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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
People were so much easier to deal with on the other end of a scope, the Sniper thought to himself over dinner. Even if you weren't intending to put a bullet through their brainpan they were a lot quieter from a distance.
"That last performance out there was PATHETIC ladies!" Soldier roared as he stood at the head of the mess hall table. The Australian tuned out the man and tried to finish his meal.
Most nights the other occupants at the table might ignore the man's rants but tensions were running high. With no more bail money in the budget the Administration declared the mercenaries were not to leave the base unless they wanted their pay docked. While most of the team did normally spend weeks at a time on base without leaving, there was a difference between staying on base because you had to and staying on base when you knew you could leave whenever you wanted. The idea of being trapped on base made everyone stir crazy. If the Digger didn't go hoarse soon, the Australian thought to himself as he glanced around the table, this could get ugly.
The Doctor and the Russian were at their usual places at the end of the table glaring at the self-appointed general as he fumed about how they were failing at their jobs. The Scotsman clutched his bottle in one hand and unenthusiastically picked at his food with his fork in the other. The grip on the bottle suggested he was as likely to break it over someone's head as he was to drink from it. The Pyro wasn't at the table, the team had stopped setting out a chair for...him a while ago. Pyro would disappear with a plate of food and return with it sparkling clean after some time. That was all anyone knew. It seemed safer not to think about it too hard.
"I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY MORE FAILURE!" Plates and glasses rattled on the table as the Soldier continued, punctuating his words by pounding the table with every other word to belabor the point. The Spy sat quietly, his food barely touched, his ever present cigarette forming a cloud of smoke over his head, watching the raving American. If he was contemplating murder, the day's events, or a new hat, Sniper couldn't tell he rarely could read the man's expression. Scout's face, however, was easy to read. He glared at the man, seething, getting more and more angry the longer the Soldier raged on. If anyone was going to start something it was probably going to be him.
Sniper heaved a sigh, there was little point responding to Soldier's earbashing, it only seemed to encourage him to yell more. All he could hope to do was finish eating before things got violent. The Australian glanced irritably at the empty place at the table - the only person who could talk him down was Truckie but the Texan had disappeared shortly after today's battle. He'd probably locked himself in his workshop again, he'd been doing that a lot since he bailed them all out.
"NONE OF YOU ARE FIT TO WEAR THOSE UNIFORMS - YOU ARE ALL A DISGRACE!"
This was the final straw.
"DISGRACE? US?" the Scout shouted , jumping out of his chair. "That's pretty rich coming from the numbskull that got us in the clink!"
"I AM NOT THE ONE WHO BROKE AN AGREEMENT." the Soldier retorted, with all the conviction (and volume) of an innocent man.
"Ya pounded on their front door for forty five min-" Scout persisted.
"Lad, weren't you also-" the Scotsman asked in confusion.
"-THAT AIN'T THE POINT! THIS-" the Scout cut Demo off defensively ,jabbing a finger back in Soldiers direction and opened his mouth to continue. But now the rest of the team had decided to cut into the argument.
"-Zey thought you vere attacking them!"
"-maybe if Snipe's frickin' van wasn't such a frickin' junkheap-"
"THEY WOULD NOT OPEN-"
"-I'm telling ye, if ye had but listened to me and-"
"Dumbkoff! Zey were-"
"-ain't my fault they thought the Russians were invad-"
"-I was not going to hurt tiny-
"-was just trying to-"
"- they also thought Frenchie over here was a moles-"
"-let's not dwell on that."
"-IT IS NOT MY FAULT WE HAD UNRELIABLE TRANSPORT."
"-'e's right maybe if we had had a real car we might have gotten-"
While earlier he had been content to wait out the storm, the Australian now refused to sit there and listen to more insults against his van."Stop insulting my-" he tried to cut in but was, unsurprisingly, interrupted.
"We vould not have been spät if we had no-"
"OI! STOP INSULTING SHEILA!" Sniper yelled, jerking out of his chair his voice slicing through the din. All talking stopped and the Australian suddenly felt the gaze of eleven eyes looking at him. Judging him.
"Ya named your van?" the Scout barely managed before he erupted into hoots of laughter.
"That's not important!" he grunted defensively as the Spy and Medic joined in the laughter. "That's not the point. The point is..." he trailed off uneasily as the laughter continued. What was the point? He'd forgotten. He just wanted everyone to stop laughing at him. "What was the point?" he asked finally.
"The point, Private," the Soldier growled, he was rarely one to get side tracked once he had his sights in place. "is HOW YOU NUMBNUTS ARE ALL FAILURES! "
"Hey, don' yell at me," Scout interrupted having recovered from his fit of laughter "I am kickin' ass out there! It's Hardhat you should be yellin' at!"
Soldier froze and glared at the boy. "...WHAT WAS THAT, SHORTPANTS?"
Scout stood up, his face forming a sneer. "You heard me, go yell at Hardhat. He's the one always droppin' the frickin' ball! He's been doing it for weeks!"
Soldier frowned walking from the head of the table towards the Scout. "ACCUSING A MEMBER OF YOUR UNIT OF SHIRKING IS-A-PRET-TY SORRY EXCUSE FOR YOUR FAILURE!" he snarled glaring down at the kid.
Scout stepped back, tucking his head down and lifting his hands up in case this was going to go from verbal to physical sparring. "I'm just sayin' Old McDonald sucks, more than usual." He looked around stubbornly to the rest of the team daring anyone else to argue with him.
There was an awkward silence as everyone else stared down at their plates. The kid had a point, the Sniper grudgingly had to admit. It was hard to fight when your defense and support was falling to pieces. Which it had been lately. He had noticed, and judging from the silence that had spread around the table, he wasn't the only one. It was hard to miss, really. Truckie was barely around these days, and the few occasions he was out of his room or workshop he was withdrawn. Something was eating at the man. And his behavior had gotten even stranger after the morning he'd bailed them all out of jail. But it hadn't been the Australian's business so he hadn't pressed the issue let alone mentioned it. Neither, did it seem, had anyone else.
Soldier glared daggers down at the lad and was about to continue berating the kid when the silence was cut by the Spy clearing his throat.
"The boy is right. " the Frenchman said when he had everyone's attention. "The Engineer is clearly distracted."
The Soldier protested in defense of the absent man but his bluster was quickly fading. "Engie's always been a hard worker," he finally grumbled down to his boots.
"He vas," the Medic joined in, much to the Sniper's surprise. Normally, the Doctor and Russian kept to themselves, not getting involved in any of the other team's issues. "But now Engineer is slipping!"
"Aye," the Scotsman chimed in, "lad's got somethin' bothering 'im."
"Monsieur Sniper," the Spy said turning to the Australian, "You talk to the laborer, do you have any idea?"
"Me?" he sputtered, he had hoped to be left out of this. "No," he shook his head "Truckie hasn't mentioned anything."
The Frenchman frowned, "We need to find out what is troubling him. If we solve his problems we will solve ours."
The Spy looked at the Australian. He was going to insist he talk to the Texan, make him spill his guts. The Sniper spoke before the Frenchman could even phrase the request.
"Leave me out of this mate. I'm no stickybeak. If he don' wanna talk about it I'm not going to force it out of him."
"Dummkopf," the Medic sneered "Has the sun baked through your skull? His problems are now ours!"
Sniper stood up from his chair about to retort when he was interrupted.
"I WILL DO IT!" Soldier said suddenly taking the floor once again. "Engie is my friend and it is my job to see that this unit runs smoothly. I will talk to him and make him to come to his senses." He straightened, puffed out his chest, saluted and marched out of the mess hall with the rest of the team staring at his departing form.
Sniper snorted , "Blooming idiot."
Medic and Heavy had already finished eating but remained at the table talking quietly to each other, waiting to see the result of Soldier's pep talk most likely. Scout likewise stayed in the mess, pacing and fidgeting. Demo had nodded off at some point and sat there snoring loudly at the table. Spy for his own reasons stuck around, and was lighting his third cigarette.
So here they all were hanging around here, burning with curiosity, like a bunch of old gossips. Even Sniper had to admit guiltily to himself that he was sticking around the mess for similar reasons. Monotony and repetition did that to you, turned you into a nosy git.
The Soldier returned after a while, more quiet than when he had left. All eyes in the room were on him as he shuffled in, shoulders hunched, his bluster gone. He made a half hearted salute to the room and cleared his throat. The silence in the room could be cut with a knife, Scout found his seat again and as one the mercenaries leaned forward waiting for an answer.
The military man cleared his throat again. The man seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat a third time. Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke quietly.
"Engie is... uh," he trailed off and cleared his throat again, "Engie is... uh... having....problems." He paused and as the room was hanging on his next word, cleared his throat again, for good measure. "Having problems on the home front..." The man was greeted with a table of blank looks. "With the missus." he hissed, as it afraid of being overheard.
There was a long awkward pause as the man's words sank in.
"So wait...Hardhat's married?"
"Yeah," Sniper replied hesitantly. The Texan had mentioned her a few times, and shown off a few photos. Her name was Irene? Ivy? He couldn't remember. Didn't matter. So that's what was eating at the man? He and his wife were having a fight? He hadn't suspected they were having any problems, Truckie had always talked about her fondly. Then again the Australian hardly considered himself an expert on relationships.
"Gentleman" the Spy broke the silence and stood from his chair a self assured smile on his face. "I believe I can solve our problem"
"And what are you gonna do-" the Scout cut in determined to have the last word.
"The Engineer needs help with his woman, yes?" the Frenchman flicked some unseen dust off his lapel "That is my area of expertise" he walked to the Soldier who still stood there in embarrassed silence. "At ease, mon ami," he said patting the man on the shoulder "this should not take long."
And with that the Spy sauntered out the door.
The Soldier had barely sat back down in his chair, the pained awkward expression frozen on his face, when the Frenchman burst back in the room.
"I will not waste any of my time on that mongrel!" the Spy spat.
"What happened?"
"He threw a wrench at me."
The Scout snickered "Didn't like what you had to say?"
"I barely said anything." the Spy said with agitation, pulling out his cigarette case, " he threw a wrench at me and started swearing in Texan. I will not waste of my knowledge on that uncivilized bumpkin."
"That doesn't sound like something Truckie would do," Sniper said doubtfully "not to a team member anyway."
"Stress does strange thingz to the mind" the Medic said with a shrug "he might also be suffering from depression, maybe an operation on the strinlappen would help."
"Come again Doc?"
"The frontal lobe," the German explained calmly gesturing at his own eyes "itz simple, a long needle through the eye sockets separate the brain lobes and all the excess emotions, the depression, paranoia, all gone."
There was a long, horrified pause
"Doktor. No." Heavy said quietly, finally breaking the silence.
"It's possible for someone to live a perfectly normal life after it!" the Doctor insisted.
The Sniper swallowed and stood up from the table, "M-Maybe it's better I go talk to him." he then quickly walked out the door before the Medic could go into further detail of why random brain surgery was a good idea.
This wasn't his business, he didn't want it to be his business. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was supposed to say to the man. He was bad at handling other people's problems. Hell, he was bad at handling his own problems. But talking to the man as awkward as it would be was better than letting Medic solve the problem. Not that the rest of the team would let it come down to the that. Surely.
Grumbling to himself he walked down the stairs to the basement and down the hall to where the Engineer's workshop was located. When he reached the door he wasn't terribly surprised to see, taped above the usual sign warning what would happen to anyone who smoked around the area, a piece of paper written in large bold letters "KEEP OUT ." Trying not to feel guilty for disturbing him, he was sparing the man brain surgery after all, he knocked on the door.
There was no answer. He knocked again, more loudly in case the man hadn't heard him. A moment later there was the sound of a deadbolt being pulled back and the door swung open revealing an annoyed Engineer brandishing a spanner.
"Can NONE of yah read a damn sign?"
The Sniper stepped back hoping the wrench wasn't going to be thrown at him. "Ya gonna throw that thing at me?"
The Texan peeled back his goggles and peered up at the taller man "Yah talked to Spy." came the rather sheepish reply. It wasn't a question.
"He was a bit cranky you know, having tools chunked at him"
"So what brings you down here?" the Texan asked suspiciously.
"Eh - Just wanted to talk. See how you're doin'..." before Medic does, he added silently to himself.
"Soldier sent you."
"That too, yea," He admitted with a shrug. There was little sense in lying, he was not very good at it. Lying was not a skill one practiced too much when living by oneself. Lies and fancy words rarely came in handy when shooting at dingoes or crocodiles. "Look, can I come in mate?"
The Texan hesitated, the spanner still gripped tightly in his hand. He gave the Sniper a long hard look, and to the bushman's befuddlement peered past him into the shadows of the hallway. Whatever he was looking for was apparently not there. Finally, Truckie stepped back from the door letting him inside.
"Yah sort of interupted me in the middle of something," the Texan said shutting the door behind them both. "Feel free to take a seat."
He had been inside the Engineer's workshop many times before in the past, but he seemed to remember it being a bit cleaner. He frowned trying to figure out where he was supposed to sit. Various mechanical scraps and odds and ends salvaged from destroyed sentries and dispensers were on all available surfaces. Usually these were sorted into various crates below the work table but apparently Truckie hadn't gotten around to it. The calendar tacked on the wall amid a sea of memos and over complicated blue prints was two months out of date. And the room seemed to have collected some dust and a cobweb or two since he had last been down here.
"So, what did Soldier tell you to say?" The Texan asked warily as the Australian cautiously picked his way through the room to the big overstuffed chair that sat in the corner by a beat up bookcase overflowing with boxes and various books. He moved a small crate out of it and sat down carefully. The Texan sat on a high stool at the only clean patch of the work table. It looked like he had been working on some plans for... something. Seeing Sniper's interest in it, the Engineer quickly folded them up and shoved them aside, out of sight.
"Eh..." the bushman hesitated as he tried to find the words.
"That I'm 'shirkin', slippin', losing my edge? That I need to 'man up'?"
The Sniper grunted noncommittally .
"It's alright. Ya can say it," the man's voice was tired and flat, "I knew this conversation was comin', in some fashion, anyway. I know I haven't been th' most helpful person to have around. "
The Australian finally managed to find his voice "Is everything alright?"
The Engineer frowned and turned his attention to the concrete floor. "...Not really," the man's voice trailed off again, "Ya know I was married right?"
"Yea..." he replied hesitantly unsure where the conversation was going. Of course he knew the man had been married. The silence stretched on as he waited for the man to continue his explanation. Then it clicked. A feeble. "Oh.." was all he could manage to say.
"Yep." the Texan said quietly.
"I'm...sorry." he said uncertainly. What else could one say in a situation like this? "I'm so sorry" he repeated for good measure. "W-what happened?" he blurted.
"I don' really wanna talk about it if ya don mind" came the terse reply.
"Sorry. Sorry." he said quickly. The awkward silence descended again. It was almost suffocating. "I'll just...go then." he said uneasily getting out of the chair and stepping around the clutter. All too eager to escape this situation. The Texan grunted his good bye as the Sniper made his way out the door.
The Australian sighed to himself as he walked down the hall to go back upstairs. He had little doubt they were still there waiting for an update, like vultures. Though what he was going to say, he had little idea.
What were they supposed to do? Sure, now they knew what was eating Truckie. But this wasn't something that one could just yell away. Not that he was an expert on relationships, broken or otherwise. None of the mercenaries were - the Doctor and Heavy didn't count. Soldier could yell and bully all he liked but he doubted there was much that anyone on the team could do for the Texan.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes