Chapter Text
When Heavy woke, the dawn was not pink as it was for Miss Pauling, but blue. A pale, rich, dusty color, almost reminiscent of the fields of bluebonnets Engineer had pointed out to him on the ride back up to Teufort after a long string of months stationed at Frontier. Texas' state flower, he had declared with a puff of his chest. Now the hue of the little buds permeated every nook of the camper. That pale sort of light which warned you to get back to sleep quickly if you didn't want it to be morning yet. Yes, as far as Heavy was concerned, a dawn this color was barely yet a dawn at all. But days when he could roll back over and sleep through til noon were few and far between. They came around, sure, and anyone who tried to take the luxury from him would end up with their skull crunched between their ribs, but he would not be seeing those mornings on this trip. Even if there hadn't been an attempt on Miss Pauling's life, he knew better than to be caught off guard around this crowd when bored. And they were bored, Heavy knew. He was bored. Uprooted from Gorge with barely a word; he was fine with that. He was not employed to make the decisions. But after that glorious afternoon of stomping BLU, why he and his team weren't still there turning their base into rubble he didn't understand. What he'd do to their BLU Spy...
His hand massaged a crick in his neck: his first movement after waking up. He couldn't stay here in a cramped, hot little box waiting for the others to rouse. Not just to be stuck in it further when it was time to depart. So, with a cautious pace, he stood from his seat in the back of the RV (he had booted Scout from the back row before they settled down for the night; the little man would find ample space in the smaller seats up front), doing his best not to disturb Soldier as he went, who had fallen against him in his sleep. He too would be coming around soon enough, surely. For all his faults the man had an internal clock you could run a train station on. Then he'd try to make them all do drills.
Precariously, Heavy tiptoed to the front of the cabin - though, he thought on a double take, precarious did not begin to cut it. A man of his stature did not move silently in such a tiny vehicle. It was... unbecoming. Once he was out the door he was grateful for the firm ground beneath his soles. Was less so when he spotted a familiar face on the roof.
"I thought you might be awake," Spy bidded good morning. "That, or another earthquake had flared up."
Heavy didn't respond. He had not come outside for company. Instead he merely stood, arms crossed over his chest, besides the camper, enjoying the last of the cool night air.
Realising in turn he had company in Heavy, Spy began to grimace. "If you've come out here to relieve yourself," he pointed, wrist dangling, "tend to it far enough away such that I don't have to hear, see, or smell it."
"I am not here for relief. Only to stand and watch."
Whether he liked that answer or not, Heavy could not read. He did not particularly care what Spy thought of him. He was too slippery for Heavy's taste; intelligent, and prideful, but not enough of one and too much of the other to be a man of honour. Now Spy set his own gaze on the horizon and harumphed. "By all means, drink it in, in all its wholly unremarkable glory. All the dying brush and lizard carcasses you could dream of."
"It is better view than inside of camper."
Spy snorted. "Only just."
More and more, arms of golden yellow stretched out to bring the day. Spy did not know what he was talking about: this was beautiful. One of the most pleasant parts of the day, if only because Heavy could enjoy it without being boiled. New Mexico's dry air he could stand, but even after many years in this job he hadn't yet gotten used to the oppressive heat. He did not envy Spy, running around in three digit temperatures with a glorified sack over his head.
Spy lit another cigarette. How he could stand the constant taste in his mouth, either, Heavy had no idea. "A word of advice," he said, "one early riser to another: I would recommend finding yourself some breakfast before the others awaken. I don't think those fools quite realise how much food it takes to feed ten people."
Heavy glanced at him, long and hard. Perhaps this was Spy's attempt to send him away and get his alone time back. But no matter his objective, this was advice Heavy would take. Slipping back into the RV he assessed the pantry: all one and a half cupboards of it. They were stocked on emergency equipment - fire starters, space blankets, and the like, although a concerning lack of water - but their food consisted of four packs of protein bars and a box of cereal Scout had already begun to snack on yesterday. This would not do. As it stood they would rip each other limb from limb in an oat and caramel fueled frenzy, granted the dehydration didn't kill them first.
No. On the dashboard Sniper's road map sat unguarded, and Heavy took this opportunity to skim it. He would sort this out before any unwanted time could be added to Miss Pauling's itinerary. Though if he were to get enough for everyone, he would need an accomplice.
Asleep in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash, Heavy tapped Medic awake.
"Come," he said before his dazed friend could question. "We are going. Supply run."
A mile down the road would be a gas station. Heavy did not know these roads, and quite frankly the vast squareness of how this part of America was laid out perplexed him, but he did know how to read a map. This gas station would have what he needed to tide them over comfortably for a day or so; come tomorrow, if needed, he would make the trek again. Living back home in Siberia it had always been his responsibility to make the monthly hike to collect necessities for his family. If he could carry them for miles through the snow, year after year, he could walk a mile by the side of the road. Although he was accustomed to making the journey alone.
The Medic was a strange man. He had a resting face that suggested he wanted to kill you; and bizarrely enough, when he did want to kill someone his face twisted into that of manic glee. Be warned that a lot of other things could turn him towards glee, too: an entertaining result to an experiment; a warm drink; theft. The more Heavy knew him the more he became convinced what they called their doctor was secretly a ball of pure curiosity bundled in a lab coat. Moreover, while Heavy would prefer silence as his company every time, Medic was not a bad compromise. He was intelligent in many fields and held interest in countless more, even if his fixations were somewhat... unorthodox. But Medic was always happy to tell Heavy all he had discovered. In stark contrast, in fact, to how cold he could be with some of their other coworkers, especially when his patience ran thin. Perhaps he chatted with him so, if only, because if he kept all his thoughts to himself he would fade some shade deeper into insanity. And Heavy had never been one to interrupt his stories.
Either way, it did not faze him. Medic was a man of many quirks, so loud and energetic and ruthless in all. And perhaps Heavy had never been the sanest man himself. So if he could not have his silence, and needed an extra pair of arms, then Medic's would do.
"So," Medic was laughing, his hands splayed, "we decided that if the man would not fit through the crack in the window, then we would simply have the window removed too!"
He was recounting his saga from last night with Engineer. There hadn't been much time for talking after the meal: Miss Pauling had wanted them out of the diner with haste, furthermore the energy she exuded once they were off on the road shut down the mood for chitchat. The one thing Heavy got from Medic, before they split off to opposite ends of the RV to sleep, was that he had spent an awfully interesting time with Miss Pauling.
Withholding any more information became advantageous in the end, Heavy mused. He had no idea for how long they would be on the road today, but if he knew anything about Medic it was that sitting still was not his forte. Not in the way Scout would, as Engineer would say, get ants in his pants; no, Medic could contain himself. But he would be sour about it. A dynamic man through and through, restless without something to engage himself with. Another of Heavy's motivations for bringing him along: if Medic started his day with dawn, with a long walk and a conversation to fill it, maybe it could knock him out for the afternoon.
"Ahah, Engineer was a whizz even with the most basic tools," he continued, and Heavy nodded along to show he was listening, "but I have to wonder what the cleaning staff thought when they came by later to discover a huge hole in the wall!"
"You did not put frame back?"
"Ach, the place was a pigsty anyway. Hardly a loss." He batted the comment away with a frown - that just as quickly disappeared with his next thought. "Who knows, maybe they'll keep the hole and advertise the room's fresh air!"
What the hatchback zooming by must have thought of the two men cracking up by the side of the road. Probably afraid of them being drunk, or hitchhikers, or both. If Heavy didn't know any better, he would say it picked up speed. Too bad. If the driver laughed half as hard as they did, they'd run themselves off the road.
"It is exhilarating, isn't it?" Medic sighed. His arm outstretched off ahead of them after the car, as if to grab the horizon.
Heavy didn't catch what he was looking at. Outside of maybe this time he spent with him, their travels so far had been anything but exhilarating. "The road?" He guessed.
"All of it! Look around us, Heavy. How close we are to the road, yes, but also to nowhere at all."
He took the cue, though he knew the terrain plenty: it hadn't changed in fifty miles. Broad highway stretched on forever, a dark ribbon across swathes of flat desert brush. No path between them, either; the two of them could either walk on the highway and risk getting hit, or walk on the uneven soil and risk spraining an ankle. And the sky, growing brighter by the minute, was wider than both of them combined. Much of New Mexico looked the same to him. The only thing this skyline was missing was a RED granary.
Heavy couldn't help but grin. "We are used to nowhere, Doctor."
"Ah, not like this. At work we have bases to go back to, and supplies littered around. Here? None of that." He raised a pointed finger. "Just around us now: cars that could kill you, or sunstroke, or the wildlife - all of it ruthless, and not a respawn machine in sight!
"You make outdoors sound scarier than it is."
"Scary? No, no." Medic gripped Heavy's arm. "It sounds fun!"
Medic laughed in a way that, cliché as it may be, could only be described as maniacally. That laugh unnerved Heavy, to be honest. He could picture his daydreams now: if given the chance, would Medic fight without the respawn machine? Maybe not full time, but as an experiment, definitely. One time, if only to see how far he could extend the potential of human life. Heavy would inevitably roped into it with him, of course, as he did all of Medic's experiments... he shook his head. A risk too far, even when in the hands of his doctor, when Heavy had a family relying on his income. At least that laugh told Heavy Medic was doing well - too well, even, as Heavy lurched Medic back from stepping on a scorpion in his absentmindedness.
"Careful, Doctor." His arm shot in front of him as if a seatbelt locking in a crash.
Medic watched it, and he watched it with wide eyes. The arachnid was the length of Heavy's hand, index finger to wrist, and the yellow-green of Miss Pauling's highlighters. Heavy had never seen anything like it. But Medic cooed. Whether it was to Heavy or the scorpion, he did not know.
As Medic slipped around his arm's barricade, Heavy repeated his warning. "Would not want to become one of your own anecdotes."
"Don't be a baby. It won't bite!"
Admittedly, he didn't know enough about scorpions to contest that.
"Ooh, you are a nasty fellow, aren't you?" Medic marveled, leaning closer. As he picked it up, its claw snapped onto the end of his finger. All it seemed to achieve was making Medic laugh harder.
Heavy raised a brow at the writhing little bug. "Is that safe, Doctor?"
"Almost definitely not. No, I'm sure our friend here is quite venomous, and I'm not wearing my gloves. You could certainly ruin my morning, couldn't you?" The scorpion gave no comment. Medic looked back over his shoulder. "I'm sure you would be quite fine though, Heavy."
"Because of my size?"
"Because you have me, my friend." He grinned, swiftly removing the scorpion and pocketing it. "Though having more body mass does help."
Heavy spent the briefest glance on the scorpion's new home, but just as quickly Medic had pulled his gloves from the opposite pocket. The gas station was nearing, he chattered away, and if that diner had been anything to go by he didn't hold much hope for the rest of the US 85's amenities. Heavy hardly caught the rest; he wasn't really listening. A seed had planted itself in his head. A warm smile had inched its way onto his face.
"Little scorpion is nothing," he stated, head held a titch higher. Nodding to the highway, "I could stop any of these passing cars with only bare hands."
"Oh, I have no doubt." Medic blinked, but indulged him. "You're quite extraordinary."
An 18-wheeler barreled down the highway besides them. "Think I could stop that?"
"You? Please. Dream bigger. After all I've seen you do, you could stop a train."
Hmm. Heavy felt the weight of his arms, his hands, and the strength they harboured. All over again, this little stretch of desert didn't seem so tough.
The gas station, like many others dotted across the country at this time of day, was deserted. For one, three of the four pumps were out of service, and for another the painted sign outside was dented. But as long as the door opened and the shelves were stocked, Heavy would not be deterred. Full drums for water coolers were an easy buy; then cheese, bread, deli meat. Fruit. Croissants for Spy, to repay him for bringing the lack of food to his attention. Cheap ones.
Medic, the next aisle over, was skimming the beer selection. He had never finished recounting what happened at the diner, Heavy realised. "Miss Pauling; last night. You helped her?"
The shelves were short enough - or them both tall enough - that Medic didn't have to go around the aisle to continue the conversation. "Oh, yes. Got to put my saw to good use." He squatted down to examine the lower shelves. "Something interesting occurred, now you have me mentioning it. It's probably best I tell you. It was... funny."
The way Medic held himself, it were as though he talked over his shoulder with no problem. Yet something in his tone colored the conversation as less than casual. Heavy grunted. "Humorous or weird?"
"I haven't quite decided yet."
The cashier, intentionally or not, would overhear this. He did not need to. He was a lanky twenty-something who Heavy did not want eavesdropping on his conversations. With a nod, Heavy indicated they had everything they needed and should head out. This could be finished outside.
Then the kid shouted something about how they needed to pay for their goods. Heavy would like to see him try. But Medic held up a hand - as if "not to worry" - and let the cashier bag their things. And when the manchild demanded payment, he pat down his pockets with an easy grin. "Ach, I must have left my wallet in my other coat. Nevermind! This should cover it." And plopped the scorpion on the counter.
"As I was saying," Medic continued when they got outside. The cashier's wimpy screaming was still in earshot. "She stole my bookmark."
Heavy stared. Medic's body language revealed little; not solemn, but not quite amused. Waiting for his reaction.
So Heavy narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Miss Pauling!" He almost did a little jump. "Not the book, just the bookmark! Isn't that bizarre?"
"You confronted her?"
"Hardly." He waved off. "I asked for it back, but nothing further. It didn't seem like the time or place to pry. I suspect she went through more of my belongings and just happened to slip up here."
Medic's voice trailed off at the end. It was clear he hadn't meant to. There had been conviction in the sentence; he had no doubt, no issue, delivering it, until it was already out of his mouth and into the world. "That is not good."
"Oh, don't be such a downer," he chided. "Between you and me, some of the trials I've been running I haven't been including in my monthly reports. She's probably just suspicious of me, nothing more. Silly of me to bring it up, really."
Maybe. But bring it up he did. Medic told him many things; far too many things, almost, things Heavy had no business knowing about him or his fellow mercenaries or the outcomes of various experiments he didn't quite want to know why he ran in the first place. However his doctor had a knack of not sharing his problems, personal problems that couldn't be solved on an operating table, until they were behind him - if he shared them at all. For Medic to bring this up now, over relishing every rich and gory detail of handling corpses with Miss Pauling... its weight spoke for itself. And perhaps he was correct; maybe it was nothing to dwell on. But yesterday this same woman ordered them to travel mile upon mile under the most tissue-thin mission brief, and the night before that still held a gunshot to claim. Medic was not being silly. There were greater things to be suspicious of than his experiments.
So when the dawn was pink, the two of them a few paces away from the camper, and Miss Pauling's agitated voice rang out from inside - about how she couldn't take her eyes off them for a second - Heavy did not miss Medic's face steeling. He was sure Medic did not miss the same of him.