"Anyone want tae fill me on why Heavy is sportin' a particularly lovely bruise this fine mornin'?"
Scout shrugs, stirring milk into his oatmeal. "I bet he 'n Medic went at it the other night. If I went off 'bout the Hardy Boys like those three gripe about Grigori Olga Nikolaevich, I'da been told books are rottin' my brain."
"Pretty sure 'Grigori Olga Nikolaevich' ain't a character in Anna Karenia," Engie says, dropping down on the other side of Scout.
"I thought you stopped their fight," Demo demurs, aiming his statement at Engie.
"Ha! As if Sawbones could do that." Engie takes a bite of his grits. "Naw, Heavy was madder than a chipmunk in a windstorm, walked right into the doorframe 'cuz he wasn't looking where he was going. Doc refused to heal him."
"Scrapes from your own stupidity are not my problem," Demo and Scout say at the same time, quoting Medic's favorite tautology.
The mystery solved, Demo resumes his undeterred staring, focusing his attention all the way across to the other side of the cafeteria. Medic is once again annoyed, this time by Soldier pestering him about something. The German pointedly turns his body away, sliding his breakfast to the side away form the energetic mercenary.
Demo wonders what they're talking about. He leans on an elbow and sighs.
"What about you, Demo? Couldn't find you last night."
The Engineer's question snaps Demo out of his daze, the conversation having taken a turn while he wasn't paying attention.
"Why were you lookin' for me?" Demo snaps instinctively.
His goggles not yet on, Engineer's raised eyebrow is clear as day. "Just wanted to get your opinion on a new power cell, partner. No need to get all defensive."
"Oh," Demo exhales. "Yeah, I was, er, just out for Grenades."
"You two still doin' that?" Scout interjects. "An' people tell me to grow up."
"Oh like blowin' things up is less mature than sittin' in your room readin' Bonk! Boy," Demo shoots back, conveniently forgetting that Grenades no longer involves property destruction.
The rest of breakfast is a long, drawn out argument between Scout and Demoman, one that Sniper finds amusing and Engineer does not. By the time Demo looks up again, both Medic and Soldier are gone. He stands, dumping his dish in the sink and heading to the armory. But, as he's about to pass through the door out of the kitchen, he feels the eyes on him, just like he had last night.
He turns, surveying the morning scene for whoever might be staring at him. Medic and Soldier have already left, Sniper is leaning over his cooling coffee, and Engie is berating Scout for ruining his morning. Heavy leans against the wall, pressing an ice-pack he lifted from the kitchen again his bruised cheek. Spy, true to his nautre, is nowhere in sight.
Demo shrugs, and moves on.
Later that day, Demo knocks against the infirmary door, which is quite a feat considering what he's holding. The sounds of foreign language come to a halt, replaced by a pair of boots clicking across the tile floor. Medic pushes the swinging door aside, revealing the three co-workers relaxing in the frigid room.
"Hello lads," Demo smiles painfully. "Was wondering if I could borrow the doc for a moment. Ran into a spot o' trouble." He indicates as such by holding the object in his hand.
The object is also his hand, his left one, which had become separated from his body after dropping his stock of tri-cyclic acetone peroxide one too many times.
"And vhere is the rest of your arm?" Medic asks with disdain.
Demo gives a shrug, one that's a bit more painful than usual. "This is all I could find."
"You know how I feel about self-inflicted injuries, Herr Demo."
"I know," Demo persists, "but since this is a wee more than a 'scrape', I thought you might make an exception."
With a sigh, Medic allows him into the infirmary.
Heavy is sitting near the desk, plopped in an overly-large armchair. The chair is supporting a dangerous looking pile of books that lean precariously, even with the chair's help. It's so large and out of place in the sterile room, Demo figures Heavy must have dragged it in here himself.
The Russian has a small notebook in front of him, having been writing before the Demoman showed up.
Spy is leaned up against the fridge, a cigarette in his teeth and a smirk on his lips. Demo guesses the latter is more in regards to whatever the three were talking about before he walked in, and not toward Demo's predicament.
"On the examination table if you please," Medic says as he wheels the mounted medigun toward it.
Demo complies, placing his severed hand in its approximate location along his side.
"Again now docktor," Heavy says, scratching a few more notes into his book.
"Can it vait?" Medic asks, flicking on the Quick-Fix. "This will only take a moment."
"Nyet. Multitask. Will help you not over think."
Medic sighs reluctantly.
"я беден," Heavy begins.
"я беден," Medic repeats, watching the blue glow begin to recreate Demo's arm.
"Nyet, я беден," Heavy corrects, stressing the pronunciation.
"я беден," Medic says again, obviously annoyed.
"Good. Now: бедный слушатель."
"бедный слушатель," Medic struggles.
"Yes. Врач."
"врач," Medic says more confidently, recognizing his own name.
Spy can't help himself anymore, and lets out a muffled snort.
Medic immediately whips around. "Vhat? Vhat is so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing," Spy says with a wave of his hand. His other one covers his mouth, where he tries to suppress his giggles. "Though I am guessing he was about to have you say врач плохой слушатель."
"Good pronunciation," Heavy tells Spy noncommittally.
"Vhat were you having me say?" Medic demands. "It vas something dirty, vasn't it?"
"I do not have you say anything that is not true," Heavy says with a face that is too stoic to be truthful.
"You two are so juvenile!" Medic spits. "Always having your private little jokes. It's not fair! Spy started two years after me!"
Heavy just shrugs. "Is not my fault Spy is fast learner."
Before Medic can shoot something back, Demo is forced to interrupt. "Listen, I hate to break up the 'ridicule Doc' party, but I really think you should turn this thing off."
The Quick-Fix has gone beyond overheal, Demo's arm now blue and glowing. The skin is swollen and shiny, like an overripe blueberry about to pop. Medic immediately lunges for the switch, severing the steady stream of blue light. Demo's arm begins to shrink down to a normal size, loosing its sapphire sheen and returning to a dark brown. Tapping his thumb against each of his fingers, he finds it to be good as new.
"Thanks Doc."
"No trouble. I do believe we were finished for the day anyways." Medic shoots a look at his co-workers, one grinning and one trying very hard not too.
Spy and Heavy take that as their cue to leave. Demo follows them, trying to get another thank you in as he's pushed out the door. Within a few seconds, the three of are ejected into the hall, standing about in various states of humor.
"You should not pester him so. He is sensitive about it," Spy tells Heavy, though his voice lacks any sympathy for the henpecked German.
Heavy allows himself a smile. "Doktor has it coming. Also, was you who let cat out of bag, not me."
Rolling his eyes, Spy lights another cigarette. "And please stop picking up English proverbs. You always choose the tackiest ones."
"Cannot help it," Heavy chuckles. "All so amusing." That get's a laugh out of the other two, and he gestures down the hallway. "Dinner?"
Getting his arm blown off has made Demo particularly famished, but before he can agree, Spy speaks up.
"Actually, I was hoping to speak with the Demoman alone, if you don't mind."
Warning bells blare inside Demo's mind. To his shock, Heavy nods, not the slightest bit suspicious as he lumbers toward the mess hall.
What the hell? Why is Heavy leaving him alone with Spy?
Maybe Heavy trusts the Spy, but Demo certainly does not. It's one thing to be polite to him, or joke around when they're in a group, but Spy wanting to talk to him in private spells all sorts of trouble.
"Do you mind if we retire to my smoking room?"
Demo shakes his head, and Spy leads them to the vast upstairs room he had claimed for himself. Each step makes Demo feel like he's walking further into a trap, the comfort and safety of the first floor far behind him. When he enters, it's like being transported to eighteenth century France, complete with crown moldings and upscale rugs.
Spy offers him a box.
"I prefer cigars, thanks," Demo declines. At least he thought he did, until Spy offers a cigar case pulled from who know where.
Demo grunts gratefully, accepting the light as well. The cigar does a little to calm him, the formality of the disgustingly expensive room doing a number on his nerves. Spy sits across from him, smoking his own fancy brand. The tension between them is thicker than the smoke.
"So," Spy begins, and Demo thinks he's about to find out why Spy dragged him in here. "How exactly did you loose your arm just now?"
"Ah," Demo replies, no idea where this conversation is supposed to be heading. "Well, you know, dangerous profession," he says as he taps his missing eyeball. "Mishandled some chemicals. Scared Engie half tae death though, he was yellin' at me all while I was tryin' tae find the rest o' me arm."
"How unfortunate," Spy says, his voice once again lacking normal levels of human empathy.
"I just think these things wouldnae happen if BLU could spring for some decent lighting in the basement."
"Drink?" Spy asks out of nowhere.
"Er…sure?"
It's not in Demo's nature to refuse a drink, but when Spy hands him a glass of frilly imported wine, he almost wishes it were. Spy sits back down, swirling his own drink to increase the aroma or whatever. Not like anyone can smell anything in this smoggy hell-hole anyways.
As Spy lays his hand across his lap, Demo realizes something: Spy is awkward. Somehow, that's even worse than thinking Spy is about to make him an accomplice to murder. He can handle sneaking, conniving Spy. That's the Spy they all know and love! (Well, know and tolerate.) But this? How is he supposed to handle this when Spy himself can barely make small-talk?
"So, er…was there somethin' you wanted tae talk tae me about?"
"Yes, of course." Spy tries to keep his voice even. "I had a few questions about some of your behavior recently."
The worst possible scenario immediately crashes through Demo's blissful little existence. Someone knows about him and Soldier. And that person is Spy.
He tries to quiet his internal monologue of fuck fuck fuck fuck all the while wrestling his face into a mask of polite confusion. There's no reason to jump to conclusions. The "behavior" could be anything considering Spy's attention to detail. The fact that Demo keeps putting his dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher, for instance.
"You goin' tae try tae get me tae quit drinkin'? 'Cause I tell you, a lot better men than you have tried, and they're all dead now."
Spy laughs, but it's a stiff giggle instead of his more genuine one. "…I was actually referring to something else." Spy clears his throat. "This morning you exhibited some odd…tendencies. Jumpiness. Not-aware of one's self. And you seemed very fascinated with Medic and Soldier's conversation."
Ok. Now it's time to jump to conclusions.
"You seem agitated after matches, but only when we win."
Shit shit shit.
"I began to notice these things approximately four months ago, this morning's display only the most pronounced. What first made me realize it was your unnecessary rescue of Soldier, back on Thunder Mountain."
Demo remembers. It had been hot and exhausting and he wasn't thinking clearly. It's one thing to jump in front of a rocket for Medic—one man's life is nothing compared to a good Uber—but to do the same for Soldier…
Even the less observant mercenaries were confused by his actions.
Spy sets down his empty glass. "I did not want to draw conclusions, at least not until I heard your explanation of events. So. That is why I asked you up here. Do you have anything to say on the subject?"
There weren't any cuss words strong enough for Demo's current thoughts. All of those individual events he could explain away, but now that Spy had laid them out like evidence in a courtroom, they painted all too clear a picture.
"I dunnae have to explain anythin' tae you, you cheese humpin'…" Demoman loses his momentum halfway through the sentence. He slumps forward in the armchair, at a loss for anything to say. "You…you already know the answer, dunnae you?"
"I am giving you an opportunity to tell me otherwise," Spy replies softly.
"I…" He can't admit it. He can barely form words in this awful smelly room that's difficult to breath in, let alone divulge his most closely kept secret.
"I dunnae…" he tries again. His empty glass dangles from his fingers, dangerously close to slipping. His last statement comes as a whisper. "I love him."
Spy nods.
"And…I know I say 'love' a lot, and I mean it, I love you all. But with Soldier it's…different." Demo examines the crystal, hanging limply, halfway to the ground. "It's like…like the way you'd love a girl. You want it to be just her and you, together, with nothin' keepin' you apart. Only Soldier's nae a girl." Demo chuckles to himself. "Lord he's nae a girl. But it's…the same feelin', you know?"
He doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he sighs, his whole body deflating with the motion. "Well. There it is. You wrested the confession out o' me. So what's it goin' tae be, Spy?" He looks up. "Blackmail? Expulsion? Or are you just goin' tae lord this over me until you find a way tae use it?"
A look of surprise momentarily passes over Spy's face, eventually replaced by something softer, something Demo has never seen him wear before.
"Demoman, this was not an extortion session. I simply want to help."
"Help?" The word has no bearing in Demo's mind, at least when it comes to Spy. "What the bloody hell do you mean by help?"
"I wanted to be here in case you needed assistance sorting out your feeling. Also, I want to offer some friendly advice."
Demo blinks, dumbfounded. "What in seven hells do you get out o' offering advice?"
At that, Spy chuckles, his happier one with the snorts. "Contrary to what you all seem to believe, I do care about this team. And that includes you." Before Demo can even process the magnitude of that statement, that Spy doesn't hate him and everything he stands for, the Frenchman continues. "I also found myself in a similar situation many years ago. I wish to help, so that you do not make the same mistakes I did."
If Demo was surprised before, he's absolutely floored now. "…A….similar situation?"
"I was in love with someone," Spy elaborated. "Whether or not he loved me back, I cannot say. I never asked, and, instead, I bottled up all my feelings until there was nothing left but rage and jealousy. Not only did I ruin any chance we might have had together, but I destroyed the friendship we built."
"I'm…sorry Spy. I had no idea."
"Well," Spy says, smiling wryly, "I do not reveal personal information very often. But, considering the situation, a personal anecdote was called for, no?"
This is all so much. Demo is barely able to wrap his mind around that Spy's being nice to him, let alone that he wants to be Demo's confidant.
"Wow. I mean…wow." Demo lightly sets his glass on a side table, glancing at the man across from him. "I guess…if you want to give me some advice, I got nothin' better comin' my way."
Spy's smile widens, breaking into a genuine grin.
"Well then, here it is: tell him how you feel."
Demo stares at him for a solid thirty seconds.
"What."
"Tell him how you feel!" Spy encourages. "I marred my own relationship through cowardice, but you do not have to. If you tell him, he could feel the same way. What is the worst that could happen?"
"Uh, he could hear me?"
Spy rolls his eyes. "Be serious Demoman. What if he shares your affection? Then the both of you are clucking about like hens who don't know the corn is right beneath their feet."
"A chicken analogy? Who are you, Engineer?"
"Come now, did you not just give to me a little speech about how you want it to be just the two of you, with nothing keeping you apart? You are halfway to a love confession already!"
"Spy," Demo pleads, "you have tae understand, Soldier's nae…he would never…" He trails off, the words unsaid greater than the words he had. He slumps forward once again.
"Do you know that for sure?" Spy asks gently.
"Well, no, but…"
"Then there is still hope, my friend," Spy finishes gently.
Demo sits in silence for a few minutes longer. Finally, he manages to say, "I dunno Spy. I just…I dunno."
Spy sighs, and takes a stands up from his comfortable chair. "Well, I have given my advice, but the decision is ultimately yours. Come," he says, placing a hand on Demo's shoulder, "we should head to dinner before the others miss us."
Demo nods, standing beside his new friend. Today has been odd. He needs to think.
But first, he needs to eat.
