Author's notes: So so so sorry for the lateness of this update! Had to sort out stuff with regards to Uni but that's really no excuse, I've had plenty of time where I've been doing nothing. Just wasn't in a writing mood I guess? In any case, here's the latest chapter. Apologies for any mistakes, I had this rough version done about a week ago, but I've not heard back from my beta and I suck at proof-reading stuff, so...yeah. (I'm also lazy)
Next update will be...uh...eventually?
Edit: Okay, corrected version now up. At the advice of GothicCheshire, flashbacks are now italics, to help minimise any potential confusion. Also, holy gabe, somebody added this fic to the Fanfic Recommendations for TF2 over on TvTropes. That's just...wow, thank you all.
Chapter 30: Recovery and Reminiscence
The journey away from their latest battle was a quiet one. The wind was the softest of whispers caressing their worn faces, the sky was free from the cawing of birds and each member of Team Fortress was lost in their own thoughts. It didn't seem right to speak, to voice of their individual challenges, of the countless questions bubbling in their minds, of the itch for answers they simply couldn't scratch. Perhaps Dell would have said that there was no sense in dwelling on it right now, perhaps Kevin would have found something to be distracted with...but that was if they were still the people they once were.
The war had changed them. Fighting almost every day over control points, payloads and briefcases of intelligence had started as a strange grim affair, which became increasingly light-hearted as they adjusted to a battlefield with no real consequences. But, as the pointless battles waged on with no end in sight, as the thought cropped up that perhaps this job wasn't worth it...that thought was always squashed without a real reason and they'd return to their jobs.
And now, with each new day bringing a new challenge, a new foe, a new threat...
Doubt. Uncertainty. Could they win? Could they really go back to normalcy after this? Would they be remembered as the most wanted men in the world? These questions, for now, didn't matter. They were unimportant, not when there was still work to be done. What of their new enemy, of this mysterious data he had collected on them, of the clones they had fought?
They continued to trudge on in silence. It would be a long day.
###
The Gentleman eased himself into his armchair, reaching over to the table by his side for the cup of tea that stood in wait for him, currently at the optimum temperature. Here in his private quarters alone did he feel comfortable in relaxing ever so slightly. Of course, it was somewhat foolish to believe that he had any more privacy here than anywhere else, just because he was arguably the Administrator's most trusted and loyal underling hardly made him free from surveillance.
Still, his room was something of a safe haven, free from the eyes of all but her and himself. Nobody was authorised to enter or view footage from this room besides himself and Helen. In truth, he suspected that she didn't review any recordings for his room often, if at all, and the presence of cameras and listening devices were more of a reminder of his duty and where his loyalty lay.
The briefest of sighs escaping his lips, he sipped at his tea before placing the cup and saucer down, turning his attention to the newspaper that also lay awaiting his eyes. The slightest raising of an eyebrow was his only reaction as he skimmed through it before placing it down again. More sensationalist tripe and information that was useless at best and brain-damaging at worst.
Glancing once more at his pocket watch, he found his gaze slowly veering towards the fireplace in the centre of the wall opposite him. His room was small and whilst little here was truly expensive or fancy, the room held an air of class none-the-less. It was an old-fashioned setup on the whole, and he was fond of it, the flames flickering opposite him providing a warmth and atmosphere little else could offer. Indeed, to gaze into those flames, of the great element that could destroy so easily, that which was arguably humanity's first great step of advancement...
It was humbling, in a way, but it was also strangely nostalgic...
###
It was a cold night and the group was huddled around a makeshift fireplace in a small clearing in the woods, the light of the flickering flames casting shadows around them and their hastily-erected camp. The mercenaries talked and moved about, but one among their ranks remained silent and still, staring into the fire, a briefcase and an umbrella clutched to his chest. The man had bags under his eyes, stress was etched into his features and he was shaking uncontrollably. Whether he was merely shivering from the cold or from an unspoken fear couldn't be told, but he shook all the same.
It was only when a blanket was gently placed on his shoulders that the man was shaken out of his trance, turning to look at the mercenary who had silently approached him. The Engineer merely stood there wordlessly for a moment, offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a bit of a helpless shrug before returning to make some last-minute adjustments to the camp. The shaking man blinked and tried to process this, his mind all muddled and unable to really process much of what was happening.
"Oi! Civilian #437! What do ya think you're doing? Get in the damn tent!"
Suddenly all eyes were on the man by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. It didn't matter which mercenary it was that had actually called out to him, they mostly all seemed the same. They were rough people who weren't too pleased with having to escort the Civilian around, seeing the man as little more than a very annoying and pathetic burden.
He did as he was told, not saying anything, not looking any of them in the eyes. They had guns, were quick to anger, and it wasn't as if he could do anything about their attitude. He was but a helpless man lost in combat he couldn't comprehend and afraid for his life, well-aware that this team were the only thing preventing his swift demise at the hands of the enemy. Had he the strength, the sheer nerve to look up then, perhaps he would have noticed the frown of the Engineer, the concern of the Medic, the masked gaze of the Pyro...
Instead the Civilian entered the tent, wrapped himself up as best he could and tried futilely to sleep, the sounds of the night and the terror running through his veins preventing his eyes from even shutting. The night was going to be long and arduous, as would the rest of the journey through contested territory...
###
Team Fortress had eventually had the silence lifted and whilst nobody seemed ready to go into details about their individuals battles against their doubles, productive conversation regarding their next steps did ensue. Still uncertain of what exactly would happen next; general agreement was that the Administrator probably wouldn't be throwing masses of troops at them like the previous manhunts. Indeed, if the recent robotic horde and clones were any indication, developing a specific unit to deal with them seemed more likely.
With her resources stretched from wasting so much against them already and the need to defend from smaller, stronger groups, it seemed that finding a single base of operations to secure as their own would prove more productive than flitting from one base to another like they had in the past. Valid objections from Kevin, Gabriel and Jane about how this made them obvious targets and that it was something of a gamble rose up but it still seemed to be the best choice.
Jack then pointed out that with all the damage they'd done they were going to be easily discovered regardless, as no doubt they were the highest-priority targets at the moment. Before an argument could arise, Dell added quietly that the Administrator could just bide her time, ignore them, seize power and then deal with them afterwards, in which case a single base to secure their power at and prepare for a direct assault on TF Industries would be more efficient.
Eventually able to reach consensus, and deciding on which base to capture, their spirits lifted and some energy returned to them as they walked faster, some joking and laughing easing the tension and stress somewhat. Perhaps it was something about having a goal; maybe it was Grigori's infectious booming laughter at Ewan being tripped up by Ashley, the way Isaac smiled when the Pyro offered a hand to the fallen Demoman, the exasperation on Nils' face as his eyes rolled...
It felt good.
And if all went well with the new base and the operation they were planning...then perhaps the good times would continue for quite some time.
###
The Gentleman leaned back, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand, contemplating the swishing fluid as if it might hold answers to the mysteries of life itself. The fireplace crackled and the radio softly streamed the refined sounds of pianos and strings, of brass and woodwind, orchestral classics for a cultured mind. The day was one spent largely in lone leisure.
Certainly, the Brit had to break away from his early rest to perform some errands, file proper paperwork and pretend not to notice how flustered Miss Pauling was when rushing about earlier but on the whole he had merely relaxed, partly out of his own need and partly out of doctor's orders. Wincing, he tried to banish the doctor's disapproving look from his mind. The Tenth Class definitely wasn't getting any younger and one of these days he'd probably be in some serious trouble from his fieldwork. But for now?
For now, as time slipped further and further into night, a blanket of darkness coating the outside world, the Gentleman drank his wine. He was not one to indulge in alcohol often, especially not when alone, but it felt appropriate tonight. Casting his mind back, his eyes slowly shut to envision the past once more...
###
The Civilian opened his eyes slowly, body rigid and tense. It took a few seconds for his mind to process the scene before him, his eyes widening as his jaw dropped and he shook, stepping backwards, his grip on his umbrella loosening, eyes slowly looking down to his blood-stained hands and then back up again at the Scout, the enemy mercenary barely standing, features frozen as he staggered, one hand on the chest and the umbrella embedded within, as his other dropped the nailgun.
They had been ambushed. The distinctive sound of sniper fire barely missing Civilian #437, merely scraping his hat, had alerted them to the enemy's presence, quickly causing everyone to get behind cover. The Englishman, in a state of panic, fell to the floor and crawled behind a shipping crate, losing his hat behind him.
The team had advanced from the woods and had planned on slipping through an abandoned warehouse, but it quickly became apparent that this was not to be. The Soldier cursed himself for walking into a trap like this. Normally both teams were more used to urban combat, especially when escorting a VIP. Maybe the irregularities of this mission had simply thrown the team off, but that was no excuse. Just because the team consisted of all nine classes for a change, the enemy were using more than just Snipers, and for some reason the distance they had to escort was much longer than usual didn't mean they could just be so careless.
Still, the team of mercenaries didn't stay alive this long in the business due to sheer luck; they were the best at what they did. This fact was quickly proven as a single shot from their own Sniper eliminated the enemy's before they could get another chance to shoot. Motioning for the Heavy, Demoman and Pyro to stay here, the Soldier gestured to the rest to attack with him, the Sniper and Spy already having vanished off somewhere to do what they did best.
The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions put those who had been assigned to watch over the Civilian on edge, to say nothing of the poor non-mercenary himself, who as usual looked rather terrified. Heavy kept his eyes peeled, minigun at the ready, looking at the warehouse as the Pyro looked all around for Spies, and the Demoman's eyes flickered over to where he had concealed some remote-detonated pipebombs.
Only Engineer really kept an eye on the Civilian himself. In truth, the support class was rather irritated by this mission, he wasn't much use for escort and he was genuinely confused as to why he'd been assigned to this team. They never stayed anywhere long enough for him to setup defences and the lack of metal prevented him from building anything anyway. His railgun wasn't much use here and if the enemy actually got close enough that he had to use his double-barrelled shotgun, then, well...they were definitely in trouble.
When it happened, it all occurred in a blur of motion and confusion. The sight of oncoming enemies, the detonation of pipebombs and with a start, the Heavy and Demoman rushed forwards to meet the attackers. The sight of what appeared to be their own Sniper sneaking up on them set off alarm bells in the Pyro's head, causing the masked mercenary to chase the obvious Spy off with their flamethrower.
And so, with the entirety of the team except for the Engineer and the Civilian distracted or elsewhere, the Scout saw his chance and took it, speeding in on the mostly defensive pair. Despite the chaos, the Engineer managed to bring his shotgun up in time to unleash upon the Scout. A good shot and one that clearly caused a lot of damage, but it wasn't enough. A swift blow to the side of the head and a stream of nails into his face was all it took to down the builder.
And so the Scout turned on the weapon-less Englishman only to find himself suddenly gored by the sharp point of the Civilian's umbrella. Both in shock, hearts racing, gasping...
It was to this scene, with their Engineer presumably dead on the ground and the sight of an enemy Scout falling to his back, umbrella planted in his chest as he breathed his last, the Civilian trembling in his blood-stained suit, that the rest of the team returned to.
Little was spoken about the incident, of their losses at that battle. With some reluctance the newest killer on the team had retrieved his umbrella and thrown up. The Medic alone, having confirmed the deaths of their Engineer, Spy and Soldier, took the Englishman away to clean him up. Nobody really noticed it too much, but from that moment on, something in the man referred to merely by his number and his state as a non-combatant changed.
He shook less and less; he followed the orders with minimal wincing and his reflexes improved, increasingly competent in finding cover and evading enemy detection. A man who had treated him differently to the indifference and scorn the other mercenaries threw upon him had died, all to protect him. He had taken a life himself. And now...
He was aware more than ever of his place in this team. Vowing not to be a burden any longer, Civilian #437 lived through the mission and countless more to see another day. With each encounter, with each crack of gunfire, every near miss, every death...a coldness and firm resolve struck his heart. He would not cower in fear, he would not let good men die for his sake. Let the others like him, lost in their own importance, look down on the mercenaries even as they took bullets for their lives.
Let his protectors look down upon him for his lack of battle experience and readiness, for that would soon change. A vow to himself, to the fallen souls around him, to his home country and to all that had, or would ever feel the harsh realities of war...
A promise for change. A promise for vengeance. A promise to evolve into something more, something beyond the weak man he was.
A Civilian no more, he had slept with the soft, unworked hands of a newborn baby, but now he would awaken with the firm hands of a man. Firm...but gentle. Strong...but in control. Let the fires of rage and violence bleed through the majority of those who killed for a living. For his strength was ice, a rigid unmovable strength refined to perfection, able to melt into soothing water or sharpen into piercing icicles in the blink of an eye.
Each battle, each death, each new pool of blood on the earth. What was the point of these conflicts in the end? What goal could truly be worth such needless bloodshed and waste of resources? What could he do about it all?
Sleepless night after sleepless night eventually gave way to his path. It was a path of war and service, not for profit or joy, but out of a painful necessity, out of duty and honour. A path of loyalty, of kindness when called for and scorn where required. A path of proper manners and exquisite skill in all he would pursue.
...'twas the path of the Gentleman, the true tenth class.
###
Hidden away with hope in their hearts, ten mercenaries finally settle into their new home, sleep their only reprieve from the questions on their mind.
A plan is born, an operation to truly strike back against their all-powerful enemy.
Elsewhere a man is lost in his memories, remarking on how history repeats itself.
For even he must take time to recover from the universe's cruel sense of irony.