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Chapter Text

“Things are going to be different now.”

The way Pauling said it, tentative, and not particularly hopeful, was not really a good sign. In his years working as the Spy for BLU, René had noticed that Miss Pauling tended to deliver bad news sandwiches to them. Meaning generally when she had something bad to tell them about their working conditions, she tended to slide it between two pieces of slightly more positive information. Not this time unfortunately. The young woman shifted uncomfortably as she addressed the gathered Blus in their New Mexico base, and René did feel a little bad for her. It was not her fault, and yet some of the team would likely rage at her regardless.

They were moving base, heading north, quite far north, and would be there for a while. Not ideal, not desired, and yet they had no choice in the matter regardless. And that wasn’t all. There were to be further… changes. But of course, they were not being told the rest of the news yet, for reasons unknown. René could think of a few, the most likely, and most pessimistic of these being that whatever further changes coming were somehow worse than being moved to a frigid, isolated part of the country with no word on when that might change. He didn’t mention this to his colleagues as they packed up to leave the warmth of New Mexico though, as he did not need to spend the entirety of an undoubtedly arduous and long train journey being incessantly whined at by Scout, or shouted at by Soldier. As the team had loaded onto the train, Heavy had turned to Spy, and said, sagely, “This will not be good.” René was inclined to agree.

Things only went from bad to worse several days later when they reached their destination. Climbing out of the train, the Blu team were treated to the sight of another train in the desolate station, also having just pulled up. René stood frozen, as he watched the entirety of the Red team unloading from it. Both teams seemed taken by surprise, members looking to their colleagues for guidance. René rather thought the uncertain stand off in the snow could have gone on forever, were it not for the polite clearing of a throat from further up the train platform. Eighteen pairs of eyes turned towards the sound. There stood Miss Pauling, dressed for the weather in a purple parka, and beside her, Mr. Bidwell, holding a clipboard. It was Saxton’s Hale’s assistant that had cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the gathered mercenaries. They all looked at the two newcomers, aside from the two spies, who gave each other a long suffering, and very tired look of shared exasperation.

Despite Bidwell being the one to catch their attention, it was Pauling that spoke, raising a hand and calling, “Afternoon, gentlemen! I’m sure you’re all uh… curious as to what’s going on. Leave your luggage, it’ll be brought up for you. Please come with us, and I’ll explain your new assignment.” Wonderful. Assignment. Singular. With more than a little trepidation, the mercs began to follow the two, leaving the relative warmth and comfort of the trains, for whatever lay ahead.

As they walked, both the scouts naturally hurried ahead, shoving each other back in their eager haste to bother Miss Pauling for information and attention. René heard himself hiss “Jeremy!” In a weary voice, and to little effect. Hearing a huff of a laugh off to his side, he looked to see his Red counterpart shaking his head ruefully. The Blu spy frowned at the man who looked rather like himself, and the man said, in French, “There is little point, non?” René studied him for a few moments, expression searching, before giving a huff of agreement, and shaking his head. He was right, of course. One would have better luck herding cats into a bag than trying to control a scout.

The road away from the empty train station was slick with packed snow, and the mercs grumbled up it in discontent, as none of them were dressed for the weather. The two snipers in particular looked miserable, lanky, hot weather men that they were. René felt a certain amount of dread coming over him. Whatever was planned here, he had a distinct worry about dynamics becoming upset. The two teams had not been this close to each other in their entirety throughout his entire contract with Blu. 

Indeed, the rest of the mercs were looking at their counterparts warily, the odd situation clearly not escaping them. Except of course, for the Blu Soldier and Red Demo, who were having what they presumably considered a subtle snow fight, despite errant freezing missiles having already found incidental targets in the softly cussing Red Engineer, and René’s own bristling Medic. René sighed. This was going to be a long… unspecified amount of time.

The teams were led up a winding road lined with weathered looked coniferous trees. They were clearly quite far from any civilisation, as evidenced by the long faded and somewhat damaged road signs. There were no tyre tracks of any kind in the ankle deep snow. Wherever they were, it seemed likely they were the only people there. René watched as the Red Scout tripped in his haste, being hauled back to his shivering feet by a generous Miss Pauling.

Eventually, the road opened out into the thoroughfare of a town, one that looked long abandoned, and devoid of any human life. There was only one street, lined with long closed businesses and ramshackle houses. At the other end of this street, René could see the hulking shape of what appeared to be a particularly large building, perhaps an old factory of some kind. Many of the mercs dithered as they stepped foot into the town, and he understood why. The layout of the place was not so dissimilar to many other places they had found themselves fighting, except this time the two teams were walking into it together. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.” This came from the Red Sniper, leaning in to mutter to his Soldier colleague. The bushman clearly caught René looking at him, as he gave a wary glare from behind his tinted glasses. Mon dieu. If looks could kill.

“Alright. Well. It could be…worse,” Bidwell was saying, though he looked doubtful of his own words as he surveyed the buildings around them. “Most of the windows have glass, at least.” He glanced at Miss Pauling, who clapped her hands together, and said, commandingly, “Up to the factory, everyone, that’ll be your base of operations. Everything should be ready for you up there.”

Everything was not ready for them up there.

When the two teams filed into the drafty entry way of the long abandoned factory, it was to the sight of Mann Co employees depositing their meager luggage before them, and nothing else. Miss Pauling looked around with her hands on her hips, and then said, “Where's all the furniture? And supplies?” Bidwell said, “Eeehhrr,” and then, “Hang on, let me make a call,” he retrieved a phone the size of a brick from the satchel he was carrying and stalked away down an adjacent corridor, punching a number in speeddial.

“Ok,” Pauling said, trying to sound upbeat, “While Bidwell… deals with that, how about everyone huddles up and I’ll brief you. Come on folks, listen up. You don’t have to stand that close, Scout. Neither do you… Scout.”

The eighteen mercenaries shuffled and elbowed, organising themselves. René was amused to see that both teams seemed to arrange themselves the same way for such a briefing. Heavy, Sniper, and Medic standing at the back, calm and quiet. Demo and Soldier nudging each other in the middle, with Spy standing off to one side. Engie standing at the front, stance wide and arms folded, with Pyro sat crisscross applesauce on the floor in front of him. And finally Scout, crouched like he was waiting for the starting gun of a race.

Pauling looked from one group to the other, and back again. “Wow, gosh. I… really have never seen you all in one room like this. It’s a bit uncanny valley, not gonna lie.” The men shuffled uncomfortably at that, so she hastily continued, “Right, well. Your new assignment. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that… well, you’re all here. To cut to the chase, you’re done fighting. Each other, I mean. From now on, you fellas are allies. You’re working together.”

That caused a wave of uneasy shuffling amongst the gathered men, and more than a few displeased words. A disgruntled tch from the Blu Medic, shifting his booted feet in agitation. Another deep glare from the Red Sniper, burning into René. A cold, grim stare of deep dislike from the Blu Demo at his Red counterpart, who was too busy yucking it up with his Soldier pal to notice.

“Uh, I’m sorry Miss P.” The Red Scout stood up. “But are you tryna tell me I gotta buddy up with this loser? ” He was referring to the other Jeremy, René’s own son, who bristled at the words. Before Miss Pauling could answer, the Red Spy said, in French, surprisingly, “Jeremy. Do try to refrain from being so immediately unpleasant. I know it is difficult for you, but please try.” The Scout scowled, as if he understood, and then indeed replied in the same language, “I’ll say what I like, dad. I’m the Scout here, not the scrawny little Blu bitch.”

Interesting. So the Red Scout spoke French. René wondered what other differences between all the mercs may become apparent with a little scrutiny. He was so fascinated by the idea that he forgot to be annoyed that the Red Scout called his own son a bitch.

“Listen, I know it’s a big change,” Miss Pauling was saying, waving her mittened hands to drag everyone’s wavering attention back to her. “But it won’t be all that different to before. There is something here in this town that Mister Hale wants to keep safe. And naturally, you fellas were the first choice for the gig.” She was trying to flatter them. It worked on some of the gathered men, René not included. “What exactly are we s’posed to be protectin’? And from whom?” This was from the Blu Engineer, Dell, scratching his beard thoughtfully. René wagered the short Texan could probably give a pretty good guess. Australium, and other mercenaries, most likely.

Instead, Pauling said, “Um. I don’t know what you’re protecting. But you’re protecting it from robots.” Alright. Not the answer he had been expecting. A quiet drifted over them all briefly, before Dell frowned, and said, “…Robots?” Miss Pauling nodded, and went to answer, but at that moment, Bidwell came trotting back into the room, and the look on his face made her words die in her throat.

“Uh. Bad news, folks,” Bidwell said breezily. “As it turns out, the dates got mixed up. Your supplies were supposed to arrive three days before you. But it seems you’ve arrived three days before them instead. So…”

A pause. Then chaos.

René could understand well enough. A fair few of the men here were completely deranged after all. He watched some of the others stomp and rage, the Medics simultaneously crying, “My doves!” before glaring at each other. All sorts of complaints made themselves known. They were going to freeze. They were going to starve. There were no cigarettes, no booze, no nudey mags. Voices rose higher and higher, and Miss Pauling put her mittens on her hips and yelled, “Put a sock in it!”

The room fell quiet. Miss Pauling huffed a sigh of annoyance, but whether it was at the mercs or the general situation was unclear. Regardless, the men were cowed, and the majority looked to her, doe eyed, to fix the predicament. What she said was, “You can survive three days. You’re all… well, you’re mostly all resourceful and smart. Three days is nothing. There’s no blizzards incoming, and there may be things left in the town that you can scavenge. I have faith in you.” That was generous of her. René did not share a similar faith.

Taking a deep breath, Pauling stood up straighter, and said, “Right. Just a minor hiccup. Back to business.” She held a hand out to Bidwell, who passed her a clipboard. Consulting it briefly, Pauling said, “As I said, you will be protecting this place from robots. Now I’m fairly sure we can keep this place on the downlow until your supplies have arrived and Mr. Conagher and Mr. Conagher can get the respawn machine fired up. So you should have some time to settle in and get used to each other. I’ve taken the liberty of assigning a couple of duties. Red Medic. Blu Spy. Step forward please.” The two men glanced at each other, mildly hostile, before slipping out of formation to stand before the small woman. “You two are somewhat the de facto leaders of your individual teams,” Pauling said, which led to a muttered, “ excuse me?!” From the Blu Medic. He was ignored.

“As such,” Pauling continued, “I am putting the general welfare of this combined team in both of your hands. I know this will be a big adjustment, but I’m sure you can make this work. I trust you can put aside your differences to work together.” René glanced at the Red Medic, who grinned at him like a shark. Cocking an eyebrow, he looked back to Miss Pauling. “ Naturellement.” He said, and she nodded once. “Good. I’m counting on it.”

Despite inquiries for more information, or perhaps some fuel to start a fire, both Pauling and Bidwell were eager to leave, citing having to catch a plane on the edge of town. “I will contact you with more information when the supplies arrive,” Pauling assured. “Your work won’t start before then. In the meantime, stay warm, stay alive, try find what you need in town. You’ll be fiiiiine.” 

Fine was perhaps an overstatement. Once Pauling and Bidwell had left, traipsing through the snow to their awaiting Cesna, an uneasy quiet fell over the gathered mercs. Many were shivering, and looked a little lost, huddling close to their respective friends for some form of comfort in familiarity. Sighing internally, René glanced to the Red Medic, his, for want of a better word, Co-captain. The Medic did not look stressed, or even particularly concerned, and merely stated, “Well. Everyone put on your warmest clothes before you get frostbite. I do not currently have my medigun, so any fingers or toes lost over the next several days may remain lost,” the Blu Medic raised his hand and said, “I do have my medigun,” but was summarily ignored.

The mercs began to sullenly gather their luggage and root through it for warmer clothes. By now they were well used to being at the mercy of Mann Co’s whims, though this seemed like a particularly cruel move. The company really did hardly treat them like people at all sometimes.

Helping his Pyro wrestle themselves into a cable knit turtleneck, the Red Engineer said, “There’s gotta be a boiler room here somewhere. A furnace. If we can get that goin’ we’ll have power and water at least.” The Blu Dell, who was scoping out the entryway’s electrics, replied, “That may be, but I wouldn’t count on there bein’ no fuel, hoss.” It was the first time the mercs as a whole noticed two of the same class talking directly to each other since they’d arrived, and it had a funny effect on a lot of the others. Many of them paused in pulling on sweaters and warm socks to glance at their counterparts, as if studying them properly for the first time.

René could tell there were varying differences between the mercs, some more obvious than others. His own Engineer for instance, sported a neat, strawberry blonde beard and prescription glasses, and was a little shorter and trimmer than his Red counterpart. The Blu Medic too was shorter than the Red, and his shoulders and chest were not so broad. In comparison, the Blu Pyro was almost a full foot taller than the Red. René was sure he would notice more subtle and not so subtle differences with time. As it was, he pulled his overcoat tighter around him, and said, “Mayhaps both the Engineers could check it out regardless? On the off chance we get lucky, non?” The two Texans glanced at each other, before shrugging in unison.

The Red Medic, eager to join in on bossing people around, said, to his own team member, “Herr Sniper, perhaps you could track us down some dinner?” The Australian bristled, and replied, “In this weather? Are you bloody joking mate?” The Medic just smirked, all teeth, and said, voice singsong, “I’m in chaaaarge.” The Sniper scowled, but thankfully the Red Heavy stepped between the two and said, “I will go with skinny Australian. Make sure he does not die of hypothermia.” Well that was settled then. René waved his hands at the rest of the men, and said, “Perhaps everyone else can begin to scavenge in the town and here in the factory. I’m sure there must be something of use left over.”

And so it was settled, the various mercenaries splitting up to hopefully find enough to keep them going for three days. René noticed that the majority of the Reds stuck together to search the factory, and likewise the Blus huddled close as they made their way into town. It seemed it was going to be hard to break old habits and see enemies as allies. As he stood, contemplating, the Red Medic came up to stand beside him. The doctor held up a small, enameled hip flask, and offered, “Sherry, herr Spy?”

“Revolting stuff,” René said, but held his hand out for the flask, “ Oui, merci.” The Medic cheerfully handed him the flask, and put his hands behind his back. “This is going to be an unmitigated disaster,” the German said, though he didn’t sound overly concerned about that fact. René sighed.

By the time the late afternoon sun was beginning to set, the teams were regrouping to share their efforts. Dell had been right. While there was a functional furnace in the basement, there was no coal or oil with which to fuel it, and so no way to get the electricity or water working. The others had been more successful however. The Red Heavy came back carrying an immense elk, dead by a neat bullet through the heart. The Sniper trailed behind him, miserable and shivering, but quickly received some well earned praise and coddling from his teammates. Even the Blu Sniper gave a soft and begrudging, “Nice shot, mate,” of his neat kill.

The others had had some success as well. The Red team had found a plethora of ancient, dry rotted wooden furniture in the offices of the factory, and were able to light adequate fires in a series of empty metal drums. Meanwhile, the Blus had collected a selection of various useful items from the town, among them some ratty woollen blankets, some pots and pans for collecting snow to melt, and a single ancient tin of coffee, which all eighteen of them eyed with a vague ferality to their gaze.

They all hunkered down for the evening, sorting through their meager loot. The Sniper crouched down to deal with the corpse of the elk, but fumbled his ridiculously huge knife. “Bugger.” He said, “Someone else is gonna have to dress the bloody deer, my hands are too bloody cold.” To which the Blu Scout said, “Dress it? The fuck are you puttin’ clothes on our damn dinner for when we’re all freezin’ our nuts off here?”

The Sniper gave René’s son a long, hard look that said he couldn’t figure out if the young man was serious or not. Meanwhile, the Blu Sniper had come to crouch by the elk, and took the knife, saying, “No worries, mate, I’ve got it.” The Red Sniper’s head turned to regard the other mistrustfully, but even he had to concede it made sense. Eventually, his Pyro came over, and lured him away with the offer of unnaturally warm hands to heat the Sniper’s own. The Australian accepted grudgingly, and the Pyro pulled their friend’s hands inside the cuffs of their own sleeves to try and warm them. “Thanks, firebug,” the Sniper said, voice softening infinitesimally, and from under the enormous hood the Pyro wore, René just about heard the murmured, “No problem, Mick.” He looked away quickly, a little unsure what the Reds might do at the clear violation that was hearing their Pyro speak. The Blu Pyro did not speak, and as such it came as a bit of a surprise to him.

At one of the barrels, Red Scout shivered miserably, until his father came up behind him, and draped his own fashionable, tweed overcoat over the young man’s shoulders. “ Merci, papa.” The Scout said grudgingly, seemingly embarrassed by the kind gesture. Next to René, his own Jeremy said, “Hey, why don’t you give me your coat?” And without missing a beat, he replied, “I don’t know, why don’t you speak French?” Jeremy glared at him, snapping, “Dick.” Before stalking away in sulky irritation.

Once they were all settled in for the evening, huddled around the fires with their ragged blankets, gnawing on charred elk with varying degrees of enthusiasm, the divide between the teams became even more apparent. As per usual, only the Blu Soldier and Red Demo were comfortable conversing across teams, now more openly than ever. The rest just stared defensively around, as if afraid that someone was going to pull a knife, or a gun, or perhaps a rocket launcher out of their pocket.

In the end it was the Red Heavy to made a move, but it wasn’t a gun he pulled out. The big Russian stood, and said, “Enough. Everyone being silly. So unfriendly. We will be friends now. Come. We play Go Fish.” He held up the pack of playing cards he had taken from his coat pocket. There was a pause, and then slowly, tentatively, the Blu Pyro stood, and went to join him as he sorted out the cards. Then the Red Engie, and the Blu Sniper, until both teams were, if not playing together, at the very least, they were within fifteen feet of each other.

“ Ça ira.” René looked to his left, to see his Red counterpart sitting down, and offering him a glass of red wine from seemingly nowhere. This will be fine. This will be fine. He wished he believed that.

*

Ludwig was not happy. Not that he believed any of them really were, but he could not even pretend to be going along with all this ridiculousness. The other men had so quickly settled in around the fires, keeping warm, acting friendly. How could they all be so calm with this ridiculous situation. He stayed on the outskirts, just outside the firelight, keeping an eye on the exits. Miss Pauling said she was sure they would not be attacked, but who could know really. There was no respawn machine to catch their fall.

He knew he looked as though he were sulking. But he felt he had a right to. That blasted Red Medic had been selected to lead them, and instead of being asked to join him, Ludwig had been overlooked in favour of René? He knew that the Blu Spy was a very capable worker,  but surely Ludwig had the upper hand when it came to team interactions. He was their doctor for goodness sake, he knew all he could about them.

Misha had came to check on him a little while ago, and to drape a threadbare blanket around his shoulders. “You are cross, Wolfgang.” The Blu Heavy had said, and Ludwig had scowled, and said, “I do not wish to talk about this now. Someone must be on watch, so I am.” Misha had shrugged, and patted his shoulder, and left him alone. That had been an hour ago, and now his knees ached from the cold, and from standing, and his eyes were tired from straining into the dark.

Ludwig pulled the blanket tighter around himself with icy fingers, muttering angry German oaths to himself. That damned Saxton Hale. Oafish Australian lout, treating them like toy soldiers to be moved around and played with. He was going to ask for a contract redo once this was over. As he stood, back to the chattering group, Ludwig heard boots approaching, and then Mick, the Blu one, was standing next to him. The sniper tapped a tin cup against his arm, and said, “Coffee, doc. You look cold over here.”

Ludwig took the cup, feeling how its heat made his freezing fingers tingle despite his gloves. He took a sip, and gagged, giving the sniper a disgusted look. Mick just shrugged, said, “Just a nip of whiskey. That Red Engie had some. Figured you could do with it.” It was vile tasting, but Mick was right. Ludwig sighed, and sipped his drink some more. The sniper leaned against the wall beside him, studying him from behind those tinted glasses. Ludwig wasn’t sure how the man even saw him in the low light. “You’re sore about all this,” the lanky Australian commented, and Ludwig countered, “Are you not?”

Mick only shrugged, ever easy going, and replied, “Same bullshit, different day. Bit cold, sure. We’ll live.” Ludwig made a disgruntled noise, and Mick gave a little snort. “You really don’t like that other doctor, do you?” Ludwig shot him a deep glare. He hated how observant the sniper could be. Instead of answering properly, he hissed, “I am more than capable of… of anything he can do.” Mick crossed his arms, then his legs, at the ankle, still leaning against the wall. “Don’t need to tell me that, doc, I’ve watched you do it for years.” Ludwig’s gloved fingers tapped distractedly on the tin cup, and Mick leaned in, and said, “We know. We all do. You are our doc, alright? Just because Pauling put him in charge. It doesn’t change anything, mate. We’ll all still be running to you to kiss it better.” Ludwig looked away. “You’re right about one thing,” he said, “I am the doctor. Mister Ludwig over there on the Red team doesn’t even have a medical license, not anymore.”

Mick’s eyes widened at this little piece of bitchy gossip, and Ludwig smirked about it. The sniper gave a little chuckle and said, “Figures. The whole bloody Red team seems feral.” He looked thoughtful, “Guess that’s a helpful difference though. Mister and Doctor. Can’t be walking around just calling the both of you Ludwig, it’ll get confusing.” Ludwig laughed at that, garnering a couple of glances from the group, and said, “Ah, sure, my friend. Try referring to him as Mister, see how well that goes down. You’re right though, of course. This is going to get out of hand. I am Wolfgang Ludwig, he is Wolfgang Ludwig. You are Mick Mundy, as is the other sniper. It will be enough to drive us mad, hm?”

Mick shrugged, and said easily, “I could be Michael, I don’t care all that much.” But Ludwig just tittered and replied, “Gracious, with you and the Heavy’s, we shall have a Mick, Michael, Misha, and Mikhail. I rather think we shall all lose our minds.” Mick only hmm’d at that, as they both took that rare moment to dwell on the oddness of the overall situation, the matching names, the uncanny similarities between the men. It was not something any of them liked to discuss, as on a fundamental level, it was unnerving. They did not know why it was like this. And really, they did not want to find out.

Thankfully, they were distracted from that train of thought by Dell, their Dell, taking out a travel guitar, to varied enthusiasm from the rest of the group. After conferring with the Red Engie, the two Texans settled into a duet. Some song about a country man from Oklahoma, and the woman he loved who had moved away to be a star in California. With two men singing it, it definitely had a different kind of inference, particularly with the exceedingly sincere way both the engineers looked at each other as they sang. Ludwig found himself glancing again at Mick, and the sniper smirked and said, “This is all bound to get a bit weird isn’t it? Eighteen men alone in a snowy wasteland. Who do you think will be, er, making new friends first, eh? Aside from Jane and their Demo of course.”

Ludwig couldn’t help but snicker at that. He looked around the gathered group, wondering who might break and seek the warm comfort of another’s bed first. Truthfully it could have been any of them. Not him obviously, he was impervious and aloof and was very certain he didn’t need anyone. But the rest were all just mere men. He smirked at Mick, and said, “I suppose we shall just have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

The next three days were strange ones, filled with an odd combination of arduous work, and intensely boring downtime. They mostly spent their time cleaning the factory out, doing their best to prepare it for their habitation. The Engineers trotted ceaselessly back and forth, muttering to each other in Southern idioms about what needed mending, salvaging, rewiring. The Blu Pyro and Red Soldier tailed them, carrying clipboards with notes of debatable usefulness on them. 

If René was honest with himself, it all went about as well as he could have expected a merging of the teams to go. The scouts bickered ceaselessly, on an endless quest to one up each other. The snipers took everything in their stoic stride, occasionally sharing an incomprehensible Australian quip and subsequent chuckle that sounded like a box of gravel being thrown down a staircase. The medics seemed to detest each other for some unknown reason, communicating only in icy German glares that only worsened when they were informed there was room for only one shared infirmary.

Space was in fact an issue, despite the vastness of the factory. The problem was that a great number of the rooms throughout were not suitable for human habitation in the slightest. It was decided the factory floor itself was almost unusable, the asbestos roof having long crumbled inwards and leaving the immense space littered with debris and full of snow. The engineers agreed to share a workspace in the basement with little issue, thankfully, and everyone seemed to accept that the rec room, kitchen, and showers would be communal. Aside from storage, that just left sleeping arrangements, which were not ideal.

Dell came to René on the last day, looking worried. René could tell because the engineer was compulsively adjusting his glasses and tugging at his beard, something he only did when stressed. He cocked his head at René, indicating he should follow, and led him down to the currently sparsely stocked workshop. When they arrived, the engineer cut right to the chase, hands on his stocky hips. “There’s not enough rooms for sleeping.” He said, “Folks are gonna hafta bunk up.”

Wonderful.

It was not news he relished breaking to everyone, but break it he must. He could only hope that after several nights camping out in the foyer to stay warm, the others might possibly take it alright. Some of them did. Others did not.

The engineers tried to lead the charge graciously, both saying they were happy to tuck a cot in a corner of the workshop, which had been a habit both of them seemed to have kept in their own bases. The medics too had slept in their infirmaries, though they were less thrilled about the concept of sharing. Still, the Red Medic clearly wanted to be a good influence, and agreed to it through gritted teeth. The Blu followed suit, clearly not wanting to be one upped.

It was agreed fairly quickly that the pyros would be granted private rooms. Both had remained hooded and masked since arriving, still not comfortable around the opposite team, and it was blatantly clear they needed some breathing space before something caught fire for therapeutic reasons. 

Standing in the foyer with all the disgruntled mercs, the Red Engineer consulted his clipboard, saying, “Alrighty. That’s six of us sorted. Current state of affairs is this. There’s twelve men left and uh… four rooms. Well. Four rooms and a storage closet that might fit a cot. So…” echoing silence at that, as the mercs considered. Then a cacophony as everyone tried to clamor for the relative privacy of the storage closet. René couldn’t help but roll his eyes. For a group of people who were mostly in their forties and above, the mercs could really act like children sometimes. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard the click of boots step forward. Then the Red medic shouted, “Ach, ruhig sein! Everyone shut up!” Everyone did, the piercing German screech ear splittingly loud, and cutting through their complaints. “You will all stop this incessant whining and complaining, or you will find yourselves without vocal chords in short order! This is a bad situation and anyone constantly kicking up a fuss about it is making it actively worse, ja? ”

Beside René, one of the Engie’s said under his breath, “Ope, Mom’s mad,” and the other chuckled. The doctor pointed around the gathered men, saying, “If you cannot figure out sleeping arrangements, I will assign them to you right now, on the spot, and you will just have to deal with it. You want that?” No one did, clearly, but everyone knew better than to complain about it. Everyone other than René’s son of course. Crossing his arms defiantly, the Blu scout said, “Nuh uh, no way, nurse. I ain’t takin’ orders from you.” Which led to a collective groan, as Jeremy’s stubbornness had most certainly sealed their fate now.

The Red Medic drew himself up to his full height, a good deal taller than Jeremy, and said, “Oh no? You think not kleiner junge? You have already forgotten Miss Pauling putting me in charge of your welfare, hm? If that is the case, you shan’t forget again.” He pointed one gloved finger, this time at the Red Scout. “How about you and your equally irritating doppelgänger bunk up then?” The Red Scout began to splutter indignantly at that, and the Medic turned on him and roared, “It is not a suggestion , Jeremy, so hold your tongue!” The Red Scout slumped, cowed, and René couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Indeed he was not the only one, as the Red Heavy stepped forward, and said, “I will bunk with little men. Keep them in line.” Quickly followed by the Blu Russian, agreeing, “I will also.” To Jeremy, he said, “Will figure this out.” René felt grateful for the way Heavy seemed to take on the role of big brother to Jeremy. It made his own life easier.

Medic seemed happy with this, huffing quietly and stepping back. Dell nodded slowly and said, “Well then. Eight men left. Three rooms and a storage closet.” Everyone shuffled awkwardly, before the Red Solider surprisingly stepped up to the Blu and said, “We will make an alliance. For the good of America. And the team, I suppose.” The Blu nodded solemnly, reaching for the Red Demo who was naturally standing beside him. “Indeed. You, me and the Demos. Together we will form the most powerful alliance this abandoned canning factory has ever seen.”

“I’m nae bunking with him.” 

Everyone looked to the Blu Demo then, a little taken aback by the cold, measured tone of his voice, and even more surprised to see the glare he had fixed on his Red counterpart. The Red Demo, for his part, looked bewildered at what possible wrong he could have done the other. “I’ll take the closet,” the Blu said, and everyone was so wrongfooted by the icy tone of the normally jovial man, that they didn’t argue.

Which left only the snipers and- ah, merde - the spies. As one, the snipers said vehemently, “I’m not sharing a room with no spook,” then they looked at each other, realised what meant, and muttered, “Bugger.” René felt someone step up beside him, the sound of expensive Italian shoes unmistakable, and the Red Spy said, “it appears it is just you and me then, mon ami. Oh now, don’t look at me like that, I am sure we will be more than well matched. Unless you would prefer to share a room with another of these louts, who I’m sure know little of cleanliness, never mind interior decor.”

He was right, of course. Of everyone, René supposed he should be grateful he’d landed a roommate who would most likely be tidy and considerate. Across the room, the Red Medic clapped his hands together. “Well, that is all sorted then. Wunderbar. Now, if anyone needs me… don’t.” And with that, and whoosh of white coattails, he turned on his booted heel and stalked out of the foyer.

That last night in the foyer was a slightly grim one. Low muttering and awkward conversation as most of the mercs tried to acquaint themselves with their new roommates. René sat off to one side in a creaky office chair, and worked his way through the last of his cigarettes, knowing that more were coming the next day. After a time, he felt Jeremy step up beside him, and looked up at his son. The scout wasn’t looking at him, eyes off to the side. René waited, and eventually, Jeremy said, “Why didn’t you defend me? When their medic yelled at me. He was a real friggin’ dick.” He sounded hurt, actually hurt.

“Jeremy.” René began, and realised he didn’t actually know what he was going to say. “You did provoke him.” That wasn’t the right thing to say. Jeremy looked down at him, the hurt very clear in his eyes, and said, voice thin, “I don’t get you. I don’t get why we ain’t like them.” He meant their Red counterparts, who, while clearly not perfect, were at least playing gin rummy by the fire with a measured degree of civility. René sat up straighter. “Well… we are not them. We are like them, in some ways. But we are not them.”

Jeremy shook his head. “You’re still my fuckin’ dad… shit, I don’t know why I’m botherin’ here. Whatever. Night, Spy.” And with that, the young man slunk away, shoulders hunched, and went to sit with Dell, who René knew very well had a much more comforting air than he himself. He sighed. He did not know how to be what Jeremy needed him to be. He did not know how to be what most people needed him to be for that matter, outside work parameters.

The next day dawned icy, and brought with it the promise of snow, as well as the arrival of another Mann Co train, this one carrying all the supplies they would hopefully need. René and Red Medic stood in the foyer, directing the Mann Co grunts carrying their delivery, and fielding questions from the other mercs. This ended with the arrival of both medics’ dove flocks, and the doctor abandoned him to tend to his birds. René was left to head down to the furnace to check on the Conaghers’ progress.

The Blu Pyro was down there with the Engineers, drawing portraits on the dusty concrete floor with a lump of coal they had pilfered. They tugged at René’s sleeve as he entered, and he said, placatingly, “Yes, yes cher, the drawings are good.” He glanced at them, saw an actually very accurate sketch of Bidwell, of all people, and said, “Oh, that is in fact very good. Well done,” Pyro murmured something unintelligible, and René patted their shoulder, and made his way over to the engineer duo.

“Howdy René,” said Dell, and then looked up abruptly, quite aware of what he’d just said. The other Engie politely ignored the fact that he had heard René’s name (though of course it was the same as the other Spy’s) and Dell gave René an apologetic grimace. Ah, this was all still something they were going to have to get used to. René did not love the feeling of vulnerability that came with the Red’s hearing his name. He had not yet even taken his mask off since arriving, though neither had the other spy. Still, he had to brush it off. “Good morning,” he said calmly, “How are we looking in terms of getting the power going?”

Dell had managed to rattle himself into silence, so it was the Red Engie that answered, saying, “Far as we can tell, she’s ready to go. We’ll fire her up, get the electricity goin’, the water. Respawn. Then we’re laughin’. Shouldn’t be more than an hour I’d wager.” René nodded, “That is marvelous, genuinely. Some good news will hopefully stop some of the others ripping each other to pieces before respawn is even running.”

René left the engineers and made his towards the infirmary, intending to let the Red Medic know about the updates. As he approached however, his ears were accosted with the most dreadful shouting and banging and flapping of wings. He got closer, and saw the Red Heavy standing outside the infirmary doers, sipping a cup of black tea with lemon. René crept up beside him, resisting the urge to activate his cloak.

The Heavy looked down as René arrived, seemingly unconcerned, and said by way of explanation, “The doctors are fighting.” He was not wrong. The shouting was definitely in German, and as René peered around the door, he could see many various doves flapping around. His own Medic was stalking back and forth, coattails whipping, as he ranted something with aplopeptic fury. The Red Medic was being very mature about it, miming his hand talking as if he had a sock puppet, and saying, “blah, blah, blah.”

René looked up at the Heavy. “What are they arguing about?” Heavy shrugged, and sipped his tea, “Who’s doves get best spot to roost. I would not worry. Doctor argues with himself this way all the time back in Red base. Only difference is now someone argues back.”

René stepped back, rolling his eyes. He’d come back later.

*

Jeremy didn’t like the Blu Scout. Which, duh, obviously. You don’t just start getting all pally with the guy who’s been trying to do your job better than you for the past few years. He didn’t get the other guys, taking this all lying down. He supposed it didn’t help that out of all the Blus, the scout was definitely the most annoying. 

He couldn’t believe he’d been forced to bunk with him, thanks to the utter betrayal from his own Medic no less. 

The Blu Scout clearly wasn’t happy about it either, bitching about it incessantly as they collected boxes of flat packed furniture to drag down to the room they would be sharing with the Heavies. 

“This is bullshit,” the Blu Scout bemoaned, “Absolute bullshit. It’s not fair. I’m getting punished because that prissy god damn nurse doesn’t fuckin’ like me. Not my fault I’m so good at killin’ that god damn German pansy all the time-“

“Hey.” This from both the Heavies. The Blu one looked down at his Scout. “Do not be rude like that. Makes you look ignorant and unpleasant. No call for nasty names.” The Blu Scout sulked at that. Jeremy had to admit he was at least glad of the somewhat authoritative force of the Heavies to mediate things. 

As they had sat in their small, drafty room, building furniture, the Blu Scout had started up again. “I’m the Jeremy though.” Which of course, had Jeremy bristling immediately. “Uh, no, I’m the Jeremy. I’ve always been the Jeremy.” The Blu snorted, “No way. I'm older than you anyway.” He was trying to rile Jeremy up, and it was working. Glaring he said, “the fuck you are, you ain’t older… why, how old are you?”

“Twenty six,” the Blu Scout said, all smug, and fuck, he was right. Jeremy was only twenty three. Still though, that only counted as one win for him. The Blu Scout might be older, but Jeremy was taller and better looking. He had a better face and nicer eyes. The Blu Scout’s eyes were too close together and it made him look like one of those cross eyed Siamese cats or something. Plus Jeremy was nice and tan and the Blu Scout had like a billion freckles obscuring his features. Sure the Blu Scout was a little buffer in the arms and chest, but he was shorter too so they canceled out.

“No way you’re the Jeremy,” Jeremy said definitively. “I’m the one in the fuckin’ video.” The Blu Heavy grunted at this. He clearly remembered shooting that video. The Blu Scout made a sour face, and tried to counter, “Well I was in the Spy one,” But Jeremy just laughed and said, “No you weren’t, that was my dad disguised as you, numbnuts.”

“Look, I don’t give a shit.” The Blu Scout blustered, waving his taped hands around. “Why is it such a big deal, anyways? The Heavies decided to be Misha and Mikhail right off the bat.” Not looking up from the furniture instructions, and adjusting a tiny pair of reading glasses, the Red Heavy, now indeed Mikhail, said, “That is because we do not care about silly thing like this.” But was ignored.

Jeremy turned back to the bed frame he was screwing together and said, “You ain’t takin’ my name, man. Go by your surname or somethin’.” The Blu Scout threw down the bag of screws he had been holding, and cleverly countered, “No, you.”

“No, you.”

“Nuh uh, man, you.”

“Not happening pal.”

“Is so”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“ Es-tu stupide délibérément, ou est-ce que cela arrive naturellement?”

“The fuck did you just say?” The Blu Scout growled. “I heard the word stupid, I ain’t frickin’ stupid you fancy little frogspawn. Think you’re so smart talking French, la di fuckin’ da.” Jeremy shrugged. “Weird your dad didn’t teach you I think.” Now that could have gone bad, he would be big enough to admit that. Thankfully, the Blu Heavy, Misha, threw down the instructions he was holding, and barked, “Enough. Little men will both shut up now, or they will quickly find themselves both buried head first in snowdrift.” The scouts shut up.

Both Heavies left when they had their beds constructed, clearly too annoyed with the scouts to put up with them without some dinner. Weirdly, the Blu Scout was quiet once they were gone, like the whole being a loud asshole schtick was somehow for other people’s benefit. After a few fraught glances at Jeremy, the Blu asked, “So your spy taught you French, huh?” Jeremy shrugged, “Yeah.” They were quiet. It was weird. Why hadn’t the Blu Spy offered to teach the Scout? I mean, the young man was clearly a total dick but still. That was his kid, no?

They were taking a stupid long time to construct their beds, and it was only when Jeremy actually bothered to look at the instructions did he realise why. He didn’t show them to the other scout, but he did start directing the building a little better. In no time at all, they had their beds built.

“It’s a bunk bed.” The Blu Scout declared. “Yep,” said Jeremy. The two glanced at each other.

“I call top!”

“No frickin’ way, I do!”

A fight broke out, of course. It was probably for the best really, that they fought each other, instead of pissing off one of the others who might actually hurt them. They obviously needed to, had been itching to blow off steam since before they’d even arrived. It quickly devolved into scrappy roughhousing, all elbows and knees and bitten out cussing.

Eventually Jeremy managed to pull away enough to launch himself up onto the top bunk, as if he could dig his claws in like a determined cat and refuse to move. The Blu Scout hissed, “No you fuckin’ don’t,” and leapt up after him, smashing into his back and pushing him down onto the thin, lumpy mattress.

“Stop fuckin’ fightin’ and let me have the damn bunk!” The Blu scout snapped, as Jeremy writhed under him, trying to get the leverage to flip himself over. “Nuh uh short stack! You got little legs, you’ll fit on the bottom better!” Jeremy drove his head back towards the other’s face, but not that hard, because he didn’t actually want to break his nose. The Blu scout growled, and grabbed his hair, shoving his face down into the bedding. “I ain’t fuckin’ short, I’m… I’m compact! Efficient!” Jeremy burst out laughing at this, and the scout snarled and dropped his full weight on top of him, pinning him down.

“You think you’re so clever, huh stretch? With your long fuckin’ legs, and your French, you think you’re a real catch, don’t ya?” Jeremy wheezed under him, still smirking. “You know it. I’m the fuckin’ Scout here, pally. The Scout. Bet you ain’t even from Boston.” The Blu Scout grunted, and shoved him down harder, and Jeremy pushed back in retaliation, and-

And they both went still. Because the Blu scout was rock fucking hard.

Not moving, the shorter Blu’s hips pressed to Jeremy’s ass, it was impossible to miss. “Uhh…” said the Red scout, suddenly very aware of the hand fisted in his hair. “I…I…” the Blu said, and then swallowed audibly. He sounded like he might cry.

“S’alright,” Jeremy didn’t know why he was so quick to comfort him. Because he got it? It was a lonely life they led, and being out here it only promised to get lonelier. Plus they were wicked pent up. He hadn’t jerked it since leaving New Mexico, due to a chronic lack of privacy, and imagined it must be the same for the Blu. That was why he was hard against him. And was that why Jeremy was getting hard now too?

The Blu scout was breathing heavily, and shaking a little, and he hadn’t moved away. The Red scout tried to turn his head to look at him, but the other man wouldn’t allow it. Jeremy figured he was probably freaking out. He would be too in that situation. As it was, he was just grateful the other man couldn’t tell he was turned on too. Doing his best to wet his dry mouth, Jeremy said, cautiously, “You can… do somethin’ about that. If you want.” That was real vague. What exactly was he offering here? He didn’t know.

The hand in his hair relaxed a little, and the Blu stammered, “Yeah?” Jeremy nodded into the sheets. “Yeah man. It’s… you’re ok. If you need to… it’s ok.” He didn’t have the words for what he was trying to say, but he hoped the other man understood him regardless. Tentatively, the Blu scout rolled his hips against Jeremy’s ass, and let out a loud, shaky breath through his nose. “I’ve never- not with a dude.” He said. Jeremy nodded, replied, “Me neither.” The Blu let go of his hair then, and planted a hand on either side of the Red’s shoulders. He ground his hips down a little harder, and the shoddily built bunks groaned in complaint. It’d be pretty funny if they collapsed under them, but not that funny if they had to explain to the docs why while getting patched up. 

“Can I pull your pants down?” The Blu’s voice was so quiet, he’d never heard him talk that quiet. “Ok,” Jeremy said, and they shifted enough for both of them to get their pants around their thighs. Their boxers stayed on, because obviously, it was only gay if their balls touched.

Jeremy felt a hand on his ass, gentle and uncertain, and he breathed softly into the bedcovers and tried to relax, to show that he was ok with what was happening. He knew his face was as red as his shirt and he wasn’t quite sure why he was so alright with all of this but his dick was yelling at him not to overthink it.

Above him, the Blu muttered, “I’m just- I’m gonna… try somethin’, just wait a sec, I-“ and Jeremy heard the shifting of fabric as the other man moved above him. Then he felt fingers creeping up the leg of his boxers, and then something much bigger than fingers, headed for his ass. He tensed immediately, and squeaked, “Don’t put it in, man!”

He felt more than saw the Blu scout shake his head, as he said, “I’m not, I’m not, jeez I wouldn’t.” He petted at the Red scout’s lower back, trying to be placating. “Not gonna hurt ya. Not gonna hurt ya, man.” Jeremy wasn’t totally sure, but decided to trust him, trying to settle back into the sheets. The Blu lay down on him a little more, and Jeremy felt him slide between his ass cheeks like a hotdog in a bun.

The Blu shivered, and asked, a little hoarse, “That ok?” Jeremy nodded, hiding his face now, so red. He’d never done anything like this, and felt sure the other man must be able to feel his ass twitching against him. He was so nervous and kinda confused about what he was feeling, but maybe that was ok, because when the Blu scout leaned down against him fully, he could feel his heart pounding against his back, and knew he was nervous too.

The Blu hooked his hands under Jeremy’s arms, reaching up to hold the front of his shoulders. He hummed softly into the back of his neck, and began to move his hips again, a little more purposefully this time. Jeremy’s body burned at the feeling of the other scout sliding against him, against a part of his body no one else had touched before. He buried his face in the bed, eyes scrunched closed. He was properly hard now, but he didn’t dare reach down to take care of himself, because again, that'd be gay right?

“Oh yeah,” the Blu was murmuring, “Fuck yeah. You’re so friggin’ warm, man. Skins so soft, like a girl’s.” Was it? Jeremy had never thought to check if his ass was soft like a girl’s. A little unsure if he was supposed to answer, he stuttered, “Y-yeah? Feels good?” The Blu nodded, replied, “Yeah. You’re gonna make me come, man.” Jeremy couldn’t help making a little breathy sound at that, and the Blu buried his face in the crook of his neck, panting as his thrusts sped up. Jeremy pushed back against him a little more, then a lot more, trying to move his ass against the other scout in a way that he thought would feel good. It must have worked, because the Blu’s hands left his shoulders, and slid down to his hips instead. The other scout held onto his bony hips, keeping his ass lifted up off the bed as he rutted against him. He lay his face next to Jeremy’s on the bed, but had his eyes closed. Still, they were close, and breathed each other’s air, as the Blu praised him clumsily, and Jeremy ached, deep inside himself.

Eventually, the Blu’s movements became erratic, and his expression looked pained. “Ugh. Yeah, ah, I’m gonna fuckin’ blow, man. Shit, your ass feels wicked good.” Jeremy flushed with pleasure at that, and then paused mentally, because if the Blu was gonna come, then he was gonna come all over-

“Wait, hang on!” Jeremy said, but it was too late. With a whimpery little moan, the Blu scout pressed hard against him, poking out the top of Jeremy’s waistband and shooting all up his back. There was a little thrill there because holy shit that was a lot, but also god damn it that was a lot, and it was gonna get everywhere now.

The Blu scout pulled back a little, and took a moment to nose into the back of Jeremy’s sweat damp hair. Why? As a thank you? Then he sat back, sliding out of Jeremy’s underwear, and tucked himself away. “Yeah, thanks, that was wicked awesome, man. I came so frickin’ hard,” he said, as Jeremy peered over his shoulder at him. The Blu jerked his thumb over the side of the bunk, and continued, “Now get the fuck outta my bed, I won.”

Jeremy stared at him incredulously, still painfully hard. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, man?! You pin me down, hump my ass, you jizz all up my back and you ain’t even gonna- gonna…” the Blu didn’t look like he knew what he was talking about at all, and Jeremy finished, a little faintly, “Ain’t gonna help me out or nothin’.”

The Blu scout just stared at him, those close set blue eyes round and surprised, and Jeremy felt real stupid. “Fuckin’… forget about it, whatever, jeez. Beds yours.” Jeremy muttered, adjusting his now admittedly flagging erection in his boxers, and going to pull up his pants. Why did he feel hurt? And why had he even thought his generous offer to get the other man off would be reciprocated.

There was a scrabbling, the Blu scout pushed himself onto his knees, and said, “Hey, hey, wait. I didn’t think you’d want…” Jeremy just started at him, hands on his fly, which only highlighted his still half hard dick. The Blu scout considered a moment, then said, “K. Just take your shoes off, ok? Gettin’ the damn sheets all dusty.”

Jeremy complied, chucking his sneakers over the rail, followed by his pants for good measure. Boxers still on though, of course. The Blu reached out, and caught his arm, pulling him close. Jeremy was a little surprised, but allowed himself to be maneuvered around. The Blu scout leaned against the headboard, and pulled Jeremy’s back to his chest. Encouraged to lean against him by a hand around his chest, Jeremy did so, resting his head back against the other man’s shoulder. “Ain’t never been no selfish lover, ain’t gonna start now,” the Blu muttered, seemingly to himself, and the word lover made Jeremy twitch with interest again.

The Red scout huffed in surprise as the other man unceremoniously reached into his boxers, and drew him out. “Nice dick, man,” the Blu said, and Jeremy couldn’t help but give a little half hysterical laugh. The sound melted into something entirely different though as the Blu began to move his hand. Jeremy lolled back, eyes closing, and heard the other man say lowly, “There ya go. I’ll take care of ya.”

It was a perfunctory handjob at best, in terms of technique. Jeremy figured the Blu had never jerked off another guy before, which was fair enough, neither had he. Still, it felt good to have someone else’s hand on him, and a warm body to lean back against. He was panting pretty quickly, a week plus of not rubbing one out catching up on him. He reached back, pressing one hand to the back of the Blu’s head, and turning his face to bury it in the crook of the other man’s neck.

The Blu scout chuckled. “You shy or somethin’?” Jeremy just mumbled, and the Blu continued, “That’d be pretty funny if you were. Invitin’ me to get all up on your tight little ass and then gettin’ shy now.” He turned his own face towards Jeremy a little. “You shy cos I can see your dick now? See how much it likes me? You know it’s jumpin’ every time I say somethin’, right?”

“Oough,” said Jeremy, completely accidentally, and put his other hand over his mouth. The Blu pressed his face closer. “Don’t hide. Lemme hear.” God, they were so close now, Jeremy could taste the bubblegum on the Blu’s breath. He bucked up into the other man’s grip, and gasped, “Stop talkin’, you’re gonna make me…” come, he was gonna make him come with his voice, and judging by the broad, buck tooth smirk, the Blu knew it.

“Go on then, come. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.” The Blu’s eyes looked into Jeremy’s, and then down at his mouth. Back to his eyes. Back to his mouth. He leaned in. Was he going to kiss Jeremy?! Was that… was that ok?

As it turned out, he was, leaning and pressing their mouths together.

Jeremy made a surprised noise, and his back arched, and then he was coming, all over his front and over the Blu’s knuckles, as they kissed and kissed and kissed and his brain went totally blank.

Eventually they pulled apart, breathing hard and not quite looking at each other. A little boneless, Jeremy didn’t pull away as the Blu tucked him carefully back into his boxers and wiped his hand on them. The Blu let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d just realised what they’ve done and how much those actions might weigh. After a moment, he let his gaze move up to meet Jeremy’s. They were quiet. Jeremy kind of wanted to kiss him again, but that wasn’t how this was going to work, was it? Was it? He swallowed.

“Jeremy…”

The door handle clicked then, and Jeremy was up and off the bunk before either of them could even blink. The door opened, and the Blu Heavy, Misha, went to enter, before hesitating as he clearly read the very weird atmosphere in the room. “Uh… hello.” The big Russian said, sharp eyes frowning at the two on an attempt at understanding.

“Hi,” said Jeremy, then, “K, well, bye!” And then he darted past the big man out of the room.

As he hurried away down the corridor, Jeremy just about heard Misha ask the Blu scout, “What did you do to other little man?” But he didn’t stick around to wait for the answer. He jogged away as quick as he could, taking stairs down and away from the living quarters, trying to get himself some breathing space.

Eventually, Jeremy stopped, in a particularly dilapidated corridor that the Engies had deemed unfit for habitation. He leaned against the wall with his hands on his knees, and panted and shivered. He was only wearing his boxers and shirt, and no shoes. The cold of the damp concrete seeped through his socks as he hunched there trying to process what he’d just done. 

Fucked the other scout. He’d fucked the other scout. Maybe once he wouldn’t have thought that, but a few years ago he’d had a sheepish and educational conversation with Dell about intimacy and virginity and all that stuff and the Engineer had informed him that sex didn’t have to mean putting your dick in someone. So he didn’t even have that as an excuse. He and the other scout had straight up had sex?! Why? They didn’t even know each other, not really, not past killing each other on a near daily basis.

So why had it felt… fine. Normal. Not weird, not while they’d been doing it. He’d never touched a guy like that before, never even thought about it, he didn’t think. How far could the excuse of blowing off steam stretch?

Jeremy took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Whatever else, he couldn’t stay here. This part of the factory was freezing, broken windows and no working radiators. He wasn’t wearing enough to stand there for too long. Steeling himself, he stood up straight.

As he breathed, and pulled at his shirt, trying not to fret, there was a sound, from farther down the corridor. He quickly pressed himself against the wall, and peered down the dim hallway. At the opposite end, there was a T junction. 

As Jeremy watched, there was the sound of footfalls, and the quiet murmur of a voice. Staying still, Jeremy watched as a figure crossed the junction, too far away and too dimly lit to identify, other than they were of average height and slender. The person passed by quickly, too quickly for Jeremy to hazard a guess as to who it was. As their footfalls faded, Jeremy was overcome with curiosity, and on impulse, he followed. He trotted down the corridor on silent, socked feet, and once he reached the T junction, he peered after the figure.

No one. No one there. There should have been, there were no doors off the corridor, and it was too long for the person to have turned the corner at the end of it. Unless they had been running. Why would they have been running? Jeremy stood for a few more seconds, confused, before a shiver alerted him that he needed to get out of there. He needed to clean himself up.

Where should he go? Not back to his room, he was pretty certain he couldn’t face the Blu scout right then. Where else? Not his dad. That was too embarrassing to even consider. Not Dell either, that would lead to a big, long conversation about loads of serious topics. Where then?

A few minutes later, Jeremy found himself outside a door, knocking frantically, and looking up and down the corridor to make sure no one was coming. There was the sound of movement from inside the room, and slightly annoyed muttering. Then the door open, and from under a low pulled hood, and behind a hurriedly wrapped scarf, the Red Pyro said, “Jermeh? Wuh duh fuh?” Jeremy hopped from foot to foot, icy cold now, teeth chattering. “Can I come in? Please?” Pyro nodded, quickly, and stepped back to let Jeremy into their room. “Thank you. Fuck. Thank you.” He muttered, as his friend scrutinised him. When he was inside, Pyro shut the door with a click, and pulled the scarf off. They kept the hood up though, and asked, “Are you… ok? Why are you just in your underwear, it’s freezing. Wait. Do you have cum all over your shirt?”

Jeremy looked down at his front, said, “Uh. Uh.” Pyro reached out to touch his shoulder, and turned him to look at his back. “It’s all… over you. Jeremy? What happened?” He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to explain, and Pyro squared their shoulders quite suddenly, and said, “Did someone fucking hurt you?”

“No! No way, nothing like that.” Jeremy raised his hands, “I swear. I promise. I wanted it. We both wanted it. That’s… that’s why I’m freakin’ the fuck out, ok? I am so confused right now. Can I… can I sleep here tonight? Please?” Pyro stared at him, quiet, like they didn’t quite believe him, but eventually, they turned to their newly constructed chest of drawers, and said, “Let me get you a clean shirt, you’re not lying in my bed all covered in jizz.”

A little while later, dressed in a t-shirt about four sizes too big for him, Jeremy lay under Pyro’s blankets and tried to warm up. Beside him, the firebug sat on the bed and scrawled heavily in a sketchbook with oil pastels. After a long silence, they eventually said, “So you had sex?” Jeremy nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. They made a noise like they were sucking their teeth thoughtfully, and asked, “You gonna tell me who with?” He shook his head.

“Ok,” said Pyro, “Well. Try not to freak out. It’ll be alright. In the meantime, do you mind if I make a wager on who I think it was? I have a list already, in descending order of likelihood.” And Jeremy yelped indignantly and threw a pillow at them as they chuckled, thoroughly amused.

Chapter Text

Ludwig hummed to himself, no real tune, just something to keep the back of his brain occupied. So he didn’t linger on bitter thoughts. So he didn’t fume as he held his little dove in his blue gloved hands, turned her over and made sure she was healthy and happy. A collared dove, mind you, not one of those uncouth, pure white Barbary ones his new colleague favoured so much. Raucous they were, and distracting, unlike his sweet, polite little ladies.

“You are my darling, are you not?” He asked of the particular dove he held, who was his favourite, and named Curie. “You are my little love, so sweet and mild.” He glanced up as someone else fluttered past. That barrel chested white thing, so burly. Archimedes, he had heard his Red counterpart call him. He glared at the white dove, but then it was not the bird’s fault he had such an unpleasant master. “Yes, I suppose you are a fine little gentleman. So long as you stay away from my girls.” He kept only female birds deliberately. When they all flew about so freely, accidents could happen. He would have to be vigilant now, as he knew the Red Medic kept a mixed flock and seemingly let them breed with impunity. Barbarian.

Ludwig took a deep breath. It would do him no favours to get worked up. He had already stormed and screamed at the man the other day about their birds, and the Red medic had been full of only mocking and a smirk of too many teeth. Ha. Leader indeed. If that awful man had always been in charge of the Reds, then no wonder they were such a herd of uncivilised beasts.

He shooed Archimedes off of his desk. Again, it was not the bird’s fault, but his desk was Curie’s place. And besides, he could not give that Red Devil an inch, or doubtlessly he would take a mile. Ludwig placed Curie on his desk lamp, and went about sorting through some of the paperwork piling up on his desk. The Red team’s medical files. It felt almost forbidden to be looking at them, but they of course were his team too now, and he needed to know how to take care of them, like any good doctor.

Reading the various maladies the men had went a long way to humanising them to Ludwig. It was a language he understood. Knowing, for example, the Red sniper had a reoccurring rotator cuff injury was fascinating, considering how the man had to brace his gun against that shoulder. It showed determination, stubbornness, perhaps more than a measure of foolhardiness, and lack of self preservation. It was telling. As was knowing the Red spy had an essential tremor in his right hand. Ludwig would never have guessed, not with how precisely he had been stabbed by the man before. And perhaps the most surprising thing, the Red Pyro had no diagnoses, no history of ill mental health, and no history of being medicated for the sort. They were completely sound of mind. 

“Hm,” Ludwig said to himself. Perhaps he would assess the Pyro for himself if allowed. If only to ease his own mind, knowing the career arsonist would not need to be monitored as closely as the Blu, or even as closely as the soldiers.

As he flicked through the files, he noticed one was conspicuously absent. The Red Medic had declined to add his own file to the stack when he left these on Ludwig’s desk. Unfair, especially since the Blu Medic had handed over his own file with no complaints, despite not loving the idea of the other doctor knowing about the fact that he had a peanut allergy, or about his sleep paralysis. And yet he’d handed it over, because he was supposed to accept that the Red Medic would be his healthcare provider from now on. Outrageous.

He was in bad humour from all that was happening, and it was getting noticeable, he knew. The night before, he had sat in the rec room, half heartedly playing chess with Misha. The Blu Heavy had managed to take his queen twice already, and was well on his way to a third win, when he finally leaned towards Ludwig, and said, in quiet Russian, “You are out of sorts, my friend. You do not lose this often without accusing me of somehow cheating.”

Ludwig blinked. He found that, to his irritation, he had been staring at the Red Medic, where the doctor sat playing poker with the spies and engineers. Annoyed, he turned to his friend. “I am sorry Misha. I am… distracted.” The Heavy knew him too well, evidently, because the big man glanced towards the poker game. “Hm. The red doctor is getting under your skin, Wolfgang? He is rather… abrasive.”

Ludwig snorted at that. “Dreadful man,” he allowed himself to gripe, “Uncouth and unhinged. And cruel! The way he speaks to his men. That poor little scout is terrified of him. A man that leads with fear is no leader at all.” Misha only hummed at that. Ludwig looked back over at the poker game, and found that the Red doctor was staring right at him, that mouth full of too many teeth fixed in a rictus grin. Detestable.

At his desk, Ludwig shuffled the files, discontent. On his lamp, Curie cooed softly. He held his hand out to her, and she hopped into his gloved palm and ruffled her feathers, settling in. “Ah, my little dear. Are you cold my love? It is cold here.” He scratched under her chin, and she narrowed her little black eyes in happiness. Ludwig smiled at her. It would be nice to be a little bird. All she needed to be happy was to be cradled carefully in the hand of someone who loved her.

Ludwig looked up suddenly at the sound of the infirmary door opening. He hated how his heart sped up with stress at the prospect that it could be the other doctor. But no, it was only Dell, his Dell, adjusting his glasses. The engineer clearly noted that he had startled Ludwig, because he said, “Sorry to bother you, doc, I know you’re busy,” somewhat of a sweet thing to say, considering Ludwig was just sitting there coddling his dove. Dell jerked a thumb out of the infirmary, down the corridor.

“Security room is almost set up. Gonna be having a video call with Miss P when we’re done. She’s taking special requests for a shipment, if there’s anything you want. Make a list, she’ll do her best.” Ludwig nodded. This was not all that new. Special requisitions were always something Miss Pauling had tried to facilitate, be it vile energy drinks for the scout, or expensive cigarettes for the spy. It was nice to know she would uphold that nicety in their new situation.

Ludwig began to write his list. Once he would have been hesitant to ask for all the things he wanted. But he trusted Miss Pauling now, as did all the other mercs. She was discreet and kind, and she did not judge. Perhaps she understood the difficulties the mercenaries faced, so cut off from the comforts of the rest of the world. Ludwig was no longer shy to ask for what he needed to keep himself as content as possible, and he hoped the others were the same.

He tapped his fountain pen against his list. Licorice. Luxury bird feed. A backlog of National Geographic issues. Black hair dye. And. His usual request for any… deviant erotica novels she could find. She was truly an angel, as on more than one occasion, she had sent him publisher copies of novels not yet on shelves, as well as books printed by independent authors, and a few German language ones. She never commented on his tastes, never mentioned it at all, and for that he was grateful. His list entry merely read “books” and he knew she knew what that meant.

He didn’t think he needed anything else. Ludwig did not like to ask for too much, as he knew Miss Pauling had a lot of requisitions to fill, what with seventeen other people demanding things from her. Ludwig looked to Curie, and said, “Perhaps next time we can ask for something new and exciting, hm?”

He did not realise he was not alone until he heard the sudden approach of bootheels and the swishing of a long coat. Then a grating voice said in familiar German, “Ha! Exciting, you say? You? How amusing.” Ludwig’s hackles were up immediately, as the Red medic suddenly loomed over his shoulder. Curie fluttered away, startled, and the Blu medic tried to keep his cool. He did not want to feed the other man’s smug pleasure at mocking him. He said nothing, but when the Red doctor snatched up his list, he stood up, office chair rolling away.

The Red medic smirked widely at Ludwig’s clear irritation, and studied the list, eyebrows arched behind his round glasses. Ludwig was afraid that he would note the deliberately vague request for books, but no. After reading, the medic gave a high bark of a laugh, and crowed, “My dear man. You are not serious, surely.” Ludwig didn’t know what that meant, not until the Red medic stepped right up to him, and grabbed his chin in his large, gloved hand.

Ludwig froze, ice running down his spine. How dare he! Put his hands on him! Grab his face! He couldn’t move, too shocked. The Red medic tilted his face from side to side in the light, and then giggled softly, far too full of glee. “Black hair dye, my dear? Already? But yes, look at that. Your roots are showing. How long has it been since you went grey, hm?”

Ludwig refused to answer, just breathing angrily in the other man’s grasp, hating how he could feel his face going red. Humiliating, this was humiliating, and the Red medic was relishing it. He tilted Ludwig’s face side to side again, enjoying the glint of light on his undyed roots. “You are younger than me, no? The stress of the job getting to you, little grey pigeon?”

The red medic shifted closer. “I can help you dye it, my dear. Would you like that?” No. No he wouldn’t. He wanted the doctor to let him go and give him back his list now. The Red medic was looking far too delighted about this whole situation. He was pulling on Ludwig’s chin, pulling the shorter medic up onto his toes.

“Doctor.” Both the medics’ eyes turned towards the door. The Red Heavy, Mikhail, was standing there, looking stern. Ludwig fidgeted uncomfortably, aware how the situation looked. Mikhail did not seem surprised or shocked though, just annoyed. He spoke in Russian then, and Ludwig realised the heavy didn’t think he could understand him. “Put down the little doctor, friend. You must behave, and do not bully him. Your life may be in his hands one day.”

“Hmf.” Said the Red medic, but he released Ludwig. “Apologies, my friend. I can get… over excited.” He held out the list, and Ludwig snatched it back from him. “I do not need any help from you,” he hissed, “and I do not want it.” With that, he whistled for Curie to land on his shoulder, and strode for the door. With a curt nod to Mikhail, he marched away down the corridor, trying to maintain an air of dignity, despite his red face.

As he made for the security room, Ludwig realised he was shaking, hands balled in white knuckled fists. He stopped a moment, in the quiet corridor, and took a deep breath. He mustn’t let the other doctor get under his skin. That was what the Red medic wanted, for him to be worked up, angry. He rather suspected that the Red doctor would love nothing more than for Ludwig to lose his calm and punch him in the mouth, if only so that the Red doctor could spit his red blood into the Blu medic’s face.

Ludwig let out a long breath and adjusted his coat. He smoothed back a lock of, yes, admittedly dyed hair that had fallen over his forehead when the other doctor grabbed him. Curie cooed softly on his shoulder, and he said, “Yes, precious, I did notice his slightly lazy eye. Unprofessional, he should have fixed that himself years ago. Well, you won’t see me offering to help with that, he can come to me himself if he wants it fixed.” He took a deep breath in again. “Alright. Well. Back to work.”

Ludwig continued on his way, sure that he at least looked calm and put together. He checked in on any of the others that he passed, seeing that they were well. Some of the mercs were busy prepping dinner in the kitchen, and he heard the Red soldier and Mick talking like old friends already. Why was it so easy for some of the others? Indeed Misha and Mikhail were already thick as thieves, stoically discussing Russian literature or comparing recipes for homemade gun oil. He hadn’t seen the scouts talk, but the two of them seemed always to be at least near each other the past few days, silently completing separate tasks in a parallel fashion. But it wasn’t the same for him.

A part of Ludwig, a mean, unkind part, asked him how he expected to befriend the Red team when he had hardly managed to befriend the Blus. He knew people found him off putting, and he had tried to combat this in his mannerisms, trying to become kind and gentle and smaller, smaller, smaller. Some of the others were taller than him and some were broader, but Ludwig knew he cut an imposing silhouette (though not admittedly as imposing as the Red doctor). Misha, the only one on his team who was both taller and broader than him at the same time, told him once, “You are good on inside. But look menacing. Like goose. Like you will chase people and flap and honk.” And he had said, “a goose?” Completely bewildered.

He didn’t want to be menacing. He wanted to be someone that the men could trust to come to for help. And so he made himself smaller, and softer, and meeker, whittling down his edges to be more approachable. And it hadn’t worked. And now the Red doctor was here, and he did not apologise for being menacing in the slightest, and there was certainly nothing meek about him. And Ludwig realised how weak he must look in comparison. And it made him so angry at himself for ever compromising himself in the first place. He huffed, and deliberately let his boots click louder on the concrete floor.

When he reached the security room, there was already a small huddle outside, waiting for the call with Miss Pauling. It seemed he was early, along with the engineer, scout and sniper from Red. They were all queuing with starkly different attitudes. The engineer was flicking through a sheaf of papers, presumably  some list of awkward materials and tinkering accouterments that Miss Pauling would have to track down. The sniper was cleaning his tinted glasses on the hem of his shirt. Clutched between his sharp teeth was a post-it note that simply said “tangerines and Vegemite.” Not sure why he’d need to write down a list of just two things. Hopefully he wasn’t intending to eat them in tandem. 

Compared to the other two, the scout looked on edge. He was turning a short list over in his hands, the edges of the paper crumpled and frayed from his agitated handling. He looked as though he were about to sit an important exam that he hadn’t studied at all for. His heel was compulsively drumming on the wall behind him. It seemed while he was more gangly and awkward than the Blu scout, he was just as incapable of keeping still. As Ludwig took his place in line, the sniper pushed the scout’s foot off the wall with his own boot, and said, “You need to go run a few laps of the factory or something, Jezza? You’re even twitchier than normal.”

The scout hummed and hawed for a long few moments, clearly debating what to say. Eventually, and very clumsily, he got out the words, “If you wanted something… kinda embarrassing… and you didn’t know how to ask Miss P for it… like you didn’t want her to get the wrong idea…”

Ludwig bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. The poor young man probably wasn’t even asking for anything that out of the ordinary. What would he think of Ludwig’s novels, hm?

Moving fast as a snake striking, the sniper snatched the scout’s list out of his hand, grinning wickedly. The scout yelped and grabbed for the list, but the sniper was taller, holding the list high up, his free hand grinding a palm into the scout’s face to keep him at bay. After scanning the list, the sniper gave a harsh bark of laughter, and said, “Bloody hell, Jeremy. ‘Baby oil, Vaseline, lotion etc’. Condoms and flavoured condoms ?! You’re planning quite the evening, mate.”

The scout wailed at having his really very normal list read out, and the Engineer looked up sharply, and questioned, “Condoms? You planning on having sex while we’re out here, scooter?” The scout finally snatched his list back off a snickering sniper, and stammered, “No, why would you think that? It’s just fellas out here.” Over his shoulder, the sniper gave the Engie a highly doubtful look, before teasing, “What, this is all just for a posh wank, is it?” Ludwig didn’t really know what a “posh wank” was, but he took pity on the scout, clearing his throat abruptly.

The three looked at him, seemingly having totally forgotten he was there. Adjusting his glasses, Ludwig said softly, “You do not need to ask Miss Pauling for any of those things. There are condoms available from the infirmary, as well as water based lubricant that will not break down latex. Granted, the condoms are not flavoured, but those tend to be overrated anyway.”

“What?” This was said in chorus by all three of the Reds. Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. “This is a surprise to you? Hm. Prophylactics and other contraceptives have always been available in Blu base. Sexual health is as important as any other facet of healthcare. I have always maintained an infirmary that encourages safe sex, and open communication on the matter, as well as a regular clinic for prevention and treatment of venereal disease.”

The others looked at him as if he had two heads, which was enough to tell him that their own medic had not provided such a service. This made him feel a little smug, as if he had gotten one up on the Red doctor. Before him, the scout’s eyebrows twitched, and he asked, voice a little high, “Why do you care so much? You one o’ them queers or somethin’?” This made the Engineer slap his arm with the back of one gloved hand, and hiss, “Jeremy! Manners!”

But Ludwig just raised his eyebrows impassively, and replied, “Are you? After all, it is as you said. It is just us ‘fellas’ up here. And I don’t think one’s needs flavoured condoms for a, what was it herr sniper said? A posh wank?” The scout gave a long, nervous laugh at this, clearly a bit on edge. The other two Reds gave him a look of concern. To the scout’s visible relief, others began to filter down the hall then, towards the security room, and he hurried to join them, escaping the conversation. The Blu sniper was near the front of the approaching group, and Mick stopped beside Ludwig, giving him a funny look, before quietly asking, “What’s that shit eating grin for?” But Ludwig just tittered, and shook his head, as René headed into the room to get the call with Miss Pauling started.

“Excuse me, pigeons.” Ludwig felt a hand on his lower back, guiding him to one side of the corridor. As he turned to glare, he saw large red gloves close on either side of Mick’s narrow waist, sidling the startled sniper out of the Red medic’s way. “Uh.” Said Mick, his face a little pink. The Red medic grinned widely, and looked to Ludwig. It was a power play, it was all a stupid damned power play. He said nothing, just staring down the tall doctor, as he stepped past them towards the security room.

As he went, the Red medic turned, walking backwards, and said in German, “I certainly hope Pauling can find your, ahem, books, my dear. The ones I found under your bed were fascinating, I look forward to reading more.”

Ludwig bristled like an angry cat, fists shaking by his sides. Beside him, Mick had registered his fury, and asked, “Doc? What’d he say?” But Ludwig could only grit his teeth, and bluster, “Loathsome man. Blasted smug, odious, repellent, loathsome man.” Mick nodded slowly, then leaned in to say low, “Big bloody hands though, eh? Blimey.” Ludwig just shot him a scowl, and a scoff, before stomping after the others into the security room.

Slowly, all eighteen of the mercs filtered into the security room, most of them sporting lists of requests, some full on stacks. They shuffled around, getting comfortable, as the Red Engineer set up the largest security monitor to take Pauling’s call. Wearing a little pair of headphones, he whistled tunelessly through his teeth as he connected them, and before long, Miss Pauling was looking them all over owlishly from the screen. “Hi, Miss P!” Both the scouts called, though oddly they didn’t then glare at each other for daring to speak to her.

“Yes, hi guys, hello everyone.” Pauling said, her voice a little tight. She was shuffling papers on the desk in front of her. Ludwig noticed her hair was not as pristinely styled as usual, a few flyaway hairs coming free like she had been running her fingers through it. Hm. Not a good sign.

“Ok boys. And Pyros. We have a few things to run through today, so I just want to start with the Engies and everyone else keep it zipped for now, yeah?” She banged a sheaf of paper on her desk to line it up, and said, “Alright, Conaghers. What you got for me?”

The engineers looked to each other, and the Red Engie held out a hand to indicate his counterpart should speak. Dell cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses, before saying, “Well, respawn should be runnin’ by tomorrow. It’s a somewhat different model than the one back in New Mexico, so it took a hot minute for us to figure out all its movin’ parts. She’s warmin’ up now and should be fully powered come the mornin’. Other’n that we’re fairly kitted out in terms of parts and materials, enough to keep the artillery built and dispensers goin’ til the next big shipment anyways.”

“Great, great, great.” Pauling said, clearly distracted. She looked around, and said, “Doctors? How’s the infirmary looking?” The Red Medic huffed, and breathed, “Overcrowded,” and so Ludwig chose to speak over him, saying, “It is running to my usual standards. Fully stocked, top of the line tools, sterile surgery room. I would happily deliver a child in there.” Pauling snorted, and said, “Well let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Ok let me see,” more papers shuffling, and she muttered to herself. “You’re fine for food, beds, fuel, yeah, yeah, yeah. Got your entertainment sorted, movies, records, booze, smokes, whatever. Armory stocked, electricity and water on, security set up. Alright. Ok. Well. Listen.” She set her jaw, “I have some bad news. And then I have worse news.”

No one said anything. That was worrying. They all shuffled, watching the woman on the screen warily. Pauling adjusted her glasses, clearly debating how to word what she was going to say, before beginning haltingly. “Firstly. I won’t be able to take any special requisitions on this job.” Immediate voices, and she raised a hand, saying, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. Look. You’re getting monthly supply shipments of necessities dropped in by plane, and there’s not much room in them. I tried, I did, but Saxton Hale’s employees are… infuriating. There’s no wiggle room there. I know all have your creature comforts, but you’re gonna have to do without your candy and your porn while you’re on this job.”

The Red Soldier raised a hand, and when called upon by Pauling, asked, “Does that include my porn?” Pauling sighed, and said, “Soldier, you never ask for porn, you ask for a subscription to Good Housekeeping. Anyway. I’m sorry guys, I really am. I tried.” There was general malcontent in the room, low complaining and fidgeting. Ludwig compulsively ran a hand through his hair, now overly aware of his roots, and caught the Red Medic watching him with amusement. He dropped his hand to his side.

“That’s… not all.” Pauling said, and her tone was so much more serious that everyone went quiet immediately, looking at her. On the screen, she turned a pen over and over in her hands, avoiding looking into the camera. Oh, this was going to be bad then. “There won’t be… people coming your way. The supplies will be parachuted in. You’re gonna be on your own, guys. And I mean totally. I’ll check in as often as I can, but Hale has deemed all unnecessary communications with the outside world a security risk. Which means, um. Well. You won’t be able to send any letters home. No calls either.”

Oh dear. Ludwig glanced at René, saw the spy’s expression turn grim, just as both the scouts’ voices rang clear with panic. “What?!” Oh, the immediate pain in the young men’s voices was palpable. Everyone was very quiet. It was true that most of the people here had no one to contact even if they wanted to. Misha of course had his sisters, but they corresponded rarely anyway. Mick’s parents were similarly low contact, and on not so good terms either. But Scout? Ach, it was clear his family was important. He talked about his mother, and his brothers and nieces and nephews constantly, and it was clear the Red must as well. Ludwig’s heart went out to them, as the Red stepped closer to the screen, and said, “Nothin’? No letters at all?” Miss Pauling grimaced. “I’m sorry, Scout, I know it’s important to you. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t make this call. I wouldn’t make this sort of call.” The Red scratched the back of his neck. His voice cracked as he said, “It ain’t really a consolation Miss P, no.” The Blu scout swallowed painfully, and said, “But if I don’t call, she’ll be worried. She’s gonna think somethin’ bads happened. What if she thinks I’m dead?”

On the screen, Miss Pauling reached out like she wanted to pat the young man’s shoulder, before pulling her hand back, and saying, “I can… try get word to your families that you’re on a job that requires no contact. But that’ll be the best I can do for the next few months.”

“Months?” The Red scout’s voice had gone all high, “it’s already winter. You mean we won’t be gettin’ out of here for thanksgiving? Christmas? New years? I don’t get to see my family for the holidays? My sister in law is expectin’ a baby, I don’t get to go meet it when it’s born?” Ludwig had never heard a scout talk in an angry voice to Miss Pauling, and neither it seemed, had she. She just looked down at her desk, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit.” The Blu Scout’s voice was thick. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit Miss P, and you know it!” His voice was a little loud now, and René raised what he obviously thought was a calming hand, and said in what he obviously thought was a calming tone, “Don’t speak to her like that, Jeremy.”

Naturally the scout rounded on him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Oh, fuck you, spy. Just cos you don’t love anyone, don't mean we’re all friggin’ heartless.” And with that surprisingly cold statement, the Blu Scout turned on his heel, and hurried out of the room, tears now definitely spilling over. There was a pause, until eventually, Miss Pauling said, “Should someone go after him?” Sniffing hard himself,  the Red Scout said, “I’ll go. I don’t wanna be here no more neither.” He trotted out of the security room, a little more put together than the Blu, though still distinctly downtrodden.

Once they were gone, Pauling sighed deeply, and said, mostly to herself, “God, it’s like kicking a puppy. Two puppies.” The others looked around at each other, before eventually the Blu Demo said to René, “Your wee lad was supposed to be on watch tonight. Think he’ll be up for it?” The Blue spy had been clearly deep in thought, but looked up at this question, and sighed. “I will take his place. He will need time to come to terms with this, I think.” Clearing his throat, he looked to the screen. “Apologies for the interruption, Miss Pauling. Please continue.” Perhaps an efficient leader after all.

*

Jeremy trotted down the corridor after the other scout, feeling like he had a block of rat poison stuck in his throat. He couldn’t believe it. He’d put up with some bullshit in this job, getting killed all the time, working wacky hours, in wacky places, getting moved around with no choice about it. But this was too much. He wasn’t allowed call his mom? What the hell was that about? That was like, inhumane or something, being kept from contacting his family. What was he supposed to do over the holidays? How was he supposed to get a gift to the new baby? Jeremy sniffed, and swiped the back of his hand across his nose.

He wasn’t fully sure where the other scout had gone, but he knew he felt like he needed some fresh air, so he made his way to the foyer. It was chilly there, the front door ajar, and the cold, snowy air blowing in. Jeremy trotted to the big rack of outdoor clothes near the door, and grabbed the first coat he saw. It was huge, but he didn’t care as he shrugged it on, and stuck his head out the door. 

The front of the factory was mostly a big wide open space, presumably for trucks to pull in and turn around. There was a little concrete porch outside the main door, with a rusty railing, and steps leading down to the parking lot. Down the porch, to his left a ways, Jeremy saw the Blu scout. He was hunched over the railing, leaning on it with his elbows. He looked like he was shivering in the freezing air, not wearing any warm outdoor clothes. Jeremy sighed, and approached him.

They hadn’t really talked properly since their… encounter. Jeremy thought that maybe neither of them knew what to say. And really, what did you say, after spontaneously banging a coworker you’d hardly ever talked to before? Still though, Jeremy wasn’t mad about it, and he didn’t think the Blu scout was either. They just didn’t know how to handle it all. That didn’t matter though, this wasn’t about that. This was about hurting.

Jeremy crunched through the snow towards the Blu scout, but the young man didn’t look up at him. He was shivering, Jeremy could see as he got close, so he opened with, “It’s cold out here, man.” The Blu scout just grunted. This close, Jeremy could see there was a little wetness gathered in the corner of the other man’s eyes. And he just hated to see it, it sucked seeing a dude cry, it just twisted something inside him. He stepped in a little closer. “You’re gonna get a chill or like hypothermia or something, dude. Come inside with me.”

But the Blu scout shook his head, and replied, a little croakily, “Can’t breathe in there right now.” Yeah, Jeremy got that. Sometimes when he was overwhelmed and upset, he had to get outside. Usually he’d go for a run, but with snow like this, that wasn’t an option. It sucked, and he figured the Blu scout was feeling the effects of being cooped up on top of everything. Going on a whim, he opened the front of the enormous coat he was wearing, and wrapped it around the other young man. He pressed his front to the Blu scout’s back, and put his chin on his shoulder. “This fuckin’ blows, man.” He said.

The Blu scout didn't push Jeremy away, accepting his warmth. His body was icy, even though he’d only been outside a few minutes. The shorter scout didn’t say anything at first, but eventually his head dropped forward a little, and he said softly, “I don’t know what to do if I can’t call my mom. She’s smarter than all these fuckin’ bozos, she always knows what I should do when I’m confused.”

Jeremy thought about it a little, and then asked, “Are you confused now?” The Blu scout nodded, and didn’t say anything. “Yeah, me too,” Jeremy said. They were quiet a few moments, and then eventually, the Blu scout said, “When you ran away the other night. Did you tell anyone?” Jeremy chewed a piece of loose skin on his lip, and said, “Not that it was you. But I mean. Dude. I was covered in jizz, I couldn’t exactly hide it.”

The Blu scout chuckled at this, and they quickly both dissolved into slightly hysterical snickering. Eventually, they fell quiet. The Blu scout glanced off to one side, and when Jeremy followed his gaze, he saw he was looking at one of the many cameras mounted on the factory wall. It was new and obvious against the dilapidation. “You think they’re watching us?” Jeremy didn’t know if he meant the other mercs in the security room, or whoever always watched them anyway, but he said, “Yeah probably. Always watchin’ huh?” It was true. There were even cameras in the bedrooms and showers, and Jeremy didn’t know much about law stuff or human rights but he was pretty sure that wasn’t cool.

The Blu scout grunted inside the coat, and then turned around inside the garment, so he was facing Jeremy now. They were very close, and it wasn’t all that cold anymore.

“Listen, man,” Jeremy said, quietly, “I know it fuckin’ sucks. I miss my mom and my little nieces and nephews and my whole family so much.” The Blu scout nodded, but looked down, eyes dull. “You got your dad though. Like, he likes you and stuff. Enough to teach you French anyways.”

Jeremy wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he just put his arms around the other young man. “Look, I’m not, like, super smart or nothin’. And I’m not your mom, obviously, duh, that’d be freakin’ weird. But if you wanna talk or whatever, you can talk to me. I don’t know if I’ll know what to say back, but I’ll listen, yeah?” The Blu scout sniffed, quiet for a moment, then said, “You can be the Jeremy.”

“Huh?” Said Jeremy. The Blu scout shrugged against him. “Not a big deal or nothin’. I was Jonesy in school, like, as in Jones. I don’t mind that. I’ll be Jonesy.” Jeremy tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the other man’s face, to see if he really was okay with that. “You sure?” He asked, and the Blu scout nodded. Jeremy smiled. “Jonesy. Jonesy, Jonesy, Jonesy. That’s pretty cute. Suits a little guy like you.”

This made the Blu scout, Jonesy, glare up at him, and elbow him inside the huge coat. “Man, you’re such an asshole. “ Jeremy squeezed him, and said, “Heh, yeah, maybe. You ok? Or, I guess, you gonna be ok?” Jonesy shrugged, but leaned into him, “I dunno man. I’m fuckin’ pissed and I don’t like it, I don’t like feelin’ mad at Miss Pauling. Like, I know it ain’t her fault, obviously, but the anger all came out that way, and I yelled at her and I kinda feel bad, but I kinda don’t.”

Jeremy thought about it, and then said, “I think… Miss P can handle it. She deals with a lotta shit, and she’s a tough lady, and I’m pretty sure she understands, y’know? I think she’ll forgive you.”

Jonesy nodded against him. “I miss my mom, man.” Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, I miss my mom too.” Jonesy sniffed into his shirt, holding on tight. Jeremy felt like he wanted to say more, wanted to make the other man feel good, but he didn’t really know what to say, so he just buried his nose in the shorter man’s hair. Jonesy smelt nice, like the standard issue bar soap and the warmth of his laundered sheets and something that was just himself as well. “I’m here for you, man. We’re in this together, yeah?” Jonesy shivered at his low voice, and nodded again. Arms wrapped tighter around him, and it wasn’t cold at all anymore.

“Hey! Little men stop cuddling in my coat, will smell of your awful cologne!” Mikhail’s loud voice roared from the main doorway. Both the scouts yelped and tried to jump apart. Wrapped up in the coat though, they only managed to tip themselves over the railing, both of them being dumped unceremoniously in the snow drift several feet below. Icy cold and tangled together, they couldn’t help but grin at each other, ears filled with the booming laughter of the Heavy above. 

Chapter Text

Spirits weren’t the highest that night. After the scouts had left, Miss Pauling had let the rest know her ability to run interference between them and whoever was going to be sending the robots was waning. It was good that the respawn machine would be ready the next day, because she was fairly sure that there would be an attack imminently now that her actions were running out of weight. Along with that, she still hadn’t been able to provide them with any information on what they were protecting, or where in the abandoned town it even was. 

Because of this, and the bad news she had delivered, it had been fairly unanimously decided that they needed a night off before everything kicked off. Music, booze, shooting the shit before said shit hit the fan. Jeremy had absolutely no problem with that. He was feeling tender, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. When they’d come back inside, Jonesy had stuck to his side like glue, obviously feeling a little like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet. If the others had any opinions on how close the two young men were keeping to each other, they kept it to themselves. Jeremy may have been skinny, but he prided himself on still being able to throw a mean left hook if he needed to. He might crack a knuckle doing it but he would if anyone gave him and the other scout any shit.

He didn’t think he’d have to get agro though. The others were treating him and Jonesy fairly gently, not asking too many complicated tasks of them for the evening ahead. As Jeremy laid out cutlery for dinner, he felt a presence at his elbow, and looked up to see his father scrutinising him from behind that red mask. “Hey,” said Jeremy. “Hey,” said the Red spy. Jeremy adjusted the fork he had put down on the long trestle table they all ate at. It was the Blu pyro’s he thought, as they seemed to have specific taste in cutlery and got annoyed if they weren’t given the one that felt right in their hand. “I’m alright,” he said to his father, before he could ask anything, and the spy nodded, and said, “I know. You are tenacious, like your mother.” Jeremy gave him an unsure look, and the spy said, “That is a good thing, I am complimenting you both.” Jeremy nodded, left the fork alone.

“I am sorry you cannot talk to her, Jeremy. I know how important she is to you.” His dad sounded too earnest, and it made Jeremy not really know what to say. Sure, spy was far from the perfect dad. He had run off for a good few years and left his mom to raise him alone. But he was… trying. They were both trying. Jeremy shrugged, and crossed his arms, and said, “I wished I’d known is all. I would have paid better attention on my last call with her. She was talkin’ bout her cat havin’ to go to the vet or somethin’ and I wasn’t paying attention really. If I’d known, I would have listened better.”

His father nodded. “I understand. I think we all wish our past selves were better listeners. Or just better in general. But she knows you love her, Jeremy. And she loves you. You’re a good son.” Jeremy fidgeted uncomfortably, and muttered, “ Merci beaucoup, ‘pa.” The spy grunted, and patted his shoulder, clearly aware that this was about as much heartfelt conversation that either of them could probably handle at that point.

The Red spy cleared his throat, and shifted to French to say, “Your new friend. How is he?” The older man didn’t look across the room, but Jeremy did, automatically, to where Jonesy was tipping corn chips into a serving bowl with a bit of a thousand yard stare. The young man jumped as the Blu engineer patted his back in encouragement. Jeremy sighed, and answered in his father’s language, “Not as good. It’s… different for him.”

Jeremy found his eyes drifting across the room, where the Blu spy was rifling through a box of records with his back defensively to the rest of the room. “The Blu spy. He’s not… I don’t think he’s trying. Like, at all. It’s not that hard to try. Ass.” His father snorted, and said, “Well. It can be hard. And Jeremy. They are not us, remember. I don’t know everything about them. But that scout is older than you, and that spy is younger than me. Sometimes people do things in their youth, and it is not the right time to do them. Perhaps the Blu spy has not worked through things from the past that I have.”

“Hm.” Said Jeremy doubtfully. “Whatever. He needs to get over it. Jonesy needs someone to look out for him.” His father nodded, patient, and said, “Well, hopefully, the Blu spy can do that eventually. Until then, we shall all have to endeavor to look out for… Jonesy, in his stead, yes?” Yes, thought Jeremy.

At dinner, Jeremy sat beside the other scout, close to his side on the long bench. Dinner was chili, and it was pretty good, even if leftover elk was kind of weird for chili. The scouts were both sipping beer, which was unusual, but they had no Bonk without the special requisitions. Jeremy didn’t think either of them were too used to alcohol because they were only half a bottle in each and he could tell they were being weird already. Whispering to each other over dinner, legs pressed together from hip to knee, eyes drifting to the other’s mouth anytime they spoke.

Jeremy wanted to take the other young man somewhere alone, and make them both feel better, but it would be way too obvious to everyone else, and anyway, he wasn’t even fully sure Jonesy would want that. Instead he just made sure to laugh at all his stupid jokes, and offer him more chips, and keep their legs pressed hard together.

They weren’t the only ones drinking. In fact everyone was, a fair amount, except those who would be on watch that night. Well, the Blu Demo was drinking, even if he was on watch, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. It didn’t take long for things to get raucous and rowdy, dinner ending with laughs and hoots for some kind of drinking game to be picked up.

They couldn’t settle on what, but eventually, the Red Demo’s voice rang above the others, as he suggested, “Aye, I have it. We’ll play spot the difference. Learn a little more ‘boot each other. Compare ourselves and see how we measure up to our other halves, eh?” He nodded meaningfully at his Blu counterpart, but the other Demo just said, “No thanks. I’ve no need to learn more of you.” With that, he stood up from the table, and said, “I’m goin’ on watch now.”

With that, the grim faced Scot stalked out of the rec room. The Red Demo huffed, clearly confused, and said, “Aye, alright, I’ll just go fuck myself in that case then.” Jeremy noticed members of the Blu team looking at each other in concern. The Blu soldier, in particular, watched his Demo stalk out of the room with an intense look of confused worry. 

Clearing his throat, the Red Demo tried to reestablish the light hearted atmosphere. “Alright, some other pair then. Come on, everyone compare notes. You spot a difference, you drink.” He waved his hands encouragingly. “We’ll start easy. Names first.”

As it turned out, no one drank for that one. All the Red’s names matched their Blu counterpart. There were two Jeremy Joneses. Two Michael Mundys. Two Wolfgang Ludwigs (that was medic’s full name?!). Dissatisfied with this result, Demo pointed at Jeremy’s father, and asked, “Where you from?” The Red spy paused, in the middle of raising a glass of wine to his lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, answered, “Montpellier.” A grunt from the Demo, and he pointed at the Blu spy, who only said, “I am not playing this game.”

Demo threw his arms wide in exasperation, and said, “Jesus H Christ on a bicycle, how’d I get stuck with such a shower of boring cunts. Mick, put me oot of my misery, where are ya from?”

The Red sniper paused, checking his watch, and replied, “Alright, but I’m not drinking regardless, I’m on overwatch in twenty five minutes. I’m from Brisbane.” A look of relief on Demo’s face, and he pointed at the Blu sniper, who intoned, “Perth,” and took a drink. And with that they were off.

The first question had a lot of them drinking. The Heavy’s were from two different tiny, hard to pronounce towns in Russia that Jeremy had never heard of. The medics were both from Berlin but apparently it still counted as different places cos there was a big wall in the middle of the city? Eh, whatever, Jeremy wasn’t very good at geography. The soldiers, however, were both from Peoria in Illinois, and had somehow never come across each other back home despite being two of the loudest and most hard to ignore people in the whole state. 

When it came to the scouts, Jonesy had confidently said, “Eh we ain’t drinkin’ for this one, everyone knows the scouts is from Boston.” He was tipsy now, his accent slurring so that Jeremy thought maybe a couple of the non Americans might be struggling to catch every word. Absolutely delighted at the prospect of getting one up on the other man, Jeremy smirked wide and toothy, and said, “Ooh, wrong answer, bud. We ain’t both from Boston.” Jonesy pointed a finger at him accusatory and said, “Ah, not this again, man. Look, I said you could be the Jeremy, alright? So don’t be a dick and just accept I’m a pure blood Bostonian, alright?” Man, his blue eyes were even more crossed when he was drunk. It was… cute. Jeremy snorted with laughter, and replied, “Yeah I know man, I’m concedin’ defeat. You’re the Boston boy. I’m from Cambridge.”

Jonesy did a little double take then, and it was real funny and kinda cute too. “What?!” He squeaked, all outraged. “Are you kiddin’ me? Raggin’ on me, sayin’ oh I bet you ain’t from Boston and you’re from frickin’ Cambridge! Goddamn son of a goddamn snake!” But Jeremy just snickered and pressed Jonesy’s bottle of beer to the other scout’s lips as the mercs laughed around them. “You gotta drink now man. That’s the rules.”

Slowly the game devolved as everyone got drunker, bar the Blu Spy and Red Sniper, who left to take their watch shifts before too long. The pyros too weren’t drinking, but both seemed entertained by the shenanigans around them as everyone got rowdier and more giggly. Eventually, the record player came out, cutting off whatever acoustic ballad the Red Engie had been plucking out on the guitar while looking intensely at the Blu Engie. After a little argument about what to listen to, some old Rock n Roll was put on, to varied enthusiasm from the gathered men.

Jeremy and Jonesy had been over to one side, huddled on a lumpy sofa and talking about the Red Sox past season over their dwindling beers. They were interrupted, however, by the Blu soldier, stomping up to them with purpose. His warm clothes were off, as everyone was definitely overheating the little rec room, muggy with their body heat. Stripped of his work shirt, pilled up tank top greying, he had gestured at Jonesy with his mostly empty beer, and said, “Son, it is of utmost importance that you and I do the talent show act. The Reds do not believe I can dance, and in fact have inferred that I have two left feet and I intend, with your assistance, to prove them wrong.”

Jonesy reddened immediately, and sensing a story there, Jeremy said, “Talent show?” Jonesy just hissed, “Jane, man, really? You wanna do this now?” But the soldier answered Jeremy, loudly stating, “in last year’s Blu team talent show, Jeremy and I whisked victory from between the saxophone wielding fingers of our Aussie compatriot thanks to the flawless choreography we demonstrated. And I intend to win again. Come on, son, dance with me.” Jonesy buried his face in his hands and muttered, “Jeez Louise.”

“Heh heh heh, go on man, I wanna see you dance.” Jeremy hoped his tone was lost on the soldier, and it seemed to be, as the military man had already turned away and was stomping to the box of records. Jonesy peered out from behind his hands, face now red for maybe a different reason, and asked, “Yeah?” Jeremy just wiggled his eyebrows.

With a scoff, Jonesy pushed himself up off the sofa, clearly self conscious as he made his way over to where the soldier waited, having selected their music. The back of the scout’s neck and the tips of his ears were bright red. He took the soldier’s outstretched hand, and the big man announced, “So that nobody is confused, scout here is the girl.”

This earned raucous laughter and applause. The Blu sniper said, “Well we all knew that already, mate,” while the Red Demo crowed, “Oh that’ll be a novelty for you Jane, love, not bein’ the lassie for once.” Now both Jonesy and the soldier had gone red. As one, they looked at where the Blu medic was manning the record player with a bored expression, and said, “Hit it, doc.” The medic rolled his eyes and dropped the needle, tutting into his negroni.

Some kinda old rock n roll song, the sort Jeremy’s mom liked, began to play, huge brass notes kicking it off with some angelic male voice, began to blast. Immediately Jonesy and soldier were lighter on their feet than Jeremy could have imagined. Ok well, maybe he would have expected it from Jonesy, but he was a bit surprised to see the muscle bound soldier hopping around with barely an audible stomp from his steel toed boots.

Everyone began to whoop at the surprisingly tight choreography the men tapped out. The Blu soldier was indeed leading, but Jonesy didn’t look all that put out by it now. He was grinning broadly in fact, allowing himself to be precisely flung about at the end of the soldier’s long arm. Reet Petite, that was the song, Jeremy remembered as the chorus hit, and he clapped along with the others at some particularly well coordinated footwork.

Man, Jonesy looked good like that. Sure was a good dancer, and sure it kind of made Jeremy feel some kinda funny way seeing the scout with the soldier’s big hands around his waist or his narrow wrists. But really, it was how the young man was smiling that really got him. It was a pretty smile. And not in a girl way. Jonesy didn’t look like a girl at all, but he was still pretty.

Jeremy cleared his throat. As the song came to an end, the soldier full on threw Jonesy over his shoulder, turning and catching him neatly. Everyone clapped and cheered, and Jeremy tried to join in, but his brain was chugging along slowly, trying to make sense of feelings he didn’t really understand. He thought maybe it was one thing to think a guy was nice to look at in passing. Another to think it was good when that guy jerked him off. But thinking a dude was pretty and sweet in a non sexual, almost chaste kinda way? Woof. He didn’t even know where to begin with that. It was exactly the kinda thing Jeremy wished he could ask his mom about.

Looking a little out of breath, Jonesy came back to the sofa, after collecting another drink for himself and the Red scout. Wanting to appear normal and not flustered, Jeremy said, “You sure can dance, huh?” Jonesy grinned. “Eh. I dabble.” Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, Jeremy whispered, “Mmhmm, great, so you like being thrown around by a bigger guy, huh?”

To his credit, Jonesy managed to maintain his composure, just giving a startled little snort followed by a sheepish “heh heh heh.” He looked away, almost coy, and asked, “You implyin’ you’re bigger than me?” Jeremy shrugged, electing to roll with the topic. “I’m five ten. You’re what, five eight tops? You’re fuckin’ bite sized man.” Jonesy sneered at that, leaning in, to whisper in his ear, “So bite me, big guy.”

Oh boy. Jeremy was in trouble.

Before anything could come of the teasing, the two were swept up by the Red Demo and Blu sniper into a game of charades, which quickly devolved into a game of shout at each other and call everyone an idiot, which then further devolved into wrestling on the ground, and which culminated in oh the Red demo and Blu soldier are definitely grinding on the floor, ok everyone it’s time for bed.

Jeremy wasn’t sure how he made it to bed, but he was pretty sure it was thanks to Mikhail. The Red heavy slid him into his bed fully clothed, lifting the blanket that Jeremy had tacked up as a privacy curtain for the bottom bunk. 

He fell asleep, tipsy but not totally drunk, kinda warm and cosy and feeling good about the evening and the way Jonesy had looked at him. He didn’t think a lotta chicks had looked at him like that before. Not a lotta chick alluded to enjoying being thrown around neither. Jeremy breathed warmly into his pillows and let funny, tender prickles shake down his spine as his thoughts roamed and he fell asleep.

And then, quite all of a sudden, he was looking at Jonesy. He didn’t know how long he’d been out or what time it was, but there was the Blu scout, crouched by his bed. Jonesy had a look of such devilish mischief on his freckled face, that Jeremy knew there on the spot he was gonna agree to whatever the other young man had planned.

“Wuh?” He said. He was less drunk for sure, but maybe a little dehydrated. Jonesy put a finger to his lips, and grabbed Jeremy’s wrist, tugging gently to get the other scout to follow him. Jeremy did, no questions asked, and the two snuck past the sleeping heavy’s in their separate, non bunk beds, and out into the dim corridor.

As they snuck out of the sleeping quarters, Jeremy whispered, “What are we doin’ man? We gonna get in trouble?” Jonesy just smirked at him and said cryptically, “Why, you wanna get in trouble?” And damn, yeah, Jeremy kinda freakin’ did.

He was a little surprised when Jonesy led him through the factory, and stopped outside the door to the security room. He gave the Blu scout a questioning look as they slipped inside, closing the door behind them. “You ain’t gonna try call Miss Pauling to negotiate are ya?” Jeremy asked, and Jonesy snorted. “Nah, ain’t no way I’d win that one. No, I was just thinkin’ about what we were sayin’ earlier. About someone always watchin’. Thought we could see what everyone else does when they’re “alone”. Heh.” Jonesy trotted over to the huge wall of monitors, all displaying grainy scenes from around the factory.

“Wow, man,” Jeremy said, “That’s a little pervy no? What if someone has their dick out.” Jonesy shrugged. “Cameras ain’t hidden. Folks can cover ‘em if they want. We all know there’s always someone watchin’.” Which, yeah, he wasn’t wrong. Still. It felt a bit forbidden, the thought of spying on their teammates. Jeremy had a fleeting thought that their respective fathers would be oddly proud.

He came up to stand next to Jonesy. The bank of monitors was enormous, it was almost impossible to focus on any single one. Instead, Jonesy pressed a button, and brought up a camera feed on the big central screen Miss P had been on earlier. From there, he began to flick through the cameras, one at a time.

The first one they settled on happened to be their own room. Jeremy realised the camera had some kind of fancy night vision, as the room was cast in a greenish colour, and the shapes of the snoring Heavy’s were evident despite the low light. He also realised how damning the positioning of the camera was. If anyone had been watching through it when he and Jonesy had been… at it, they would have had a very clear look between his legs. Watching him getting jerked off, watching him kiss the other man and come so hard from it. Jeremy swallowed, mouth a little dry, and felt Jonesy fidget next to him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being watched like that. Jonesy flicked to change cameras.

A lot of the others were asleep. Both Pyros, the Blu Sniper, the Medics, huddled in their curtained off nooks on opposite sides of the infirmary. It was kind of odd, seeing all these dangerous people passed out and vulnerable. Jeremy had never seen his medic without his glasses on before, nevermind spread eagle on his bed and fast asleep. They both snorted when the camera flicked to the spies' shared room. The camera was blocked with a hand written sign, pinned a distance from the lens so as to be legible. It read “office hours between eight and eight” and was signed by both the spies, the same name but in different handwriting. Pretty predictable for Jeremy’s father, but he was a little surprised to see that the Blu spy had a sense of humour too. Then Jonesy flicked to the room that the soldiers shared with the Red Demo, and they realised not everyone was asleep.

“Whoa.” Deadpanned both the scouts.

The night vision was unnecessary in this room, as the harsh overhead halogen was on, and everything was easily visible. Very, very clearly so. From the corner that the camera was in, the three beds in the room were clearly visible (what the hell, were the scouts the only ones with a bunk bed?). On one bed, the Blu soldier was on his hands and knees. It was a little difficult to determine that it was definitely the Blu soldier, because he was completely naked, stripped of all his clothes, including his helmet, and looked sweaty and out of breath. There were, however two very important details that made his identity sure.

The first was that directly behind him, was the Red Demo, also naked and out of breath. And the other was that two beds down, sat the Red soldier, fully dressed and paying no attention to the two men, engrossed as he was in an old magazine about home keeping.

“Holy shit.” Breathed Jonesy, leaning closer to the screen. Jeremy too, was kind of finding it hard to look away. The two men on the bed were fucking, there was no denying it. There was no sound over the footage, but it looked like they were having a pretty good time. Demo wasn’t even grabbing soldier’s dick or nothing, but the military man seemed to be writhing and huffing in pleasure regardless.

“Should we…” Jeremy glanced nervously at Jonesy, seeing an intense look on the other man’s face, “… be watching this?” Jonesy shrugged, and replied, “He is.” He pointed at the Red soldier, sitting on his bed. Technically he wasn’t watching at all, but Jeremy understood the other scout’s point. His eyes went back to the two men having sex, and he swallowed with difficulty. He was feeling very strange. Kind of like a creep, but then it wasn’t like Demo and Soldier were unaware of the cameras. Kind of in awe because he’d never seen anything like this before and it was a little eye opening to say the least. And yeah, it was kind of making him horny. Standing there watching quietly, and so, so aware of Jonesy next to him, standing close enough that they could each feel the heat coming off the other.

“We should. Stop watching?” A suggestion but also like, he wasn’t sure? Should they stop? What might happen if they kept watching? Jonesy looked at him, eyes round, and said, “Uh. Yeah.” He clicked away.

Jeremy looked back to the screen, and for a second, he was taken aback. It was a shot of a corridor, which wasn’t all that weird, there were lots of cameras in the corridors. What was weird about this was that he recognised the corridor. It was the one that he’d stopped in the other day, after running away from his big gay handjob smooch ordeal. The one that he’d seen the unidentified person hurry down. He frowned for a second, confused as to why there was a camera in a totally disused corridor, and why it was the one he’d watched someone vanish from. Then Jonesy clicked to the next camera and he totally forgot to have the first moment of critical thinking in his life.

The next camera was positioned in a corner of the basement workshop, high up near the ceiling. It was an absolute mess of half tinkered projects and scattered blueprints in there, which wasn’t surprising, considering it housed both the engineers. There was an empty area cleared in it right now however, near the middle of the shop. A space heater was there, glowing low and orange. In front of it, a selection of blankets and cushions had been dragged, like someone was gonna have a picnic or something. There was no picnic though.

Jeremy felt himself choke on his spit a little. He had been surprised, but maybe not really that surprised to see the Demo hammering away at the Soldier. He was however, exceedingly dumbfounded to see both the engineers pressed together on the blankets, not a scrap of clothing between them bar the Blu’s glasses. “Huhwha?” Jonesy said, eloquently. He was obviously just as taken aback.

The Blu Engie was in the Red’s lap, rocking slowly. His hands were on the other man’s face, and their faces were so close together. Way too close together for any kinda plausible deniability in the “blowing off steam” department. This shit looked romantic, like a cover of one of those pulpy romance novels young Jeremy had once been horrified to find on his mom’s nightstand. Except obviously, those books had been about a dude and a chick, and the engies were both men.

As the two scouts watched in stunned silence, the Red engineer leaned in and kissed the Blu’s throat, so so softly. The Blu arched his back, a dreamy little smile on his face, and Jeremy understood all at once that this, this was private, and they shouldn’t be watching. “Change it.” He said, and Jonesy said, “Yep,” and flicked to the next camera, in the empty showers.

They were very quiet, and still, and not looking at each other. Jeremy felt like his whole brain had been blown wide open, and he wondered if Jonesy felt the same. He had a though then, and asked the Blu scout, “Did you know they’d all be havin’ sex?” But Jonesy shook his head, and his mildly shell shocked look made Jeremy believe him. Swallowing, Jeremy asked, “Is everyone here frickin’ bent or what?” To which Jonesy immediately broke down in fits of laughter, and Jeremy joined him, even if neither of them quite knew what they were laughing at. They laughed til tears streamed down their cheeks, and they were leaning on each other heavily, abs hurting from the giggling.

As their mirth died down, Jonesy slowly turned towards Jeremy, and smoothed his hands over the taller scout’s shoulders, not meeting his eye. While he was looking down, Jeremy could see the other scout had real long eyelashes, though they were hard to see a good deal of the time, the same light mousy brown as his hair. He was blushing again, and Jeremy thought of strawberry ice cream with chocolate chips, what with how all those billions of trillions of freckles dotted themselves all over the shorter man’s pink face.

“Jeremy.” God that soft voice. Jonesy’s hands were still on his shoulders. “Yeah?” Jeremy was surprised how husky his own voice came out. “Put your hands on me,” Jonesy breathed. With fucking pleasure. Jeremy brought his hands to the other man’s waist, holding him just below his ribs, where he was so narrow and liftable. Jonesy leaned towards him, pressing his forehead against Jeremy’s sternum. “I wanna do things…”

Jonesy seemed to run out of courage before he elaborated, so Jeremy squeezed him a little, and encouraged him with another, “Yeah?” He wanted to hear Jonesy say what he wanted. He wanted to know. Instead of answering, Jonesy put out a hesitant hand, and clicked through the cameras again, back to the scene of Demo and Soldier happily and enthusiastically hammering away at each other. They were still at it, though now Soldier was on his back, and Demo was on top of him, and the Red Soldier was having a little bit of a harder time of ignoring them. 

Jonesy pointed idly at the screen, still not looking at Jeremy. “I wanna… do those kind of things.”

“Oh!” Jeremy squeaked. He looked to the screen. “You- you want- you want- in?” Now he was red, and Jonesy was very red too and the Blu scout stammered, “In?! I-uh-no. I mean. Not no. Yes. But not what I was asking.” He swallowed, clearly nervous, and more than a little flustered. Eventually the Blu scout managed to ask, “Can I kiss you again?”

Ok, that was a whole lot more manageable. Jeremy smiled, “Yeah, you bet.” He began to lean in a little, but Jonesy stopped him with a smirk and teased, “You ain’t gonna come on the spot again, are ya?” Jeremy thumped him on the arm and hissed, “Asshole. I was real pent up. Hadn’t jerked it in a week. Hadn’t been kissed in…” he tailed off. In a long time. He faltered a little. 

Jonesy didn’t mock, just leaned a little closer, and quietly asked, “Don't get paid much special attention, huh?” Jeremy swallowed. It was clear that both of them knew how famed scouts were for simply demanding their existence be acknowledged. Jonesy smiled up at him, and said, “I’ll pay attention to you.”

The Blu scout leaned in then, and kissed Jeremy’s throat, like the Red Engie had done to the Blu. Jeremy wondered if that’s where Jonesy had got the idea, but then the other man was nipping at him, sucking soft skin into his mouth, and Jeremy wasn’t thinking about much at all anymore.

When Jonesy kissed his mouth this time, he thankfully didn’t spontaneously orgasm. He did still make a surprised sound though, despite knowing it was going to happen. Mostly he made the surprised noise, because jeez, Jonesy was fucking hungry. 

He pressed right up against Jeremy, pulling him in close. The room was completely silent, and empty, save for the two kissing in front of the screen still displaying their teammates having sex. When Jonesy pulled Jeremy against him, they could feel how badly they wanted each other, how in fact, they were both hungry. Starving. 

“Wanna do somethin’ for you.” The Blu scout muttered, almost sheepish. Jeremy could have teased, but he didn’t want to spoil whatever was happening, so he just nodded. Jonesy took him by the hips and guided him backwards, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the room’s cushy office chair. Jeremy sat down on it, and Jonesy went down too, fluidly kneeling on the floor.

Jeremy was struck kinda dumb until the other man raised his hands to begin working at his belt. “Whoa, man,” Jeremy caught Jonesy’s wrists. “Are you- are you sure?” Jonesy fidgeted. “Well yeah. You’ve been so nice to me. And you let me… well, grind one out on your bare ass.”

Jeremy blinked. He attempted to get past that statement as he tried to recall all the important conversations he’d had with Engie about intimacy and how it wasn’t transactional. He petted at Jonesy’s hand, and tried to sound earnest despite how clearly turned on he was. “You don’t gotta. You don’t like, owe me anything man. I don’t want you to do anything unless you want to.”

“Oh,” Jonesy looked a little less nervous, “Well, yeah man, I want to.” He sounded sure, and Jeremy was close to losing his nerve, so he let go of Jonesy’s hands, and let him continue.

They were very quiet, just the sound of heavy breathing, and the clink of his belt. It felt like it took forever for Jonesy to open Jeremy’s pants, the Blu scout regularly glancing up through his eyelashes to check he was still doing ok. Jeremy reached down to touch his hair, and then lifted his hips so his pants could be slid down his thighs.

Slowly and deliberately, Jonesy lowered his head, pushing Jeremy’s legs apart. Not breaking eye contact, he latched his mouth to the soft, pale meat of the Red scout’s inner thigh, and set about sucking a bruise there. Jeremy swallowed, well aware that between them, his arousal was making itself very known, twitching and jumping at the feeling of the Blu scout forcefully drawing blood to the surface of his skin in a vicious hickey. Eventually, Jonesy sat back to inspect his work. A bright red-purple bruise, angry and vibrant against milky skin, which was going to be very hard to hide in the communal showers. Jonesy grinned, pleased. Then he focussed his gaze on the other thing he intended to get his mouth on.

Jeremy went to speak, but just a rasp came out, so he cleared his throat, and said, “What- where- um, when I finish…” Jonesy gnawed his lip thoughtfully, and said, “In my mouth is fine. I know it feels good.” He huffed a laugh, and continued, “But don’t get offended if I spit it out after.” Jeremy laughed then too, a little breathless, and said, “I dont think offended is somethin’ I’ve ever felt gettin’ a blowjob.”

They both paused a moment, looking at each other, and then Jonesy leaned up as Jeremy leaned down, and they met in a soft kiss, gentle. Jonesy pulled away, and gently pushed Jeremy back into his chair. His hands trailed down Jeremy’s front, and hooked into the waistband of his underwear. With a crooked little smile, Jonesy pulled them down.

Jeremy’s breath felt so loud in his ears as he watched Jonesy take him in hand. He knew he was trembling, gripping the arms of the chair tight. Jonesy leaned in towards him, lips parted, and looked up through his lashes again. “Relax,” he whispered, and took Jeremy into his mouth.

“Oh.” Jeremy’s head tipped back, immediately lost in the feel of the other man’s hot mouth on him. His heart was racing immediately, his skin burning hot. “Oh man, fuck.” He moaned low and long, and it made Jonesy hum around him, pleased. Tentatively, Jeremy put his hand on the other man’s head, not pushing, just resting and running fingers through his hair. Jonesy looked up at him, blue eyes hazy and sweet, soft and cute over the obscene sight of Jeremy vanishing in and out of his mouth. “Oh man, that feels so good,” Jeremy breathed, noting how Jonesy flushed happily at the praise. He kept talking, “So fuckin’ hot. You look so good like this. So fuckin’ sexy.” Jonesy’s eyes fluttered, and he groaned around his mouthful. He redoubled his efforts, doing his best to push lower, swallow more. Jeremy made a little strangled noise as stars exploded in his peripheral vision. It did feel good, so fucking good.

Jeremy blinked back to himself, and became aware of a wet, sliding sound, and the rustle of fabric. Looking down, Jeremy saw that Jonesy’s right arm was working rhythmically, at an impressively coordinated and different pace than his mouth. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed. Jeremy sat up a little, and said, “Fuck, are you touching yourself? Let me see.”

Jonesy’s eyes opened again, gaze heated. He shifted a little, parting his legs, as Jeremy sat further forward to watch how the other man worked his hand up and down the length of himself. It was hot, real hot, and Jeremy couldn’t help his hips moving a little, making the office chair creak a little. “God that’s so hot, babe,” Jeremy murmured, “You wet for me?”

He immediately mentally kicked himself for saying that. That was what you said to a girl, and he didn’t want to make Jonesy feel bad for not being a girl. But to his surprise, the other man whimpered, and let go of himself. Jonesy raised his hand, showing his palm and fingers slick with precum. He was wet for him. Jeremy couldn’t get a single word out to express how that made him feel. Instead, he grabbed Jonesy’s hand, and brought it to his mouth, licking up the palm of his hand and all up his fingers.

Jonesy squeaked in surprise, but it quickly turned into a more desperate noise, and he turned his hand in Jeremy’s grasp, and pushed his two first fingers into the Red scout’s mouth. Jeremy hungrily swallowed around the digits, pushing them down his own throat even as he began to roll his hips up into the other man’s mouth.

It was hot in the room now, and they maybe weren’t so quiet as they should have been. Jonesy wasn’t even touching himself now, but he was still sending vibrating moans of pleasure straight through Jeremy’s dick. He was gonna come, and soon, and he tried to communicate it around the fingers in his mouth. Panting and high voiced, he whimpered his pleasure, as Jonesy pressed close to him, shivering with anticipation for his release.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be fucking joking.”

Both scouts choked for very different reasons at the sound of the weary voice that belonged to neither of them. Jonesy sprang backwards, landing on his ass, and Jeremy doubled over, shuddering from his abruptly denied orgasm. In the doorway to the security room, which they hadn’t heard open, was the Blu Demoman. He was looking decidedly unimpressed, and merely watched with a flat expression as the two scouts hurried to tuck themselves away and floundered to explain.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Jonesy barked, voice raw and wet from so recently having had a dick in his mouth. “We can explain,” Jeremy said at the same time, having to double over with his hands on his knees, still a little loopy from having almost-come-but-not-quite. The Demo just stared them down with that one dark eye, arms crossed over his wiry chest. It was hopeless. The scouts glanced at each other and then Jonesy wheedled, “Please Tav, please don’t tell anyone.” The Demo raised an eyebrow at that, and said, “You wanted this to be secret, so you elected to suck your boyo off in the one room that someone would definitely come into, eh? You scouts aren’t that bloody clever, are ye?”

Jonesy was starting to look upset, so Jeremy stepped in front of him a little, and said, “Look we got carried away, alright? You don’t gotta tell no one, we won’t do it again.” The Demo shook his head, mostly to himself, “Carried away…? Look, I won’t tell nobody. But you laddies need to be a bit more sensible with yer carry on. Shagging in the bloody security room. Can’t do it in a toilet cubicle like normal…”

He tailed off then, and Jeremy realised he wasn’t looking at them anymore, he was looking past them. Jeremy glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the screen behind him still clearly showed the Blu soldier getting absolutely pounded into his mattress by the Red Demo. “Uh…” we’ll he definitely didn’t know how to excuse that. 

But Demo didn’t seem to care what the scouts were doing anymore. With an angry huff, he strode past them, and punched the button to turn the screen off. Then he stood, head bowed a little. Behind him, Jeremy and Jonesy shared a confused look. The Demo swallowed thickly. Like he was… upset? Jonesy cocked his head to one side, and reached out a hand. “Tav?” He began.

And then the shrieking of a klaxon rang through the factory, emergency lights flashing red. A modulated voice blared over the speakers, sure to wake any of the sleeping mercs.

“ENEMIES SPOTTED AT TOWN PERIMETER. ALL PERSONNEL TO BATTLE STATIONS. ATTACK IMMINENT.”

Chapter Text

It was cold. Not that that was particularly surprising. René had been keeping an eye on the weather, as they had no way of knowing when a blizzard would be coming. He had spoken with both the heavies, who were accustomed to this kind of weather, and they had all had a long look at the sky before the night came in. They didn’t think it would snow, they decided. But really, who knew? Who knew what was going to happen at all?

René felt decidedly weighed down within himself. He played back the moment in the security room earlier, when he had tried to calm his son, and get him to not shout at poor Miss Pauling, who was only delivering a message. He’d gone about it wrong, again, like he always did, and Jeremy (or Jonesy rather, as it seemed he was currently calling himself) had fled the room in tears. René hated that. He remembered well the absolute agony of being made to cry. Of crying because of his father. He didn’t want that for his son. He didn’t know how to do things differently.

He sighed. He was sick of patrolling these icy corridors. Sick of being alone with his thoughts. His options for company were slim however. There were two other people awake on watch right now, and he didn’t think either would make good company.

Tavish had been grim faced and sour since they arrived, his dislike for his Red counterpart only getting more obvious by the day. He had spent a lot of the time since arriving hidden away in the closet that served as his room, and drinking what smelled to René like rubbing alcohol. Not a man to seek out when you were not feeling your best.

His other option was the Red sniper, somewhere up on the lethal, icy roof, with a big gun, and a very reasonable and healthy dislike of René. Among the teams, some of the mercs had more fraught pasts than the others. René, for his part, had not spent a whole lot of time being in proximity of the Red pyro, as it still unnerved him to see the glint of their eyes beneath their deep hood, and remember all the times he had burned to death at their hands.

Likewise, René knew well the number of times he and the Red sniper had tussled, the vicious fights in cramped, smoky hides, which often ended with the sniper clawing useless at the balisong sticking out of his throat. His wary dislike of René was understandable. However, it was something the spy thought he could change. The sniper was not an unreasonable or unintelligent man, and they were both on the same team now. Perhaps he just needed a little buttering up.

René stopped by the kitchen. There he threw out the overbrewed remains of the tar like coffee that sat in the perpetually turned on drip machine. Ah, just like home in the Blu base. If there was one thing about the life they led that could be comforting, it was the knowledge that there was always someone awake to watch your back. Not that it comforted him, little did, but he was sure a less paranoid man than himself would find it reassuring.

René brewed a new pot of coffee, and dug in the recently stocked cupboards for a thermos. He paused when he realised he didn’t know how the sniper took his coffee. In the end, he collected some powdered milk in a tiny Tupperware, and a couple of single serve sachets of the honey that the soldiers hadn’t managed to pilfer yet. Then he pocketed two granola bars, and did the trick at the cigarette machine where if you plugged it out and then in again, it gave you a free box of cigarettes before the whole thing rebooted properly and demanded money off you.

With his bribes in hand, René went and layered himself in his thick, outdoor clothing. It was truly awful outside, and it pained him how desperate for distraction he was, that he was willing to brave it just to try and coax someone who didn’t like him into friendly conversation. He hoped his motives weren’t too glaringly obvious, but was willing to swallow his pride this once.

He made his way up many flights of crumbling, concrete stairs until he reached the roof access door. There he paused, wondering if this was stupid. Yes, undoubtedly, creeping up on a well armed and very skilled man who was twitchy and wary at the best of times. And the respawn machine wasn’t even on yet. Tch. René was being foolish.

When he opened the door, he made sure to do so loudly, which wasn’t hard, as the hinges screamed in protest at being used at all. René braced himself for icy winds and storm as he stepped outside, but there were none. True, it was freezing, but the night was still and quiet, the blanket of stars vibrant and glorious overhead. He took a moment to study them, breath clouding in front of him, before looking for signs of the sniper in the dark.

There, at the front of the factory, central to the building. A little tent like shelter, and in front of it, a hunched shape. The cherry red glow of a cigarette was just about visible.

René set about picking his way across the roof, well aware that sections of the flat, tarred surface were long rotten. He made no attempt to be quiet, and as he came up near to the hide, he said, quiet but not too quiet, “Bushman? It is me, Spy. Blu spy. Have you frozen to death?”

The sniper didn’t move, but he did say, “Figured it was you. Didn’t suppose anyone else would be that loud on purpose. Worried about a blade in the guts?” René considered lying, but thought the truth would get him further. “Frankly, yes. Old habits and all that. I have brought you coffee. It is cold up here.” The sniper said nothing, but he shuffled to one side, allowing space in the entrance of his hide for René to sit. Surprising, maybe. Or perhaps the Australian was also looking for distraction.

René sat down, on what he realised was some kind of thick, foam padding, insulation against the cold of the roof. He could see Sniper a little now, as there was a small camping lantern at the back of the tent, on its lowest setting, and it cast them in a dim, yellow glow. The man was shivering.

René harrumphed, and filled an enamel cup with coffee, fogging the tent with steam. The sniper shifted, lowering the gun he’d idly been scoped through, and accepted the cup. His hands were gloved, but not adequately, as he still presumably needed to be dexterous enough that thick mittens were out of the question. He held the cup for the heat of it for a long minute, before sipping it black. “What did you come up here for, spook?”

He sounded almost a little suspicious. René didn’t want to start off on an aggressive foot right out of the gate, and so he tried to start with a neutral topic, saying, “The night sky this far north is quite magnificent wouldn’t you say?” Without missing a beat, the sniper said in a wry tone, “Ah, I see, you came to flirt. Must be very bored, eh?”

René spluttered at that, and eventually said, “I take offense to that. I do not flirt simply because I am bored. And I’m not flirting now.” Sniper just raised his eyebrows at that, and said, “Well there’s a difference between you and our spy, you’ll have to drink now.” René snorted, rolling his eyes, and said, “I shall add it to the ever growing list of differences.” 

Sniper surveyed him for a few moments then, and asked, “He’s taken his mask off. Why haven’t you?” It was an annoyingly fair question. The Red spy had indeed taken his mask off, revealing a face somewhat dissimilar from Rene’s own, enough that his mask was still of use anyway. His hair was different, fully grey compared to Rene’s salt and pepper, and longer in a slightly wild and wiry way. The Red scout definitely favoured his father, unlike Rene’s own son, who took after his mother.

“It is cold.” René said, and omitted and I do not feel safe. Sniper somehow seemed to hear the words he didn’t say regardless, as he decided to change the subject, albeit not very subtly. Looking out over the starlit, snowy landscape, he said, “What do you make of this job then? Bit of a barmy bloody shake up in my opinion.”

René snorted, lighting a cigarette, and said, “Now that is an understatement. I do not pretend to understand whatever mildly deranged thought process goes through Saxton Hale’s mind, but this seems extreme, even for him.” He hadn’t actually voiced this opinion yet, though it was true. He personally had a feeling this was all a fuss over nothing and they would be back to shooting at each other in the desert before the month was out.

The Sniper grunted, and replied, “Yeh. Not much a fan of being shuffled around like a chess piece, I gotta say. I'm sure you Blu’s are all lovely blokes, on the up and up, but this whole situation has my teeth on edge. It was much easier when I was killing you.”

René pretended to examine and adjust his gloves, and replied, “Mmm, well, as I’m sure you will remember it was usually the other way around.” He wasn’t sure the gentle ribbing would win him the sniper’s favour, but the other Reds seemed fond of, as the Demo put it “taking the piss” out of each other. It was a calculated risk. Indeed, the sniper gave one of his low, gravelly, smoker’s laughs, and replied, “Careful now, mate. Plenty of time for a little friendly fire while we’re out here.” René tittered, tapping ash onto the roof, and said, “You would have to get me in your sights first.”

The sniper gave a hmf of agreement, peering briefly back through his scope at the barren land around them. Then he sat back again, and looked at René. “What do you think of this whole robot lark? Think we’re actually fighting them or-“

His sentence was cut off by a loud zing, and as René watched, those orange tinted glasses, worn even in the dark, exploded.

The sniper screamed (which was a good sign, it meant he was not yet dead) and fell back, clutching his face. René ducked low, below the lip of the roof, to prevent himself from being shot as well. As he scrabbled to the other man, he heard klaxons begin to ring out within the factory, a voice on the loudspeakers booming throughout the facility.

“ENEMIES SPOTTED AT TOWN PERIMETER. ALL PERSONNEL TO BATTLE STATIONS. ATTACK IMMINENT.”

Well, little good that did the two on the roof, René thought bitterly, as he leaned down over the sniper and tried to figure out if he was about to die. The Australian had his hands over his face, and was making strained growling noises. There was a lot of blood, but not enough light to see how bad the injuries were. Still, it would be better if the sniper did not die, as he would be spending a long night in limbo before the engineers got respawn up and running.

“Are you dying?” René asked bluntly, voice loud over the other man’s pained sounds. It was a reasonable question. They were very familiar with the sensation of death by now. After a couple of difficult breaths, the sniper rasped, “No. Bastards. Bastards!” René patted his shoulder, satisfied that the gunman’s rage was proof he was not on death's door. “Alright. Come. We are not safe.”

The sniper allowed René to pull his arm over his shoulder. The spy pulled them both into a crouch, and as an afterthought, grabbed the heavy sniper rifle the other man had dropped. Keeping low, they scrambled across the dark roof, bullets pinging across the tarred surface around them. René shouldered the roof access door open, and shoved the sniper inside, following him, and slamming the door closed. 

The Australian slumped against the wall, cursing colourfully. With a pained growl, he said, “Did you see ‘em?” René shook his head, remembered the other man couldn’t see him with his hands over his face, and said, “I did not. Let me see your wounds.” The sniper hesitated, but dropped his hands.

The bullet had been shot from a lower angle, clipping the bridge of his nose, and then his brow bone. There was a dreadful amount of blood, and René could see the glint of bone, but the man would not die. “You will be fine. The doctors will heal this easily. Come.”

René swung the heavy sniper rifle over his shoulder, and regained his grip on the other man, blinded as he was by his own blood. They began to hurry down the stairs, klaxons still screaming. “Worst bloody headshot I’ve ever seen,” the sniper muttered tightly. “Botched. And they broke my fucking glasses.” René let him complain, as he could tell the other man had been frightened by his sudden injury.

As they reached the main floor, they were passed by both the heavies, running for the front doors, and quickly followed by the pyros. The Red Pyro faltered at the sight of the bleeding sniper, and René raised a hand, and said, “It’s alright, he’ll be alright, I will bring him to the medics.” The firebug looked as though they wanted to stay, but an unseeing sniper said, “Go, Py, I’m fine.” The pyro grunted in displeasure, but got moving.

René brought the sniper further down the corridor, passing the engineers as they jogged up from the basement with their toolboxes on their shoulders. Further along, they ran into the Blu Demo and both scouts coming out of the armoury. The scouts’ eyes widened in tandem at the sight of René holding up the other man.

“Wuh- spy?” Jonesy said, the usual sting of him not calling René his father dulled only slightly by the dire situation. “He is fine,” the spy heard himself saying again. “You need to all be careful. Respawn is not up, do not forget, keep your heads down.” Ostensibly he was speaking to all of them, but he looked at his son, trying to put some kind of care into his expression. Jonesy only inclined his head once, and then hurried after the other two, clapping the Red scout on the back as he went.

As René and the sniper approached the infirmary, the panicked sounds of bird wings and cooing could be heard over the klaxons. As they burst through the doors, it was to a flurry of doves fluttering all over the place. René absently noted they were all white doves, as the little creamy grey ones the Blu medic kept were all locked away, though equally unsettled.

The two doctors were stood in the middle of the infirmary, for once not actively at each others throats. Only the Blu was in full uniform, the Red medic currently pulling the charge pack of his Medigun on over a maroon toweling bathrobe and pyjamas. Wordlessly, the Blu doctor stepped in to pull the Medigun’s straps tight across the other doctor’s chest, looking up at the two other men as he did so.

“Ach. René! What has happened?” The spy led the sniper to the closest examining table, and allowed him to sit himself on it. “Botched headshot.” The spy said, lying the rifle beside sniper on the table. The Blu medic hissed through his teeth. He yanked on the harness of the Red’s gear hard enough to pull the Doctor forward a step. The Red medic cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing, just going to pull his boots on as the Blu trotted over.

“A mess,” the doctor muttered to himself after pulling the sniper’s hands away from his face. “Thanks doc,” the Australian said dryly, “That really eases my bloody nerves.” The medic rolled his eyes, and said, “Well obviously I can fix it.” He looked at René, and the approaching Red medic, and said, “Go, both of you. I will deal with this and we will catch up. You need to be out there. You are the ones in charge after all.” The bitterness in his voice was not missed, and made the Red medic smirk. “As you say, pigeon. Come Spy, let us get this over with.” René spared the injured sniper, and his own medic one more glance, and then hurried after the other man. Out in the corridor, the big, Red Doctor, gave a wide grin, and said nonchalantly, “Goodness, that little grey bird really resents me, does he not. It’s delightful.” René really didn’t know what to say to that.

As they got closer to the front of the factory, the sound of gunfire and shouting became audible. The medic hefted his medigun in his currently ungloved hands as the Red engineer crashed back through the front doors, clutching a badly bleeding gunshot wound to his thigh. He looked up at the two approaching men, and said, a little weakly, “Well they weren’t damn well jokin’, it’s definitely robots.” The medic grunted, teeth bared in a grimace, and leveled his medigun at the bleeding man. “Go,” he barked at René, but the spy was already going, cloaking with a whoosh and slipping out of the closing front door.

Outside it was dark and confusing, the spotlights on the front of the factory only illuminating about twenty feet in front of the building. Off in the dark of the front parking lot, René could hear shouting, and see bursts of muzzle flash and gunfire. The soldiers were out there for sure, as were the heavies, and others.There was also an odd number of whirring and metallic sounds, and strange voices in the dark.

To his left, near the railing, he saw the Blu sniper and engineer huddled down behind a barrel. They were taking fire from a distant, unseen assailant, and René realised immediately that whoever was attacking them also had someone with sniping capabilities. To his right a little, he saw Jonesy, huddled behind the sputtering remains of a Red dispenser. He was bleeding from a graze to his bicep. René felt his heart stutter at the sight.

The spy pulled out his Ambassador, and ducked towards his son, uncloaking as he crouched beside him.

“Are you alright?” He said to his son, and Jonesy nodded, and said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just a scrape. We’re pinned down here. They have a frickin’ sniper too.” As if to punctuate this, a couple of bullets pinged across the concrete, knocking Dell’s hardhat off after he dared to peep up. 

“I can see that. Keep your head down.” René pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to his son. Jonesy pressed it to his wound uncertainly. René peered into the dark, trying to make anything out beyond the small ring of light, but it was impossible. He could cloak again, and get closer, but he was reluctant to leave Jonesy, particularly when the boy was injured.

Behind him, he heard the sound of the main doors again, and then the steady plinking of bullets against the building. The Red medic cursed, and ducked back inside, shouting out, “Herr Spy, what is going on?” René glanced back over his shoulder, and replied, “They have a sniper. We are trapped until someone deals with them.” A pause while the medic considered this, and then he barked, “Where is your sniper?”

René glanced to his right, where Mick was ducking down with Dell. They made eye contact, and René called back to the doctor, “He is here too. He can’t get a clear shot.” More cursing from inside the factory, and then the medic shouted, “Can you all cover me so I can reach herr sniper. I may be able to get us out of this.”

There were a few brief looks exchanged among the trapped men, who all gave nods of agreement. “On my order,” René called, raising the Ambassador. “Fire!”

They lot off a volley of shots into the dark, and the Red medic flowed from the factory like an ermine, darting for where the sniper was hiding. The Red engineer, healed now, followed him out, hurrying to the dispenser where René and his son crouched. “Evenin’ gents,” he said, “Let me help you out there.” He set about repairing the damaged dispenser, and all the while, Jonesy was giving him the most bizarre look.

René looked back to the Red doctor, seeing him crouched near Mick, twisting dials and checking gauges on his Medigun. “Alright my good man,” the medic was saying to the sniper, “Time for us to do our jobs. I will rev the engine, and you step on the gas, so to speak, yes?”

The Blu sniper looked uncertain, and asked, “What do ya mean, doc?” The Red medic glanced at him briefly, and said, “I am going to Ubercharge you.” There was a brief silence then, punctuated by the sounds of fighting from the dark. Then Mick asked, “Will that work? I’m not a Red…” The Red medic shrugged, and said, “I have no idea, but I believe it may be our only option, hm? We need that sniper down.” Mick looked down at the ground for a moment, then said, “Alright. I trust you.” The medic grinned, too wide. René shared a brief, apprehensive glance with the Red engineer. This seemed like the kind of thing that could go badly wrong.

The medic and the sniper shifted to a crouch in unison, Red behind Blu. The sniper loaded and lifted his gun, and took a few deep breaths to steel his nerves. “Alright doc, hit it.” The medic raised the medigun and roared, “Brace yourself, mein freund! ” 

René and the others could only stare, wide eyed, as the two men stood up as one, and the Red medic delicately flicked the switch for his Ubercharge. A familiar red beam of light erupted from the Medigun, blindingly bright in the dark. The beam struck Mick in between the shoulder blades, and he was knocked forward a step with a cry. It was an odd sound, not one of pain, lower, surprised, from his core. It took René by surprise, and he watched as the man was enveloped in the red glow, chest heaving, back arching, brought up onto his toes by the force of it. As quickly as the red light enveloped the sniper, it warbled like a mirage, and lightning streaks of blue shot through it. Abruptly, as Mick raised his gun, the light strobed, once, twice, and turned a blinding, bright violet.

Over it all, the sound of Mick’s voice, a pained, urgent panting, underpinned with a high whine. René could see, through the purple light, how the sniper was pumping sweat, all the muscles in his body tense and twitching, his chest bucking even as he held his gun steady in his grasp. The keening of his voice was at odds with his professional pose, and as bullets from their assailant thudded around him, he brought his scope to his eye, and fired one, precise shot. In the distance, there was a clang and a thump, and the gunfire around them ceased.

Mick was still glowing however, and his gun fell to the ground as he tipped his head back, gripping at his clothes like they were burning him, and gave a long low moan, like the baying of a single, lonely wolf. René physically recoiled a little, taken aback, and beside him, he heard Jonesy mutter, “What the fuck?” And then suddenly, the Ubercharge ended, and the light vanished. Mick went quiet, and his legs crumpled beneath him. He tipped back, being neatly caught by the Red medic behind him. Gently, the doctor lowered the sniper to the ground, muttering, “Good job. Well done. You’re alright now, dear man.”

There was a moment’s quiet, as everyone realised they were safe, and then Jonesy asked, “Did Snipes just… cream his jeans and die of a heart attack?” René suppressed a snort, as while it was a rather crass observation, it did seem somewhat accurate. The Red medic, who had his fingers on the pulse point of Mick’s throat, said, “He is not dead. There is somewhat of an arrhythmia, and he has fainted, but he is alive.” Well that answered half the question.

From the dark, came a shout, one of the Demos roaring, “A bloody sentry might be handy here, lads!” In a sarcastic tone. Snapped out of the weird reverie they had all been stuck in, the engineers jumped to their feet, gathering their gear and beginning to haul it down the steps. Jonesy gave René one tight, thin lipped nod, and hurried off into the fray.

René looked to where the Red medic was still crouched over the limp form of the sniper, fingers on his pulse, looking at his watch. “His heart is settling,” the German murmured, “I believe he will be alright.” When René didn’t answer, the medic looked up, and catching his somewhat incredulous expression, said defensively, “What? It worked, didn’t it?” René wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that technicality, and thankfully didn’t have to, as the main doors of the factory opened again then, and out hurried the Blu medic, the Red sniper fully healed behind him.

When Ludwig caught sight of his Blu colleague on the ground, he cried, “Mick! What happened?” He hurried to his friend’s side, pushing the Red medic’s hands off him. The Red doctor acquiesced easily, moving back to stand, as Ludwig snapped, “What did you do?” Offended, the other medic put his hands out to the sides, and said, “Why must you assume I did anything?” Snorting, Ludwig looked to René, and asked, “what did he do?” Not seeing the point of lying in this instance, the spy replied, “He used a Red Uber on him.”

There were two squawked answers at this, Ludwig barking, “He what?!” And the Red sniper tutting indignantly and grousing, “Fuck sake! I haven’t been bloody Ubered in ten bloody months and now I miss my bloody chance because I got shot in the bloody face!”

A soft moan from the ground shut everyone up. Mick was coming around. Ludwig leaned over him, like a dog protecting its owner, and pulled a stethoscope from seemingly nowhere. “You’re alright, it’s alright Mick. Can you take a deep breath for me?” René elected not to point out that both the medics had such a similar tone when speaking softly to a patient.

“What- what happened? Why am I on the freezing bloody ground? I-“ Mick’s questions cut off as he became fully aware of the situation. He sat bolt upright immediately, almost headbutting Ludwig in the face. The sniper looked exceedingly embarrassed, pulling the hem of his coat low, and looked around whale eyed. “What are you bloody staring at?” He snapped. René looked away, and shared a glance with the Red sniper, who looked entirely confused.

“Hey, do not panic. You will be ok,” Ludwig soothed, taken aback by Mick’s jumpy nature. Again he scowled up at the Red medic and asked, “What did you do to him?”

The Red doctor at least had the good grace to look sheepish, sliding his glasses off, and rubbing them on the sleeve of his bathrobe to avoid looking at Ludwig. “I believe…” he began, uncharacteristically measured, “Well… der Ubercharge sorgte für einen spontanen höhepunkt.”

“It did what?!” Ludwig erupted suddenly, voice so loud that Mick beside him jumped, startled. The Blu medic looked enraged. “You cannot just do that to people, that is a violation!” The Red medic held up both hands, looking a little annoyed. “Now, now, I hardly did it on purpose. I did not know that would be the outcome, ja? But you have to admit it is fascinating, hm? That doesn’t happen with members of the Red team. Certainly something there to be studied, if other Blus are willing.”

Ludwig stood up then, and hissed, “My teammates are not your Guinea pigs.” And René thought in idle amusement, no, we’re yours. The Red medic smirked crookedly, and said, “Well I can test on you instead, if you’d like.” Ludwig looked like might punch him for that, but thankfully their bickering was cut off by a call from below, one of the engineers calling, “Y’all might wanna come look at this.”

Indeed, the sounds of fighting were gone, the combat having seemingly ended as they bickered on the porch. Ludwig huffed, and reached down a hand to pull Mick to his feet. The Blu doctor murmured questions to his sniper, and René looked away, not wanting to embarrass the man further. Whatever had happened when the Uber hit him, he thought that perhaps it was not something Mick wanted broadcast to the world.

Instead, René looked to the Red sniper, who seemed entirely bewildered, and more than a little put out by missing the chance for an Uber. He, of course, did not have his glasses, and René could see now just how much the Australian’s keen eyes darted around to take in all they could. They were hazel, his eyes, which the spy had not noticed before. He caught René looking at him, and cast his eyes down, where they were less visible. “Can’t believe I missed the whole fight too. Fuck sake.”

They all made their way down the steps, picking through the snow to where the others were. The Blu medic brought out a flashlight, something everyone else seemed to have neglected to think of, and they trudged to where their comrades were gathered around something lying in the snow.

As they walked, René could see the sparkling white blanket of the ground marred by blast marks and metal shrapnel, bullet casings and motor oil. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though any of the mercs were down, which meant no one would be spending a long night in the foggy inbetween that was waiting for Respawn.

It was the Blu engineer who had called them down, and Dell stepped back from his place in the crowd to let the newcomers through. René didn’t know what to expect when he heard “robot”, and yet still managed to be completely surprised by what he saw lying in front of him.

The machine was about the size and approximation of a man, with a torso, arms and head all of the correct proportions. However, it had no legs, these instead being replaced by a single, sturdy wheel, fitted with snow spikes, and a now smashed headlamp. The axle of this wheel had been badly damaged, René imagined by a strong swing from one of the scouts. This was not the most bizarre thing about the robot, however. The most bizarre thing was it’s undeniable, and cartoonishly uncanny resemblance to both of the medics.

The white chassis, the approximation of 

gloves. The curiously spectacle shaped lenses that served as eyes. The moulded facsimile of perfectly styled black hair for goodness sake. Beside René, after a long silence, the Red sniper said tiredly, “Bloody hell, not a fuckin’ third one. Two is more than enough.” Both the doctors gave him an indignant look for this.

The Red medic stepped forward then, clearly enraptured. “Fascinating. Truly fascinating. Were they all like this?” There was a brief moment of sheepish quiet as the mercs looked at each other, before Mikhail said, “Was dark. Hard to see. Most others all in little tiny metal pieces now.”

“Not all.” René pointed in the general direction of where the enemy sniper had been. “Ah! Yes!” The Blu medic turned and hurried through the snow towards the spot, while the others all looked down at the robot medic in mild horror. With some struggled grunting, Ludwig began to drag a limp shape over, slipping in the snow. Everyone was a little too shell shocked to help him, and he did give the gathered group a deep glare as he threw the form down on the ground next to the metal doctor. They all leaned in to inspect it. “Holy dooley,” the snipers said together.

Again, the robot made a mockery of the men, right down to its metal hat and painted on sideburns. There was a moment where everyone looked at each other, unnerved, and then half the group were sprinting into the dark to search out other parts.

In the end they found several damning things. A metal arm modeled to wear a yellow work glove like the engineers’. A leg ending in a sneaker shaped foot, painted like the ones the scouts wore when not in the snow. A head, from a one eyed robot that clearly resembled the Demos. It was unsettling.

“Sorry, but what the fuck?” The Red Demo said, turning the robot’s head over in his hands. “Is this some kind o’  joke? Bit fuckin’ creepy no?” Beside him the Blu soldier growled and prodded at the robot parts with his rocket launcher. Ludwig straightened his glasses, still staring at the robotic mockery of himself, and said, “I expect whoever is doing this is trying to unsettle us.” The Demo snorted, “Aye, well consider me nice an’ unsettled in that case.”

“Who is sending ‘em though?” This was the Red scout, crouched down. Not as unobservant as he looked then. Behind him, the Red spy clicked open his cigarette case, and said, “Well that is the question, is it not?”

“E̴͓̮̓͆̓͠h̸̙̭̺̐h̵̻̑͝è̴̘̉H̵̻̬͇̐͌̆̓ ̵̭̚h̶̙̓͂̅Ẹ̷̳̬̞̄̊h̴̢̼̺̖̑̐̚ ̵̢̰͊̽̓̚͜h̶̢͙̀͝E̷͖̣̭͈̍͊H̵͎̜̹̆̏̊͘ ̶̤̔͐̍H̸̬̣͆͐̕͝Ǫ̸̢͉̲͘ó̵̧̪͎͖ ̶̰̜͆̒̽h̶͕̪̖̝̊͆ö̵̪́͝O̵̢̦̒̓̌͠Ĥ̸͈̀ͅo̶̺̥͒̀͛͠Ō̸̱͙̣̒̇ ̴̺̾̚h̸̲̽̓̈́͜È̴͕̓͜H̶͇͈̀̚͠”

Everyone jumped back, weapons drawn, as the lights behind the robotic medic’s lenses lit up, and it began to laugh, a terrible, familiar sound, ripped and wrought by mechanical grinding and the whirring of overheated fans.

“What fresh hell…” muttered one of the soldiers, as the thing on the ground twitched and giggled horribly, right up until Jonesy stepped up and swept his bat into the side of its head with great force. With a crack, the lights went dim again.

A few moments passed then, everyone quite unnerved by what had transpired. Then Dell stepped forward, and said, “Well. Seems like it’s over for now. What say we get these whole ones inside and we can strip ‘em down in the mornin’ for clues as to where they came from?” It was as good an idea as any, and so each of the heavies took one of the limp robots, and hoisted them over their shoulder.

As they headed back inside, René noted the Red sniper still looking down, shoulders around his ears. He wanted to say something reassuring, but didn’t know how. Instead, he watched as Mick, still self consciously pulling at his clothes, stepped up beside his counterpart. He drew a secondary pair of tinted aviators from the pocket of his coat, and pressed them into the Red sniper’s hand, before stepping away without a word.

When the Red sniper had his eyes safely covered again, René did fall into step beside him, and asked, “You are alright? That was… a shock.” Well maybe not. Getting shot in the face in their line of work wasn’t exactly shocking, but it was unfortunate that his first friendly conversation with the man had ended that way.

The sniper only grunted, and after a long pause, said, “Thanks for grabbing my gun.” René inclined his head, and replied, “Any time, mon ami. ”

*

The odd robots were laid out end to end on the rec room dining table, the only surface big enough to hold them. Ludwig couldn’t help but cast his eye repeatedly over to the one that looked like himself as he patched up any minor wounds the others had sustained in the skirmish. It felt so very odd and wrong. Why on earth would someone send robots that looked like them to attack them? Some kind of psychological warfare he assumed. But it made no sense. They didn’t even know why they were there, not really? So why did whoever was sending these metal doppelgängers know?

The Red medic seemed a lot less concerned about the whole situation, humming happily to himself as he aimed his medigun at the Red soldier and sealed up a nasty gash across his arm. Tiptoe through the tulips he was humming. Somehow even more unsettling than the robots. Ludwig looked away. He did not want to be caught staring at the other doctor again.

By the time everyone was fixed up, the general air in the room was an odd mix of weary exhaustion and electric nerves. Most of them looked on their last legs, particularly those who had been drinking excessively earlier in the night, and those who had been awake on watch. Sternly, Ludwig sent the scouts off to bed, as well as the reluctant Red sniper. The Australian had healed perfectly, with no adverse effects from the Blu medigun, but the wound had been startling and vicious, and no doubt the man needed to sleep off the shock of it.

After the most worn of the group had left, the Red engineer, who was examining the robots with a penlight, said, “Someone oughta stay up with these things. Who’s to say they won’t wake up again and try cause some havoc? Better to keep an eye on them.”

Before anyone could suggest otherwise, the Red medic perked up, saying, “I shall watch them. Myself and the doctor will.” Ludwig gave him a strange look. What was his play here? The engineer seemed to wonder similar, as he raised his brows, and said, “You two want some alone time with the robot that looks like you, huh?” Ludwig bristled and felt his face heat at this. “I never said that!” He snapped, but the Red doctor smirked, and said, “Why not. I’m sure we can learn something from it. We are men of science after all.” Ludwig scowled deeply at him, but then, he was right. They could learn something. And besides that, he wasn’t about to let the man alone with a robot that looked like him. Who knew what he would get up to.

The engineer shrugged, “Alright. Whatever you say, doc. Just try not to damage them, yeah?”

With that, the rest of the mercs began to file out. With a glare at the Red doctor, Ludwig trotted briefly out of the room too, catching Mick before he scurried away. Quick to grab the Blu sniper’s sleeve, Ludwig held him back in the corridor, waiting for all the others to filter away. Then he leaned in, softly said, “Are you alright? I know what he did, what happened when he- when the Uber hit you. That wasn’t something he should have done.”

Mick went immediately red, shifting uncomfortably, and Ludwig knew well why. Glancing around, Mick replied, in a whisper, “Yeah, can’t say I was expecting the night to go that way. Think I’ll probably go grab a shower now…” he swallowed, then said, “But. It was… powerful. It worked. Never felt anything like it. It was… intense.” Ludwig’s mouth thinned to a tight line, and he replied, “Do not worry. I will impress upon him that he must never do that again.”

“No!” Said Mick, a little too loud, and then went even pinker, “No, it’s alright. Not like it felt bad or whatever. And it worked, it did. Just… ahem.” He cleared his throat. Certainly the side effects had been unexpected. “Look,” said the sniper, “I’m going to go shower. We can talk later, yeah?” Ludwig was reluctant. Some part of him wanted Mick to agree with him, to say that what the Red doctor had done was wrong, that he couldn’t be wielding that kind of power over other people’s bodies. But he knew, as it had been Mick’s body, and not his own, he had no real say in the matter. In the end, he just inclined his head, and let the sniper go on his way. Then though, his expression darkened. He may not be able to say how he really felt to Mick. But he could certainly give that Red Devil a piece of his mind.

Ludwig stalked back into the rec room, coattails fluttering. Inside, he angrily dumped his medigun and charge pack down on an armchair, and stalked across the room. At the kitchenette in the corner, the other doctor was brewing a pot of coffee, happy as you like in his pyjamas and bathrobe, still humming that blasted song to himself.

“You are an outrageous man,” Ludwig said in German. He did not look at the other doctor, instead going to study the robots. He lifted the hand of the medic one, noting how it was almost an exact size match for his own. At the coffee machine, the Red doctor smiled blandly, and said, “Oh you think so, little pigeon? Maybe only in comparison to a meek little thing such as yourself.” Then he withdrew a tobacco pipe from his robe pocket, and went about filling and lighting it in the most infuriatingly casual fashion.

Ludwig scoffed, and shook his head. He leaned to tilt the face of the robot back and forth, hearing the hiss of servos as he manipulated them. “You cannot seriously believe you are not in the wrong here.” He said. When the Red doctor merely looked at him, Ludwig said, “You caused a man to experience a spontaneous orgasm without his prior knowledge or consent, and you are acting as though that is not the obscene violation it so clearly is.”

The Red tilted his head to one side, puffing on his pipe, and asked, “Did your sniper colleague state that he felt as if he had been violated?” No. He hadn't. For some reason. Ludwig just looked down at the robot. The Red doctor shrugged. “Well then. As I previously stated, I did not know that would happen. If I had, I would have obviously warned him of it being a possibility. As it stands, it has happened, and if he desires some conversation or apology for it, I shall of course grant him that. You, on the other hand, have no basis to be so indignant and angry on his behalf. So perhaps you should calm down, my friend. Unless, of course, this isn’t really about him. And perhaps you have some other reason for acting like a jealous brat.”

Ludwig looked up from the robot, eyes flashing behind his glasses. His knuckles were clenched, gloves creaking, as he ground out, “Do not flatter yourself, it is repellant. I-“ but he did not get to finish this sentence, as at that moment, there was a whirring of motors, and the hand of the robot medic shot up without warning. Ludwig didn’t even have time to yelp before the metal grip was closing around his throat, squeezing, crushing. His hands came up to tug on the thing’s wrist but it was no good.

Ah how humiliating, he managed to think, as the robotic facsimile of himself began to wring the life out of him. He was going to be the first to die and go through respawn, because of course he was. Poor, pathetic, weak little Ludwig, windpipe savagely crushed by a damaged machine because he was too busy bitching to realise it had been about to kill him. 

He was vaguely aware of a flash of movement across the room, but it was unimportant, as his vision was quickly turning to static, a piercing ringing echoing in his ears. Of course it was happening to him, and of course it was happening in front of the other doctor, the smug and capable bastard that seemed to constantly make him feel like a fool. Idiot, he raged at himself. You’re nothing but an idiot. 

And then, just as the dark vignette at the edges of his sparkling vision began to close in, the thing released him. Ludwig crumpled to the ground, dragging air in through his bruised and wheezing trachea, limbs boneless and weak, brain foggy. He had just enough brain power to be thankful that he had, at the very least, not pissed himself.

His body remained largely unaware of the outside world for a time, busy piecing its thoughts back together. Eventually, he became aware of hands on him, large, pleasantly cool hands, lifting his eyelids, taking his pulse, feeling at his cervical vertebrae to ensure his neck was not broken. It was nice. No one ever touched him, not unless they were trying to kill him. He melted briefly into the linoleum floor, not aware who it could be that was touching him so carefully.

Then came a warm glow, like he’d been placed in a hot bath, except there was an electricity to it that was somewhat familiar. Ludwig’s eyes opened, and he found himself bathed in healing red light. The other medic knelt over him, holding his head still as the medigun pulsed gently beside him.

Ludwig punched the Red doctor in the face.

For once, it seemed, he had managed to surprise his Red counterpart, as the other medic reeled back with a cry, hands going to his nose, which was now streaming blood. Ludwig scrabbled away like a dog that had been struck by a car, until he backed into one of the dining benches and almost tipped it over in his panic. “Do not touch me!” He barked, throat ragged, hating the fear he heard in his voice. “Do not dare aim that thing at me!”

The Red medic stared him down from behind the hand he held over his nose. For a brief moment, Ludwig saw that lethal beast that he knew lurked within both of them, the Red medic’s eyes blackening like a shark’s, dull and round with fury. But the moment was gone as soon as he noticed, and instead the other doctor just looked at his bloody hand, and turned his medigun on himself with a snort.

“You are an impossible man, little grey bird.” He said, seemingly unbothered now by Ludwig’s violent reaction. “So very angry all the time, so ready to bite. You are welcome by the way. I would wager that smarts quite badly.” He gestured to Ludwig's throat. The Blu medic brought his hand up, and felt that yes, the pain was immediate and apparent. He would no doubt be sporting an ugly bruise as punishment for his lapse in concentration.

“I have told you, I do not want anything from you,” he growled, the teeth of his words dulled somewhat by his strangled voice. The Red medic gave him a genuinely confused look then, and said, “My darling man, that thing was about to kill you. Would you rather I stood by and watched?” Ludwig glanced up at the now inert robot on the table, and saw it had a shiny bonesaw jutting out of its head. Damn it all, the Red Devil had saved him. “I am not your darling anything.” He hissed, feeling small.

The Red medic just stared at him for a time, his Medigun quickly stopping the flow of blood from his nose. Then abruptly, he turned it on the ground, so that it pointed back at Ludwig. In a flash, he pounced, pinning the Blu medic to the linoleum by the wrists. Ludwig gasped, as the other man’s full weight came down on top of his body. While the Red medic’s hands were cool, his body was burning, hot, hot, hot, and pressing against him in a way no other had for many years.

“Oh but you could be. You could be my darling, my sweet little collared dove, hm? Poor Ludwig, he works so hard and no one notices, no one sees him. Well I see you, pretty little grey bird. I see right to your core. Reading your dirty books alone, touching yourself all alone to them.”  Ludwig’s legs fell open of their own accord as the red light washed over him. The other medic settled between his trembling thighs, and purred, “Oh those silly Blu’s. They do not know the wonder of the man that works so hard for them, hm? All you give to keep them living, to keep their hearts beating, and they offer not a scrap of thanks, do they? So ungrateful.”

His hands left Ludwig’s wrists, dropping instead to hold his legs apart. He pressed against him, both so hot even through the layers of their clothes. Ludwig’s eyelids fluttered, his brain unable to process what was happening. “I can show you what you’ve been missing, dove.” The Red medic breathed. “I can appreciate you how the others do not. I can let you out of your cage if you’ll only let me.” He pressed his hips to Ludwig’s and bent down as if to kiss him, and all at once it was far too much.

He twisted under the Red medic abruptly, bucking the man off so viciously that he was flung face down on the ground. Immediately, Ludwig pounced on him, grabbing his wrists, and wrenching them up between the Red medic’s own shoulder blades. The Red squealed, though not entirely in dismay, as he was summarily pinned down.

Ludwig sat on the other doctor’s back, holding his hands still. He leaned down, his once perfect hair falling over his forehead, and growled, “I am not in a cage, you silver tongued snake. But you may wish I was if you continue to push me.”

Beneath him, the Red medic seemed anything but worried by this, humming into the floor, glasses crooked. “Oh darling.” He breathed, chest restricted by the weight of the other man. “Do it. Show me. I want to see, I want to know.” Impossible. All at once Ludwig felt stupid. With a growl, he threw the other man to the ground. He leapt up, and stalked away across the room, hands on his hips. His chest heaved with exertion and he was annoyed to find in their moments pressed together, the Red medic’s medigun had healed him completely.

He heard the Red medic climb to his feet behind him, the click of the medigun being turned off. They were silent. Ludwig tried to slick his ruffled hair back again, but it fell back over his forehead regardless. There was a shriek of metal, and he looked back to see the other medic wrenching his bonesaw out of the robot’s head.

“Wolfgang,” the Red medic said, quiet and calm. “You need to relax. I am not your enemy.” Ludwig only glared, and replied, “Maybe. But perhaps you should consider that I might well be yours.”

The Red medic just snorted, and shook his head. The door to the room opened then, and both men looked up to see Mick peering around the door, looking apprehensive. The doctors looked at him expectantly, and the Blu sniper said, “Sorry. Just wanted to talk to the doc.”

Ludwig smoothed the front of his coat, taking a deep breath, and said, “Of course, Mick. Let us go somewhere more private.”

But the sniper pinked, and stepped into the room. He was wearing a fresh set of clothes, and his hair was damp. “Actually,” he said sheepishly, “I wanted to talk to the Red doc. If that’s ok…”

Ludwig felt some horrible cold slimy feeling trickle through his being. Behind him, he heard the Red medic give a little chuckle. Trying to play it off, Ludwig said in a voice that sounded strained and tight even to him, “Of course. Not a problem. I shall get out of your hair. I must… check on my birds anyway.”

Behind him, in a low drawl, the Red medic said in their mother tongue, “You are welcome to stay little grey pigeon. Whatever your friend here wants of me, you know I will gladly give it to you too. You only need ask.”

But Ludwig ignored him. With a tight nod of goodnight to Mick, the Blu medic stalked out of the rec room and down the hall.

He tried to fight the hot prickle of humiliation that flooded beneath his skin. To ignore the bloom of heat he did not want this situation to bring. How was it, that every day since arriving here, he just felt stupider and more out of control than the last. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He hunched his shoulders as the red lights of the security cameras followed him back to the empty infirmary.

Chapter Text

It began snowing that night. Jeremy had registered it only briefly during the morning, as he had been a little distracted by Jonesy. The Blu scout had hopped out of his bunk and leaned past Jeremy’s blanket curtain just as he was waking. Jonesy’s hand snuck under the covers, pressing to the Red scout’s bare chest, and he leaned in to whisper, “Come find me after breakfast. Gotta finish the job, yeah?”

That had left Jeremy almost too worked up to go to breakfast, but then, he knew there was pancakes, and it took a lot to keep him from them. He made his way to the rec room, serving himself from the covered tray there. Looking around for a place to sit, he deliberately avoided where Jonesy was already talking animatedly to the Blu soldier. He didn’t want to be too obvious. Instead, he looked to the Reds, and saw that Engie, Sniper, and Pyro were all huddled a little conspiratorially at one end of the table, near the feet of the now inert Medic bot. When Jeremy looked at them, they all looked up as one. Sniper had a good poker face, and of course, Pyro’s face was hidden, but Engie went red when he met Jeremy’s eye. Oh great. They were probably talking about his stupid requests list. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what kind of lube to ask for. He hadn’t been teased about it since, so he supposed he was overdue. Pyro raised their hand, beckoning him over. Well fuck. Might as well get this over with.

As Jeremy approached, Pyro slid to one side to give him space to sit between them and Engie. Jeremy realised as he sat down, that he might have misjudged the atmosphere. Up close, the others didn’t seem like they were gonna tease him. Worse. They looked worried.

“Uh… hey, guys.” Jeremy said uneasily, shuffling into his seat and picking up his fork. “How we all feeling after last night? Fuckin’ crazy, am I right?” He felt, more than saw Pyro share a glance with the other two, and then Sniper said, “Yeah, alright, mate. Definitely a doozy out there. And in here.” He nodded at the robots on the table, which everyone was now just eating around. “Uh huh,” Jeremy took a mouthful of pancake and waited for someone to make an effort to keep the conversation going. No one did. His fork hovered uncertainly over his breakfast, and the others all looked at him.

“Jesus Christ. Did I come to breakfast with my dick out or somethin’? you’re all freakin’ staring at me.” Immediately Engie looked away, though the other two didn’t. Sniper shrugged. “Well. Firebug was just talking to us. Bout you coming to their room the other night?” Jeremy immediately turned to scowl at Pyro, but Engie chimed in, saying, “Now don’t get all mad at them, son, they were just concerned. You got us all a little concerned.” Jeremy turned his head stiffly, and said to his pancakes, “Nothing to be concerned about. You can all mind your business.” Engie looked around, and then leaned in a little closer. “Now Jeremy, listen. Pyro just means well, we all do. You’re the baby o’ the bunch here, son, and we just wanna make sure you ain’t gettin’ hurt or taken advantage of or nothin’.” Jeremy snapped his head towards the Texan then, and hissed, “Baby?! I ain’t a fuckin’ baby man, I ain’t fuckin’ stupid.” Engie’s hands were up in surrender immediately and he said softly, “Alright, bad choice of words. Just figured… you’re young. You might not have much experience with this sorta thing. You been in the merc game since you was practically a kid.”

Jeremy looked at them all incredulously, face pink, and said, “K so, first you’re makin’ fun of me for gettin’ laid and now you’re callin’ me a fuckin’ virgin? Real nice, fellas.” Engie tutted, and the Sniper leaned in to say, “We’re not having a go at ya, Jezza. We get it, it’s been a tough week. We just wanna check in, make sure you’re bein’ sensible. Not like everyone’s just shacking up all over the place.” Jeremy glanced at Engie when Sniper said that, and saw that he looked sheepish. Jeremy turned back to his breakfast.

“Maybe you should all just worry about your own shit, yeah? Mind your damn business, like I do.” He shoved another couple of angry mouthfuls into his face, then stood up from the table, almost tripping when the shared bench didn’t go with him. At the other end of the table, he saw Jonesy glance up at him, but the Blu scout didn’t move.

Jeremy took his dishes to the kitchenette, aware that Engie had stood too and was hot on his heels. As he scraped his leftovers into the garbage, the Texan came up beside him, and said quietly, “Now look. I went about that the wrong way, but there’s no need to bite no one’s head off.” Jeremy gave him a steely look, and then said, “There’s cameras in the workshop. Anyone in the security room can see what happens in there. Might wanna remember that, if you’re tryna stay on the downlow.”

Engie went very red, immediately, his buzzed, fair hair standing out stark against the blush. Jeremy shrugged. “Look, it’s no big deal. Just figured you’d want your privacy.” Engie swallowed, audibly, very clearly trying not to glance across the room at his Blu counterpart. Eventually, he said, “Maybe… I can just write you some advice or somethin’. Some tips so you don’t hurt yourself or nothin’.” Jeremy hesitated at that. He hadn’t really considered that there might be things he could do with learning. He let his eyes settle on Jonesy for the barest moment. The Blu scout was watching him closely, clearly waiting for a signal to get up and leave.

“K,” Jeremy said eventually, “But please stop making a big deal outta this yeah? And don’t tell my dad.” Engie just snorted, and replied, “Oh yeah, like the spy hasn’t figured it out already.” Jeremy just scoffed and rolled his eyes. He went to leave the room then, giving Jonesy what he assumed was a subtle wink on his way out the door. Being patronised and babied has just left him even more eager to have the other scout’s hands on him. Jonesy didn’t treat him like he was stupid.

They did, technically, have actual jobs they were supposed to be doing after breakfast, but if he was being real, Jeremy was so horny after being blue balled by the robot attack the night before, he had barely been able to pull his winter boots onto the correct feet that morning.  When Jonesy left the rec room to join him, they were both pink faced and hungry looking, despite having just eaten.

It hadn’t taken long for them to sprint, maybe comically eagerly, to one of the disused and empty office type rooms in the abandoned part of the factory. They just about had the forethought to grab winter coats on their way there.

And so there was Jeremy, leaning on a rusted out old set of filing cabinets, one hand in his own hair, one hand lifting the hem of his coat, so he could more easily see Jonesy kneeling before him. It was cold in the room, a couple of the windows were broken. Jonesy’s nose and cheeks were rosy with the cold, and every time he breathed out, a little fog cloud puffed from his nose.

Jonesy was going slower than the night before, though in all honesty, he should probably have been rushing a little. Not that it really mattered, Jeremy had been wanting to come for about ten hours at that point, and wasn’t really capable of trying to edge himself even if he wanted to. He just stared down at Jonesy’s pink, wet lips, stretched around him, and his hazy blue eyes. Those long eyelashes were clumped together with the condensation from his breath.

The hand that wasn’t in Jonesy’s pants came up to cup Jeremy’s balls, and the Red scout rumbled deep in his chest. “Man, you’re so fuckin’ good dude. Pretty fuckin’ eyes, all fucked out.” Jeremy wasn’t intentionally talking dirty, he just couldn’t find it in him to try keep his mouth shut. Jonesy didn’t seem to mind though, making little muffled mmf s of pleasure as he stared up at him. 

“Ugh, Jonesy, fuck,” Jeremy’s head knocked back against the filing cabinet. “Best fuckin’ blow job I’ve ever had, man, you’re so fuckin’ good to me. Wanna come in your mouth so bad.” Jonesy moaned low at this, both hands coming up to grip Jeremy’s hips now, urging him deeper, harder, in, in, in.

With a low groan, knees shaking a little, Jeremy felt his orgasm take him, spilling into the other man’s sweet, accommodating mouth. Jonesy’s eyes were shut tight with concentration, and Jeremy became aware of the other man’s tongue and throat moving around him. He was swallowing, holy shit, Jonesy was swallowing his come.

Jeremy made a strangled little sound, hips bucking a couple more times involuntarily, as Jonesy took everything he had to give and then some. Eventually, both shaking, the Blu scout pulled back, and looked up. He was totally debauched, a long string of saliva still connecting him to Jeremy’s body. “Was that…” he warbled shakily, voice hoarse, “Was that ok?”

Jeremy was sinking to the floor before the other man had even gotten the question out, kissing him hungrily, licking into his mouth to taste himself. Jonesy tried to say something, but wasn’t successful, Jeremy too busy pushing the other man to lie down on the dusty ground and dropping between his legs.

Jeremy hadn’t even touched Jonesy’s dick yet. Well technically he’d touched it with his ass but he hadn’t exactly had to do a lot of work then. There was a little thrill of nerves in him as he slid down to the crotch of the other man’s pants.

“Oh, ha, you don’t gotta-“ Jonesy started, pushing himself up on his elbows, looking sweaty and slack jawed. Jeremy paused, and asked, “Do you want me to?” Jonesy nodded immediately, “I mean, yeah, of course. Dicks bouta fuckin’ explode here.” He gave a breathless laugh. “Well then,” Jeremy said, and put his hand in Jonesy’s pants.

Jonesy’s dick was, well, like a dick, unsurprisingly. Jeremy had seen and touched one before, even if it was only his own. He knew what to do with one, what felt good. He gently pressed the pad of his thumb against the wet slit at the head of Jonesy’s dick. It made the Blu scout give a shaky breath. Jeremy began to move his hand, and at the same time, he leaned in to taste. It wasn’t bad, maybe a little weird. He tasted like a person, salty and hot. Jonesy moaned. Jeremy decided he didn’t care what the other man tasted like if he was making sounds like that. 

Jeremy didn’t quite trust himself not to gag violently if he put the whole thing in his mouth, so he just kept licking and mouthing at the head, taking care of the rest with his hand. Jonesy seemed to appreciate the effort anyway, making all sorts of happy little noises, his feet scraping over the concrete floor as he couldn’t keep from wiggling a little in pleasure. It was cute. Jeremy felt a funny little twist in his heart. Again, it was happening again. Even though he was jerking Jonesy off, and listening to the sexy hot sex noises he was making, he couldn’t help focussing on the cute little things he was doing, like his feet struggling to find purchase, or how his fingers couldn’t stop twitching.

Jeremy sighed, admitting defeat, and said against the other man’s length, “I swear you’ve ruined me for girls, man.”

Jonesy came then, pretty abruptly. A flood of little high breathy noises dropped from his lips as his hips bucked up. Jeremy flinched a little as his face and hair were suddenly spattered. Jonesy hissed at the sight, getting out the word, “Sssorry,” in a long, drawn out breath like a balloon slowly deflating. In reality Jeremy wasn’t really that put out. He held in his laugh as he milked the last of Jonesy’s orgasm out of him. 

Eventually the Blu scout swallowed with difficulty, and let himself fall back on the cold ground. Grinning wickedly, Jeremy leaned over him, and said, “Lookit what you did, dude, you just came all over my damn face.” Jonesy went very red at this, and tried to hide behind a hand as he sat up. “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Jeremy. I didn’t mean to.” The Blu scout went to swipe his come off Jeremy’s face with his bare hand, but Jeremy just leaned in and kissed him instead. He pushed him back onto the ground, kissing and kissing until he was sure the other scout knew he wasn’t mad. When he pulled back, he said, “That was pretty fuckin’ hot, not gonna lie,” and Jonesy snorted self consciously, and asked, “Yeah?” Neither of them said anything about the words Jeremy had spoken that made the other man come so quick.

They cleaned up, late for their turn to go haul coal for the boiler now, but not caring all that much, stealing kisses as they weaved unevenly out into the corridor. Briefly, Jeremy thumped back against the wall, and Jonesy leaned a forearm on it beside him. They just looked at each other for a few moments, before Jonesy lifted his hand and began to gnaw at the skin of one thumbnail. “Is this stupid?” He asked softly.

Jeremy frowned, and asked, “Is what stupid?” Jonesy shrugged. “This. Us. Suckin’ each other's dicks and kissin’ and stuff.” Jeremy’s mouth quirked upwards, and he said, “We’re supposed to be makin’ friends here ain’t we?” Jonesy tittered, but he looked away down the corridor. Jeremy swallowed, suddenly a little nervous. “Why? You wanna, uh… you wanna stop?”

Jonesy shook his head. “Nah man, that’s the thing. I really don’t wanna stop. I really like… doin’ this with you. Ain’t never,” biting his thumb again, maybe a little too hard, “Never felt wanted this much. Never had no one let me come on their face.” He smirked sheepishly at that, and Jeremy mirrored him. The Red scout reached out, gently punching the other man on the shoulder. “What’re you worried about then? You makin’ this all complicated in your head or somethin’? I do that sometimes, it usually means I’ve stayed up to long and not done the water-bonk-water hydratin’ the doc says I’m supposed to.” Jonesy shifted, and said quietly, “What about after this job? And we go back to New Mexico? Do we just shoot at each other again?” Jeremy thought about that for a few moments, really considering, then said, “Jane and Tavish make it work.”

Jonesy snorted, and said, “Jane and Tavish are fuckin’ insane, man, they love shootin’ at each other.”

They both chuckled at that, before Jeremy hooked a finger around one of Jonesy’s and said, “I promise to miss. Or I’ll just tackle you and we can wrestle in the dirt or somethin’. Get a little fun outta it.” Jonesy snorted and said, “You’re an idiot.” But he leaned in to kiss the corner of Jeremy’s mouth anyway.

Somewhere down the hallway, a door closed. The Blu scout pulled back abruptly, and both their heads turned towards the source of the noise. “Who the hell’s out here too?” Jonesy questioned. Jeremy frowned. He knew where they were. They were near the weird corridor. Without answering the other man, he set off down the corridor, towards the source of the sound.

Sure enough, he found himself in that one strange corridor again. There was no door, and there was no mysterious person. Looking up, Jeremy tried to find the camera who’s feed he had noticed the night before. There was no camera either. “What the hell…” was he going fucking crazy or something? Jonesy caught up to him, and put his hand on his back. He looked around too, a little confused, and said, “Did that door just echo from somewhere else? Freakin’ weird man.” Jeremy didn’t know. It didn’t make sense. He stood there too long, confused, until the other scout gave him a slightly nonplussed look, and said, “Ok, well. We better get workin’ before someone comes lookin’ for us. Come on. I bet you’ll look sexy all sweaty and covered in coal dust.”

By lunchtime, they were indeed both sweaty and covered in coal, though Jeremy wasn’t feeling particularly sexy about it. Jonesy elected to trot off to the showers while Jeremy went to eat, deciding they needed to separate from each other every now and then, if only to be not completely obvious that they were partaking in extra curricular activities together. Though Jeremy really would have preferred to join Jonesy in the shower.

As he headed up to the rec room, Jeremy passed the security door. He slowed, before coming to a stop just past it. He looked back over his shoulder. Wouldn’t hurt to just check, right?

When he opened the door, he immediately regretted his choice, because there was his dad, scrubbing through security footage and squinting at the screen. The Red spy really needed reading glasses at this stage, but tended to ignore Jeremy when he suggested them. As he dithered in the doorway, the spy glanced over his shoulder at his son.

“Hm? Oh, Jeremy, hello. Are you alright?” Damn, now he was gonna have to come up with some kinda excuse as to why he was there. He slipped into French, which he normally did when he was trying to butter his father up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I was just… looking for you. Wondered if you wanted me to grab you anything for lunch, I’m headed that way.”

His dad only waved an absent hand, trailing cigarette smoke, and said, “Oh no, do not trouble yourself. I will get something later. I’m trying to find footage that shows the direction those robots came from. But so far, none of the cameras have an adequate view.” Jeremy hmm’d, and stepped up beside him, pretending to be looking for the same thing. In reality, he was searching out the feed from the spooky corridor. The Red spy glanced down at him. “That is an unusually thoughtful offer coming from you though. Are you feeling alright?” 

He didn’t answer immediately, too busy squinting at the screens. He was quiet long enough that his father turned towards him, and asked, “Jeremy? You are ok?” Jeremy blinked, and said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I’m fine, I’m good. Adjustin’, y’know?” His father didn’t quite look like he believed him, but it didn’t matter. He’d got his answer. “Ok, anyway, I’m gonna go eat now.” Jeremy turned to hurry out of the security room, a deep frown on his face. The feed from the corridor had been gone. There was no sign of it on any of the screens. What the hell was going on here?

*

It had been a long day, and Ludwig had had just about enough of it. The work itself would have been enough. Back and forth and back and forth with the engineers all day, tweaking and tinkering at the respawn machine to get it ready to be fired up. Checking that everyone was properly healed after the night before, that none of the Reds he had healed had suffered any ill effects of his medigun. That none of them had experienced anything… untoward when he healed them. They hadn't, thankfully and so Ludwig was inclined to believe that Mick’s involuntary emission the night before was only a result of the Ubercharge. He was unclear whether the same would happen if he tried to use a Blu Uber on a Red team member, but unlike his counterpart, he had no inclination to find out.

The most exhausting thing about the day was trying to avoid the Red medic. The other doctor had shown up in the infirmary in the early hours, having spent the night doing god knows what with Mick while “guarding” the robots. He had found Ludwig asleep at his desk, waking him with the loud click of his boot heels, and had come to stand next to him uninvited. He appeared rumpled, and smelled distinctly of sweat and sex. Ludwig had backed off quickly, hating how nervous the other man made him. “I fed all the doves. I’m going to bed now.” The Red medic hadn’t tried to stop him, but he had watched Ludwig with dark, analyzing eyes that made the Blu feel dreadfully naked.

Thankfully, the Red medic slept in, hidden from Ludwig’s view behind the privacy curtains around the bed he had in the corner. Ludwig was careful not to wake him, carrying his boots as he gathered what he needed for the day. He beckoned Curie onto his shoulder as he left the infirmary, pulling his boots on in the corridor, and leaving to get to work.

The morning was uneventful, largely, and Ludwig did feel a little better with a good measure of caffeine in his bloodstream. He did find himself avoiding Mick, which he didn’t like. He enjoyed the Blu sniper’s company, the Australian being among the few he counted as a friend. But he felt so uncomfortable and he did not understand why. It was Mick’s prerogative to do as he pleased, let who he pleased have their hands on him. But the Red medic? Really? Ludwig wished he could figure out why he felt so discomfited by it. Was it that he knew where those red gloved hands had been before? Undoubtedly the same kinds of places as his own. He did not wish to think about it.

A fortuitous, if tiring, distraction came about at lunchtime. René had put his foot down and decided to insist that the robots in the rec room be dismantled and taken to the workshop, so that they could have their dining table back. With the engineers busy working on respawn, the job of breaking down the robots into easily movable parts fell to some of the others. Ludwig was roped in as he was deemed both intelligent and responsible enough not to mess anything up too terribly. He was glad none of them knew about him getting half throttled by his mechanical doppelgänger the night before. He agreed to help, because neither the Red medic, nor Mick were there, and so he figured he could relax a little.

And so, he was sat, squinting at the sniper robot, as he worked at the bolts in its joints, trying to remove its limbs for easier transport. Assigned to the work with him were both the Demos, both grumpily sober, and so the room was silent and tense. Ludwig, if he was honest, could not be bothered to attempt to pick apart why the two Scots seemed to dislike each other so much. Most of the other mercenaries seemed to have settled into at least accepting politeness. But these two clearly had something else going on, and Ludwig rather assumed his own Blu Tavish was behind a good deal of the bad feelings. Regardless, he could not bring himself to be involved, and so sat, unbolting the stupid robot, and letting a cup of coffee go cold beside him.

Every now and then, others would come in to collect the parts of the robots. He handed off the sniper robot’s lower leg to the Red Heavy, as Jane entered the room, and made an immediate beeline for the Red Demo. Ludwig stretched briefly, back and shoulders clicking after sitting hunched over for so long. Curie fluttered down to the robot’s head, pecking at the shiny surface of the things ocular lenses. Electing to take a break, Ludwig took his cold coffee and strode to the kitchenette to reheat it in the microwave. He was vaguely aware of Jane schmoozing at the Red, and his own Demo hunched, frame taut, over the table. 

Ludwig absently stared into the microwave, watching his cup rotate behind the glass. He could scold himself more, no doubt, for letting the Red medic get under his skin so much. His mind cast unwillingly back to the night before, pinned beneath the heated weight of the other man. He had not been thinking clearly, perhaps because he had been bathed in the healing light of the Red medigun. Perhaps because he could not recall the last time he had lain beneath another person without it being a scrabbled fight to the death. He had fought with the Red medic like that many times in fact, both thrashing under the weight of their charge packs, white coats filthied by the blood and dirt sludge of the New Mexico battlefields. He had never stopped to consider any possible sensual implications to the violent struggle of two well preened men scrapping in the dirt. The slide of gloves over a sweat slicked throat. A pointed boot heel digging into a soft inner thigh. The catch of a belt buckle under the hem of a shirt, cold metal pressing to the dark hair and pale skin beneath. The insistence, the heat, the need to pin, and win, and be still. Just be still and quiet beneath him.

The microwave beeped. Ludwig blinked. Somewhere behind him, voices were being raised. Ludwig stood up straight, having been slumped over the counter, and turned around. As he had been lost in his thoughts, Jane had obviously collected parts of a robot and left, and now it was just Ludwig and the Demos. The voices being raised were undeniably Scottish, and it was the Red Demo who was currently talking, leaning on the table and glaring at his counterpart. Ludwig hesitated, uncertain if this were something he needed to intervene with.

“Sick o’ looking at your sour fuckin’ face every time I turn around. If you’ve got a fuckin’ problem, pal, I’d rather you just said somethin’.” The Red Demo was tense all across the line of his shoulders, knuckles pale where he was gripping the chassis of the medic robot he was leaning on. Across the table, still in his seat, the Blu looked up at him, one dark eye tracking across his anger-twisted face. “I’ve nothing to say to you, pal .” He said, evenly. Hm. This seemed like the kind of situation that could go bad quickly. Ludwig gave a low whistle, calling Curie to settle on his shoulder, and took his coffee from the microwave. Best to drink it before anything kicked off.

The Red Demo pushed back from the table with an angry scoff, rolling his one eye. “Oh come off it. You’ve been doin’ nothin’ but look at me like I pissed in your fuckin’ porridge since we got here. And I’m tired of it. Gonna say it how it is, laddie, it’s not my bloody fault Jane picked me and not you.”

And that of course, was exactly the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps the right, if the reaction the Red was aiming for was the Blu leaping across the table to immediately beat the living daylights out of him. Ludwig put down his coffee. “Ah, now, gents, please. If we could perhaps refrain from the histrionics?” His admittedly feeble words went unheeded, the two angry Scots knocking over a bench in their fury as they began a violent tussle on the linoleum. Ludwig tsked. Well now he was going to have to intervene.

Needless to say, it didn’t go well for him. He hoped that the accidental elbow he took to the nose might encourage the two demolitions experts to cease their brawling, but on the contrary, they barely noticed as he was knocked on his ass, blood trickling down to his upper lip. Curie hooted in confusion, hopping along the countertop.

By the time the Red Heavy came back to the rec room again, Ludwig was sulking from his perch on the countertop, wad of paper towels clutched to his face, and both the Demos had each other in a grumbling dual headlock on the floor. Mikhail gave Ludwig a bewildered look, which the doctor answered with a curt shake of his head and a mutter of “You would think our pay would be doubled, dealing with two of everyone, but no.”

Late afternoon found Ludwig in the respawn room on the main floor, doing very little of any actual use as the two engineers talked shop and stood closer to each other than Ludwig really thought was necessary. Were all these other men so unobservant themselves that they thought they were being subtle? How many of these silly, cooped up mercs were sleeping with each other, hm? Ludwig rolled his eyes as the Red engineer whispered something to Dell and got an elbow in the ribs in return.

He was looking down at the checklist on his clipboard when there was a tug at his sleeve. Ludwig glanced away from his work with a “Hm?” To see that the Blu Pyro was next to him, hood pulled low over their eyes, and lower face covered by a half respirator. They were holding a messy sheaf of papers out. “What have you here, schatz, hm?” Ludwig hummed, taking the papers and laying them on his clipboard.

They were drawings, which was unsurprising. A stack of very well done charcoal portraits, edges smudged with fingerprints. The first one was oddly of Bidwell, a very accurate depiction of Saxton Hale’s assistant looking weary and sheepish. Strange. Ludwig cocked an eyebrow and leafed through the drawings. All of Bidwell. He glanced to the Pyro.

“Something going on, hm?” He asked, and immediately the Pyro nodded eagerly. Ludwig was a little confused. “Have a bit of a crush, friend?” He teased gently. But the Pyro just made a frustrated sound. Ludwig was misunderstanding something. He looked back to the drawings to try and glean more information. Before he could inquire further though, Dell called out, “Doc! I think we’re about ready here.”

Ludwig looked apologetically to Pyro. “I am sorry friend. Show me these again later, yes?” He handed the papers back to the Pyro who took them with a disgruntled noise. Ludwig grimaced a sorry, then trotted over to the engineers. The Red looked to him, and said, “I think we’re ready to fire her up. You wanna go fetch the other doc while we get her warmed up?”

He, in fact, did not want to fetch the Red medic, but he knew it would appear strange to say as much. With a tight nod he said, “Yes. Of course. I will be but a moment.”

Out in the corridor, Ludwig hesitated a little, and paced around. He had not spoken to the Red medic since he had been pinned by him the night before, and he did not want to now. But this was purely for work. He would go to the infirmary and fetch him, and they would discuss only professional things to do with the respawn system. Ludwig squared his shoulders and steeled himself, before striding in the direction of the infirmary.

When he arrived at the door to the infirmary Ludwig was a little unnerved to find it locked. He had not locked it. Which meant the Red medic had, and he didn’t really like to wonder why. Dithering, Ludwig considered trying to go back to respawn without the Red, but that would lead to questions and no doubt the other doctor would be endlessly amused if he found out that Ludwig had simply been too cowardly to check in. So he fished his own key from his pocket, and slotted in the lock. The door seemed impossibly loud as it opened.

For once, inside, the white doves were all locked away, which was odd. Their mostly unused coop was covered with a sheet, as was the one in which Ludwig’s doves slept. On his shoulder, Curie hooted softly.

It was quiet. But no. Not completely quiet. There were sounds, human sounds. Pained sounds. Ludwig felt himself tense a little. Was someone hurt? Did they need help?

Transferring Curie to his desk lamp, Ludwig zeroed in on the source of the noise. The infirmary’s main treatment table, positioned below the medigun rig off to one side of the room. It was surrounded by curtains, but the bright surgery lights were on behind them, and the hum of a medigun was audible. Was the Red doctor operating on someone? Ludwig frowned a little, and began to step closer.

If he had examined the situation a little more closely, he might have realised it was not one he wished to walk into. Had he noticed for example, the wide brimmed hat on the Red doctor’s desk, the kicked off brown boots beside it. But he didn’t. He was distracted, and unsettled, and not paying attention. And so he did not hesitate to step up to the curtains and peer around them at the scene concealed there.

The Red medigun was on, it’s healing beam on a low setting, and directed at the person on the table. The person being Mick, because of course it was. It was he who was making the pained noises though up close and in context, they seemed to be noises of a different variety altogether. The Blu sniper lay on the cold surface, back arched, face twisted, sweat beading on his brow. He was completely naked, and his legs were up in styrups. The Red medic stood between his legs, fully dressed, expression focussed, eyes half lidded. Mick writhed and gasped and moaned, and it was easy to see why. As he shifted it became apparent that of the medic’s red gloved hands, only one was invisible, holding one of Mick’s pale thighs. The other was unseen, fully sheathed as it was within the squirming clutch of Mick’s body.

Ludwig couldn’t help the little gasp that left him when he realised what was happening. He felt scandalised heat flood his body and abruptly turned on his heel, trotting to the infirmary door without hesitation. The only thought on his mind was getting out of there. He was fumbling his key out of his pocket and whistling for Curie when a calm voice called, “Wolfgang.”

He paused, mouth dry, and did not look back. He didn’t know why he was short of breath. He didn’t know why he hesitated. The click of boot heels heralded the Red doctor, who stopped a few feet behind him. “Were you looking for me?” Ludwig didn’t turn around, trying to catch his bearings. He could not get the image out of his mind, of the Red medic, his hand up to the wrist- he gritted his teeth.

“We have work. The respawn system is ready to be tested. I was sent to collect you.”

A gentle laugh answered him, and he could not tell if it was mocking, or trying to break the tension. “Unfortunate, things were just getting interesting. Maybe later we could all-“

But Ludwig had no interest in what they could all , instead rounding on the other German. The Red may have had some height on him, but they were fairly evenly matched in terms of strength, particularly as Ludwig had the element of surprise. He grabbed the other doctor by the front of his shirt, driving him back forcefully until they both hit the edge of his desk. Curie made an angry noise and fluttered away.

Ludwig pinned the other man to the desk, leaning over him so that the Red’s spine was bowed back over the surface, his steely eyes round with anticipation. Ludwig shook him, angry, and said, “Why? Why must you plague me? You come into my space, you mock and you take up too much room. And now you bring your perversions to my friends? Why can’t you just… stop!”

He was hissing in the other man’s face, but the Red medic seemed unshaken. His hands, now thankfully ungloved, came up to tentatively rest on Ludwig’s waist. The Blu medic jerked but did not free him. “Easy now.” Said the Red, “No need to say anything you might regret.” He glanced to the still curtained surgery table. When Ludwig followed his gaze, he could see Mick’s silhouette through the curtains, tense and still where he sat on the table. Listening. Ludwig realised he had been speaking in English. He looked back to the Red.

“Wolfgang. You are making this difficult on yourself.” The Red spoke in their tongue now, softly. “What are you afraid of?” No good. It was no good. Ludwig shoved the Red medic down onto the desk and stepped backwards, smoothing his mussed hair.  “Come to respawn. Now. Bring one of your doves. I am not testing it on one of my ladies.”

The Red medic stood up, pulling the hem of his waistcoat straight. “As you say, pigeon. I think you will find that regardless of what Miss Pauling says, you are at the very least, the boss where I am concerned. I don’t think I have a choice in that, hm?” Ludwig merely scoffed, and stalked out of the infirmary, hands trembling in white knuckled fists.

Thankfully, Ludwig had regained his composure by the time he got back to respawn, as René had also arrived, and would undoubtedly sense any tense behaviour on his part. He busied himself with queuing up the sequence system, ready to scan in whatever bird the Red medic brought with him. When the Red medic did show up, it was with a small, white dove in hand, not the burly Archimedes. Blatantly giving Ludwig room, he skirted around him to place the bird in the sequencing chamber, saying, “Stay, Euripides.” He glanced at Ludwig. “Mick is concerned for you.”

“Do not talk to me about Mick.” Ludwig didn’t look at him. If the others in the room found the softly muttered German odd, they said nothing. The Red medic cocked an eyebrow, but responded, “Alright.”

When Euripides the dove was sequenced, the Red medic took him in his large hands and they all gathered around. The engineers adjusted dials and tapped at monitors, and René looked very much like he wanted to just leave and have a cigarette. Ludwig stood with folded arms as the Red medic withdrew a syringe from the pocket of his waistcoat. He uncapped it with his teeth, and looked questioningly at the engineers. The Red looked up from one final readout, and nodded. Deftly, the medic manipulated the little bird in his hands, sliding the needle beneath its skin, and depressing the plunger. With a shake and a twitch, the dove fell dead.

A moment passed. Two. Ludwig had participated in tests like this before. Sometimes it took a little time. And indeed, less than a minute later, the corpse of Euripides spontaneously atomised in the Red Medic’s hand and there was a thunk from inside the respawn system. A moment later, within one of the tube-like chambers (human sized and therefore comically large) the form of Euripides materialised. As the men watched, the little bird cocked its head to one side, clearly confused by the process it had just been sent through.

“Well then,” said the Red engineer, clapping his hands together. “That all seems to be in workin’ order. Hopefully now we won’t be so on our toes when those damned robots attack again.”

“Indeed,” replied René, already moving to retrieve his box of cigarettes from his pocket. “Mayhaps this time, no extreme measures will have to be taken.” He gave an odd look to the Red medic then, and Ludwig knew well that he was referring to the use of a Red Uber on Mick. The Red doctor was unabashed though, merely shrugging, and saying, “We do what we must. For the sake of the team.”

Ludwig snorted and shook his head, eyes still fixed on Euripides. As he watched, the bird shook itself, and a cascade of scraggled white feathers fell to the floor of the chamber about it. The bird looked about as pleased as Ludwig felt.