Good evening, TF2chan! Some of you may remember me from way back on page 5 of this board; I drifted away from the fandom and then came rushing back a month ago. I'm a bit sad to see this board pretty dead in the water (are you guys all over on Tumblr now or something?), so as a sort of apology for the fact that I never finished the one where Medic gets sick and hilarity ensues, here's a fic I wrote several years ago and then just recently went back and overhauled. It's based completely unashamedly on the song Strange Day In Berlin by Sally Oldfield, and contains loads of melodrama and mentions of Heavy/Medic. Hope you enjoy! ----------------- It was an unusual evening in Stuttgart, and it was going to rain. Throughout the day the clouds had piled up over the city, and now they stood arrayed like battleships along the horizon, waiting for some unknown signal. The air was electric. Down below, the city could sense the gathering storm, and its people drew their coats a little tighter, gripped their children’s hands a little harder as they hurried to get home before the calm broke. From the table outside the old café, the man sat and watched. He had been there for some time. The remnants of the spring breeze ran its earthy fingers through his greying hair. He held the day’s paper in calloused hands, though there was little in it of note. Faint scars spread up his bare forearms and spoke of a more interesting past than did the grey waistcoat and severe glasses. The coffee by his elbow was long since cold, but he didn’t order another. Instead he sat, and he watched, and he waited, as the streets emptied and the shadows grew longer. Finally, when the night had swallowed the last of the light and silence descended, a figure formed itself out of the darkness between the streetlamps and took on the shape of a man. He wore a well-cut suit and an air of secrecy, and he took the vacant seat outside the café. “You’re late,†said the grey-haired man after some time, not looking up from the paper. “I’ve been here all day.†“My apologies,†said the man in the suit, and his German was impeccable but his accent strange. “I had to be sure. Do you mind if I smoke?†“If I say yes, will it stop you?†asked the grey-haired man, and it sounded like a question asked many times before. The man in the suit shrugged. “No, I do not think so,†he admitted, and reached into his jacket. The flare of the lighter lit up an unremarkable face. “It has been a long time, old friend. How have you been?†“Why do you ask?†The grey-haired man turned the page of his paper, more for the look of the thing than out of interest in what it might contain. “You know already, I’m sure.†“Certainly. But it would be rude not to inquire.†“Then, well enough,†replied the grey-haired man. “Yourself?†“Busy. You know how it is.†“I can’t say that I do.†“Of course. I’m sorry, I forget, sometimes.†Now the grey-haired man looked up, although only his eyes moved. “Liar.†The other man did not miss a beat. “Monster.†“Not anymore.†“Yes, I saw,†said the man in the suit conversationally, settling back in his chair. “It is a nice little clinic, isn’t it? And your name on a brass plaque, too. It is good to know that your employers were true to their word.†“Our employers. We both worked for them. Or perhaps you have forgotten that as well?†The grey-haired man peered critically at him over the paper. “I see your taste in clothing remains the same. I can’t say I like the colour, though. It seems wrong.†The man in the suit exhaled a steam of smoke towards the stars. “It took some adjusting, I will admit. But it was a change for the better. I try not to dwell on the past. It is... messy.†There was a moment of stillness. The shifting air pressure brought the breeze drifting lazily down the street, carrying with it the sharp scent of ozone and, from an open window somewhere, the sound of a lone violin playing Vivaldi. The grey-haired man sighed and folded his paper, placing it on the table next to the cold coffee. “Why am I here?†he asked. “Why did you want to meet?†“I thought it fair to make you the offer.†“What offer?†“I am leaving tomorrow. For Russia.†The only sign the grey-haired man gave that he had even heard was how his fingers clenched on the edge of the table. A less perceptive person might not even have noticed. “Whereabouts?†“Siberia. Business, naturally, but I do plan to run a few... personal errands. I thought this might be of interest to you.†“I can’t think why,†the grey-haired man lied, and his hand shook as he took a swig of coffee only to spit it back into the cup. “Damn, my coffee is cold.†“Don’t change the subject. You were never very good at subtlety.†“Why tell me this?†“Because, contrary to popular belief, I am not completely heartless.†The man in the suit leaned forward across the table, and for the briefest moment it seemed as all the stars in the galaxy were reflected in his eyes. “Come with me.†“What?†“Come with me,†the man in the suit repeated. “Come to Russia.†“Don’t be ridiculous,†the grey-haired man said, effecting what was probably supposed to be a dismissive air. Instead his voice cracked as he spoke. “There’s no reason I should want to do that.†“You have become a truly terrible liar in your dotage,†said the man in the suit. “He will ask after you, you know.†He crushed the end of his cigarette on the table, and the shadows leapt across his face as he lit another. “Who?†asked the grey-haired man, his voice tinged with panic. The man in the suit took the cigarette out of his mouth and gave him a withering look. “Stop this foolishness, doctor,†he said, and the epithet dropped into the sentence like a lead weight, dragging the grey-haired man with it. He slumped forward with his head cradled in his hands and let out a shuddering breath. “It is a rare and curious creature, love born on the battlefield,†said the man in the suit softly. “It often fades when the ceasefire comes. I see this is not the case here.†“You don’t understand-“ “On the contrary, doctor; I understand perfectly. You know this. What I do not understand is why you have not attempted to contact him in five years.†The grey-haired man looked up at him through his fingers. “I don’t know... I was scared, perhaps.†“That things would be... different away from the front line?†“Yes. And the longer I waited, the more difficult it became.†The man in the suit nodded. “So what you are saying is that you have given up? I am disappointed in you, my friend.†“I thought, perhaps, given time... I’ve tried so hard to forget. It... it never really leaves you, does it?†“No. But it doesn’t have to. He will ask after you,†said the man in the suit again. “What shall I tell him?†“I don’t know. Tell him ‘goodbye’, I suppose. I never had a chance to say it. Everything happened so quickly. There’s so much I wish I’d said.†“Now is the time to say it.†There was a long and terrible pause, as the man in the suit puffed silently at his cigarette and the bells tolled the hour. Behind the clear chimes, distant thunder snarled. “I really have been here all day, you know,†said the grey-haired man finally, with a hint of desperation in his half-smile. “I think the waiters were growing suspicious, by the end. Ironic, really, considering that I was waiting for you.†“I shall tell him that, I think,†said the man in the suit with the ghost of a smile. “Yes. I think he will appreciate that.†“Quite. And what of our former colleagues? I did my best to smooth over the Poland incident, naturally, but even I have my limits. I understand they passed through not long ago but they have done a remarkable job of disappearing.†“Safely across the border, but after that I can’t say.†“A timely escape, hopefully; I shall pass this on as well. But what about yourself? I can’t just tell him that you said ‘hello’.†“’Goodbye’. I said ‘goodbye’.†“Details. What do I tell him?†“What do people usually say?†“You could say that you are well, that everything is fine and you are happy.†The grey-haired man considered this for a while. “And if I am none of the above?†“Then you get on the plane with me tomorrow.†The grey-haired man practically recoiled from him. “I can’t! I mean, the international situation is delicate-“ “I have papers. There will be no trouble.†“I could never afford the air travel-“ “Nonsense. I have seen your pension documents.†“I can’t!†The grey-haired man shrank back in his seat like a cornered beast, then took a deep breath and calmed a little. When he spoke again, it was with a weary resignation. “I can’t. If I do, I won’t ever come back.†“Why does that bother you?†“I just want my life back!†“Your life? A cosy surgery, a red-brick townhouse and five years without a malpractice suit? This was never your life.†“Perhaps, but-“ “No, doctor,†said the man in the suit, holding up a hand. “We have seen enough together, you and I. Do not do me the incivility of pretending. I once watched you open up a man from gut to throat with a surgical saw and rip his respiratory system out from under his ribs. I watched you stitch it into one of our teammates out on the field to replace the one blasted away by a rocket. I watched that teammate breathe again with someone else’s lungs. And now you give lollipops to children and listen to the complaints of rheumatic old ladies. Either you have mellowed tremendously in your old age, or you are lying to yourself.†“Things aren’t like they were.†The grey-haired man turned his head away and looked off down the street. “It was a war. Mistakes were made. I have responsibilities now.†He started as the man in the suit suddenly leaned across the table and grabbed his shoulder. “Look around you!†he hissed. “What do you see? Look closely.†The darkness was thick, but the grey-haired man looked anyway. At first he couldn’t see what the other man meant. There were the usual groups of people along the paths, the night crowd making their way to the clubs and bars in the city centre. There were unassuming houses and trees that twisted around the billboards and- The billboards. He looked again. He turned his head and looked at the advertisements on the other side of the street, and then back to the billboards. He’d sat in this café dozens of time before, must have walked up this street every day for the last five years, and those billboards had never changed. Perhaps it was because the company names were all in German that he’d never really registered them. He’d seen them all before, though they’d looked different in English. Alliance Towing, Red Shed, Cornwell... on the other side of the road, Wright Shipping, Beacon, Blue Streak. He knew them all, and they were all fronts. Every single one. “The war is still going,†said the man in the suit, still gripping his shoulder. “You and I will not live to see it end. We are old men in a divided world that doesn’t even know how precarious its situation has become. Every day, billions of people get up, go to work, come home – unaware that we have fought and died and fought and died just to maintain the status quo. Responsibilities?! You owe them nothing!†“I have to try,†the other man hissed back. “Otherwise, I have given in. It can’t hurt forever. I will manage.†“And in the meantime, you are willing to spend the remainder of your years in this paper-cut picture of someone else’s life, pretending you are just like all these other ignorant people, pretending that you don’t know, that you haven’t seen, and all the while pining for something you could have had if only you had not been so cowardly?†“Yes!†The grey-haired man’s fist connected with the table with a thud, and he winced despite himself. A blank expression descended over the suited man’s face like a mask, as quickly as if a switch had been flicked off. When he spoke, it was with a sense of great disappointment. “Very well.†He stood, crushed the second cigarette under his shoe and lit a third. “I cannot force you, I suppose. But I have made the offer and my conscience is appeased, even if my heart is not. I am sorry, doctor. I am truly, truly sorry.†He turned to leave. “If you change your mind, I know where to find you.†“Why do you care so much?†asked the grey-haired man quietly. “Even back then, you cared.†The man in the suit paused. He seemed to be debating with himself. “It is only on the field of battle that we truly know ourselves,†he said eventually. “The longer and more bloody the war, the more profound our discoveries. We all found something in the desert, doctor, but you found love, and from that, I found hope.†He did not look back as he left, and the darkness embraced him like an old friend. Alone and unseen, the grey-haired man laid his head on his arms and wept. Above him, the rain finally began to fall.
Wow I love this so far, I'm so happy to see someone posting here, thank you so much <3 Can't wait to read on, I hope you stick with it! So wonderful and descriptive and you've made me so curious to find out what happens next!
Another passerby who wouldn't mind a continuation at all here
Kinda sorta wished you wrote this in the first person or third person omniscient voice. The repetitions of "grey-haired man" and "the man in the suit" felt a bit out of place compared to the rest of the narrative.