Prepare yourselves for a little rollercoaster. I'm so glad I split this chapter into two. It turned up to be the longest one until now.

CHAPTER 6 - The bonfire

oth teammates amicably conversed about their hunting tales. It quickly turned clear that Heavy had some limitations with his English vocabulary. He sometimes made-up words to substitute the ones he didn't know and always stuck to short sentences. After the big guy had shared his story about the fight against the bear and wolves, Sniper was the one to continue the talking. However, he soon got the impression that the other man wasn't completely following him so he made an effort to talk slower and use simpler words for him. He easily noticed how his attentiveness made a difference. The Russian's concentrated frown melted down into a serene expression and his face began lighting up more often, engaging more in the conversation.

When the steaks were just how Sniper liked them, Heavy postponed his quartering duties to have dinner with him. As the Australian had previously promised, they drank more vodka together along with the meal. He had to confess that the moose was quite good but nothing exceptional. The old age of the animal might have diminished the quality of the meat but it was still considerably better than the ordinary sandwich he would have eaten instead. He felt fortunate of having encountered his teammate out here or maybe was just the hunger and alcohol talking for him.

"I've brawled alligators, Heavy. I've brawled bloody alligators and I can promise ya that the worst damn animal you can brawl is a feral donkey. Not a bear, not a shark. A bloody donkey!"

"Niet, niet. Worst animal is goat. If Heavy told you story about goat you would not sleep again. Very scary goat story."

The Russian shivered as if he was referring to a humongous kraken or a demon from the underworld and they both chuckled together at his hyperbolic body language. Sniper didn't pry about his particular trauma with goats. Every hunter had their own bizarre animal archenemy that hated with all their guts. Bloody donkeys!

After their dinner, Heavy salvaged the last of the meat that was left. He had cleaned the animal as much as he could but he knew he would have been able to save way more, if he could have brought the whole beast back to the base. He had taken what he considered the best meat but it still didn't sit right with him. He examined the butchered moose one more time and finally accepted reality with a sorrowful sigh. There was only so much they could carry the both of them together. He truly regretted taking the shot. He didn't want to become that type of hunter. He should have been more thoughtful before pulling the trigger.

Sniper closely watched him through all the process and when Heavy gave conclusion to the task, he helped him dragged the corpse away from the camp. When they returned and sat down again, the bigger man threw him a sack. It almost knocked him over from how heavy it was.

"That bag is for you." The Russian laughed at seeing him nearly lose his balance.

"Bloody hell... How much is this? 100 pounds?"

"Niet. Around 40 kilos." He said with a shrug and his lips progressively curled up.

The two men held each other gazes and for once, Sniper felt as clueless as his European teammates when the imperial system was used as a unit of measurement. That topic reminded him that he had recently read that his dear Australia was contemplating to convert to the metric system in a few years. He didn't want to return home after his contract was finished and find out that kilometres and litres were ruling his country now. He wasn't even sure how 'Celsius' was properly spelled.

"40 kilos are 88 pounds. One kilo is 2.2 pounds. More or less..." Heavy simplified for him, waving his hand and Sniper sighed in resignation. This was another challenge for his to-do list that planned to leave for another day.

With their stomachs full and plenty of vodka to spare, both mercenaries continued sharing their experiences as hunters of completely different lands. As the Russian talked more and more, Sniper noticed that his use of the third person wasn't as arbitrary as he had thought in the beginning. The bald giant usually referred to himself as 'Heavy' when they were talking about work or memories that made him angry or he wasn't fond of. It was an idiosyncratic way of separating the facets that composed his identity as if the man killing and dying on the battlefield every day was someone else and not him. He also had the suspicion that Heavy was slightly modifying his hunting tales to avoid mentioning other people in them. If those individuals were past friends, family or enemies, Sniper could not tell.

"What does 'mate' mean?" The Russian unexpectedly interrupted him, after he had just used the word.

"Eh... It's like... friend, teammate..." Sniper clarified a little confused at the abrupt question.

"Ah... Okay, okay." Heavy broadly nodded in contentment.

"Why do ya ask?"

"Only other time Heavy saw 'mate' word was in Doktor's bird book. 'Mate' meant 'sex partner'. I thought it had other meaning in Australian but did not know."

Sniper put himself on the Russian's shoes for a second and imagined how the other man might have perceived his peculiar accent.

"How are ya doin', sex partner?", "Thanks, sex partner!", "Good job, sex partner."

Sniper suddenly erupted into laughter. Poor Heavy and his barrier language. It must have been very disconcerting.

The giant's characteristic frown invaded his face again and he patiently waited for his teammate to justified himself for the hundredth time. The Australian obviously had to explain afterward the reason for his outburst but the big guy didn't give it much relevance. He chuckled bashfully and urged him to proceed with his little story about the odd animals that roamed free in his home country.

As the alcohol began causing struggles in their inebriated minds, Heavy's English slowly deteriorated. He began making and making more conjugational mistakes and mixing literal Russian words in his sentences. Sniper somehow ignored them all for the sake of the continuity of the narrative and in return, he unconsciously gave rein free to his own broad hand gestures to the point that he might have invented a new dialect of sign language. The bigger man didn't fall short and also showed his full body expressivity. They accidentally smacked each other a couple of times but that only created another comical situation to laugh at together.

"Heavy heard many gahf-gahfs coming close and thought 'Am in neveroyatno big problem.'"

"Gahf-gahf? Is that a type of bird?" Sniper inquired intrigued. He had never come across with an animal that made that kind of sound.

"Bird? Niet, niet. It is dog. Dogs do gahf-gahf." Heavy explained, surprised at having been asked such a question.

"Wot? Dogs do woof-woof." Sniper said more perplexed than he should have been in normal circumstances.

"Hmmm..." The big man made a pause to ponder about this unexpected conundrum. He exaggeratedly rubbed his chin in thought as if he was cracking an impossible difficult code and all of a sudden, he lifted his index finger. "English dogs do woof-woof. Russian dogs do gahf-gahf. Dogs very smart. Talk different languages. I solved mystery."

His 'solution' made them both guffawed for a while. There was a frightening moment when the vodka bottle escaped Heavy's grasp but it had a fortuitous landing and was shortly recovered unscathed by Sniper. After the scare, the two mercenaries needed quite some time to regain their usual breath rhythms but later, Heavy continued with his story as if he had never been disrupted.

As the hours of the cold night went by and the bottle of vodka emptied, their conversations became more absurd and incoherent. They began using their hands to draw images in the air and made sounds to replace some adjectives. Neither of them fully comprehended how they were achieving to successfully communicate with each other but their stories were getting through to other man. Perhaps, if they had been sober, they would have realized that they weren't making any sense but from their perspective, they were having the best bonfire party of their lives.

"Heavy was happy in lake when saw ga-ga-ga stealing pants. Ran out of water. Clothes not there. Any clothes. Heavy followed ga-ga-ga, pass through kustarnik and found army of ga-ga-gas eating clothes. Not two, not five. Army, Sniper! Big army of ga-ga-gas looking at Heavy! Looking at Heavy's man stick! Was long silence and then… GAAA! Army of ga-ga-gas ran at Heavy. Full army! Heavy got scared for man stick. AH! Very, very scared! Lose leg, okay. Lose man stick, not okay. 5 kilometers, Sniper! Heavy ran 5 kilometers obnazhennyy! No clothes. No looking back. All man parts jumping when Heavy ran. Foots brrr from snow. Man stick very, very brrr. So brrr that thought would lose man stick. Do not run obnazhennyy on snow, Sniper. Not good idea. Only idea when army of ga-ga-gas want to eat your man stick. Only idea but not very good idea."

Sniper was laughing his head off on the ground and he couldn't put his finger on how or when he had ended up laying there. He only knew that the pointy leaves of those branches had been used for cushioning were itching against his nose but he couldn't stand up. In fact, he could hardly move of how tight his body was. He was having breathing problems because of how incontrollable his laugh was but he couldn't stop himself. That anecdote was the best one so far and it was so damn bloody hilarious.

Heavy paused his story to contemplate his fallen teammate with an amused smile. He had made him cackle so much that the lanky man had run of air and was making the most singular noises the Russian had ever heard. He couldn't tell if he was choking, snoring, hissing or the three things at the same time.

On a closer look, it was definitely the three things at the same time and he was starting to feel a bit worried.

"You have to breathe, little Sniper." The bigger man gently shook the shoulder of the other mercenary to try to soothe him down.

The gesture didn't do much to speed up the process but Sniper eventually cooled off and awarded his deprived brain some precious oxygen.

Heavy chuckled in relief at seeing him breathe with normalcy again and patted his arm in celebration. The Australian pushed his hand away with a self-conscious groan and remained there, in the foliage blanket, beholding the Russian's physique from the lowest angle the floor allowed.

His gaze became lost on the Russian's face and he observed his mouth open and close. It seemed like there was more to Heavy's naked odyssey but Sniper wasn't listening anymore. With a drunken smile lingering from his lips, his mind wandered away to other thoughts.

So far, this was being an amazing night. The sharpshooter would have never imagined that he could talk for hours with the big guy and have so much fun despite the language barrier and their antithetic upbringings. He knew that he was being heavily influenced by that marvelous bottle of vodka but seriously, when had been the last time he had connected so genuinely with someone else?

Since Susan and Paul, maybe?

Phew… That had been three good years and a half ago and he hadn't even copped a root with any of the two. They had assured him that they weren't a couple but he had discerned those little details that suggested that there was something more going one that a regular friendship. He would have made a move otherwise but he hadn't dared to interfere in what it could have probably been the beginning of something else between the two. On that occasion, he hadn't gotten his bonfire night with a happy ending and that, on the spur of the moment, made him crave for rectification with the man in front of him.

Being honest, he didn't consider the Russian especially attractive. In the Badlands, Sniper had seen the paunch his vest hid and losing a dozen pounds would have surely done the big bloke some good. Moreover, being bald also didn't help to his image but if there was something the Outback hadn't taught him was to be finicky. You do your best with what you get. It was that simple. Besides, he wasn't a bloody model either. As long as Heavy's 'man stick', as he had so humorously called it, was just averagely proportional to his height, it could turn up to be the biggest donger the Australian had ever seen in his entire life. Although, now that he thought it over, without lube, that could actually be a con instead of a pro. Well, it didn't matter. With such thick fingers, the other man possessed, he was convinced that they could find a way to have a nice time together.

Sniper was about to convey his indecent proposal when dread invaded his body at the sudden realization.

WHAT THE HECK HAD HE BEEN ABOUT TO DO?!

DID HE HAVE A DEATH WISH?!

This wasn't a random hunter! This wasn't a man who had casually crossed paths with him and would never encounter again after they parted away.

This was Heavy! A teammate who he will have to see every day at work for at least, the next four years of their remaining contracts.

This wasn't the Outback where no law could impose with who could you smash your back out or not.

This was the United States of America where two men giving each other a gobby were considered bloody mental. Not to mention what the Russian would have done to him if he had gotten even a hint of what had passed through his head.

Meanwhile, Heavy concluded his story none the wiser and after a couple of seconds, he frowned confused at not getting any reaction from his teammate. His first assumption was that the Australian had fallen asleep while he had been speaking, but with a simple glance at him, that option was quickly rejected. Sniper's eyes were wide open, riveted on him and hollow as a corpse.

The giant's frown of bafflement became a concerned one. Why was he staring at him with that expression? Was he really staring at him?

In a wishful denial to pass the blame to anyone but him, Heavy turned around to make sure that there wasn't anything behind him. No monster. No bear. No wolf. No nothing.

The absence of any terrifying beast behind his back confirmed his initial suspicion. Sniper was staring at him. But why? What part of his story could have horrified him so much? Yes, it was an embarrassing anecdote with some nudity in it but after all they had shared that night, Heavy couldn't find a single reason that could have triggered that reaction.

Was the vodka upset his stomach? The Australian had drunk quite a lot too.

"Sniper, are you okay?" Heavy carefully placed a hand on his side and the other man instantly flinched at the touch.

It wasn't the alcohol. It was clear now. It was him. The Russian didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't understand what was going or what was happening to his teammate. He only knew that he had apparently done something to provoke such a reaction.

"I'm okay, Heavy." Sniper replied trying to cover up his delusional lapse and propped himself up. The world swirled in defiance when he moved but he managed to stabilize himself.

By turning at the warmth of the bonfire, the Australian tried to avoid eye contact with the bigger man but sensed that compassionate gaze set upon him, awaiting a better explanation. He wouldn't be able to ignore him for long. He knew it. Heavy deserved some kind of justification for his odd behaviour and it would make it even more suspicious if he didn't give him one soon. In his current condition, Sniper wasn't confident he would be able to lie with some reasonable competence. He had never been a good improviser when it came to giving excuses so he opted for a half-truth.

"I remembered I almost made a very stupid mistake today." He disclosed very vaguely.

It was something but not much.

Heavy still didn't understand what that had to do with him. Perhaps, it didn't have to do with him at all. Sniper might have been staring at him without any real reason but he didn't insist. The Australian had been very forthright in his previous justifications so the gentle giant guessed that there was something too private to share in this case. After all, they hadn't had a conversation longer than a few minutes until today. He didn't know if they could consider each other friends. They were definitely keeping many parts of their lives to themselves. They had deliberately avoided mentioning their childhoods or their families in the whole night.

"Do not worry, Sniper." Heavy smiled sympathetically. "You will have time to make stupid mistake tomorrow."

"I bloody hope not."

The anxious chuckle that attempt of joke got for a response definitely killed the mood for the night. The silence that followed after made it impossible to rescue any remains of what joyful spirit they had held during the previous hours. The two teammates, that had seemingly been so close some minutes ago, retracted into their polite yet distant selves and they were left to reflect what a great time they had had together until now. Without friendly chatter to live them up, fatigue caught up with them and after a while, Heavy couldn't hold back a yawn.

"We should go to sleep." He suggested too tired to endure anymore.

"Good idea. I'll go to take a leak first." Sniper wobbly stood up and was painfully reminded of how much he had surpassed his drinking limit.

Heavy didn't fully comprehend what the other man had said he wanted to do but he let him go without questioning him. Sniper hadn't packed his belonging so he assumed he was just going to take a piss. The Russian kept his eyes on him as the other mercenary staggered away from the camp.

In the darkness of the night and with his member exposed to the elements, Sniper was left with nothing else to do than regret his foolish slip.

What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking at all. That had been the problem.

In a subconscious attempt to keep up with the Russian, he had drunk way more than he regularly did. The vodka had hit him at a different pace than beer did and as invested as he had been in their enjoyable conversation, he hadn't kept track of how many swigs he had taken. The giant's contagious smile and his ludicrous way of expressing himself hadn't helped either to keep him in line.

No! No excuses. There were no excuses. He had been terribly sloppy.

How had he left his guard down so easily? How had he forgotten where he was and more importantly, with who? For fuck's sake! He had seen this man crushing skulls with his own hands. He had seen this man mowing down the entire BLU team by himself alone. He had seen this man ambushing, playing strategically, being calm and collected in a barbaric environment that had threatened life in the most gruesome ways.

Heavy was a strong, smart and amicable man and the Australian should have known by now that was the most dangerous type of person that could be encountered. Despite being incredibly deadly, somehow the Russian had succeeded in making him trust him.

Bloody hell... See! The gentle giant had already crawled his way into his head. Sniper was feeling guilty for ruining their night with his nonsensical whim and slow reaction time. Worst of all, he would have to return to the camp, sleep alongside him and walked back together to the base tomorrow to prevent the Russian from suspecting anything.

This was why he preferred living by himself, in the open air or in his van, away from society and without any permanent strings except for his parents. People made life too complicated for his taste. They made him feel things he didn't want to feel.

When nothing else was left to drip, Sniper closed his eyes tightly and internally groaned one last time before returning to the campfire. It was what it was. There was no point in blaming himself anymore, it wasn't going to change the past. He could only learn from his errors and keep them in mind to not repeat them again.

Once he got back, he found Heavy drinking from his own canteen. He assumed it was water and realized that he hadn't seen him drinking anything else than vodka in the whole night. Presaging a possible hangover, he opted for being wise and awarded his body some non-alcoholic fluid too.

Without really talking to each other, both men accommodate their sleeping bags inside the bushcraft shelter. Heavy's sleeping bag resembled more a blanket sewed together than an actual sleeping bag but it looked fairly warm anyway. Sniper had a moment of doubt when he almost decided against sleeping next to the bigger man but he was so done with the day that he just did as expected. Neither of them removed their shoes, one due to his vast experience sleeping on the snow and the other as a precaution for if he had to make a run for his life.

The two mercenaries huddled up, back against back, with their bags as pillows and their weapons in front of each other as insurance, knives and guns at close reach. It wasn't anything personal against the other teammate. It was just their habit when camping outdoors.

"Good night, Sniper."

"Good night, Heavy."

After what had happened, Sniper assumed that he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep for the rest of the night but with that huge amount of alcohol in his system and the exhaustion of the long day, he quickly succumbed to slumber.

I was going to make the emus Sniper's animal archenemy. Very stereotypical if we take into account the absurd war the Australians declared against those birds. But then, I remembered that there are also feral donkeys in Australia and I found it more ridiculous.

Heavy's goat trauma is a reference to Poker Night where Heavy explains that his father gave him the choice between learning how to box or how to milk a goat and he chose boxing because goats terrify him.

Fun fact, Australia started the conversion to the metric system in 1970 and officially passed a law in 1974.

For anyone who doesn't speak more than one language, onomatopeias change between languages. The dog does 'woof-woof' in English, 'gahf-gahf' in Russian or 'guau-guau' in Spanish. If you see in some future chapters any odd onomatopoeia, it's basically because I didn't doublecheck if they also exist in English. For example, in Spanish you don't do 'Phew', you do 'Bufff'.

In this story, Sniper is going to be portrayed as bi and Heavy as gay.