he'd concluded a second ago. The fight had turned into a free-for-all—the spectators in front of the TV now with a much more interesting show to watch.
The bar brawl raged on. There was a cacophony of noise, all shouting and whooping mixing with the Soldier's own battle cry. It was too wild and visceral, the thought to pull out his shovel for added advantage never even crossed his mind. The whole thing was one gigantic snowball until the bartender got up and fired a shotgun into the ceiling.
The brawl froze, one pair with hands on each other's throats and fists raised mid-punch. Another man had a chair over his head, poised to bring it down on a man biting his ankle. They all looked at the bartender, now standing on top of the bar.
"Alright you godless neds!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, although to Soldier's untrained ears it sounded like aight ye godded nehds. "You're all going to own your bike in the next thirty seconds or you're never going to see the inside of this bar again!"
Soldier didn't know what that meant, but he could guess.
When no one moved for the first second, the bartender continued, "The polis are on their way, and you better hope they get to you first before I do." He cocked his shotgun for emphasis.
The offending members hesitated, then quickly began to untangle themselves. Soldier didn't fear the police, but he didn't want to be chased out of town either, not when he still had hotel to find. Unhurriedly, he let go of the man he'd been beating into the bar and walked toward the door.
In the alleyway, Soldier saw the others break into a run. He stood and watched them, the intense energy that had rocked through the bar now manifesting in a series of whoops as the fighters ran for their lives. They laughed as they went, and Soldier figured whatever sort of people started a bar fight at the drop of a hat would find some more fun to get into before the night was through.
"That was one helluva rammy," a voice beside the Soldier said approvingly.
He turned with a start, thinking he was alone in his insouciance, but he was mistaken. Next to him, watching the hooligans run, was a young man grinning cheerfully.
"I should thank you," he continued, fixing his smirk on Soldier.
"Thank me?" As Soldier looked at him, he could now clearly tell this was the one he'd punched at the beginning, the man who'd bumped into Soldier and started off the whole thing. He was just a kid really, dark skinned an short haired, a blank beanie covering most of his head. With a start, Soldier realized he was missing an eye, and felt a twitch of concern until he realized the tissue around the socket was old and scarred over.
"That's the most exciting thing to happen to Ullapool in months," the kid said around a broken lip, one that was only aggravated by his insistence on smiling.
"Ullapool?" Is that where he was? He could have sworn it ended in a land.
"Aye," the kid said. "Let me guess, you were trying to head somewhere different, and ended up in this sinkhole of dreams?"
"That about covers it, yeah," Soldier said, and it felt so weird to just…talk. He didn't even know if he could do that anymore after Germany. "My flight was canceled. They gave me money to stay here until I can get new one."
"Going back to America?" Soldier's former punching bag said with a puff of his chest. "Don't be surprised I could tell, you're accent's louder than drunkard's fart."
"I do not have an accent. You have an accent."
The kid burst out laughing. He doubled over, chuckling like Soldier had said the funniest thing in the world. Soldier didn't get why, he'd just been telling the truth.
When he stood up, the kid wiped a tear from his only eye. "Or lordy you're a riot mate. I like you. But we should go, Cailean wasn't kidding about the polis."
The younger man walked briskly away and Soldier got the impression he was expecting Soldier to follow. Looking over his shoulder, Soldier cast an eye around the deserted street, not able to tell if there were faint sirens on the cold wind or if that was just his imagination. He jogged after the kid.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink," he heard the other man call in front of him. "But that's really the only good bar in town, unless you like drinking passable horse piss."
They walked down the few narrow streets in increasing night, wet snow landing on the cobbles in clumps and melting a second later. Soldier pulled on his winter jacket, warm and free of holes after he'd commandeered it off a defeated enemy a year ago. His old one had been falling apart, like his boots did every now and again when he couldn't find anyone with the same size. This Ullapool cold couldn't hold a frosty candle to the winters he was used to.
"Don't get me wrong," the kid was still saying, "Ullapool is nice. It's safe, it's home. But it's also dull as shite." Soldier had stepped even with him now, and was able to watch his Adam's apple bob as he laughed at his own attempt at a joke. After he was done tossing his head back, he tilted it at Soldier. "Sorry you got stuck here. Sucks tae be away from home on Smissmas."
"It's Smissmas?" Soldier asked, blinking.
"Of course it is!" The younger man said in shock. "It's Smissmas Eve! Don't tell me you didn't notice?"
Well, that explained all the peppermint. He didn't know about the plants though; what sort of backwards country uses pine needles as decorations instead of tinsel?
Soldier frowned. "I've been deployed in Germany, killing Nazi sonuvabitches and doing my goddamned American duty. Time moves differently when there's a war to win, son."
"…Didn't the war end four years ago?" the kid said, raising his eyebrow.
"Yeah. If you're a quitter."
The look the other man was giving him made Soldier feel strange all over. It was the feeling he got when the airline had raised their eyes at him, and the Red Cross medic that had told Soldier the news. It wasn't something he was used to: having to talk with people again, to explain to civilians about the cruel reality of war. Being looked at just made Soldier feel a sadness in his stomach he couldn't quite place.
"I'm going then," he said suddenly, planning to escape from this social interaction. "Need to find a hotel for the night."
"Wait," the kid said and grabbed Soldier's arm. He almost received another punch in the face for it, and Soldier only barely held back the reflex on his arm. The kid put up both his hand. "Ah! Jeez, sorry. Bloody Christ."
"Sorry," Soldier said, dropping his arm. "Just don't…don't touch me."
"Nah, you're fine mate. I was just going to say that no one should spend Smissmas alone. You could come by my family's place, if you like."
They'd stopped outside a quiet barbershop, closed and dark for the holiday. Soldier raised an eyebrow under his helmet. "I don't even know you son. You're just going to invite a stranger into your home because he kicked your ass in a bar brawl?"
"You must've knocked your head mate, because I'm pretty sure I was winning that little duel," the kid said confidently. His cockiness was oddly charming, and it didn't surprise Soldier when he added, "but fine then. What's your name?"
Soldier opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he opened it again. "Jane Doe," he said finally, breath a white mist in the night.
"Nice to meet you Jane. My name's Tavish DeGroot." Tavish extended his hand, which Jane managed to shake briefly without flinching. "There, now we're no longer strangers."
"Tavish…" Jane said, trying it out. "That's a bizarre fucking name, private."
Tavish froze a good solid second before breaking into laughter once again. "My name? Is bizarre? Hoo that's bloody rich, I knew I'd picked a good one with you." Grinning, Tavish began walking north, smiling merrily over his shoulder. "Now come on before the cold eats your nose off."
And, well, Jane didn't really know what to do. But when Tavish had said he'd picked a good one, the sadness in Jane's stomach had lessened just a little.
So he fell in step and made his way through the muddy snow.
It took time to get wherever the hell they were going. The minutes ticked by, the air thicker as more flakes came down and the building got further and further apart. Jane thought maybe he shouldn't following a man he just met to an unknown location in a foreign country, but couldn't bring himself to be worried. A Soldier doesn't fear civilians, no matter how remotely they live. Besides, he still had shovel tucked safely in the back of his coat.
"We better hurry, my Mum will blow a fuse if I'm late for dinner," Tavish said, breaking the silence between them.
"You still live with your parents?" Jane asked, amazed. He'd assumed he only had a half a decade on the kid, but if he was just a teenager… "How old are you?"
"I'm twenty," Tavish huffed defensively. "And don't you get on me about moving out. I get enough of that as it is."
Twenty. Okay so that put him…six years younger than Jane? Seven? Trying to do the math wasn't helped when Jane couldn't remember how old he actually was, or even his own birthday.
They arrived at what Jane could only assume was their destination. It was a humble little cottage, but the outside was well cared for, something Jane could tell even under a layer of snow. It reminded him of the abandoned homes he'd occasionally take shelter in, one's that had been evacuated or too close to the fighting, and offered blissful relief from another night in a tree. Sometimes they even had blankets.
The cottage already had Jane looking at if fondly when Tavish unlocked the door and let him into its warm embrace. "Mum, Da, I'm back! And I brought a kindred soul home for the holidays!"
"Tavish Finnegan DeGroot where the bloody hell have you been?" a sharp female voice responded. Jane didn't have time to prepare himself before a woman in her late forties was sweeping into the room. "What sort of son leaves his family on Smissmas Eve to go drinking?"
Her face was stern, her mouth hung lower on her face as though sagging into a permanent frown. To Jane's puzzlement, she was wearing sunglasses inside the house, and her walk was stilting even with all its speed.
"You said it was fine!" Tavish insisted. "You said it was fine as long as I was back by six!"
"Aye and it's six-thirty you negligent little swick," she huffed.
Tavish turned his gaze through the cozy living room to the large grandfather clock ticking dutifully against the wall. Sure enough, it was six-thirty, and Tavish looked back at his mother sheepishly.
"Sorry mum. I lost track of the time. There was a big fight down at The Fox-"
"And he got into a fight!" Mrs. DeGroot said, throwing up her hands. It was then that Jane noticed a cane in her hand, and finally managed to put the pieces together. "Tell me you at least got paid for beating on a couple of steaming slugs?"
"Er, no…it was just a friendly tussle you know…"
"Tavish? That you?" another voice called from what smelled like the kitchen. This one was male, and Jane could only assume it was Tavish's father when he entered the living room. The family resemblance was easy, but the fact that the man was also wearing sunglasses made Jane balk. Was everyone in this house blind?
"Merry Smissmas Da," Tavish said quickly. "I'm back now, and I brought a guest." He said the last part through his teeth, trying to draw the attention to Jane.
It worked, and Tavish's mother made a pah noise in response. "He's bringing home strays again. Rabbie, talk to your boy, tell him to get it together instead of boozing his life away with every ragtag band he takes a liking too." She began walking out the way Mr. DeGroot came.
"She's right, you know," Mr. DeGroot said, patting Tavish on the side of the head. "If you have time to go drinking, you have time to fit in another job." Then he frowned, not liking what he was feeling under his hand. "Tavish? Did you go out tonight without your eyepatch on?"
Tavish pushed his father's hand away. "I forgot it," he mumbled.
"Tavish, you can't do that," Mr. DeGroot said with concern. "What if it gets infected?"
"It's over a decade old Da, it's not going to get infected," Tavish complained. Jane wondered if Tavish was regretting bringing home a guest after all.
Mr. DeGroot grimaced a moment longer, but didn't have any more to say on the subject. Instead, he turned his attention to Jane for the first time. "So, who might you be that my boy has brought us this time?"
"Uh…Jane," Jane said. And then, because it seemed the right thing, added, "sir."
Chuckling, Mr. DeGroot said, "well alright then. There's all sorts coming through these days."
"Jane's a Soldier," Tavish said enthusiastically. "He's going home after fighting in Germany.
"Ah, the war huh?" Mr. DeGroot said, with the first trace of approval in his voice. "I would have gone but." He tapped his glasses decidedly.
If you truly wanted to fight that wouldn't have stopped you, Jane thought, but then realized that would be rude to say aloud. He just nodded, forgetting Mr. DeGroot couldn't see him.
"So, what were you up to after the war, then?" Mr. DeGroot asked with interest. "Cleaning up the last of Hitler's little friends who were all hidden away?"
"Something like that," Jane replied flatly.
"Well come in lad, the neeps 'n tatties are almost ready. Never let it be said that DeGroot's turned away a guest on Smissmas." Mr. DeGroot went back into the kitchen, and Jane decided he liked him.
"Want me to get your coat?" Tavish asked.
Jane clutched the coat to him protectively. He didn't part with his belongings unless he truly had to. "'S fine."
"It's really no trouble, just let me-" As Tavish's hand touched Jane's shoulder, Jane flinched, stepping back toward the door. Tavish's eye widened as he suddenly remembered the no touching rule. "Ach, I'm sorry I just-"
"No it's fine." Jane took off his coat and handed it to Tavish. Better than having to start an incident over it.
Tavish, embarrassed, excused himself to clean up for dinner.
Jane did too, eventually coming to the kitchen and absorbing that wonderful smell. It had been so long since he'd had a home cooked meal, the sight of a large roast duck and turnips tucked under its wings almost made his knees give out. Instead, he seated himself in a chair that didn't match the rest of the table set.
Mr. DeGroot began chatting to him as he sat, politely refusing to let Jane help. He wanted to know all about his adventures in Germany, how many people he'd killed, if he'd seen any planes explode. It was…hard. Jane's memories were foggy, even of things that had only happened a week ago, and mostly he ended up just talking about America
Tavish came back down, beanie missing and an eyepatch found. Jane thought he looked nice with it on, and wondered why Tavish didn't always wear it.
"Finally!" Mrs. DeGroot told him. "Could you drag your feet any more? Help with the carrots."
Despite the small home, it was obvious the DeGroots weren't wanting. They said Tavish had more than one job, so maybe that explained it. "What do you do?" Jane asked Mr. DeGroot curiously. "I've talked a lot about me."
Mr. DeGroot brightened instantly. "I, laddie, am a Demoman. Finest in all the highlands. Maybe not for long though, if Tavish keeps honing his skills." He patted Tavish on the shoulder as he set down the carrots, and Jane thought Tavish actually looked happy for the first time since stepping in the house.
"What's a demo-man?" Jane asked curiously, the word strange on his tongue.
"What's a Demoman?" Tavish asked, mouth opening in shock. "What's a Demoman? he asks, bloody hell. I'll tell you what a Demoman is lad: it's the finest profession to ever come out the families of the Highlands. The ultimate form of skill, intelligence, and bravery that man can achieve. Or woman," he added with a nod to his mother. She scoffed.
"Okay," Jane said solemnly. "But what do you do?"
"Well…it's mercenary work," Tavish explained. "Kind of like what you do, but flashier and for money."
Mr. DeGroot smiled as Tavish launched into a long explanation of the DeGroot family tradition, and didn't seem to mind that his son had sat down. He went to go help out with the food.
Jane listened in rapt attention. Tavish had a way of talking that made everything sound like a story, his accent adding a layer of mysticism too it. He continued on happily after they'd said grace, and Jane found the food and the conversation were equally enjoyable. Mr. and Mrs. DeGroot joined in occasionally, pleased to talk about their family and their traditions. Jane learned that Mrs. DeGroot had also been a Demowoman, and the profession was how the two senior DeGroots had lost their eyes.
It was much easier now that he wasn't the one talking. He found he liked the DeGroots, even considering he'd basically been picked up by them on accident.
Smissmas dinner came and went, and Tavish insisted that Jane could stay in the guest room if he wanted. The initial layer of dislike seemed to have melted from Mrs. DeGroot, so Jane cautiously accepted.
"So, the airline holding your luggage hostage?" Tavish asked later, taking a puff from his cigar.
They were in the garden, the area moderately clear of snow, even as flakes drifted down around them. It was a windless night, smoke rising and ice falling at equal speeds, passing each other like fleeting acquaintances. Jane blew from his own cigar, the pure smoothness of it making him close his eyes in bliss. At first he'd tried to say no when Tavish had offered it to him, but like on all of the DeGroot's kindnesses he'd eventually caved. Now, he stood on the patio with his strange new Demoman friend and smoked the first real tobacco he'd had in years.
"No," Jane replied, rolling his cigar between his fingers. "I just don't have anything. What I have, I keep in my coat."
"Damn," Tavish huffed. "That's it? However many years in Germany and nothing to take back?"
"I've got a toothbrush," Jane shrugged. "And some money I…found. All my weapons were confiscated when I was…discharged."
Jane didn't know how to explain it. Not in the way that anyone would understand, to know he was no civvie. It would be best to just leave things the way they were and let others fill in the blanks.
"Oh. Yeah. I suppose they wouldn't let you take that on the plane." Tavish blew another ring of smoke into the starless, cloud-coated sky. "So. What are you doing when you get back to America?"
Jane frowned. He followed Tavish's gaze upward, watching each individual snowflake make it's long journey down to earth. "Haven't really thought about it," Jane admitted. "All I know is I want to see those spacious skies and damn amber waves of grain again. A true American can't go this long without seeing lady liberty, otherwise he starts to go crazy."
"Just that? No people worth speaking of?"
Twirling the cigar in his fingers, Jane hesitated. But then he gave the only honest answer. "Nope."
Tavish nodded sadly. "I see. 'M sorry."
Jane couldn't really explain that one either, so he just silently accepted the condolences.
After the cigars had shortened down to their nubs, Tavish picked up the conversation again. "Do you know what you want to do for work? Now that you're not a Soldier anymore?"
Jane prickled, but he knew that Tavish's assessment was true. He sighed, "Like I said, I don't know. Fighting's all I've ever really known. All I'm really good at."
"Have you ever thought about doing mercenary work?" Tavish said, a little too earnestly.
Looking over at him in surprise, Jane startled. "Mercenary work? Like being a Demoman?"
"Well, there's all sorts of ways to kill people," Tavish rushed on, the note of hope in his voice growing enough to be recognizable. "You don't have to do it my family's way. But I'm sure there's lots of people in America who want other people blown up, and ex-military always brings a layer of glamour to those looking for mercs."
"I don't know…" Jane began. It was hard to imagine himself fighting for any other reason than the good old US of A. But then killing for the pure art of war wasn't such an unappealing idea either… "Are you sure people would want to hire me for that?"
"Of course!" Tavish grinned. "You're a man who's got the expertise, which is impressive at your age. You spin it right, you'll land yourself plenty of jobs."
"You sound like you know what you're talking about…" Jane said, sensing there was something Tavish was leading to.
"That I do," Tavish admitted. "Which is why my next idea is really the kicker: we cross the pond, and you and I go into business together."
"What?" Jane blinked. "Business?"
"Aye, business," Tavish said proudly. "We'll be partners, hired together and then split all of our earnings fifty-fifty. It's hard to find mercs who work well together, folks'll love it! Plus, with my knowledge of the trade and your background, we'd be the perfect combination of connections and experience." When Jane just continued to gape at him, Tavish insisted, "C'mon, think about it! You said it yourself, you didn't have any other plans for after your deployment is over."
Jane shifted, his boots forming dark marks in the freshly fallen snow. "Well…what about you? Wouldn't you be leaving your family behind?" Normally Jane wouldn't question why someone would want to leave their shitty country and come live in the home of the brave, but from what he understood the DeGroots were happy here. The Ullapoolians may be strange, but they did value family.
Tavish barked out a laugh. "Are you kidding? Not a day goes by when my mum doesn't remind me that's I'm a leech on their undying hospitality." Tavish rolled his eye. "Besides, look at this place. The town is all dried up. No matter how many jobs I get here, no one has the coin for what my services are worth. Nah, I've got to set out, find my own fortune." He paused to grin at Jane. "Preferably with a partner at my side."
This was a decision. A big one. Jane could tell in the way the night seemed to hang in dead space all around them. Years later, after it was all said and done, he would wonder why he said yes. He'd also wonder why he'd said yes to following Tavish home in the first place, yes to all those niceties and consideration thereafter. It might all be the same reason: because was just the path of least resistance. Regardless, as the two men stood their in the garden while the cold layers came down, neither one realized this might be the most important night of their lives.
Somewhere, deep in a warm, snug cottage, a grandfather clock chimed midnight.
