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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes	By : No-Capes Category: +S through Z > Team Fortress 2 Views: 1652 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or anyone in it and do not make money from this writing

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author’s Note - Sorry for the delay in this. There was a funeral, a cross country road trip, and I’m in the middle of working convention season. I’ll spare details but I haven’t had much time to sit down and write anything.
As a side note - the editor feels I need to add this for added entertainment value: In my head canon, Heavy and Medic seem to have a bet on whether or not Engineer might be bisexual. Heavy probably doesn’t really care all that much, but Medic’s a nosy bastard who’s tired of being part of the only gay couple on the team. Not saying he wants to go out on double dates or anything, but in any case, Engineer has pinged on his gaydar and he’s determined to be proven right.

Also Soldier seems to be crushing on the Engineer, though was apparently never given “the talk”, so his feelings are probably very confusing for him. There are not enough hand puppets in the world I think for anyone to explain it to him. Sadly, it will forever remain one-sided. Sorry, Soldier, but Senpai will never notice you.
~~~~

It had been over a month before RED finally lifted the ban that had been keeping the mercenaries on base. The desert air was almost a bearable temperature in the early evening. The sun was setting and the shadows were growing longer. Eager to be free most of the men disappeared for the weekend, leaving the base deserted and quiet. Quiet except for the odd banging that echoed around the base's courtyard.
Scout slunk out of the barracks, his hands jammed in his pockets as he walked to the courtyard to investigate. In the middle of the courtyard was a large open shipping crate spilling packing sawdust on the ground. Looking up from the crate, he squinted to make out two silhouettes on the roof against the dimming sky, the Texan and Pyro. They were wrestling with... an overgrown radio antennae? The pair were so focused on their work they didn't notice they were being observed. Currently, the Texan was holding the antennae while the Pyro fumbled with something against the gables of the second story. "No, no, that goes there." the Texan's voice echoed across the courtyard, "hold this," he said, hastily taking the wrench from the other figure and switching places. A wind started to pick up and the antennae swayed drunkenly, "Steady, can't have this stuck up here crooked now."
The masked accomplice asked something that couldn't be heard from the Scout's position. The Texan sighed, his voice carrying farther than the mumbles of the other teammate, "No, we can't just 'hit it with a wrench.'"
Finally unable to keep quiet, the Scout called up, "What are you knuckleheads doin' up there?" Pyro called out a muffled greeting and eagerly waved down at him, then quickly replaced it's grip on the swaying antennae.
Engineer glanced over his shoulder to the ground and called down to Scout, "Replacing this wireless antennae. Thought you left base with everyone else."
The radio was the main source of outside entertainment for the base. Outside of killing each other. While the base did have a television - the management had installed it a good half year ago - it was useless. They were so far out of range of any broadcast that no matter how much tin foil they had attached to the apparatus, the best the box could manage was a ghost of a signal that might resemble an image. So until someone got a broadcasting tower a bit closer to Tuefort, if anyone wanted any sort of entertainment or news the only option was the radio.
"What was wrong with the old antennae?" the Scout asked, ignoring the Texan's comment.
"Not much, besides being used for target practice." the older man called down irritably.
"It wasn't that bad," the Scout said defensively, almost guiltily.
"We could hardly pick up a signal from twenty miles away, much less anything else. The range on it was terrible, even before you and Soldier got to it."
"That wasn't me!"
The Texan ignored the young man's indignant claims of innocence and straightened from his task. He grinned and patted Pyro on the shoulder, giving him a thumbs up and saying something cheerful that couldn't be heard from the ground. Pyro gingerly relinquished its grip on the antennae which remained firmly in one place. Punching the air in victory, the figure disappeared from view and Scout faintly heard the hum of the teleporter. The Pyro then appeared from around the corner and the Texan soon followed.
"I'll check the radio and see if it's angled right. Though everything should be good." Engineer said to the arsonist, "You can go on and git, I'll clean this up later"
The gas mask nodded, clearly pleased with itself. Shambling towards the barracks it mumbled something amiable to Scout and disappeared inside.
" …Yea," Scout replied uneasily to Pyro's back, "…you too."
"Honestly, I don' care which one of ya'll broke it." the Texan commented as he walked to the barracks himself. "As long as whoever wrecked the last antennae leaves this'un alone. Waited for months for it to be shipped. Thought it wouldn't be delivered in time."
With little else of interest going on, the young man followed, "In time? In time for what?"
"Thanksgiving?" the Texan prompted incredulously as made their way inside. Pyro had already disappeared to do... whatever it was that the arsonist did when off the clock.
"Yea... what about Thanksgiving?"
"The Game!" one could hear the capitalization in the man's voice. The importance. The enthusiasm bordering on reverence.
"What game?" Scout gave the man a baffled look, "The World Series is over."
"I ain't talkin' about baseball." Engineer snorted disdainfully as they walked down the hall towards the recroom. "I'm talking about football!" he persisted, "The Thanksgiving Game!"
"And I still. Have no freakin' clue. What you're talking about. You did all that," Scout asked, "just to hear a football game?"
The Texan stared at the young man as if he had just said something blasphemous, "Just a football game? Son, I thought they was civilized back east… I'm talking about the Aggie - Longhorn game."
"The what-the-hell game? "
"A&M and TU?" the Engineer asked. The only response Scout gave him was a blank look. The more the Texan spoke the less sense he made. "They're schools in Texas." he explained awkwardly with the confused air of someone who had to explain how wheels worked. "They fight it out every Thanksgivin'"
"Why?"
"'Cause- cause its tradition!"
Enlightenment was starting to slowly dawn on the young man's face. Football wasn't something he knew or cared much about but he knew team rivalries quite well and the Texan's babblings had all the earmarks of one.
The phone rang - interrupting the Texan's excited explanation.
"I'll get it!" Scout exclaimed, swaggering to the phone before the Texan could reach it. "Heya," he said into the receiver.
There was an awkward cough on the other end of the line and then a man with a thick Texas drawl spoke "Excuse me, is this the er…" his voice faltered as it sounded like he was reading off the name, "the… Reliable… Excavation Demolition office?"
"Yea this is RED base, what's it to ya?"
"I… uh… need" the man cleared his throat, "to talk to someone…-" there was another cough. At this rate he was going to die of old age before the man spat out what he wanted.
"You want Hardhat," Scout guessed cutting him off before he could waste any more time with his drawn out drawl and long pauses. Covering the receiver with his hand he leaned out and yelled down the hall, "Hey! Old McDonald! Phone for ya!"
The Engineer came up beside Scout and took the phone from him. "Howdy," the Texan answered the phone, there was a pause and then a wary reply "Speakin'…Who's this?" The Scout lingered just in ear shot, Engineer was too distracted to notice.
"John? John McAlister? How are ya?" There was a long pause, the man on the other end was probably clearing his throat between every word. "Why ya callin'?" After an even longer pause, the Texan's easy going smile faded, "Pardon, ah musta-".
"Y-you think I should -" the Texan stiffened, his mouth pressing into a thin line , "Ya think I need tah-" There was another pause, "W-what business is it of yours?"
"D-did Evie p-" Engineer's eyes narrowed as the unknown speaker apparently cut in. "Oh, for her sake? Well ain't yah just th' good Samaritan!" he spat into the phone "-stickin' yer nose where it don't belong. What gives yah the right? Callin' a man up and tellin' him what tah do! Sniffin' after someone else's wife!"
"It ain't your business what ah do- or when ah do it!" Yanking the receiver from his ear, the Texan slammed it down onto the hook. It missed the cradle sliding down the front of the phone. There was a quiet moment before the Texan exploded, beating the receiver in his hand against the phone. Deciding it was best to leave now before he was noticed Scout slipped down the hall and around a corner.
Scout listened on as again and again the Engineer beat out a frustrated staccato until the receiver fractured with an audible snap. He dropped the broken receiver letting it clatter. "Damnit," he spat.
Curiosity forced the Scout to cloak and peer around the corner in time to hear the Texan swear again and slam his fist into the phone, shattering it into pieces.
Damnit…" the man slumped against the wall. The Engineer looked down at his now bloodied hand and hissed. "Shit." the profanity echoed down the now empty hallway.
Still cloaked, the Spy made his way up the hall to make his exit, thankful that the Engineer had been too absorbed to realize he'd had an audience or that said audience had faded into thin air.
Stupid cow. The Spy fumed as he crept through the base and slipped through a side door. All he wanted was to investigate other things on base but once again found himself waylaid by the ridiculous cowboy. Stupid cowboy and his stupid cow wife. Thanks to her and her paramour the farmhand was going to be useless. Again. Even now the Texan was probably locking himself back in his room to cry over his guitar, wallowing in self pity and cheap beer.
After all the trouble he'd gone through, the Spy fumed. All that hard work just undone by one phone call. He wasn't going to stand for it he decided, picking his way across No Man's Land back to BLU base. A plan was slowly forming in his head, it would take some work but he wasn't going to let some stupid woman and her inbred queutard win.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Herr Engineer - how did you come to blows with our telephone?" Medic asked conversationally as he dug around in the Texan's hand with a pair of tweezers.
The phone, ancient and long suffering in the desert heat, had shattered easily enough. But not without leaving bits of wire and shards of plastic in the Texan's fist as reminders. While a dispenser could heal any cut or wound in seconds - there was the danger of any shrapnel or debris healing into the wound as well. During a skirmish with respawn running it was hardly a problem. But it was a weekend and it seemed overdramatic to shoot himself over a busted hand. So with hung head and grit teeth Engineer went looking for medical help.
Medic looked up at him from his work, patiently waiting for an answer. An explanation. The Texan faltered, he didn't feel like talking about it. Especially not to this man. There didn't seem to be a way to word what had happened without making himself sound like a damn fool. Well… more of a damn fool.
The doctor's expectant silence stretched with the Texan nervously drumming the fingers of his uninjured hand on the edge of the table. Avoiding the question. Suddenly the tweezers twisted, hitting nerves and he bit back a swear.
"Sorry," the German purred with an unpleasantly pleasant smile, "hand slipped - now what were you saying about the phone?" he prompted helpfully.
"… I wasn't." came the cautious reply. While no one could doubt the doctor's experience or his... enthusiasm, Medic's bedside manner left a lot to be desired. It was a widely accepted, yet rarely voiced fact among the team members that the older man had a taste for inflicting pain. No one was sure what he could or would do to any of the team who got on his bad side. No one really wanted to think about it.
The sharp pain in his hand that jolted all the way up to his elbow was the immediate answer to that question.
"Dad-Gummit!"
"Oops!" Medic chuckled "Silly me! I'm all thumbs today."
It seemed he wasn't going to get out of here unless he talked. Or lost his hand. Why couldn't anyone mind their own damn business and leave him alone?
Maybe losing a hand wouldn't be so bad. BLU's Engineer had designed himself a decent prosthetic he mused, trying to distract himself from the pain. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to build something similar. Or better.
Mental blueprints were disrupted by a quiet plink as a shard of plastic was dropped into a bowl by the doctor's elbow.
"I didn't hear you - why did you destroy our telephone?" the German asked again, voice soft, casually holding the Texan's hand down on the table as he moved his tweezers in closer to work.
He realized he would probably need to use both his hands to build a decent prosthetic. Provided Medic let him go. He didn't think that the man would seriously hurt him for not talking. But it occurred to him that Medic might have a different definition of "seriously injured" than he did.
Engineer bit down on his lip as the tweezers dug around among the tendons and bone of his hand. Awkward, but only slightly painful. For a moment his eyes met Medic's. Probably soon to be more than slightly painful unless he missed his guess. His guess was quickly forgotten as sudden pain shot up his hand to his shoulder.
"God dammit!" Thankfully, no ladies were present to hear the additional cursing. Reflexively he tried to jerk his hand back, but the older man's grip was stronger than he expected.
"Nien! I'm not finished." Medic insisted, keeping his firm grasp on Engineer's hand. He was about to try to get up to leave when he saw Medic's face. The gleam in the man's eyes told him that if he tried to get up and leave now the man would easily fix it so he couldn't. Swallowing his protest, he nervously sank back in his chair. He didn't ask when Medic would be done, no sense wasting his breath.
The tweezers went digging again and the Texan gripped the side of the chair with his good hand as another spasm of pain traveled up his arm. There was no feigned apology this time, only silence and… a smile. Glancing away from the alleged doctor his gaze wandered around the room, trying to find a distraction. His eyes traveled uneasily over the clean bare desk, the Medigun propped up in the corner, the locked medicine cabinet, the mysterious medical devices on the shelf. Devices for uses he didn't want to think about. Finally, his gaze rested uneasily on the skeleton and its permanent grin hanging in the corner. There were many rumors passed around about that skeleton; who it was and where it came from. That it had been a victim of the doctor's tinkering, or a patient that made him mad. Whoever the poor bastard was he currently hung in the corner of the room serving as a grim warning.
The skeleton smiled on as Engineer felt another shot of pain race up his arm and spread.
"Shit!" He groaned as the pain lingered.
Medic dropped another shard in the bowl. "Not done yet."
"Damn… sadist." he spat looking back at Medic. He could possibly fight his way out of here. He could also possibly end up drugged on the floor. Being unconscious wasn't something he wanted to do again anytime soon.
"Don't be such a baby" the German tsked, shaking his head "You are the vun who-"
"-Yeah yeah!" he snapped, cutting the doctor off, "Ah punched the phone! No need tah remind me."
"And why did you?" Medic prompted quietly his tweezers poised and ready to go to work again.
"I got a phone call from- from home." The words tumbled out before he could let himself swallow them. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, not a person he wanted to have it with. But apparently it was talk or suffer. "Not from home." he corrected himself. "From her new- new -" he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he found himself struggling for words. There was some pain as the doctor went back to work, but nothing compared to the last jolt.
"My replacement!" he blurted with a wince.
Medic's eyebrows shot up but offered no comment as he dropped another scrap into the bowl.
"Damn bastard, I went to school with him!" Engineer found himself rambling. "Callin' me- callin' me tellin' me to sign th' papers. So he can help himself." he spat bitterly. He had been ignoring the papers, letting them lurk on his desk while he focused on other things, other problems while Evie found someone else to take his place. He let himself be distracted. Let himself forget them. "Damn fool."
"All finished." Medic announced smugly, dropping the last scrap of the telephone into the bowl. "Kopf hoch, Engineer" he soothed with feigned cheer rising from the table. The Texan, eager to be free, scooted his chair back and moved to stand.
"No no, let me heal zat."
Engineer hesitantly stayed in his seat. True he could have wrapped up his hand and go down to his workshop and patch this up himself, but this was easier.
Medic dropped the bloody tweezers in the bowl with the unlikely shrapnel and walked to the corner of the office where the medigun rested on a wheeled stand. "You need to get your mind off of zis. Go out for some drinks." The older man insisted as he wheeled the apparatus closer. "Take Soldier with you," the machine hummed loudly as Medic switched it on. "A man shouldn't go drinking alone."
There was a moment of warmth while the medigun did it's work and the pain was gone. The Texan gave a relieved smile as he flexed his now repaired hand. Murmuring his thanks through grit teeth he stood from his chair to make his exit.
The Medic switched off the machine and, to Engineer's horror, patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Maybe if you are still upset afterwards, Sniper can help you with your problem. He is a man good at handling these sort of... problems."
The Texan stiffened "Problem? How could Slim help with…" he glanced at the Medic's face trying to see if he was joking. Was he suggesting… "Murder?" the question ended in a horrified whisper. It was less horror at the German's suggestion and more at the fact that he was almost considering it. Lord knew he had imagined Evie's new beau dropping dead of something unpleasant plenty of times already.
"Mord? " Medic froze as if realizing that whatever capacity he was expected to fulfill did not include suggesting homicide to a teammate. He gave the Texan's shoulder a few more unreassuring pats. "Kill someone? Nein! No!" he protested loudly and jovially. "Was only joking! Joking!" he insisted, his wooden grin spreading from ear to ear but doing nothing to mask the crazy glint in his eye.
"Right.... " Engineer said uneasily sidling away from the man and towards the door. To freedom. Safety. "Thanks again for the assist." he said quickly, "I'm gonna try to see what I can do about the phone." Before the Medic could say anything else he slipped out the door and was it everything he could to not bolt down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The day before Thanksgiving Engineer was hauling his gear back to his workshop, taking the long way around the building to avoid the rest of the team. After the call from Evie's new lover and the following destruction of the phone.... The rather furious reactions from the rest of the team just made it worse. He got up and ate his breakfast before everyone else, kept himself out of the way during skirmishes, and remained on the edges of the base. Most of the team had taken one look at the wreckage of what had been the phone with awed trepidation, so he wasn't too concerned about anyone actually throwing a punch at him. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone
Hopefully, everything on base would cool down in a week or so, which was about when RED said they would send the replacement. At rather inflated expense to the Texan's paycheck of course. But after all the trouble it took for him to reach home base and inform them of their communications problem he didn't see a point in arguing. It wasn't like he was sending his money home to Her anymore.
No sense thinking about that, thinking about Her. It was over. Officially. The papers were signed and sent off. It was over and out of his hands.
It just didn't feel over.
The Texan shook his head. He needed a distraction. Thanksgiving couldn't come fast enough.
While not everyone on base was American, there was usually some sort of attempt to celebrate the holiday. Mostly to convince Soldier that everyone on this base was American and not infiltrating Communists. Though the rest of the team didn't need much convincing to celebrate a holiday devoted to stuffing yourself silly. A half day of fighting seemed to be the agreement between the two teams, and then a tactical retreat to nap for the rest of the day. Dinner was usually provided by Scout's mom who somehow managed to send a hot roast turkey and all the trimmings through the United States Postal Service. He had never figured out how she'd accomplished this feat, but her efforts were appreciated by all the team who ate it with good cheer and lots of alcohol.
The sudden sound of an engine starting echoed through the courtyard cutting through the evening silence. The Texan froze at the noise, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting, his eyes narrowing in recognition. If someone, probably the kid, thought they were taking his truck out for a joy ride they had another thing coming. Dropping his gear to the ground, he took off at a sprint across the courtyard. He made his way to the far end of RED grounds, beyond the old shed where all the cars were parked out of the line of likely fire.
"Stop where yah are yah gutless horse thief!" he pulled the pistol from his belt and stalked among the cars. There was Soldier's jeep, Spy's fancy red sports car, and there was his truck. Idling, with no one behind the wheel. Warily, he scanned the area. No sign of anyone; just rocks, vehicles and sand. Cautiously, still holding on to the pistol, he placed his other hand on the door handle and opened it. He definitely remembered locking the truck up last time he'd gone out.
Someone was messing with him, he decided. There was no one in the cab, not a sign of a person or out of place lamps. Warily, he climbed in to undo whatever hot wiring or meddling that had been done to his truck..
"Whoever did this better hope I don't find them out," he muttered to the empty air, settling into the driver's seat of the pickup. And promptly slumped over unconscious.
Once he was sure that the Texan was truly out commission, the BLU Spy uncloaked and climbed out of the back of the truck. He brushed the dust off his suit and strolled to the driver's side of the truck, simultaneously pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped the knock out drug off the door handle before climbing in; the Engineer roughly shoved out of the way as the Frenchman tried to squeeze behind the wheel.
After much squirming and grumbling the seat was finally adjusted to accommodate Spy's longer legs. He reached up and tilted the rear view mirror to suit him, tsking at the sight of himself. That wouldn't do. Pulling his disguise kit out of his pocket, he soon looked back up in the mirror to see a perfect facsimile of the Engineer's face.
Much better. The Texan in the mirror wore a smirk that was out of character.
The real Engineer was quickly covered using an old blanket that had been left so thoughtfully in the cab.
The truck jerked and squealed as Spy shifted it into gear and started towards the road. This was much easier than the wheelbarrow.
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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes