1 . Name: TeratoMarty @ 2011-12-22 17:23

Over on le Tumb, Sarcasmosaur has been drawing some wonderful, mind-bending pictures of Heavy in drag: http://sarcasmosaur.tumblr.com/post/14007048388/something-i-drew-for-fytf2headcanons-i-just . His drag name is Olga Mannlova, and he is a muse to me.
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Part I

Olga Mannlova had something special. The idea was ridiculous on its face- a giant, barrel-chested man, tufts of hair visible in the plunging decolletage of his gown, delicate acrylic nails at the tips of his sausage fingers, pancake makeup unequal to the task of covering his stubble. It was a laugh, and that was what got him onstage, got audiences in the door. See the shaved bear in a dress!

When he moved, though, everything changed. With a mere gesture, he could conjure any woman in the world. A languid wave of his arm, and Marilyn Monroe was manifest; a twitch of his hips, and Mae West was in the room. He could sashay like Marlene Dietrich, dance like Ginger Rogers. Despite his size and shape, he was a consummate female impersonator, holding audiences spellbound with the illusion as he performed.

Heavy was proud of his skill, most of the time. He had been good at impressions since he was a child, first mimicking his mothers and sisters, then representing Soviet film stars with striking precision for a fat lad. Portraying American beauties, with their forbidden bourgeois glamour, had proved to be an unmatchable transgressive thrill. He loved the opportunity to stand onstage, the centre of attention as he performed miracles of transvestism.

Much as he loved it, he knew that his avocation could jeopardise his other love: battle. If anyone ever found out how he spent his leave, his life as a mercenary would be over. He had often reflected on the irony- the world of guns and fists had to be protected from his penchant for sequins and lace. But he could no more give up Sasha and Natascha than he could ignore the appeal of opera gloves. These two aspects of his life remained as distant, and as connected, as two poles of the same magnet.

Therefore, Olga Mannlova performed in revues between missions, in cities far away from the wasteland battlefields. While on assignment, the gowns and garters remained in Heavy’s dacha, away from the prying eyes of Scouts and Spies alike. It pained him to go for weeks without so much as mascara, but that was the price he had to pay. So long as he didn’t fraternise with any members of the opposite team, what he did on his own time was his own business. The Announcer’s surveillance rivalled that of the KGB, but he trusted that he would be left alone as long as he followed the rules.

So it was that he nearly swallowed his tongue as he scanned the audience from the stage of a little piano bar in Soho and saw the Medic seated toward the back. I must be mistaken, that’s someone who merely looks like the Doktor, the Heavy thought. His smile went glassy, but he did not miss a step, not a motion as he lip-synched to “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend.” He couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking to that corner of the room, though. It really was his teammate, sitting there with a drink and watching Olga Mannlova’s every move with bright eyes.

When the act was over, Olga bowed her way offstage and the Heavy grabbed the bar’s owner/director/manager/stagehand by the arm. “Please! You must help! Send in new act!”

“Someone you didn’t want to see in the audience, hon?” the man said sympathetically. “Happens to everyone. Tina! Hitch up your tits, you’re on!” he barked at one of the other performers.

“Me? But oh my, this is a headline spot!” The drag queen’s voice was a poisonous syrup as she prepared to steal Olga’s thunder.

Heavy didn’t care, though; he was already in the tiny dressing room, shucking his finery. “No-one comes in!” he rasped at the manager.

“It’s okay!” the other man assured him. “Go out the raid door, through the cellar of the florist next door. Anyone asks, I’ll swear blind that Olga is a Serbian who lives in Hoboken.”

Only once he was safely barricaded back in his hotel did Heavy begin to fully absorb the horror of what had happened. First and foremost, he had sacrificed the closing night of his show to Tina, that bitch. However, it had been the closing night because he had to get on a train back to Teufort tomorrow, after which he would be back on the battlefield with a man who knew his secret.