Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thursday, February 14, 1968. 

Nearly everyone on the RED team was having a great time this Valentine’s. 

Heavy and Medic were spending the day away from the others, aimlessly strolling around in the dying grass. As unpleasant and NOT romantic the scenery of an empty battlefield in New Mexico may be, having each other’s presence was more than enough to make it feel like a walk in the park.

Scout had planned on taking Miss Pauling out on another date (hopefully as a redo of the incident with the bread,) but just ended up getting drawn off course and rambling about his favorite baseball teams. As boring as it was for Pauling, it was sorta nice to have the presence of another person around other than the Administrator.

And everyone else who wasn’t in a relationship, and wasn’t trying to be anytime soon, was out in the break room partying and going absolutely feral over a giant bag of conversation heart candies. Mostly Soldier and Pyro tearing at the bag - and each other’s throats - while the rest of the team egged them on.

But one lone man sat alone in his room, sulking in solitude, distanced far from the fun and commotion of his colleagues. Tightly gripping a nearly-empty Scrumpy bottle in his right hand, Tavish stared down at the reflection of his tired face on the glass. All the Demoman could feel was disgust, paired with another dull, somber feeling he couldn’t quite identify. 

His eye burned with tears unshed as he took one last swig and finished up the bottle, dropping it down to the floor to join the rest of the empty bottles scattered everywhere in his room. Soon, his throat burned just the same as his eye, as the familiarly disgusting warmth and comfort of inebriation promised to take him away soon.

Another year, another Valentine’s day spent alone. Another repetitive reminder of his pathetic form. How, Tavish thinks to himself, How the hell could anyone love me like this? No wonder I’m alone again… He knew the alcohol was taking over his mind and body. He knew the countless bottles had stripped his soul, burned his image down to nothing more than an unlovable addict.

But that’s all the reason to drink more, despite it all. He’s already past the point of ever being saved or redeemed, so why try now? He’s already become unlovable by any real human being, so why not embrace his only best friend as it pours into him for another day?

His already-tipsy mind felt like it was melting as his face got warmer again. He stared down at his friends on the floor. His friends’ caramel-colored glass skin shone in the fluorescent light of his dormitory. His friends’ inanimate, unmoving forms littered his bedroom in an embarrassing display of his addiction. The addiction he was known for.

But, this sad, unbearable peace was interrupted by a quiet knock on his door.
“Cripe, not now!” The Demoman yelled back at the visitor. In all honesty, he’d LOVE company right about now. But he knew not to do something so evil as to subject anyone to the torment of being in his presence for any longer than necessary. At least he’s doing one good thing today: Saving someone from his own self.

And, surprisingly enough, the person on the other side of the door was silent. No more knocking, no words, nothing. Either they were just standing there like a total dumbass, or they’d already complied with his wishes and pissed off.

After a few seconds of decision and anticipation, Tavish silently rose to his feet and went to the door to check. And, sure enough, he found nobody in the doorway but the foul-smelling air of the base that he’s gotten so used to. He grumbled to himself and turned to go back to his room, but he spotted something on the ground that definitely was NOT there before.

An envelope addressed to him. 

Chapter Text

A simple pink envelope, with “Demoman” written in large cursive letters. No return address, no signature, nothing. This was definitely a trap.

He sighed, preparing for Scout or Soldier to jump out at him or something as he bent down to pick up the letter. Nothing happened. He looked around, checking the corridors for anyone who may have been the culprit nearby. Nobody was visible. He quietly and reluctantly backed up, going back into his room and shutting the door. And locking it. 

The Scotsman stared down at the letter for a solid 30 seconds, turning it over and over and over again. Nothing changed, nothing’s new. He eventually gathered the courage to tear open the envelope, bracing himself for something to pop out at him or explode or something. But, no. All that looked back at him was a neatly folded paper encased within.

Bracing for the worst, Demo pulled the paper out of the envelope and opened it carefully. What he was met with was a shockingly neat handwritten letter. He could see the careful craft in every single stroke of the ink. Why the hell anyone would ever put this much effort into something like this for him, is beyond his understanding.

He took a deep breath, and began to read.

“Tavish DeGroot,

Happy Valentine’s day. I hope today has done you well.

I have a secret I’ve been keeping for a long time now. I’ve wanted to write to you much sooner, but decided to wait, for this special day would be the perfect time to contact you. 
This secret, Tavish, is that I am madly in love with you. I never thought I would find such deep, profound attraction towards you, but your handsome face, your limitless kindness and understanding, and your fine Scottish charm have all put my heart in a deep, deep trance. One that I fear I may never wake up from.

If you are ever in a time where you believe you have no one, you have nothing, or you are unworthy of being loved, please remember me. Please remember this letter. And maybe, in time, you might find me someday.

With love, your Secret Admirer”

Holy shit. Holy SHIT. This can NOT be real. This CAN’T be happening right now. No way on earth. He’s gonna have to give a good ass-kicking to whoever set up this sick joke. This just felt like a step too far, even for someone as lacking in empathy as Soldier or Scout. 

For a moment, he felt the dragging desire to fall back into bed and continue to waste himself away. But the other side of him, the much larger part of his brain, yearned to talk to people again, craved the feeling of genuinely enjoying himself for the first time in what felt like centuries. So, after a few minutes of silent frustrated debate with himself, Tavish opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

The commotion between his teammates hadn’t died down in the slightest, getting louder as Demo stepped closer and closer to the source of the ruckus. He felt himself growing tense, more so than he’s been in a long time. His body and mind filled with the undoubtable presence of fear. Why the hell was he scared? Scared of what’s to come? Scared of who this “secret admirer” might be? Scared of the very real possibility of this all just being one big prank, just like he had suspected before? God, he needed to get these thoughts out of his head, and he needed to do it fast. He was almost to the break room.

As Demo opened the door, he was immediately greeted by Soldier.

“OH HELLO DEMOMAN !!! YOU FINALLY DECIDED TO COME AND JOIN THE FESTIVITIES!!”

“Hmmphuh hah hmmumph!” Pyro added.

“YEAH, WHAT THEY SAID!!”

Demoman’s eye widened in slight shock, his brows furrowing before eventually he sighed out of… annoyance? Not really ANNOYANCE, per se, more of just… ‘Why the hell am I not surprised about all of this?’ He looked back up at the chaotic scene before him. “Lads, what the hell is alla this??”

Scout chimed in before anyone else could. “Team idiots're fighting over sugar. Might wanna back up a lil'.” With that, Demo immediately backed up from his spot to get a little distance.

But amidst the partying, the chaos, the sheer energy of everything, Demo quickly noticed which of his teammates weren’t in the room with everyone else.

 Engineer, for one. He had been trying to fix one of his machines for days now, but Demo couldn’t place his finger on exactly which one. It was a shame, honestly, Engineer was more often than not the life of most parties. Demo took a mental note to remind him to take a damn break once in a while.

Then there was Spy. That one was a little less surprising, the rogue never really liked rough, rowdy parties. He had always preferred quiet, dignified celebrations or festivals. This occasion was neither of those things.

Both the Medic and the Heavy were gone too, but that wasn’t much of a shock either. The two were inseparable, and today was the day of love. So, Demo did himself a favor and shut that mental image up before it burned into his brain.

One thing that was a little surprising, though, was the presence of Sniper. Demo’s first thought was that he’d be in his van taking a nap, or, if he was with the group like this, he’d be isolated in the nearest corner. But no, he was actually seated right next to Scout, a nearly-empty cup of coffee in hand.

 Now that he looked, it wasn’t that large of a group at all. Only four people, not including himself. But there was clear evidence that there used to be a lot more people, like the empty chairs at tables with half-finished bottles of beer. He was just beginning to wish that he was here earlier, that he could’ve gotten in on the fun beforehand, when Scout called him out.

“Ey, what’sa matter, cyclops?”

“Whuh..?” Demoman’s mind was still lukewarm from the booze he had indulged himself in just a little while prior.

“Ya look sad. Jealous you can’t have any o’ da candy up there?” Scout inquired with a bit of a smug grin on his face.

“Nae, mate. Just…. uhh… I just woke up from a killer nap, hard ta think straight, y’know?” He just couldn’t bring himself to tell Scout the truth. Not right now, not today. Scout seemed convinced enough, and Demo let out a breath of relief.

So now, the real issue was at hand again. The letter. That goddamned letter. He had a sort-of solid idea of who may have written it. Except he didn’t. But he at least had eliminated a few very obvious impossibilities. Like Pyro and Solly. As much as he’d have liked it to be the latter, he knew neither of them had handwriting as good as what was on the paper in his hand. Which also took Scout off the list.

Perhaps it was the doctor? Medic had a habit of writing in cursive. But that ended up looking more like fancy scribbles than anything else. 

Spy? Spy had very, very, VERY similar handwriting to the letter, from what Tavish had seen. But… God no, it could NOT be him. Spy hated everybody. At least, Demo believed so.

It could be Sniper. Demo had never seen Sniper’s handwriting before, so it was a possibility it could or couldn’t be him. 

But what about Engie? He had never seen Engie’s handwriting before either. Wait… no, yes he had. On his many, many blueprints. Engie had a habit of writing in all capitals. Definitely not the fancy-pants cursive Demo had read. God, the more he re-read that letter, the more he felt like he couldn’t afford to even read the words.

For now, all he could do was sit by Sniper and Scout, and just think for a while. Think, think, think. Demo hated doing that. But this time, the situation was critical. Maybe even dire.

Chapter Text

It had been days now. Three agonizing days of thinking, which was still his least favorite thing to do. Three days of waiting patiently for something to come to his mind, some sort of click that made everything make sense and repair his shitty, confusing love life. And what had he gotten in return? Three days of nothing.

He needed help, and he needed it FAST. But he had to remind himself of who he was working with here. A team of eight maniacal men who have no morals or concept of mortality, and one masked mystery who he wished to stay far away from. So who could even help him? Who was quiet, who could keep a secret and was smart enough to give actual advice without making him into a spectacle?

Secrets. Secrets, secrets, secrets everywhere all of the time. Secrets. They all had secrets. But who could keep other people’s secrets? One name came to his mind. A name he never wants to call to, the name of a man who despised him more than anyone else on his own team. Spy.

He groaned to himself. Out of all the people he would want to crawl to for help with his love life, Spy was one of those on the bottom of that list. But now, it seemed like the cunning Frenchman was his only hope. And before he could think of more reasons to stay away, he found himself speeding towards Spy’s smoking room. Speedwalking past every corridor, faster than his better judgment could ever catch up.

By the time he came to a halt at Spy’s door, he had to take a few seconds to catch his breath and recollect himself. He’s really, truly about to ask Spy for help with a Valentine’s letter. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he signed the contract to work as a mercenary.

He knocked three times on the door, his hands sweating up a storm.

“Go away.” Ah, there he is. That Spy.

“Spy, please, mate, this is important!” Now that Demo had spoken. He was only met with silence on the other side. Fantastic. He decided to speak up again. “Laddie, y’know I wouldn’t bother ya if it wasn’t important.”

“...Enter.” Huh. That was surprisingly quick. He had expected some back-and-forth between him and the Spy before he was granted permission to come in, but he happily took that answer instead in a heartbeat.

When he stumbled into the door, he couldn’t help but stare in awe (and jealousy) at the room. Paintings adorned the walls, priceless trinkets and jewelry rested on tables and shelves, and there was no sign of even a speck of dirt or dust to be seen. The light was comfortably dim, the room was illuminated by warm yellow lamps placed generously in just the right places. On top of that, the fireplace was thriving, its hot glow was like the bow that wrapped up the spotless gift that this room was for the eye.

The next thing he had to look at was Spy himself. His lean form was relaxed on the armchair, his head turned to look at Demo. A cigarette rested between his fingers, which, oddly enough, weren’t gloved. Spy gave Demoman a cold, blank look, just like always. Demo could just barely see Spy’s eyes widen when he looks down and sees what’s in the Scotsman’s hand. The letter.

“What’s that paper, Demoman?” Spy inquired.

“Ah, that’s what’s important. I need yer’ help figurin’ out who wrote this bloody thing.”

“Oh… what is it?” Spy now had an unreadable expression on his face.”

Demo started towards the Spy's chair. He got in front of him and handed him the paper. “This damned letter. I got it on Valentine’s, and fer the life of me I cannae figure out who wrote me the bloody thing. I’m ninety percent sure it’s some cruel prank. An’ if it is, I’m gonna figure out who pulled it and break ‘is bloody neck like a saltine!” All of that information made Spy’s body tense up just the slightest bit, but no other reaction was apparent.

“Oh, someone made you a little love letter? I highly doubt that,” Spy spoke in his usual backhanded, uncaring tone, “Are you sure you didn’t just pick up a letter that was meant for someone else? Let me see that.”

With that, he practically snatched the letter from Demo’s hand before he could react. Partially because of how swiftly he took it, and partially because the latter was inebriated (shocker) to the point where he had to take a few seconds to process what had just happened. When he did, he made a sort of half-assed protest by trying (and failing) to grab it back from the Spy. “Aye, gimme that back, ya bloody rusty dickpipe!”

Spy snickered at the insult, but kept his hold on the letter. He quietly read the words over and over again before eventually handing it back to Demo. “Well I’ll be damned, Demoman. Somehow, somebody actually has feelings for you. Somehow.” That bitter remark earned Spy a dirty look from the Scot.

“Can ya quit tryin’ ta make me feel bad about meself already, punk?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spy feigned naivety with a cocky grin, though it was quickly wiped off his face when he realized how pissed off Demo actually looked. Too far, okay then. “My… ahem- apologies, ami…” Now that wasn’t something Spy was used to saying. At all.

And it clearly was foreign for Demo to hear from him too, judging by the surprised look on his face. That of which quickly turned into a teasing smile. “Hah, that ain’t somethin-”

“Silence, wretch.” That shut him up fairly quickly. Spy paused for a few moments. He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples as he spoke. “As for the letter… I’m not sure who could’ve written it. My first guess, based off of the bond between you two, would be Soldier. But his handwriting does NOT look like this. Either it’s not him, or he simply got someone else to write down his thoughts for him like a lazy coward.”

Demo couldn’t really muster up a response. Soldier had sworn on everything that he wasn’t a homosexual. And that made sense, too, he didn’t seem like the type to know Dorothy. Of course, all .of his rough, unforgiving, and aggressive tendencies may just be a cover-up for what he truly feels inside, but Demo couldn’t really picture an actual gay man keeping up the bit for THAT long. Either Soldier was just Soldier, or he was VERY committed to the act. At the very least, it may have been worth a shot.

“Well, what do you think, Tavish?” Spy inquired. He had a certain look on his face that the Scotsman couldn’t exactly decipher. He thought long and hard, trying to determine in his head whether the candidate was logical or not.

“I mean, I dunno, really… He ain’t seem like the type to have me as his type. We’re best mates, yeah, but… I dinnae think he’d be caught dead kissin’ me or doin’ any o’ that shite, man. B’sides, he don’t use that kinda language, either. You see it? It’s all fancy-like.”

“Well, you may take my suggestion or leave it. I’m not involved in any affairs having to do with you.” Spy’s usual cold tone returned. It was a shame, really, his newfound soft and understanding demeanor was a nice change of pace. Almost comforting. But now it was gone again just as soon as it came.

The Spy’s words didn’t really leave much encouragement for him. But hey, Tavish had to do SOMETHING besides mope and sulk with a letter gone to waste. And right now, talking to the Soldier about it seemed to be the only option. So he didn’t really have much else of a choice. So, he reluctantly bid the Spy an unfeeling farewell and set out for his friend.

He walked through the hallway again. More walking. He hated walking. He hated moving. He hated moving his body. He hated thinking. He hated speaking. He hated doing. He hated BEING. But now, he had no choice.

Oddly enough, the Soldier was nowhere to be seen. Which was incredibly strange, given the fact that he’s VERY hard to miss, with his loud attitude and constant chaos. Now, Demo was a little concerned. It was too quiet. WAY too quiet. His pace quickened subconsciously as the world moved around him just a little faster. It made him dizzy, trying to walk this fast made him feel sick. But he couldn’t think twice to stop or calm down, not right now.

“Sol? Jane, where’d ya go, lad?” His mind was a blur.

“Jane?” Nothing.

“Soldier??” Silence. Dead silence.

“...”

Empty.

No Soldier in the break room. No Soldier in the kitchen. No Soldier in his dorm. No Soldier in the bathroom. No Soldier in the camera-monitoring room. No Soldier anywhere. He saw Scout, he saw Sniper, and Engie, and Heavy, and Medic. But no Soldier. He eventually ran over to the next person he saw, and that person happened to be Pyro.

“Ay, Pyro! Y’seen Solly anywhere recently?”

The masked one gave him a blank stare, cocking their head to the side like a confused dog.

“Whhmuh dnyu nrrt Sull fhrr?

“I, uhh.. I just need to talk to ‘im. ‘S that what ye asked?”

“MPH! Irh hadda shnnh hm nn th’ fmmlt ah mmunnit rgoh!”

“Yeah, I dunnae why I even asked you. Thanks anyway, bud.”

“NNOH! Whrrt hmmpund?”

Pyro was, as usual, completely unintelligible. But the tone in their muffled speech made it seem like they were asking a question. Whatever question it was, Demo had no clue. But he assumed to answer the question that made the most sense in his head.

“I mean… I dunnae, I got this stupid feckin’ paper the other day and ‘M tryin’ ta figger out who did it. Solly’s me first guess. So, I’m tryin’ ta talk to him aboot it, but he just up and disappeared right when I needed him!”

Pyro’s body language changed from one of curiosity to excited realization. They started to nod rapidly, pointing at the paper over and over. They were bouncing on their knees now.
“MMPH! Thhr lutta! Shh frrm th Sphmm! Ssamph!!”

“Wh- Wha- Mate, what the hell are ye on about now? Y’ken I cannae understand ya.”

“PHMMH!!” With each muffled noise Pyro made, Demo’s look of confusion intensified.

“Just- D’ya know where Jane is or not??”

Pyro’s body slumped with an exaggerated sigh. They always had that sort of nature to them; everything they did was overexaggerated and cartoonish. Well, if words didn’t work, suppose that was the only choice they had… They silently pointed to the door that led out into the outside territory of RED. The field they battled on.

“Oh Christ…”

Chapter Text

The battlefield was, unfortunately, one of the least surprising places to find the Soldier in. Demo only prayed that he wasn’t doing anything TOO stupid. Stupidity was, with Soldier, inevitable, of course, but hopefully he wasn’t doing anything to provoke the BLUs during the ceasefire. The BLU territory was pretty damn far away, but who knows what Solly was willing to do…

Sure enough, Solly was soon found beating the everloving hell out of some training dummies behind the base. His whereabouts had been made quite obvious by his verbal degradation of the unfeeling objects.

“Don’t think that’s funny anymore, do you, fuckin’ COMMIE!?”

“Jane.”

“WHAA-!?” The Soldier spun around on his heel to quickly turn to Demo. However, when he saw it was just his friend and not an enemy, his demeanor relaxed greatly. “Oh, HELLO, DEMOMAN!! If you scare me like that again I WILL punch you! And then I will feel crippling guilt afterwards and punch myself, so DO NOT!”

“Ok, ok, listen- Solly, didja write me a, uhh… did ya write me something on Valentine’s? Like, a letter?”

Soldier just looked at him, confused. “Why would I write a letter?? If I wanted to say something, I’d march right over to you and say it with MY OWN MOUTH! I would never write a sissy little letter like a COWARD!”

“Alright, okay, point taken! But, do you, uhh.. d’ye know if somebody did?” Demo’s tone dropped to a lower, quieter one. “...Somebody wrote me somethin’, and I’m tryin’ ta figure out who it was.”

Soldier was silent for a moment. He seemed to be thinking. That was a surprise. “I’m afraid I cannot help you with that. But you said it was for Valentine’s??”

“Uhh, yeah…”

“Well, I know just who’s been having the absolute HOTS for you. At least, I think he does. That Pyro!! I dunno about any time before, but in the last 10 minutes he’s been yellin’ tryin’a talk to you. Like, right now.”

“Wait, wha-??” 

Before Demo could even process what the Soldier had abruptly dropped on him, he heard the muffled yells of Pyro calling out to him as they ran up to him. “MMMPH!! HUMMPPH! PHAH!”

“What the hell-? Pyro, what’re ya- huh??”

Pyro frantically waved their arms and pointed back to the building Demo had just come from. They seemed both stressed and incredibly frustrated.

“Pyro, you’re the one who wrote the damn thing??” Immediately, Pyro shook their head quickly in denial, pointing more aggressively to the building again.

“What? What the hell’s in the base, huh?”

“SPHMMMH!!” Pyro was screaming at him now. They really seemed to be trying to communicate something , and Demo was just NOT getting it. 

“Pyro. Calm down. Please. Just try and spell it out to me. WHAT is in the base that ye want me to see so bad? You said ya didn’t write the letter, so… is the answer in the base or somethin’?” That earned an aggressive nod from them. “Well then, just- just show me! Show me what ye want me to see, lass!”

Pyro nodded again, grabbing Demo’s hand. They started to pull him towards where they wanted to go, but not before Demoman said one more thing to his best friend. “Thanks fer yer help anyway, Jane. See ya.. uhh, tomorrow, maybe, probably.”

“GOODBYE DEMOMAN!!”

Before he knew it, Tavish was stumble-running through the dying grass, hand in gloved hand with the manic arsonist he called his friend. The sky seemed to move in unnatural ways around him. He was dizzy, as usual, and that really didn’t help with anything at all. Every blade of grass blurred together in lines as the two of them sped forward straight to the entrance. It nearly made him sick. It felt like years before he could feel the almost-familiar temperature change in the air on his skin, feeling refreshingly cooler than the heat outside.

“P-Pyro, slow down, mate!”

“Hmmuddah hurrmph…” Pyro reluctantly slowed down from a sprint, to a jog, to a walk. The texture of their glove against Demo’s bare hand felt like hell. His sweat created a horrible friction against the dense rubber, and he pulled his hand away, wiping the sweat on his pant leg. “Rhmm ohnuh hurrh!” Pyro pointed towards the staircase that went up to where the team’s dorms were, along with Spy’s smoking room and a couple of storage closets. Stairs. One of the things Demo hated more than walking, was walking on stairs. Up, down, either way, it was a nightmare. Walking upstairs took a hell of a lot of energy, straining his tired legs, and walking downstairs always had him stumbling and clinging to the railing like a lifeline to try his hardest not to fall and bust his face open. Nonetheless, Pyro led him up the stairs, the stairs that felt like they went on for miles.

The upper floor was a tad bit warmer than the ground floor, which ticked him off even more. But it was far more bearable than the oven outside. Pyro tapped him lightly on the arm, and when he looked up at them, they pointed down one of the hallways. Demo nodded in silence and before he knew it, they were both moving again. He felt like he wasn’t really there, wasn’t actually in the base, wasn’t actually in real life. All his surroundings began to blur into an alienating mass of buzzing light and bleak doors in the walls. After a little less than a minute, Pyro slowed their walking and they both came to a stop in front of a certain door. A certain door he was at earlier that day. The door to Spy’s smoking room. Pyro gave a simple point at the door and a pat on Demo’s back, giving a single nod and starting to walk back. 

“Huh-? The hell was that for, r’ we just goin’ back now??” Pyro shook their head in response, pointing back to Spy’s door and nudging the Demoman towards it. “...Oh, so yer’ just leavin’ me alone here now? Great, thanks for that…” 

Pyro made a dismissive little noise and pat Demo again, promptly marching away to wherever the hell they were gonna go now.

“...Bloody prick…” Tavish turned to the Spy’s door. He was just being sent left and right like a sad drunken ping-pong ball, and he had enough. He promptly pounded on the door. “OY! OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR, YE GOT SOME EXPLAININ’ TA DO!!”

Spy jolted in his seat. He was about to fall asleep when Tavish interrupted. Had he already figured it out? He had sent the Demoman on this little search just to buy himself some extra time to try and figure out what to do, but it seemed to be in vain. Maybe Tavish wasn’t as stupid in the head as he was in his actions. But before he could think about that for more than a second, another bang on his door snapped him out of that. “Christ au-dessus, I’m COMING!” He snapped back, his French accent getting a little heavier in that brief moment out of frustration. He groaned as he got himself up from his chair and forced himself to walk to the door. He already knew who it was from the voice. This was about to be one hell of a conversation.

Spy sighed. “Hello, Demoman…”

“Let. Me. In. NOW.”

“Okay, okay, point taken. Mon dieu.”

Spy led Demo into the room, closing the door for him. It was then that Demo realized he didn’t actually know what he was supposed to be doing in Spy’s room. His hardheaded insistence had only bloomed from annoyance and exhaustion from being dragged from place to place, person to person. “Uhh.. so, Pyro led me here. I kinda… I dunno, kinda assumed the lass might’ve had a reason for it?? I didn’t think this through too much, I’m just bloody tired…”

The annoyed scowl on the Frenchman’s face grew deeper. “Hm. Pyro. Pyro told you to come back to me? So what did the Soldier say, then? Was he the culprit of that little letter?”

“No. He said he didn’t know nothin’ about it.”

“Ah, I see… so you haven’t found the special person yet.”

“Right, yeah.” 

“...That damned Pyro…”

“Huh?”

“They are a smart man, you know. They also love poking their snout in places where it doesn’t belong. Like my business.”

“Oh.. uhhm.. Sorry, I guess?”

“They did good by sending you here. Saved you quite a bit of time and trouble. Not so great for me, though.”

“Hey so actually what the fuck’re ye talkin’ about??”

Spy let out another tired sigh. “Sit.” Demo promptly sat himself down in Spy’s armchair. It was… very comfortable. The warmth of the fire made that even more so. Spy stood in front of him, placing a hand down on one of the armrests. “I must be very blunt and straightforward with you now, Demoman.” He paused.

“Uhh.. okay? Shoot-”

“I wrote it.”

“HUAH??”

“I wrote the damned letter, Tavish.”

“...”

“...”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Spy continued his long, unblinking, unbreaking eye contact with him. Demo was staring up at him frozen in shock, and Spy stared down at him with a stone-cold face. He tried his hardest to keep that face, and hide any anxiety or fear that boiled inside him. Tavish finally broke the silence. “...Y’serious, mate??”

Chapter Text

The Frenchman's eyes broke contact, moving down as his head tilted to the ground. He couldn't bear to look at him anymore, not while admitting something like this.

"Yes, Tavish, I'm serious. I don't know how much more serious you expect me to act here," he sighed out, sad acceptance and defeat lacing his words. 

It just... didn't make sense. This whole time, Demo's little detective mission to find the culprit of the letter, he had that thought in the back of his mind. The thought that Spy was a very likely, very possible candidate. But he didn't want to accept it. He hadn't wanted it to be him. It would only lead to more spiraling confusion - why would it be him? Why in the everloving hell would it be him? Spy hated him. Spy hated everyone, and the two were complete opposites. 

Tavish was everything Spy hated. He was sad, slobbish, and miserable. Of course, the sadness was sort of a recent development, but he was still a drunkard. He was intelligent, sure. He hand-crafted his own explosives, he was almost on the same level as Dell. And THAT was saying something.

But Spy didn't see that. Some people saw others through rose-tinted glasses - Spy's glasses were tinted grey with constant undying hate. All he ever saw was a stupid, low-life, unhygienic, drunken bastard who had the mental and emotional intelligence of a rock you'd kick on the sidewalk.

Right?

Another silence fell upon them. Tavish in Spy's armchair, eye wide and jaw slightly slack, and Spy standing over him, looking down at the ground, pressing his weight down on his arm as he leaned against the armrest, hunched over like a guilty dog over Tavish's bewildered form.

"...Spy."

"Hm." was all the response Spy gave. He tried to sound gentle and calm, but it only came out in the usual bitter tone from muscle memory.

“Just… Just why? Why would you do somethin’ like this? It makes no sense. You write me a letter, tellin’ me how much you love me, and then you go on and put on this whole act to try and convince me you didn’t. Go on to just… just insult me and… and… I DUNNO, MAN, YOU’RE JUST EXHAUSTING ME!”

Spy didn’t know what to say. As if he didn’t already feel guilty before. He felt like absolute shit now. Not even just because he had been yelled at, but because he knew what he did was wrong. And to see the look of sadness and confusion on that face he loved so dearly, knowing it was he that made his dear Tavish feel like that… it made his chest ache horribly. He didn’t know what to do now, other than just continue to fess up.

“I…” He paused. “I truly am sorry for deceiving you. I just… wanted to stall you to give myself extra time to prepare. For the day I would actually confess to you in person. It would’ve been… far nicer than this. I’m sorry, Tavish.”

Demo didn’t know how many more “sorrys” he could take at this point. All he wanted were answers. And he was getting them, but he wasn’t sure he liked them very much. 

“It’s… okay, I guess, Spy.” In truth, it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. But what else was he supposed to say? This was just getting worse and worse by the second. He had a horribly hard time truly believing that Spy could ever love him like that. When he looked at the masked man on any given day, and saw his face, it wasn’t exactly a sight that he had been conditioned to associate with love or gentleness at all. When he saw Spy, he saw hate. He saw irritation, exhaustion, and narcissism. He was actually trying very hard to see him in a new light now, trying to convince himself to really think that those dark, creased eyes could look at him with love and not patronizing pity or resentment, but he just couldn’t.

“I can hear the disappointment in your voice, my dear. It’s okay. I’m not angry with you.” Spy spoke with a new, surprising gentleness that gave Tavish whiplash. But there was something else in there too. Sadness. Defeat. Soft, compliant, gloomy acceptance. Like he already knew there was no way Demo could love him back, already accepted it just like that.

…My dear? Did he just call him that? Tav didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“I just couldn’t keep my desires unspoken any longer. You’re a good man, Tavish, you deserve to know. But I understand you likely don’t feel the same, after the way I’ve treated you since the day we started working together. I just needed–”

“Shut up, just- just shut up for a second, please! Let me think, lemme try to get my damn words out!” That shut Spy up quickly. “I… I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know if I… want this or not. I really just can’t tell you yes or no. Neither would be the whole truth. I just… I just need time, Spy.”

Spy nodded, and a long pause once again came over them. The silence was accompanied by the soft crackling and popping of the wood in the almost-dead fire in the fireplace. 

“I wanna believe ye, man… I really do. But I just… I just can’t. I can’t convince myself you actually… love me. ‘M sorry, Spy.”

Spy sighed, sounding even sadder now. “What can I do to convince you?” His voice still held that quiet, newfound gentleness. He made eye contact again with him for the first time in a while. 

“It… I… don’t do anything right now, Spy. Just- just leave me to try and make sense of all this for a little while. Please.”

Spy nodded again solemnly. “Very well. Just please get back to me when you can,” he put a gentle hand on Demo’s shoulder, rubbing it softly. “You can… you can go now if you want. I won’t stop you.”

With that, Spy took his hand off and backed up, allowing Tavish space to get up. But he didn’t. He stayed in that chair for a little while longer, but not after leaning forward, sulking down to put his head in his hands and just ground himself. 

“Okay, okay. Okay… I’m goin’ now. I’m goin’...” He got up with a groan, his body aching and his brain hurting more. His legs felt like jelly. This was all happening so fast, he was just in shock from it all. 

He started to walk away, not even looking at Spy. He couldn’t dare to look at that face right now.

“Bye, Spy…” Demo put his hand on the doorknob, still not looking at him.

“Goodbye, Tavish.”

Demo turned the knob, and got out as quickly as he could. The sound of the door opening and closing was more than enough to drown out the sound of Spy’s soft, sad whisper,

“My darling Tavish…”

—

A few hours had passed since Demo’s altercation with Spy. He still had no idea what to think. Tomorrow he would probably think all this was just a dumb drunken dream, a mental projection of how desperate he was for someone to just love him. He didn’t want that. He wanted this to be real. But at the same time, he just didn’t. He was bouncing back between his feelings. He hated being sad and alone, but it was all he knew. It was the only thing he was used to. Anything else, any sort of affection or attention felt like whiplash. He wanted it, but he feared it. He wanted him. But he feared him. 

Tavish found that the evening was just like the morning: Spent alone in his room to wallow in his misery and his booze. The difference now, though, was that he had something brand new to think about. Spy. It still just made no sense to him. Spy was a man of class, a picky snob who felt he only deserved the best of the best.

So why the hell was he going after Demo?

He honestly didn’t know if he was thinking logically, or if the self-hatred was clouding his view of everything happening now. He just wanted a break from this, he just wanted to know what to do. But the only thing he could do now was just stew in his own indecision. So that was exactly what he did. Until he had a clear decision in mind, he just had to sit here and think.

That night, he fell asleep with confusion filling his mind, added to thoughts of Spy. As far as he was aware, the man had no reason to be dishonest about something like this. But if he was being honest, then… what was to come? 

What was going to happen between them? What would the future look like?

For a moment, it felt cold. But it went away soon enough. The thoughts started to lessen as the cloudiness grew. Spy. Spy, Spy, Spy… Before he knew it, he was asleep. Very quickly, actually. He had forgotten to even turn off the lights.

He had a very, very, very peculiar dream that night. If he were to tell you its events now, it would be bleak and foggy. But in the moment, in the immediate experience…

…He was back in that room. Spy’s room. There were a few noticeable differences, though, from how it looked in real life. Firstly, the colors were a lot warmer. Less purples and maroons and more crimsons and soft, dark reds and pinks. There was also a bed that had never been there before. A king-sized, luxurious bed with silky sheets in a dark, romantic pink, built on a big bronze frame. Demo had never seen Spy’s actual bedroom, so his imagination had just made his smoking room into one instead.

The fire burned bigger and brighter too. It never got smaller, it was like a constant, beautiful core that crackled on and on like it had its very own soul. He was back in that chair again, and it was even more comfortable than it was when he was really in it that day. But he didn’t have time to think about that for long, because he felt a slender hand softly caress his shoulder from behind. He looked up behind him, and of course, Spy was smiling down at him with a loving look in his eyes. It was like a statue of an angel beaming down from above. The touch was so gentle and tender, and the hand slid up to his neck, and then to his jaw, Spy’ thumb gently stroking Tavish’s beard.

“Come on, love. It’s getting late. Let’s get to bed.”

Demo was about to protest when he looked down and realized he was wearing a set of comfortable pajamas. Too nice to be anything he owned, it was most likely something from Spy. Speaking of which, he was wearing pajamas too. Well, more like “pajama.” Singular. His shirt was off.

Wait, WHAT?

As Tavish stood up, he felt his face grow incredibly hot. Spy’s whole upper body was exposed to him. He had very little body hair, the only hair present being a happy trail leading up the center of his stomach up to his chest. Before he knew it, Tavish was moving outside of his own control, hurrying up towards the Frenchman and wrapping his arms around him. He just wanted to feel his body against his own.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Spy was giggling like crazy, running his fingers through Tavish’s soft, curly hair. “C’mon, I made the bed all nice just for you.”

They walked, hand in hand, and climbed into bed together. When Demo was looking at Spy, in this fantasy-world, there was no reluctance, confusion, or sadness. His mind could only make him feel one thing: love. Sweet, blissful love, and nothing else. Spy was looking at him the same way, an adoring smile on his face as they stared into each other’s eyes. The soft sheets felt so nice on his body, but the blanket felt even nicer. Soft, gentle, and perfect. Just like Spy.

Spy pulled his body closer, wrapping a leg around him. All at once, he pulled him into a heavenly kiss, their mouths crashing perfectly against each other. The world disappeared, all he could think about was how he needed more of this. He never wanted to stop. This was heaven.

When Spy pulled away, their faces stayed close to each other. Everything was so warm. Spy took one hand off Tavish's face, putting it up to his own neck. He gripped the edge of his mask, and slowly began to pull–

Tavish woke up with a start, confused as to why he was back in his cold, dreary room. A few seconds passed as his mind started to come down from the blissful high. Oh my God, that felt so real. He took several deep breaths, looking around disoriented. He turned to look at the time. 5:14 AM. That was… odd. He never woke up that early in the morning, ever. He usually woke up very, very late. But then again, he had passed out last night a bit early anyway.

The more he slowly woke up, the more he started to think. In the dream, Tavish’s own mind was thinking so much more differently. Yesterday, when he looked at Spy, he could only think of his own sadness, confusion and frustration, but in the dream, there was no reluctance, no hesitance. Everything was good. It was like none of the letter confusion and the hate and the misery had ever even happened.

But… whatever. It was just a dream. A very, very peculiar dream. And today was a new day.