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“Shotgun! I call shotgun!”
Scout nearly tripped over himself as he ran around the side of the battered white van, practically ripping the door off its hinges as he clambered into the passenger seat. His leg bounced with residual energy as he waited for his slower teammates. The leather seats were hot to the touch from sitting in the Badlands sun all day, but he didn’t mind. It came with the territory of summer around here.
“All yours, lad. If you want to be cramped by the big fella all the way to the store, feel free.” Demoman slipped into the backseat, stretching out his legs and massaging his temples. He gave a world-weary sigh.
“Alright, let us get this over with.” Spy sat in the other back seat and crossed his legs, straightening his suit jacket. He leant down to brush the reddish dust, the stuff was everywhere in the Badlands, off his leather shoes. Occasionally, Medic would have to give some unlucky teammate a new pair of lungs after there was some kind of buildup in them because of the dust. Sili-something? Spy had to get new lungs every few months anyway because of his cigarettes. Scout always thought it was funny when one of Spy’s snide comments was cut off by the mother of all coughing fits. It also worried him a little, even if it was hard to admit that. He sounded like a car backfiring, and just that alone was enough to keep Scout from smoking even on bad days.
The van seemed to heave to the side as Heavy got in, ducking down to avoid being clipped by the roof, before it righted itself as he settled in the driver’s seat. “We will go now?” Heavy’s voice rumbled through the cramped space, he gripped the steering wheel, which was almost eclipsed by the sheer size of his hands. At an affirmative noise from the back, Heavy started the van and started driving. “Put down the windows. It is too hot in little car.” After rolling down the windows, a merciful cool breeze rushed through the van, ruffling Scout’s hair. He’d chosen to forgo the hat for a non-battle mission, and he started to regret it as the sun glared in his eyes.
Normally, groceries were delivered with their supplies, but if you wanted anything special or good quality, you had to go get it yourself. It was Spy’s turn to cook tonight, which always meant something fancy, so shopping trips were usually scheduled before his turn. Demo came along because he ran out of good-quality booze, and to get his mind off his hangover, which was giving him hot flashes and headaches. Medic gave him some pills for it, but they still hadn’t kicked in. Just to further express his misery, he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, lacking the usual sunny expression that lit up rooms. It was pretty depressing if Scout was honest. Heavy came along to carry groceries and also because he was a good driver, all levelheaded and careful, which made Scout feel a little better about this trip.
Why was Scout coming? He was bored. Plain and simple, the base was too quiet for his liking. Living at home, his brothers would keep the place lively and exciting, but when it was hot like this, none of the nutcases and old-timers he lived with wanted to do anything fun. Naturally, he lunged at an opportunity to get outside, preferably into somewhere air-conditioned and not under a burning sun.
Speaking of the sun, it looked like Spy was still feeling it, as he mopped his brow with a white handkerchief, monogrammed in red with a daintily embroidered “S.”
“Did you embroider that yourself, Spy?” Demo looked curiously, lifting his hands from his face for a closer look.
Spy seemed to preen a bit, tucking the handkerchief away again. “Of course, I learned how to embroider when I was infiltrating a retirement home in order to eliminate a target for a former employer. For six weeks, I was an elderly woman named Doris. So long as I was attending the needlework club meetings, I needed to look convincing while I was stalking Edith from afar. Well, she was known as ‘Razors Eddie’ in the crime world, but either way, being 92 doesn’t expunge your debts.” Spy gave a little self-satisfied smile, adjusting his fancy watch in that jerkish way he did whenever he felt cool. Scout couldn’t stop himself from raining on his parade even if he wanted to.
“Are you serious?” Scout started to laugh, turning around to look at him. “You talk all this big game about bein’ a trained killer, but you sit around all day darning socks like an old lady?” Spy scowled at him, and was surely about to say something cruel before Demo cut him off.
“It’s a difficult skill to learn, laddie, maybe when you’re older and more mature, you’ll appreciate fine arts. Like making bombs, mixing drinks, or taking someone’s head off with one fell swing of the sword.” He grinned wolfishly, moving his arms in a pantomime of swinging his trusty Eyelander.
Spy had been nodding along but stopped mid-nod when Demo had started listing “arts” and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop a little smile from playing on his lips at Demo’s enthusiasm.
Scout scoffed with somewhat mock offence. “I’m plenty mature! If I cared about that old lady stuff, my handkerchief would be ten times prettier. It’d be so tasteful, it’d blow Spy’s stupid little “S” right out of the water.” Scout smirked. “What’s the “S" even stand for anyway? Seedy? Sleazy? Sketchy?” At this point, he just wanted to call Spy names, and he wasn’t even thinking about the handkerchief.
Demo let out a boisterous laugh before clutching his head. “Ach, when will these damn pills kick in?”
“Maybe is best if Scout stops talking. Do not hurt Demoman’s head.” Heavy didn’t even take his eyes off the road, but people tended to do what he said for a good reason, so he didn’t need to give a stare to intimidate the passengers into silence.
The easy quiet was accepted for about 10 minutes. The only sound cutting through was the whoosh of passing vehicles and the rush of wind. Scout drummed his fingers on the dash, occasionally fidgeting with the edge of his hand wraps. Of course, it was he who broke the silence again.
“So which grocery store are we going to?” Scout stared into the empty horizon, hoping to find civilisation sooner rather than later.
“A nice one,” Heavy said, then made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Heavy forgets name. Not in Teufort, the next town over.”
“Aw, what? The one in Teufort is the only place that sells Bonk!” Scout complained, realising he wouldn’t be able to look for the new variety he’d seen the enemy scout with. Maybe it would come in with the next supply shipment?
“Yes, because only people from Teufort are idiotic enough to drink it.” Spy gave one of his signature insincere smiles.
“Hey!”
“My apologies, you’re idiotic enough to drink it as well.”
Scout turned around in his seat fully and threw a punch right into Spy’s sneering face. A punch that was caught before it could make contact by the massive hand of Heavy.
“We are here, fight outside little car.”
Turning, Scout realised they were pulling up to a wide, low building. It was cream-coloured on the outside, with green accents and a big red sign, which read “Angus’ Quality Grocery” along with a painting of a smiling man in overalls.
Scout settled for shadowboxing at Spy, if only to avoid being arrested, as they walked into the building.
———
Chicken chasseur, or maybe a nice fricassee?
Spy glanced between the various cuts of chicken. This store does have better quality products than what they deem food in Teufort, but that’s not saying much. It is nothing compared to what you can get in the markets in France, but ingredients are only as good as the chef’s talent. Talent, naturally, was something he had in spades. Spy heard somebody walking about 10 metres away. From the footfall pattern and the scent of gunpowder, he recognised them as Demo, so he was not surprised when a warm hand rested on his shoulder.
“You know half the team isn’t going to eat anything that’s even halfway cultured, aye? It’s a safer bet to make French fries and tell Soldier they’re called ‘freedom fries.’” Demo’s harrowed tone of voice told a story, likely one involving attempting to introduce his country’s national dish to Scout. He was carrying a selection of bottles under his other arm.
Spy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are correct, I fear.”
Demo snapped his fingers as he looked off into the distance. “Oh, you know what they’d eat? French onion soup. Tell Soldier that ‘French’ was the last name of the American who invented it.”
“You are a genius, my friend.” Spy smiled and started walking towards the vegetable section.
“I do my best.” Demo shrugged, the bottles clinking against each other as he followed behind.
After collecting the yellow onions, Spy made his way to the dairy section, which was next to the meat section, near the deli counter, to buy the cheese, the only other ingredient they didn’t have back at base. French onion soup had been Spy’s favourite when he was a boy, and it was the first dish he cooked for his petit chou-fleur. He let his mind drift as he remembered that beautiful night, as he selected some imported cheese, until the reverie was shattered by a grating voice. One he knew all too well.
“—So then, I was all tired from lifting weights, ‘cause y’know, even guys like me need to take breaks. It’s only responsible. I drove over here to get some Bonk. Have you ever had it? I have a coupon for a discount I could give you if you ever want to try some. Anyways, enough about me, what about you?”
The tan woman with short, black hair behind the counter sliced through a cured sausage with, frankly, too much menace to be perceived as anything but a threat. Scout glanced around awkwardly.
Spy dropped his head into his hands, unwilling to see.
“You know he gets it from you, right?” Demo nudged him, unable to pry his eye away, as though he was watching a car crash.
“I know,” Spy mumbled. He had just been about to intervene and spare the girl from Scout’s presence, but the problem changed into an entirely different catastrophe.
“Uh, so anyways, what do you do for work? Well, I guess, like, this is what you do. Deli stuff and all that. Sorry, that was stupid.” Scout wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Well, I have a really cool thing going on for me, work-wise. Pay is great, but my coworkers are all totally weird. So basically, every day we—“
Heavy seized him by the throat, yanking him away from the counter, the contract-defying words dying on Scout’s tongue as he choked. Spy had to admit he had been so focused on the horror in front of him that he hadn’t noticed the hulking figure approaching. “Very sorry for little man. He is radiation-poisoned. Have good day.” Heavy gave a stiff nod and dragged Scout away, who gasped for air as Heavy’s iron grip loosened around his neck. She smiled, suddenly joyous, and waved as Heavy walked away, Scout in tow. Spy and Demo followed in stunned silence.
Scout coughed, rubbing his throat after Heavy let go of him. “Hey, dummy! What the hell was that for? She was totally into me! Or, well, she was about to be.”
Heavy gave Scout an icy look but continued to walk. “We go now.” As he went, he grabbed a case of beer off of the top shelf and approached the register. He dropped a thick stack of bills on the counter in front of a wide-eyed young man, hundreds more than required, and walked out into the sun, squinting in the bright light.
After packing everything into the van, the four mercenaries climbed back into their seats. Heavy started driving away, tuning out Scout's complaining.
“I’m sorry, alright? I just wanted her to like me, so I ran my mouth. I never get any luck with Teufort girls, but I thought she’d be different from them. I dunno what it is they don’t like.” Scout looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the flooring. “But I guess it’s for the best, ya know. It wouldn’t work if she couldn’t know about my job.”
“Ach, I know the feeling. I had something going with a lassie for a while, but it couldn’t last, had to leave her a while back. Can’t remember where we were stationed. That’s how it is in this line of work.” Demo looked wistful for a moment, staring into the azure sky.
“Maybe love is not for you, but it is certainly not impossible,” Spy said, adjusting his tie. Spy purposefully stopped himself from revealing any details of his love, it wasn’t wise to reveal anything to even the closest team members, especially when one of them was… a special case. “Love during wartime, it is the most powerful of all, because it gives you someone to fight for.”
“Oh, like any girl with half a brain would give you the time of day,” Scout scoffed. Heavy glanced at him with a strange look in his eyes. “What about you, big guy? You never talk about this kind of thing.”
“Nothing to discuss.” Heavy shrugged, staring at the road.
“I don’t see why you never go to Teufort to socialise, or are you satisfied just hanging around in Medic’s creepy lab all day?” Scout said, clearly attempting to provoke a reaction. It was unclear if Scout somehow didn’t know the extremely open secret that Heavy and Medic were a little more than teammates, or if he was trying to subtly ask Heavy about just that.
Spy and Demo shared a glance, and Spy took out his cigarette case while Demo cracked open a drink from the store. It was going to be a long drive back.
Heavy’s demeanour changed in an instant, and he turned with a sadistic little smirk. “Aw, it’s not Heavy’s fault that Doktor makes Scout cry because he is afraid of little baby needles.”
“Hey! I don’t cry at nothin’!” Scout’s voice rose in indignation. “And I’m not afraid of needles or of that Deutsch-bag geezer.” His fists were clenched at his sides. Apparently, Heavy had touched a nerve. Everyone knew Scout was deathly afraid of the medbay and all that lies therein, and Spy would have been eager to mock him for such juvenile fears, but given that the only doctor they had was Medic, Scout’s fears were less baseless anxiety and more self-preservation.
“Maybe Doktor would be nicer to Scout if he would stop screaming and kicking whenever he had to get a shot.” Heavy turned back to the road, a smile still on his lips. “He tells me you sound like little girl.” Scout punched Heavy on the arm, but Heavy just laughed.
“I don’t, for your frickin’ information. But even so, I swear he jams the needles in like he’s trying to kill me whenever he’s stealin’ my blood for his weird experiments. Smilin’ the whole time too. Anyways, how’d we even get talking about Medic? Okay, answer this,” Scout pointed a finger at Heavy. “What type would you go for if you had to go for someone?”
Heavy was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Must be smart. Good conversation. Must be able to fend for self.”
That piqued Spy’s interest. “I would have expected someone in the defence class to want someone to protect,” he said, before taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the open window.
“I think it’s a matter of sometimes protecting somebody versus always protecting them. Sometimes you want to leave work on the battlefield, yeah? As well, nobody wants a lass who’s completely helpless on her own,” Demo said, gesturing with the bottle he was holding.
Heavy grunted in agreement. “Protection goes both ways. Is two-man job.” His eyes widened slightly after the words had left his mouth, and then he gripped the steering wheel tighter, refusing to turn around and acknowledge a snort from Spy, who was elbowed by a similarly amused Demo.
"I agree, you want somebody who's always behind you, fighting alongside you, aye?" Demo's grin was teasing. "Someone who can patch you up at the end of the day.”
“Does this lover have to be from your motherland? Or perhaps somewhere else, like Germany, for example?” Spy asked, voice trembling slightly with barely stifled laughter.
Heavy gripped the wheel even tighter, as though he might break the thing in two, and he glared back at the two in the rearview mirror. Maybe Spy was going crazy from the heat, but he could have sworn Heavy’s ears were going pink in embarrassment. “Language is not issue. We stop talking now.”
It was unclear from Scout's puzzled expression if he was playing dumb or if he was further gone than Spy thought. “What? No way Heavy likes Germans. The only German I ever met is Medic, and don’t tell him I said this, but the guy's all kinds of freaky.” Spy's question was answered as Scout dropped the face and elbowed Heavy in the side, grinning ear-to-ear. "Doesn't it bug you that he's always tryin' to examine you, big guy?”
“Aw, laddie, I don't think he minds!” Demo cried, before descending into raucous laughter, Spy snorting and clutching at Demo for stability. Spy wasn’t going crazy. Heavy was definitely blushing.
“No more of this, or Heavy leaves you all on side of road,” Heavy growled, though some of the intimidation was lost with the half smile he was trying to hide.
———
As it turns out, French onion soup had been the right choice. It was rare that something was deemed good or even acceptable by every member of the team, but surprisingly, hot soup hadn’t gone amiss on a hot day. Demo supposed it was more heartwarming than anything. The team ran ragged, so some home-cooked comfort was much appreciated. Everyone was sitting around the table, even the reclusive Sniper had come inside. He was listening to Spy recount the events of the trip, a rare peace settled between the two.
“I could not say who looked angrier,” said Spy, “the poor woman he was pestering, or Heavy!”
Sniper chuckled dryly as he scraped the last traces of soup from the bowl. “Glad he nabbed the little bugger before he got us all terminated, right?” He made a vague gesture with his spoon. “I still don’t see how he thought admitting to killing blokes for a living would charm a civilian. Even my folks aren’t keen on it.”
“I do not think he thinks about anything before it leaves his mouth.” Spy sighed. “But I admit, it is good to see him talking to other women, other than you-know-who. It was becoming depressing.”
Sniper just shrugged in response. “You’re one to talk, mister ‘petit chou-fleur.’” Sniper dodged a swipe from Spy, already laughing. “You can’t fool me! I hear you talking to yourself!” Oh well, truces between the two never last for long.
Scout was treating Pyro and Engineer to a story about some baseball game that they’d heard many times before, but Engineer was content to hum in agreement now and again. Pyro nodded between mouthfuls of soup, lifting their mask over their mouth just enough to get the spoon in.
“Oh man, you should have seen the way that thing flew.” Scout swung his arms, miming the perfect hit. “Just talking about it is making me miss the ballpark. Battle is one thing, but it would be nice to get out there again, for the love of the game, you know?
“Say, son, if you’ll help me with a project tomorrow, maybe I could try getting one of my sentries set up as a pitching machine again.”
“Sweet! But, uh, you gotta make sure it’s not on so high this time. I can’t bat a thousand with a dislocated arm.”
Engineer hissed through his teeth. “Sorry about that again, partner.”
“It’s nothing, happens like 10 times every battle.” Scout waved a hand dismissively. “I just pop it back into place at this point, nothing a quick medipack can’t fix.”
“Mmmh mh mmph mmh mh mph mmh mh mmmph mm mmph.”
Scout looked to Engineer for translation as Pyro giggled to themself. “Yeah, listen to firebug, ‘Don’t let Medic know you’re the one who takes the packs.’ You might just find yourself lackin’ a few bones next time you go to run laps.” Scout looked around, paranoia clear as day on his face as Engineer and Pyro laughed.
Luckily for him, Medic was preoccupied in his own conversation with Heavy. “It really hadn’t been a serious experiment, I just found some extra parts lying around while I was reorganising. Nothing significant or viable for medical application. Some bits from an Alaskan great lemur, some from a red-throated polar wolf, and some from something I found in a jar, but the label had rubbed off. If I don’t use them now, I never will, ja?” Medic tittered to himself, all high and giddy.
“How did putting animal parts together destroy lab?” Heavy narrowed his eyes skeptically, while Medic gave a sheepish look.
“Well, perhaps I became a little bit distracted, but it was time to feed the flock, and then I wanted a cup of coffee, so I went to make a fresh pot, and when I came back, I realised my mistake. I had left the thing under my prototype medigun for too long, it seemed, and when I opened the door, it lunged for my throat! It had come to life, and it was intelligent enough to know it wanted to kill me! Incredible, ja?” Medic’s smile was too gleeful for the story he was telling. “So, I wrestle it down to disassemble the little creature, but it puts up a good fight. But not to fear, mein Freund, it was no match for me!”
Heavy laughed, giving Medic a friendly slap on the back, though the force of the gesture nearly took him out of his seat. “Silly animal should know better than to mess with Doktor!”
Medic gave a prideful smirk. ”By the time it was in 17 pieces and safely suspended in a handful of jars, it looked like a storm had ripped through the room! I wish you had been there to see it, truly a battle for the ages.”
Heavy wagged a finger, wearing an audacious expression. “If Heavy had been there, there would have been no battle. Animal that Doktor made would not stand chance. No beast or man can beat Heavy, even without Sasha.”
“Hmm, is that a challenge?” Medic leaned forward, eyes twinkling.
“Maybe, maybe.” Heavy leaned towards Medic’s ear, his voice lowering. “Do not tell others, but Heavy bought good, imported German beer while at store. If Doktor comes along, Heavy will share, and we talk more, away from loud team.”
Demo smiled fondly as the two crept out of the room, as though nobody would notice two tall, broad men tiptoeing out of a cramped room, smiling cheekily like they were getting away with some great heist. It was well known at this point that the two had something going on, of course, nobody really minded. It was sort of sweet, even if the two lovebirds were half-crazed, who wasn’t? Whether it was spoken or not, love in wartime is a precious thing. Though maybe the sappy stuff was the booze talking. Either that, or he was spending too much time with Spy.
Demo felt warm and relaxed, like he was absorbing the high spirits of his team. He felt his best when he was buzzed like this, ideas came so easily, and they seemed more colourful, more exciting. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the drink in his glass, the orange peel skating around the rim. A simple rusty nail, sweet and smoky, something easy to test the new Scotch whisky he’d snagged the last bottle of. He used significantly less Drambuie than the recipe usually calls for, but in his opinion, it was a marked improvement. The others at the table seem to agree.
“You’ve made me proud, son!” Soldier tipped up the rim of his helmet as he grinned. “Really takes the edge off a long day’s battle, it’s like a second victory after the first one!” Now that Demo thought of it, he hadn’t seen Soldier all day, and today was a day off. No battle. Demo tried to keep his confusion from showing as he watched Soldier finish his bowl. “This ‘French’ fellow has made me proud as well! It takes a real patriot to take such a failure of nature, such as the onion, and best it in combat, turning it into a delicious soup!” Soldier wiped a tear from his eye. “I am crying now. Not because of the onions, but for love of America.”
Oh well, it was best not to question Soldier, so Demo just slung an arm around his shoulders and took another sip, happy to have the company. “You said it, lad.”