The day Soldier heard that the war ended, he was sitting in a puddle of his own blood and trying very hard to summon his shovel telepathically. It wasn't working, and even if it was, it probably wouldn't do him much good at the rate he was bleeding.

"Holy shit," came a voice from the door of the renovated home Soldier had nestled himself in. Soldier was amazed. Not for the reason that the voice was amazed, but that the voice itself was speaking in American.

"Holy shit yourself private," Soldier said to the man standing in the doorway. He had something on his breast, an emblem. Was this guy a medic?

"Did you…did you fucking shoot that guy?" the medic demanded, and pointed at the body of the dead SS officer on the ground.

"You got it bub. Now are you just going to stand there or are you going to help a fellow American out?"

The medic hesitated, but looked over the state of Soldier once again and came over to help him. The wound was deep; the Nazi son of a bitch had gotten a few good licks in before Soldier had put him down like the mad dog he was.

"So did you just…walk right into his house and kill him?" the medic said, and pulled from his backpack various bandages and supplies.

"That's what you do to Nazis, son."

"But…everyone in town says he was cleared in the trials. I mean…we all knew he used to be one of them, but legally we can't do anything…"

"Legally you can't, so I did it for you. I'm not seeing the problem." Soldier winced as the medic picked shrapnel from his wound. "Besides, that's war son. No rule of law out here."

That gave the medic pause. "Um…what do you mean?"

The sheer bluntness of it made Soldier snort. "Nazis? Blitzkrieg? Fall Weiss? Any of this ringing a bell?"

The medic's stocky silence surprised Soldier, and when he looked up he saw shock in the other man's eyes. It made sense when he finally told Soldier the truth: "Sir. The war ended four years ago."

"…"

"…Sir?"

Soldier looked at the medic. Then down at himself. Then at the dead officer. "Oh. Huh. Learn something new every day."

The medic tended the rest of Soldier, leaving him along to his thoughts, all bleating for his attention as he grappled with his new situation. There were regrets (mostly that if the war was over, Hitler was dead. and if Hitler was dead, that meant Soldier's daydreams about getting to kill him himself were over) so Soldier was fine with the silence.

It wasn't until the bullet wound was cleaned and fully dressed that he was able to say, "I guess I should go back to America, huh?"

"Uh…yeah." the medic said. "I guess I can help with that. Red Cross, see?" He tapped the emblem on his shirt.

"Great. Thanks private."

"Oh, I'm not military. That's why I'm with the relief groups."

"Okay son. I promise not to tell anyone."


The memory of the Red Cross medic was so vivid in Jane's mind, he woke up believing he was still back in Germany. It didn't take long to find what had triggered it: his chest felt like it was on fire, just like it had when he was sitting bleeding to death in that stupid house. When he tried to sit up, he nearly passed out from the pain.

He must have made some sound when he did, because he heard the soft tapping of footsteps as someone approached his room.

But not his room. Not a room from any apartment he'd ever lived in. (Yet not the concrete outside the Pantry Pride, so that was a step up.)

When Tavish came through the door, Jane apparently hadn't learned his lesson from the first time, and tried to sit up again.

"Uhhhggg…" he croaked, flopping backwards onto his pillow.

"Hey, hey relax Jane," Tavish said, rushing over and placing the back of his hand against Jane's forehead. He must have approved of what he felt, because he smiled and sat down beside the bed. "You're going to be alright."

"Tav…?" Jane blinked. The whole room seemed to be swaying. It smelled of blood and salt, the walls were wooden, and even Tavish's chair seemed to be made out of wicker. It was like craft-barn hell. "Tav, what happened?"

"You were stupid and went to get groceries without me," Tavish said, though his expression wasn't angry at all.

"Oh. Yeah." Jane frowned. "Okay, better question, how am I alive?"

"I got a tip that 'some blue bastards' were planning a hit in an hour. It was only twenty minutes after you left, so I put two and two together." Tavish frowned. "I'm sorry it took so long. I didn't know which grocery store you would go to. I…was too late." He placed his hand on Jane's chest, the normally broad abdomen wrapped in a hell of a lot of bandages.

"Hey, if I'm still kicking, I don't think it counts as too late." Jane slipped his hand over Tavish's. Here was his best friend, still looking out for him after all these years.

Tavish smiled back. After a quiet moment, he helped Jane prop some pillows so the injured man could lean comfortably against the headboard. Jane looked around the room again, saw the fresh flowers by his bedside and a fraying paper-back fantasy novel. Someone had obviously been tending him while he slept.

"How long have I been out?" Jane asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Little over a week," Tavish said, and Jane's stomach sank. "I had to put my plans in motion a bit early, and had to get a doctor too. You were really bad, putting you back together wasn't something I could do with a couple of band-aids."

Jane looked down at himself, wishing he could see through the white gauze and view the damage.

"But don't worry, I made sure to grab this when we left." Jane looked up to see Tavish lean behind the bedside table and withdraw Jane's shovel a moment later. Jane reached for it immediately. Once it was in his hands he ran them over the worn wood, taking a bit of stability from the entrenching tool.

"Thanks." He was glad Tavish gave it to him before he realized it was missing. That saved him one extra freak out. "And uh, sorry that you had to go back and get it."

"No problem," Tavish smiled. "I don't begrudge my best friend a few eccentricities." He gave Jane a wink.

"Oh of course, eccentricities." Jane said with a roll of his eyes. "I have my shovel, and you have alcoholism and a beard."

"I thought you liked my beard," Tavish said, touching his facial hair self-consciously. He said it with such genuineness Jane almost believed his performance.

"I do you overly sensitive hippie, but you obsess over it like it's your first born," Jane laughed, and he reached out to punch Tavish in the shoulder. It didn't have any of the umph Jane would have liked, but it made the Demoman smile.

"Overly sensitive hippie?" Tavish said in mock offense. "That's tough talk for a man who can't eat crunchy peanut butter because the chunks hurt his teeth."

Jane narrowed his eyes. "You wanna play hardball, bub? Fine, we can play hardball. How about I remind you of the time you were so excited we could afford a microwave you brought it home and immediately set our apartment on fire?"

"No one told me you couldn't put in cans of soup!" Tavish yelled in his defense, but quickly mounted another attack. "And you thought my country was called Ullapool for six years!"

"Yeah! And you let me!"

They were yelling, but their eyes were shining. There was a moment of breathless excitement where Jane thought Tavish might come up with something else dumb he'd done in the past decades, but instead the Demoman wholeheartedly launched himself into sudden a hug. He wrapped his arms around his friend, spine arching just a little bit so he wouldn't put pressure on Jane's injuries. Jane smiled, and politely pretended he didn't see the beginning of a tear in Tavish's eye.

As he hugged Tavish back, he thought again about the book lying on the bedside table and felt bad for putting him through all this. If it was as bad as when Tavish had almost died, Jane couldn't envy what he must have gone through. And that time it had only been three days.

Tavish went through so much for him. Saving Jane's life, risking his own. Like an itch, the scene in the kitchen came back to him, the one just a few hours before he went to get groceries. Something had been going on, something Tavish seemed to know and had promised they'd talk about later.

He was beginning to concern himself with what that might mean when he saw someone pass just outside his bedroom door. Jane's pulse quickened immediately, aware again that he had no idea what was going on.

"Tavish," he whispered, pulling from the hug. "Where are we right now?"

Tavish wiped his eye, and sat back in his chair. "Ship," he said simply. Well, that certainly explained why the room kept swaying. "Like I said, I made a few hasty plans, and this one was leaving a couple hours after you were shot. It cost a lot of money to bring the doctor all this way, and he's only coming as far as Panama. So, er, try to be better by then."

"Panama?" Jane's geometry knowledge was going into overtime. "Tav, where the hell is this ship headed?"

Tavish drew in a large breath, waiting for impact. "Scotland. We've gotta get out of the states."

Jane stared at Tavish, and knew he wasn't talking about going away for a holiday.

"It's where RED and BLU are," Tavish rushed on. "All their power, their information, they don't have anything across the pond. So that's where we've got to if we want to lose their tail. They know too much about us Jane…I'm…I'm sorry."

"I…fuck." Jane felt a lump tightening in his throat. "Tav I…need a minute."

Tavish nodded, guilt in his eye. Carefully, he withdrew into his chair, picking up his book as he tried to give Jane some space. His eye kept scanning to quickly over the same page, over and over again, but it was the thought that counted.

Jane's head was spinning as he took in the news. Of course, Tavish knew what he was talking about when they said they had to leave. He had probably spent a long time calculating the risks and benefits, weighing Jane's patriotisms and the worth of both their lives until he came to the best possible solution. Still, Jane braced himself. He knew it was coming, that feeling of dread at the though of being on a ship already probably thousands of miles away from his country. His purple mountains of majesty, his fucking amber oats or whatever the fuck. He waited silently for that sudden panic that was bound to hit him any second.

It never came.

He just stared silently ahead, but the horror he was bracing for never arrived. After a minute, he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, confused as to why to realization hadn't seemed to hurt him. Softly, he reached forward, placing a hand on Tavish's elbow.

"It's okay, Tavish," he said, and he didn't even have to fight to keep his voice from shaking.

Tavish blinked, dropping the book without even marking the page. "What?" he blinked. "Really? You're not upset about leaving?"

"I mean, I am," Jane admitted. "But not as much as I thought I would be. I think because…I don't feel like I'm leaving home."

He hadn't thought about the words before he said them, but now that they were out they made so much sense. He was still an American, and proud, but home meant something different now. He looked at Tavish, and tried explain everything he was feeling.

"We've moved…so many times now," he began. "I've lost count. It was hard at first, because I wanted something to hold onto that I didn't carry on my back. But then it became that it wasn't where we lived or what city we were in, it was just you. You are my home. I'm okay with going back to Scotland if I know you'll be there."

When he reached forward, he didn't really know what he was indenting to do. But then his hand closed on Tavish's forearm, holding, and Jane realized he wanted his best friend so much closer. Tavish's eye was shining still, alight with unshed tears and something more. That thing that Jane had seen all those years ago but had never been able to place.

Tavish had felt what Jane was feeling right now.

The thing Jane had been trying to grasp in the kitchen when he realized Tavish would rather die than be away from him. It was so strange, but not sudden. It was every calm night they would spend out on their Los Angeles balcony, it was that slowly creeping realization that Jane didn't fear Tavish's touch, but craved it. And it was something he'd needed come to on his own; a forgone conclusion, but a conclusion he might not have accepted the night of the failed heist.

It was closeness. Closeness born of decades, like two trees growing too close together until they were one. And it was closeness Jane needed right now.

Tavish's eye widened. "Jane I-…" His voice was shaking, maybe suddenly realizing that Jane could feel it too, and what that meant. He let Jane's hand slip behind his head.

Jane pulled him forward into a kiss.

Kissing Tavish was like stepping on ice. At first, you gently press your foot against the puddle until you can feel the cold through your boot. But then you crush down, and you sink in all the way, sending shocks and cracks and fractures of pleasure running all throughout. The fractures made Jane shake, but in ways so different that the anxiety he was used to. This was good, so perfect. Tavish's lips were warm and yielding under Jane's, if chapped and a bit salty.

He thought of that silent night, when they smoked their cigars and this strange boy had asked to run away with him. He'd said yes. And now he was saying yes again.

Tavish slid off his wicker chair and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Jane so gently he thought he might start shaking from that instead. The feeling of Tavish kissing him back was better than he ever could have imagined.

His hand slid upwards, moving into the Demoman's curls. He broke the kiss long enough to whisper against Tavish's lips.

"Tavish, I think I love you."

"Yeah," Tavish said, smile detectable against the side of Jane's cheek. "I figured."