Well, I was busy writing an l4d2 thanksgiving special when a virus came at me gung ho and caused everything I was working on to shut down. I was not pleased, and decided to flounce on the damn thing after I lost most of it(No thanksgiving this year, I suppose). But not writing anything would have been rude, so I decided to write this. Apology for the lack of sexy so far, that shall occur in due time. Thanks to papayadrank for beta'ing.

-------

Ever since that encounter, Sniper hadn’t been the same. He was distant, aloof, and always muttering about the same person; Saxton Hale. Heavy had tried to dismiss it as a feeble, lingering longing, but this didn’t seem to be going away. The Australian was distracted from work, from eating, from everything. Heavy felt sympathy for his comrade, but it still stung, and he felt a tinge of jealousy. Sniper was too nice to say it, but the truth was apparent in his behavior; he missed Saxton Hale. Even if the man was married, the want remained. As much as he wished he could just be content with Heavy, the Russian just wasn’t the same. He was good, but he wasn’t Saxton Hale.


These sentiments had made making love quite difficult. In the past two weeks since Saxton‘s…/eventful/ visit, they’d only tried to have sex once, to…lackluster results. The Heavy, always the forgetful one, had forgotten lubricant, and soon the night had devolved into swears and yelping and blue balls. Sniper, grumbling and with a sore ass, left Heavy to go sleep in Spy’s room. Heavy just sat upright in the bed, watching the marksman as he left with a dour, apologetic look on his face. He’d apologized and apologized, but Sniper was too perturbed to listen to any of it. All the Russian could do was lay there in the dark with his eyes open, wishing he could somehow make Sniper happy.

“I vill make a run for zhe point,” Spy was saying to Demoman over breakfast the day after this incident. Sniper sat there with his head in his hand and staring down at his lingering cornflakes, remembering how, only a few weeks ago, he’d been doing similar, something that led to something else, and then something else, and then…no! Snap out of it, ya lovesick bugger! Heavy’s the only man for you. Feeling like a forlorn puppy isn’t gonna do ya any good. Saxton’s a married man, and you sure as hell can’t cook! (And the lack of a vagina probably doesn’t help). The only reason he even did you was to make up for being late. He would never want you…

“And Sniper, I vill need you to cover me and Demo as ve attack zhe middle point…“ Spy was drinking his tea as he spoke, but turned with a look of irritation as he received no reply. “Sniper, did you get zhat? Sniper? Sniper!”

“Gah!” Sniper’s jerked his head upwards and pushed his elbow back, inadvertently knocking off his corn flakes as he did. “Uhh…what now, mate?”

“Ugh,” Spy pushed aside his French toast and turned to stare distastefully at the marksman. “ ‘Onestly, if I were an enemy Spy, you’d ‘ave a balisong in your back by now.”

“Eh, piss off,” Sniper said, giving the Frenchman a glare before returning his sight to his cornflakes. They were like little straw islands, sinking into a sea of…huh. Liquid…snow, maybe? He had no idea.

“What’s distracting ye, laddie?” Demoman said, leaning over to see what Sniper was staring at.

“’It‘s nothing,” Sniper mumbled, edging away. Oh no, Demo. Unless you’re Saxton Hale, back off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the breakfast table, the same breakfast table upon which he and /Saxton/ had…stop that! Grumbling, Sniper stood up and left the room, slinging his rifle off his shoulder and into his hands. Being in the dining room and not thinking about Mr. Hale was as easy as telling a Koala not to sleep for 16 fucking hours.

“Wha’s tae matter with ‘im?” Demo said, taking a drink of his scrumpy. Had to make sure he had a decent amount of alcohol in his system before going to battle, you know. Spy sighed and twirled the cigarette between his fingers.

“I don’t think you’d understand, Demo dear.”

Sniper wasn’t the type to get easily distracted from sniping, but when he was, he couldn’t sniper for shit. The past days had been bad, but today seemed like the zenith of his incompetence. Out of the thirty shots he fired that morning, only two made contact with living flesh-one in the enemy Heavy’s kneecap, the other in the eye patch of the enemy Demoman, where his eye had presumably once been. Heavy was just patched by the sycophantic Medic tagging along with him, and the bullet Sniper had sent into Demoman apparently didn’t hit anything important, as the only reaction it elicited from the scot was a rub and wince before he went off destroying things again. Bloody hell. Mumbling to himself, the marksman stepped back and examined the rifle in his hand. Useless piece of shit. This wasn’t Mann Co. made, was it?


“Sniper!” Sniper groaned and turned around to see Heavy, lumbering up the ladder to his nest. The Russian had to squeeze through the opening for a few seconds before he managed to fir through, and even then, he took a few pieces of wood with him.

“Oh, ‘ello mate,” Sniper said dourly, turning back towards the window. Heavy was the last person he wanted to talk to right now. He was already confused enough, and if he told Heavy how he felt, he had no idea how Heavy might react. Being raised in the Soviet Union on a diet of inflammatory propaganda can really make a man bellicose. “Shouldn’t you be off with Medic, or somefin?”

“Doctor? Oh, no,” Heavy chuckled as he lumbered across the neck, making the whole place wobble with his considerable mass. He supremely disliked the Medic, his heritage, his personality…really, just because they were teamed off, why did people think they liked each other. “I came to see how you were doing, /dear/.”

The last words were very unnerving to Sniper. Heavy wasn’t the type to use the word ‘dear’. It was such a girlish thing to say, and Heavy was probably the antithesis of femininity. Besides Saxton Hale, of course. Something was definitely up. “I’m alroight,” Sniper said, reloading his gun and trying to take aim again. Behind him, Heavy yawned, and seeing this as good a time as any to win back his man, laid down and splayed himself over the floor, looking like a stretching bear. “You?”
“I am /tired/,” Heavy said in what could be mistaken as a hilarious parody of a seductive voice. “I van to take nap. Care to join me, Sniper?”


“Uh…” Sniper couldn’t help but look disconcertedly down at the Russian, who was looking up at him with wide eyes and a finger to the mouth. It was like looking at an overgrown baby, or a giant puppy. A bit humorous, certainly distracting, but not at all sexy. “I really oughta be keeping an eye out for enemies…”

“No? Not even teensy nap for teensy man?” Heavy brought his arms behind his neck to lounge in a more luxuriant fashion. “I could be pillow.”

“Not now, mate,” Sniper said, letting a bit of irritation show in his voice. He was trying to hit an enemy Scout, but hitting the bugger was liking shooting the Roadrunner in those cartoons. Heavy frowned, and sat up.

“You would want to lay with me if I was Saxton Hale,” Sniper’s eyes widened at the words and his heart skipped a beat. He was totally silent, confirming Heavy’s worst fear. “So? Ees dat true? You like Saxton Hale?” He felt his nose become runny, and gave a sniff. Sniper groaned under his breath and turned around, knowing the truth would have to come out now.

“Look, the man’s attractive, but-” he was cut off as Heavy started bawling, loud enough to shake the entire nest. He was like a fire hose, and his ululations attracted the attention of an enemy soldier and Demoman down below. “Hey, don’t do that, it’s-”

“IT’S DAT YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANY MORE!!” Heavy roared in between vociferous sobs. His face was turning red and running with tears, looking like a strawberry that had the juices leaking out of it.

“That’s not true!” Sniper protested, looking frantically down below. Yep. The whole other team must know his location by now. “Look, why don’t ya just calm down, and we can-”

“CALM DOWN?!” Heavy asked incredulously. “CALM DOWN?! MY WORLD IS COMING APART AND YOU WANT ME TO COME DOWN?! WHAAAAAAAA-” the cries of the weapons expert were cut off, however, as a rocket came flying into the nest, blowing him and Sniper into little, meaty pieces and destroying Sniper’s nest in the process.

When they respawned, Sniper had no interest in talking to Heavy. Not only had the man got him killed with his bawwing, he’d also gotten his nest destroyed, without which he’d be totally exposed when he sniped. When Heavy tried to approach, he grumbled and walked away, in no mood to talk. Maybe he’d go wank off to the thought of Saxton fixing the nest, his tan muscles glimmering from the sweat of the labor, hard package prominent in those tight shorts, akubra slightly askew and adding shadows to his face…
Meanwhile, Heavy was inconsolable. As soon as the battle was over, he’d rushed straight to his room and thrown himself onto his bunk, retrieving his giant stuffed black bear, Fyodor, for comfort. The Russian sobbed and sobbed, the thought of losing Sniper making him utterly distraught. Sniper marrying Saxton Hale, Sniper settling down with Saxton, getting old and dying of AIDS with Saxton Hale…it was all /his/ fault! A core of anger began to form in Heavy’s heart as he lay there, clutching Fyodor. If it hadn’t been for Saxton Hale, none of this would have happened…Saxton Hale was a hussy, a man stealer, an incubus of the most maleficent degree. And now, he was after Heavy’s Australian love! “What am I going to do?” Heavy asked Fyodor, feeling both mad and angry. “Eef I do not act, I vill lose Sniper…” As he stared into his bear’s dull, iron eyes, he inexplicably got an idea. Mr. Hale had come the last time because Sniper had a late order…In that case…


Grinning, Heavy reached over and looked through the catalog. Seeing a nice knit cap, he began filling out the order form, a dark laugh coming from his mouth. He would lure Saxton back, and teach him a lesson…”If I cannot have Sniper, zhen no one can!”