Tavish grew up hating his soulmate. It started right from the moment he stepped into a proper primary school and Mrs. Dubh just about threw him out.
"You better cover that up right this instant lad," she demanded, pointing to the sentence scrawled across his neck. "I don't know what sort of haver your parents put up with, but I will not have such vulgar words out and about in my classroom."
At that, Tavish had told her that his parents were fine people, and telling him they tolerated him was an insult to his family's honor. That caused Mrs. Dubh's face to turn bright red, escalated to a shouting match between the two of them, and ended with Tavish being sent home early.
He tried not to cry on the walk home.
That proved to be exceptionally difficult, since he was quite the crier as a child, a trait that followed him all the way into adulthood. He came home with a red eye and a snotty nose, and couldn't hide it from Mum no matter how blind she was. (If not for the sound of his insistent squeaking, then the fact that he was back from school four hours early.) For once, she didn't scold him, even when he told him how he'd fought with his teacher. Instead, she patted her lap and let him crawl into her arms like he was still a wee babe.
He blubbered an explanation through his sobs. It wasn't right for Mrs. Dubh to insult his new family. (Well, old family, but as far as Tavish cared they were new and too good to be true.) Mum listened quietly, stroking his hair, but waiting for him to get to the root of it all.
Finally he didn't have anymore explanations. He sniffled quietly into the front of her shirt until he said, "Mum? Why does my soulmate hate me?"
"They don't hate you laddie," Mum told him. "You can't judge a whole relationship just by the first words you happen to get."
Tavish whimpered, but didn't say anything.
Mum gently rubbed the spot on Tavish's neck where she knew the soulwords to be. "Tav. Did I ever tell you how me 'n your Da met?"
Shaking his head, Tavish let his crying slow to a small hiccup.
"My whole life, I was lucky enough to have the nice words on me, can I help you with that, Miss? Nothing too fancy, or to wonder about. And you know what I gave your Da in return? Step off, you hirplin having little dunderheed!"
Tavish's eye widened as he look up at his Mum. "You called him that?"
"Aye," Mum chuckled. "Right to his face. Didn't know at the time he was from one of the oldest families in Scotland. And I cursed him with that, right up until the moment we met."
"Wow." Tavish thought about that for a minute. "That must have been hard."
"Ah, but he got through it." She gently cupped Tavish's cheek. "And you will too lad. Just remember that things don't always start the way you think, and you just gotta keep going on until they do."
Tavish thought he understood her. Just because his soulmate said something awful to him at first, didn't mean that their whole relationship would be colored by that. He whispered thanks to Mum, and snuggled further into her lap.
The second day of school, Tavish wore a turtleneck sweater.
Tavish wasn't the only one Mrs. Dubh made cover up their soulwords. Alice MacAra had something particularly nasty written on her on her left arm, and Mrs. Dubh had her wear an ugly-looking armband to hide it from their classmates, lest she "corrupt" them. Alice and Tavish couldn't take off their accessories as long as they were at school, not even in the summer when Tavish's neck would get all sweaty.
It was constant, shameful, and Tavish grew to hate his soulmate in spite of his Mum's advice.
On the plus side, him and Alice became good friends. Their shared hatred of Mrs. Dubh, chased them off to secret spots where they could talk about their soulwords without fear of the switch. It was nice to have something in common with another kid. Tavish had never had any friends back at the orphanage, and Alice was one of the things that made Ullapool ten times better.
Sometimes, she would take her armband off when Mrs. Dubh wasn't looking. That's how Tavish learned his first swearword.
Alice's arm said use your fucking blinker you goddamned bitch. Actually, it was three swearwords, but fucking was obviously the best. Neither Alice nor Tavish knew what a blinker was, but since no once else in town reacted badly too it, it must be some sort of Secret Swear. They would whisper it all the time to each other, calling each other blinkers in the back of the class and giggling. When Mrs. Dubh found out, she made them hold their noses against the blackboard and count to one hundred.
Tavish's soulwords weren't swears, but they were just as bad. As Mrs. Dubh said, they were perverse.
It was nice to have Alice, but not even her company could make him feel like less of a freak. He already had a missing eye counted against him, and the sweater he wore every day simply contributed to his social ostracization.
He hoped he'd meet his soulmate soon. Then the writing would go away, and then the two of them would laugh it off and throw stones together down at the lake.
But he never met them. Primary blended into secondary, then Alice moved away, and the world just seemed to grow more dark. It was better when Tavish had at bottle in his hand, but the drink was never enough to stave off the knowledge that he was unlovable.
Before he knew it, he was picking up his first job, and thoughts of his soulwords faded in light of the new love in his life. If no one wanted him, well that was just fine. Watching a human explode was better than any long walks on the beach as far as Tavish was concerned.
The years passed, and Tavish followed his love to America, where he found a job that was beyond what he could have ever dreamed. (It turned out that was because it bound him to a lifetime contract, but still.) RED gave him an amazing salary, one that let him move his Mum over too, and if they kept it up he'd be able to afford a nice house in no time.
He'd never worked with a team before. It was…an experience to say the least. For one, rest of them seemed just psychotic as Tavish was. He kept them at arms length anyway during basic training, but somehow still ended up in the middle of it all.
Because when the Engineer had called their Spy a liver-bellied son of a jackal, the spook immediately had blushed like he was fourteen years old. It didn't take much sleuthing to figure out those were the Spy's soulwords, and the two had found each here of all places. It went against everything Tavish believed: that a cold hearted killer could even have soulmate, let alone find him in all this…mess.
But from then on Engie and Spy stuck around each other like two moths circling the same flame. It depressed Tavish, though he pretended it didn't.
In fact, he might have put soulwords out of his mind entirely—like he'd been doing for the past thirty years—if they hadn't had their first battle.
It shouldn't have been difficult; basically a dry run while the teams tested each other's strength. Tavish felt confidence with his new weapons, and was ready to blast BLUs back into oblivion. At halfway through the battle, he'd only felt the sting of respawn. Now he'd armed a sticky trap on the intelligence and was just about to blow up some hapless BLUs when-
A majestic screech was his only warning.
A rocket blasted him in his hiding spot, sending him flying and landing in a mess of blood and his own limbs. He raised his head (only barely able to do that) to see his attacker.
The BLU Soldier sauntered toward him, confident smirk spread across his face. Tavish's blood boiled. He'd had a taste of his own Soldier, and he was confident enough to say he didn't like the flavor. This Soldier would be all the worse, his self-righteousness now located firmly on the other team and his license to kill boldly in hand.
He placed a boot on Tavish's chest and grinned. Tavish hissed in pain, knowing that the Soldier was taking pleasure in his last moment of suffering. The BLU looked down at his victim and said, "I love your death, Cyclops; your death is sweet to me like love is sweet."
And then he laughed.
Meanwhile, every muscle in Tavish's body froze. No. No no. No way in hell it could be him. Please god don't let it be him-
He didn't get anymore begging than that, since the Soldier whipped out his shotgun and finished Tavish off with a blast to the head.
Tavish woke up in respawn shook beyond measure. That couldn't be…of all the bloody people in the world…
He had to check.
Tavish ran around base desperately, ignoring the battle and searching anywhere he could find a mirror. It took forever, but he finally found one in the lower respawn room, leaned against the wall and unused.
Tavish pulled down the collar of his turtleneck. He groaned. It was just as he had feared: the soulwords were gone.
Of all the people, somehow, the wheel of fate had landed on that obnoxious, jingoistic, son of a bitch. Instead of a meet cute, Tavish had been dealt a hand of blood and gore and murder on a never-ending battlefield…
And that's what he deserved, wasn't it?
He realized that suddenly as he paced in the lower respawn room. If he looked, really looked at the man he'd become, didn't he deserve someone like the Soldier? And then another thought occurred to him. One that twisted his face into a manic smile that the mirror reflected right back at him.
Soldier had made his life hell. And now was the perfect time to get a little payback.
Before the battle the next day, Tavish stood in front of the gates with life in his chest and a gleam in his eyes. He didn't have a chance at the Soldier the first round, but he wasn't in any hurry. After all, there was no rush when it came to forever.
Round two and three passed with still no opportunity. And then, that blessed fourth round rolled around.
The Soldier came up from the 2fort sewers, maybe thinking he could sneak by Sniper on the bridge, and walked right into three red stickies. His body was thrown against the wall, legs turning to paste, but still alive after the explosion. Tavish had been careful after all—didn't want to kill him before he could get in a word in edgewise.
Tavish was on him fast, sitting on the Soldier's chest before he'd even had a chance to realize what had happened.
The BLU moved, but stopped when he felt the blade of a sword already digging into his throat. He looked up at the Demoman on top of him. "…Dammit."
Tavish smiled, and said they words he'd picked just for this occasion. "Hey Private Haircut," he whispered. "I might've taken a bit too much off…your head!"
He finished the last words with a triumphant yell, and looked at Soldier's face for the desired reaction.
He sure got it. Soldier's eyes went from defiance to abject horror.
"Oh no…" Soldier groaned.
"Oh yes."
Tavish laughed triumphantly, revealing in the defeat of the man who had been hounding him for all his life. He supposed in a way, Soldier had been getting him back for this exact moment, but he was too drunk and victorious to care.
He made good on his threat, and lopped the Soldier's head off with one swoop.
On the third day the teams had fought against each other in a real battle, Tavish stood out on the edges of RED's balcony and breathed in its corrosive stench. Both Snipers were dead at the moment, and he looked out over the bridge without fear to what lay beyond.
The BLU Soldier looked right back. Neither one of them moved, locked in a contest of wills to see who would attack first.
Soldier's face had changed. Tavish could see, even with the distance and the helmet obscuring it. It was a face of mortal challenge, of a primal and ingrained need to dominate. Tavish was as sure of it as he was sure of the battle cry that called out in his own blood. This was a special form of competition: one of total and complete connection between two destined men.
There was the sound of a minigun whirling, and Soldier caved into the need. He shot a rocket under his feet and launched himself through the air, screaming as he did. Tavish did the same, meeting him halfway and clashing sword against shovel. Raw bloodlust pounded through the both of them, exemplified by the grins of joy on their faces.
And hell, if this is what a soulmate was, Tavish could get used to it.
