Fic: Don't Fear the Reaper
RED Scout turned the pair of letters over in his hands, a tremor of something that was certainly not trepidation slithering down his spine. The top most of the two was a crisp typewritten page with the Reliable Excavation and Demolition logo at the top, offering congratulations for a successful application and reminding him to read his contract with the company carefully. The second was hand-written in gorgeous flowing cursive, with only a slight quaver in the penmanship here and there to evidence the writer’s age.
Scout started out of the room, then doubled back, tucking the RED letter safely into one of his trunks. If he was paying a visit to Medic and actually wanted the man to speak to him, it was better not to let him see that.
Affecting an air of supreme unconcern with his co-worker’s present business of updating team medical records, he smoothed out the letter on the man’s desk. “Tell me about it again.”
The German heaved a gusty sigh and straightened the file folders he was working from into a tidy pile, adjusting his spectacles as he pulled the paper towards him. The fingers on one hand scrubbed irritably at increasingly grey hair. RED Medic was one of the few original team members left alive and even more astonishingly one of the few left on contract.
“Well, c’mon!” Scout pressed.
Medic spoke impatient words, but his tone held no true bite. Under the harsh fluorescent bulbs of the lab, he looked very old. “I suppose I can remind your pitiful excuse for a memory. If you did not drink so much of zhat dreadful soda, perhaps you might have something resembling an attention span.”
Scout leaned forward attentively. He hadn’t forgotten the story at all. He just wanted to hear it again.
***
RED’s Tavish DeGroot and BLU’s Jane Doe were not the last inter-team relationship to have been dashed against the rocks. It was perhaps a credit to his class proficiency that the RED Spy managed to keep his romance with the BLU Scout’s mother as clandestine as he could for as long as he did.
A few threats on the woman’s life had been enough to convince the Frenchman to leave her for her own safety.
“’Tis better to have loved and lost zhan never to have loved at all, non?” he always told his colleagues, regardless of whether they offered condolences or a hearty ‘good riddance’.
Spy was careful for awhile after that. RED and BLU were powerful entities capable of a great many terrible things. Nonetheless, he was a Spy and as such he enjoyed secrets. It just so happened that there was a wonderful one ripe for the discovery on his very own base. One that may well provide exactly the distraction he had been looking for.
The locker room was empty when Spy decloaked and the locks on the lockers were simple combination dials. A stethoscope liberated from the sickbay made the task almost depressingly simple.
The extent of how quickly the secret was discovered was even more depressing. Pyro had only one item in their locker: a purse. If the rose-scented bath soap and hand lotion didn’t arouse a great deal of suspicion, the ladies’ hygiene products made the answer all too obvious.
The question was: how to force her to reveal herself. That was a challenge worthy of the Spy, since the element of surprise was not exactly on the side of his class where a Pyro was concerned.
He finally saw his chance one night after ceasefire and all it took was cloaking and a very careful regulation of breathing and inhuman stillness. He was well rewarded for his patience.
She was attractive, or might have been. The right side of her heart-shaped face was framed by exotic looking dark hair and a clear olive complexion. Most of the left side was completely bald and vivisected by evil looking burn scars. Where the BLU Scout’s mother had been a waif, the RED Pyro was well toned from carrying around a large flame thrower and chopping mercilessly with an axe.
Spy took in an audible breath. So very different from the woman he was used to. She could snap him, burn him, kill him in an instant, and she seemed like she was about to, the second she took heed of that sharp intake of air. Spy could have been a dead man, but he liked it…loved it.
Pyro retired when it became apparent she was pregnant. Somehow she and Spy managed this without revealing how she looked outside of her costume to any other team mates. In under a year, she gave birth to a young boy sans drugs and in her own room without the aid of Medic. Her own request.
At first, Spy considered sending the infant away to live with the BLU Scout’s mother, or perhaps to be taken care of by the nanny that Engineer had set up for his three children. However, Engineer was concerned enough with the safety of his own children and the loss of the BLU Scout had hit the aging matron hard enough. Thus, young Gary grew up on base.
When Gary was two years old, Pyro left. Sometime in the middle of the night. She did not return and the supply train brought a new Pyro, just as secretive as the first. The other RED’s did their best to aid the bachelor father. Engineer was fairly good with children, having some of his own, Medic had been young at the time and while no less preoccupied with the chopping and cleaving of bodies both live and dead, seemed to be able to best relate to the young boy. Even the BLU team proved themselves sensitive to the situation via an informal verbal contract promising that the young child was not to be killed. RED’s Heavy, upon learning Medic and the BLU Scout’s true ages, had insisted upon extending that agreement to the teams. Neither team could stop RED or BLU from hiring the underage, but a sort of amnesty was offered to the younger mercenaries until the age of 21. If they themselves did not kill, their mortality would not be put to stakes either. Beat, hurt and sent to the team medic certainly, but not killed. Of course, not everyone always adhered, but in the case of a little boy barely older than 2, no man on either team was so heartless as to murder the helpless. Medic on the other hand had possibly been lucky or very good.
Spy had hoped very much that his son would display no talent for either of his parents’ professions and in a way he got his wish. The young boy was talented at causing destruction, but with a blunt object rather than a flamethrower. He was swiftly deceptive in the art of thievery; perfect for stealing a briefcase. For whatever reason, the Pyro and the Spy had produced a bonifide Scout.
Eventually Gary grew up and Spy’s contract ended. Their parting was argumentative: with Gary insisting on staying at the base and applying for RED in spite of being a mere 18 years old.
***
Medic did not often speak of the former RED Pyro outside of when Scout goaded him into telling the story of his conception. Sometimes the doctor would say something reminiscent like “They were a good Pyro.” But other than that, there was very little else the German could be convinced to speak about.
“Not a very good mother though.” Scout would always say, regardless of what was said. He didn’t even know - or care - whether or not she was still alive. He knew that his dad now lived with a lady who had once had a son in BLU. A Scout like him, no less. That Scout had had brothers, so that kinda made those guys his step brothers or something. He’d never met any of them nor her, but the lady always sent things like clean socks and homemade cookies in the mail. He thought of her as ‘mother’ more keenly than he ever did the woman who had given birth to him.
Medic was obviously pretending to be interested in tidying his desk. “So I suppose you were approved by RED.”
“Uh…how’d you know?”
Medic’s face remained impassive. “It is hardly impossible to miss Demo’s voice when he shouts about the mail.”
“Oh. Right. So uh. Guess you’re kinda pissed.”
“No, Gary. I am not ‘pissed’ as you say. I am disappointed.”
“Ooh shit shit. Er. Shoot. That’s worse. I hate it when parents use that word. But look man, It’s not that big a deal. Dad did it and stuff…plus I grew up here. I totally know how to handle myself. And you’re a total hypocrite, you fight every day.”
Dropping the pretence of straightening papers, Medic fixed Gary with a glare. “Gary, I do it so that I can help Heavy. His treatments are expensive und he vound up vhere he is by doing this job in case you have forgotten!” The last was punctuated with the sharp report of a manila folder smacking a desk.
Scout fell silent for a moment. Medic occupied a strange sector of his upbringing, sort of a combination of elder brother, surrogate father and uncle. Even his zeal couldn’t let him forget the day that Heavy had gone into hospital.
“Um. How is…Heavy?” Scout asked almost timidly.
“He is…as vell as can be expected. Zhey have made many strides at the hospital where he is. He now has a mechanical veelchair. He quite likes it.” Medic rummaged in his desk drawer and produced a letter of his own, passing it across to Gary.
The letter had a half-dozen cross outs, but was legible. Scout had always liked Heavy and the new guy was alright but not the same as Medic’s long time partner. He always thought Heavy would have been on his side about the RED job, but three bullets into the base of the man’s spine had rendered him unable to walk for the rest of his life. The letter was full of cheerful tales of the other patients he’d befriended at the ward and a few comments about hospital food being terrible enough to let him lose some weight. Scout felt a surge of happiness reading the letter until he came across the line that showed Medic’s ulterior motives.
“So.” Gary raised his head. “This is what you wanted me to see huh: 'When you come home? I wish that you not with RED any longer.'”
***
Scout had managed to avoid Medic the remainder of the day. It had meant getting to dinner at an unreasonable hour and getting the mere dregs of Demo’s stew. He’d been lucky too that Medic had already finished and departed the rest of the company. No one in their right mind would miss Demo’s night to cook, even if it meant glares across the table.
It was still a few days to his rotation on after dinner chores, so that left Gary to his own devices and he headed down to the resupply to get ready for tomorrow’s battle. A bat and a handgun sufficed for now. He’d go back when he was 21 for the more destructive items.
The evening was uneventful. He watched some Gilligan’s Island with Demo, enjoyed an entertaining post-drunk conversation between the Scot and his Scrumpy bottle over Mary Anne vs. Ginger and the clock seemed to crawl it’s way towards the eleven PM mark.
“TWENTY THREE HUNDRED MAGGOTS!” In spite of waiting, Soldier’s yell made Scout jump. ‘BED!”
Demo had long passed out but for once Scout adhered to Soldier’s summons without complaint. The sooner he got to bed the sooner he’d be on the battlefield.
***
Gary awoke to more hollering from Soldier with a sense of excitement. He scrubbed his face and teeth and donned the RED uniform for the first time. It looked pretty cool. He dashed down to the mess hall, only to find Demo at the stove making oatmeal* and Engineer at his side making bacon and eggs. The whole day was off to a brilliant start.
“Nein. I think I shall just have ze porridge today Herr Engineer.” Medic waved Engie and his saucepan of scrambled eggs away, scrupulously avoiding eye contact with Scout.
Scout ignored him in turn, and concentrated on his food.
“Okay maggots!” Soldier snipped, carving bits of mould off his bread and butter. No matter what Demo made of the unimaginative rations or what he sent Sniper into town for, Soldier refused to eat anything that wasn’t RED standard issue. No one put up a fuss as Soldier’s loss was everyone else’s gain. “Let’s get out there and score one for RED!”
“There’s a new briefcase mates.” Sniper offered, and Scout nearly shouted with glee. That was his specialty. Or…it would be. Was supposed to be. Would definitely be.
‘”Five minutes.” Only Medic’s sharp ear differentiated the new Administrator’s voice from the old. Miss Pauling didn’t have quite the same timbre as Helen, but she had long learned to bleed power into her voice. “Three minutes.”
The bat weighed heavy in Gary’s hands. Suddenly he was looking over his shoulder every other second. He’d grown up playing with Cole, the BLU Scout. Cole was already 25. His stepmum’s second son. Would Cole spare him? Would they decide to use the amnesty that was offered them because of their age?
“Peti-“
The BLU Spy barely got out the epithet. The report of a pistol rang out and the man’s head was an explosive mess.
“Shit, son, be more careful!” the RED Engineer admonished, stepping into view under the hard lights of the underground and nudging the body of the BLU Spy into the sewage.
“Totally could have got that.” Scout groused. “Man he’s dead now! Sucks. Cole an’ me made him be shortstop when we played!”
“Think he wouldn’t have killed you?” That said the Engineer made his way topside, leaving Scout to stew.
The boy shuddered and moved deeper into the sewers.
He was nearly out at the BLU base when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Reminded of the Spy, he swung the bat into his attacker’s face and simply did not let up. He could feel the difference between putting his weapon to use against a wall and the light give of another person’s flesh.
‘P..rs…srrp…” the words were slurred and vague. Another soft contact, a crack. The words stopped.
Scout heaved a loud sigh. The body beneath him spewed a slow fountain of blood. The thick end of his bat was coated in rapidly congealing crimson.
Scout toed the body with his cleat. It did not move. He swallowed and pressed two fingers to the pulse point in the neck like he’d been taught in boy scouts. He was dimly aware of the expression of distaste and disappointment from the Administrator in the background telling him BLU had nabbed the Intelligence for the day.There was no pulse to speak of.
He’d murdered. Amnesty was no longer an option.
Gary barely registered when Medic came to retrieve him. Dead man walking. Dead man walking.
•One day get a Scotsman (or woman) to make you porridge. I was going to suggest trying the Starbucks stuff but according to my beta, it doesn’t exist in NA countries, but I insist you go on ahead, buy real oats, honey and whole milk and take the effort It’s so worth the endnote.