Standard disclaimer: None of the Team Fortress 2 characters, places, etc. in this story are mine but are the property of Valve. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

Author's note: Somehow I blundered into Team Fortress 2 with the "Meet the Team" videos, starting with "Meet the Pyro," and this is the result. I haven't given up on my Fallout crossover – rest assured, Fallout fans – but this fic popped into my head and wouldn't go away. Partly an exploration of the RED and BLU mercs' "oddly paired lives," as Red Scout thinks in the fic; partly a chance to take the stylized, off-the-wall world of TF2 and force it into contact with the real world and real consequences; partly an examination of Scout's relationship with his parents – both of them – I guess I'm not really sure what this fic is. All I know is it demanded to be written and I had to get it out of my head so I could get back to my myriad other projects that it jumped the line ahead of.

It's complete; there should be maybe four chapters total, and I will post them as they are betaed. And definitely thanks, as always, to my beta LadyKate1, for betaing a fic in a fandom she doesn't follow!

For Scout, the day's battle ended with a baseball bat to the head, courtesy of his rival. Nothing unusual there; but as he lay groaning on the ground, waiting for his rival to finish him off and send him back to respawn, the other Scout hesitated. He looked down at him, and even through the pain, Scout thought there was something … off, there. Something not quite right – strangely subdued.

"Yo, Red," the other Scout said. "Call your ma."

"Call … my ma?" Scout groaned. "What – why?"

"Jus' do it," Blue Scout said. "I'm tellin' ya. Call her." He smashed his bat down and Scout's world flared white; the next moment, he was waking up in the familiar four walls of the respawn room.

The rest of the team were already there; chattering loudly about the day's battle, they headed out, back to the sleeping quarters. Scout lingered, rubbing the back of his head and thinking about what Blue had said. For some reason a vague sense of unease hung over him. Call my ma? Why would he ask that?

"Eh … why not," he said aloud with a shrug. He was overdue for his weekly phone call to her anyway. He headed out to the intel room to make the call.

Picking up the phone, he dialed his ma's number, but the phone just rang without answer. As the tones echoed down the line, Scout's vague unease deepened. Finally, he hung up. Well, I'll try back later, he told himself. I think it's her bridge night anyway.

Still, it nagged at him as he went downstairs to the dining hall – it was Engineer's night to cook, which usually meant Tex-Mex of some kind. Engie was one of the best cooks on the team; Scout could make lasagna and that was about it. Engie's delicious "Headquarters Chili" helped push Scout's worry out of his mind, and put him in such a good mood that after dinner he managed to dodge Soldier, who was ranting about "unacceptable performance from a platoon of lame-brained maggots" and accepted Sniper's challenge to a game of darts.

"Dis sucks!" he complained fifteen minutes later, gloomily studying a dart board with Sniper's darts all nestled in a neat grouping in the center ring. "Now I remember why I never play darts with ya."

"Bloody hell, you're awful," Sniper chuckled, pulling his throws out of the foam-studded board.

"That didn't count! Just a warm-up!"

"I'm ready when you are – if you think you've a chance."

"I got more'n a chance, pally! I'll show ya!" He stepped back to throwing distance, taking aim – when Engie clattered to the top of the stairs.

"Scout! Call for ya!"

Scout stopped with the dart still between his fingers. A bright cold flash went through him, a horrible foreboding, though he couldn't have said why; roughly he shook it off. "Who is it?"

"I dunno. Some woman. Says it's important."

"Tell 'er I'll be right there!" Scout called back. He handed the darts off to Sniper, who raised an eyebrow.

"Girlfriend, mate?"

"Hey, why d'ya think I carry a bat? With a face like dis – " he pointed to himself " – I gotta beat the ladies off with a stick! Don't go nowheres, you still owe me a game."

"Ya mean, I owe you an ass-whoopin." Sniper chuckled.

"You wish," Scout replied smartly. With that parting shot he bounded up the stairs to where Engie was waiting and took the phone with a careless, "Thanks, Overalls." He held the smooth handle to his ear.

"Yo. Scout heah."

He instantly recognized the voice that came to him: high, shrill and somewhat nasal, a voice that he remembered from his childhood. "Jeremy? Shirley's little boy? Oh, it's so good ta heah from you, I been tryin ta get hold a ya all day – "

Marge, he recognized, one of his ma's church friends and next-door neighbor. "Yeah, it's Scout now, Marge, okay?" he said with an uncomfortable glance at Engie, who was tinkering with a dispenser nearby. Like most of his ma's friends, Marge had no volume control and he just bet Engie could hear every word. "And I been at … at work all day, just got back now – "

"At work, you say? By the way what is it you do, young man?" Marge's voice belled out of the phone, "Shirley nevah was too clear about that – "

"I'm in … in construction, all right?" Technically, Scout supposed, it was somewhat true. He turned his back to Engie, in the futile hope that he could mute Marge's squealing.

"Construction, eh?" Marge cooed over the phone lines. "That's a good job these days. Ya know they been talkin' about puttin' in that big dig on I-93, bet theah'd be a lotta jobs for a bright young man like you – if you was ta come home ovah Christmas I could talk to my bruddah in the plannin' department, see if he could get ya something – we could have dinner wid him an' my niece Linda," she added coyly, "such a nice girl and so smaht, she's in nursin' school – "

"Not that kinda construction." Scout rolled his eyes. "Look, Marge, didja call for some reason? I got things ta do – "

"Oh yeah. Dat's right." Abruptly Marge switched gears, her nasal voice growing solemn. "Jeremy, I'm so sawry …. Your ma's in the hospital."

A single breath, then "What?!" A chill passed down Scout's body. His hand tightened on the receiver. "Why?"

The tinny words echoed in his ear. "She's got the cancer, Jeremy. Us church gals took her in last week. We woulda called you earlier but she didn't want ya to worry. I'm so, so sawry."

The world rocked around Scout; his knees wobbled. The breath rushed from his body like he'd taken one of Demoman's explosive charges in the gut. He was barely aware of Engineer setting his tools down and staring at him in alarm, but all his attention was on the voice coming out of the line. "What … cancer? Whaddaya mean? How can Ma have cancer? That's bullshit!" He laughed wildly.

Marge's bright, brassy voice echoed on and on, attenuated by distance. "She hadn't been feelin' good foh a long time, coughin', gettin' these shootin' pains, night sweats, an' all that stuff, but you know your ma – thought it was the change, didn't wanna go see no doctors, they're all quacks, she said – our friend Vera sez she thinks Shoiley was scared ta go 'cause she knew it was somethin' bad and didn' wanna find out. But she jus' kept gettin worse an' worse until finally a buncha us church gals ganged up on her an' made her go. We took her ta Doctah Goldman at Mass General, he did a buncha tests an' some X-rays an' that's when he said it was cancah. He said it was real serious an' she shoulda come in months ago – "

Scout could barely believe what he was hearing. It was like he was listening through a long tube, the words sounded faint and distant. "What – " He was only half-aware he was speaking. "What, like – what kinda cancer? Like – like skin cancer?"

"Lung cancah," Marge answered. "You know how she was always smokin dem cigarettes. Doctah Goldman said she had ta have an operation right away, so I told Shirley no mattah what she thought, you needed ta know. You – you really oughtta come home, Jeremy. We tried t'get word to your bruddahs, but ya know dey're all ovah seas servin God knows where. But if you can come home at all – "

"I – I – " Scout floundered, clinging on to the receiver as if it was a lifeline. Thoughts swirled in his head, conflicting and colliding with each other: his mother, the narrow streets of his old neighborhood, his seven strapping brothers – his comrades and teammates, the battles against BLU team – "I – I don't know. Yeah – yeah, I'll try, Marge. I'll try. I don't know but I'll try. Dat's – dat's all I can say. Tell Ma I love her. I gotta go."

"But Jeremy – " Marge began, and suddenly Scout couldn't stand to listen to that voice a moment longer. Breathing hard, he slammed the receiver down in the cradle hard enough to make the phone jump.

The *click* of the receiver setting down seemed to unhinge his limbs all at once. His strength oozed out of him and he reeled and caught himself against the wall.

"Whoa. Steady there, son." Engie's reassuring drawl reached his ears. He felt the stocky man's hands gripping his arms, guiding him to Engie's own lawn chair. "Y'all right there? Looked like ya had quite a shock."

Scout scarcely heard him. Cancer, he was thinking. How can it be cancer? He sat down abruptly on the Engineer's chair before he fell down.

"Yeah … yeah," he managed. "Yeah. I – I'm all right." His mind was racing faster than his feet, around and around, always circling back to Marge's voice on the phone. And then suddenly his thoughts jumped to his rival. Blue – did he know - ? But how – unless –

He was so shaken that he didn't hear Soldier's heavy footsteps until the man was at his elbow, and a rough voice exploded in his ear. "What are you doing just sitting around, maggot? After your pathetic performance out there today the only place you should be sitting on is my foot wedged up your ass! Get up and drop and give me twenty, maggot!"

Engie reached out to him. "Say Soldier – now's not a good time – "

"Now's the perfect time!" Soldier growled. "On your feet, maggot! You're going to run five miles for me! Then you're going to run those miles backward so you can un-run them and run them again! Only this time sideways! And always twirling, twirling, twirling toward Freedom! Now get out there – "

All at once Scout had had enough. Even on a good day, Soldier could be hard to take, and now, Scout was really not in the mood. In a flash he was up from his chair, right into Soldier's face. "Back the hell OFF!"

Soldier stared at him through his helmet as if Scout had grown two heads. "What did you just say to me, maggot?"

"Yeah, ya heard me, I said BACK OFF!" Scout shouted again. "I just found out my mom's got fuckin' cancer, all right? So save yah stupid bullshit for – "

"Yer mother has cancer?" Without missing a beat, Soldier growled, "Then what the hell are you doing here, maggot? Any red-blooded American boy should be at his mother's bedside! Compassionate leave, recruit. I'll see to it. Start packing, we'll have you on the next plane to Boston tonight!"

The helmeted man did an about-face and marched off, shouting orders and commands to no one in particular. The silence left behind fell like an anvil. Scout gaped after him, half unable to believe what had just happened. What the hell –

"Well," Engineer chuckled. "I do believe that's th' first time anyone's managed to stop Soldier in the middle of one a' his tirades. Not only that, but he's 'parently decided to make himself useful." As Scout looked up at him blankly, Engie qualified, "Compassionate leave. So you can go an' see yer ma."

"Oh … yeah." Scout managed a laugh, but it felt weak. He sank back down in Engineer's lawn chair, putting his head in his hands. His guts still felt shaky and hollowed out. "Ya think – ya think he'll actually do it? The – th' compassionate leave, I mean."

"Oh yeah, he will," came Engie's calm, reassuring voice. "If there's one thing Ah know about Soldier, it's that he don't joke when it comes to people's mamas." Scout felt Engie's warm, soothing hand on his shoulder again. "Jus' sit there for a while an' catch your breath, son, while I work on this Dispenser. Take ya time. No rush."

"Th-thanks, Engie." Scout sat for a moment, trying to take some deep breaths. It was no good. Words just seemed to flow out of him. "I just – I just can't believe it. She was nevah sick when I was a kid, not even a cold or nothin. How can – how can she h-have cancah? It can't be true. It's gotta be bullshit, or something … " He gave another one of those shaky laughs.

Engineer was silent for a while, his wrench clanking as he turned bolts and tightened nuts. Scout barely noticed, he was so lost in his own troubles. He almost missed it when Engie spoke again.

"Ya know, my wife had that there cancer."

As the words penetrated, Scout sat up. "Ya wife?" He looked over at Engineer sharply, startled. "Engie, I didn' know you was married."

"Yep. High school sweethearts, me an' Daisy. First time Ah saw her I was head over heels. I knew raht there she was the girl Ah was gonna marry." He chuckled again, but it trailed off. "Uterine sarcoma. What th' doctors said it was. Found out three years to th' day after we were married. Hell of an annivers'ry present." Engineer grunted a bit, tightening a particularly tough bolt. "It's good that you can be there for your mama, Scout. 'Specially if your brothers are all overseas. You're real lucky."

"Yeah," Scout said, though inwardly he didn't feel lucky at all. Scared shitless, more like. A question came to him, and, being Scout, he spoke before he thought. "Yo, Engie, yah wife, did she, ah – "

"No." Engie's face was unreadable behind his black welding goggles, but his heavy jawline set.

"Oh," Scout said in a small voice. "Ah – I'm sorry, Engie."

Engineer acknowledged with a curt nod and went back to tightening the bolt he was working on with a certain vehemence. Leaving Scout to stew in his own worries.

"Well, I – I guess I bettah get packin'," he said at last. "Latah, Engie." He jumped up from Engie's chair and fled to his own room, wishing he could outrun the whole mess as easily.

One thing about life in the barracks: it was almost impossible to keep a secret – even ones Scout hadn't shouted at top volume in Soldier's face. Scout was kicking himself for that even before he made it back to his room. He steeled himself to be the butt of brutal teasing … and was almost dumbfounded when that turned out not to be the case.

The others drifted in and out one at a time while he was packing; Heavy found him first, and pressed a packet of Sandviches into his hands. "For travel," the big man told him. "Keep up your strength. Need be strong for Mother," and then enveloped Scout in a crushing hug that left him gasping for air.

Not ten minutes after he left, Medic drifted in. "If you vant ein second opinion, just let me know, ja? I vill be more zan happy to treat seine Mutter – in ze name of Science, of course." And he'd given that trademark slightly demented grin.

"Yeah, that's – that's great, Medic," Scout demurred, feeling an uneasy fluttering in his chest – and hearing a muffled cooing, or was it his imagination? "I'll definitely keep dat in mind, Doc, an' if it comes up I'll be soire ta give ya a call – " like, never, he thought.

"My pleasure. Vould be sehr interessant, I have several treatments I vould just love to try out – "

"Acch, ya egghead, stand aside!" thundered Demoman, leaning in the door. As Medic departed, the Scotsman held out two bottles. "Heard about yer mum, ya wee man. Tough break. Here." He tossed the bottles at Scout who caught them reflexively. "Me precious scrumpy. One fer ya, an' one fer yer mum. Cure fer what ails ya!" He took a deep swallow from his own bottle, and then slid down the doorframe, mumbling incoherently, to be stepped over by Sniper who spared him a glance.

"This bettah not have nothin' to do with Jarate," Scout warned him.

The Kiwi just smiled. "Naow, mate. Just wanted ta wish you an' yer mum luck and ta say, if there's anyone either of ya want dead – " He aimed his index finger. "Boom – headshot. Can always count on me."

"Thanks, Snipah." Scout was oddly touched. "But if ya wanna give me a hand – " He gestured toward Demoman, who had collapsed in a heap and was snoring.

"Sure thing, mate." Sniper obligingly took the other man by the ankles and with a mighty heave, dragged him out of the doorway as Scout slammed the lid on his suitcase and tried to close the clasps.

Pyro caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs, the black pools of its mask goggles expressionless but its head tipped at an enquiring angle. He startled Scout, who jumped back – even after all this time, Pyro still freaked him out a little as he did everyone except Engie – but Pyro stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Mmmmph! Mmph mm-mmph." The little creature held out a Balloonicorn, tilting its head in an oddly appealing way. "Mmph mm mmphrr."

Scout hesitantly took the Balloonicorn in his hands. He was never sure how much Pyro was actually aware of the world around him – her – it – but this seemed to indicate at least some knowledge of what was going on. He tucked the soft toy under one arm. "Thanks, Pyro. I mean it."

"Mmmmph!" Pyro responded, and then lunged forward and caught Scout in a hug almost as bonecrushing as the one Heavy had given him earlier. Scout struggled, choking.

"Pyro – Pyro, easy theah pally – " he gasped. His lungs were aching for air when Engie appeared from around a corner and pulled Pyro off him.

"Hey, buddy, take it easy there. Give the kid a break," Engie gently chided the little guy. "Not ev'ryone appreciates yer enthusiasm, friend." As Pyro drew back, Engie turned to Scout. "Just wanted to see ya off, buddy. Tell yer ma good luck from me," Engie said, getting the door for Scout.

"Thanks, Engie," Scout said. There was a pause and the two of them studied each other. Just as it was about to get awkward, Engie clapped Scout on the shoulder.

"Have a safe trip, son."

"I will. Thanks." With that, Scout hauled his suitcase out the door and was gone.

[*]

Engie's truck was out of commission again – something about Soldier replacing the carburetor with bread for some unknown reason – so a cab had been called to take Scout to the airport. The cab driver – whom Scout suspected had been chosen with an eye toward expendability – was helping Scout put his suitcase in the trunk when a stern, commanding voice came from behind him. "Wait."

Scout started and turned to see the tall, elegant figure of the one team member he had not spoken to coming toward him, his own suitcase in hand. It took Scout a moment to place him; for the first time since Scout had known him, the man was not wearing the mask that was the feature of his trade. "Spy?"Scout gasped.

Without the mask, Scout had to admit, Spy looked exactly as he would have thought: a striking man with aquiline features, his short, jet black hair graying at the temples. Spy tossed his suitcase easily into the open trunk. "Oui." Coolly ignoring Scout's dumbfounded expression, he slid into the cab and arranged himself easily against the driver's side door.

Scout stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Oh no. Get ya ass outta the cab. No way in hell you're comin' with me – "

Spy gave him a coolly contemptuous look. "Scout. Shut your mouth and get in before I stuff you in ze trunk."

"But – but why?" The last thing Scout wanted on this, which was probably going to be the most painful trip of his life, was for Spy to come along with.

"Scout, I am, 'ow you say, losing my patience with you. Ze car or ze trunk. Your choice." Spy pulled his butterfly knife and was twirling it around in his fingers in a way Scout knew from long experience meant business. He stared at Spy for a long moment, weighing his options, then gave up.

"Fine." Ma, the things I do for you. Gritting his teeth, Scout climbed into the car.

The door slammed, and effortlessly taking control of the situation, Spy ordered the driver, "To ze airport. Allez."

As the car pulled out, Scout studied the enigmatic face of Spy and groaned inwardly. This is gonna be a fun trip.

Scout had expected a fusillade of awkward questions from Spy on the way out, but the well-dressed Frenchman remained silent, chain-smoking and gazing abstractedly out at the passing scenery. The smoke curled and wreathed around his head, and Scout, watching, remembered Marge's voice on the phone. You know how she was always smokin' dem cigarettes …

"Yo, Spy," he said, nudging the man. "You mind doin' that out the window?"

Spy glanced at him, then looked at his cigarette. "Ah. Of course," he said, and rolled the window down. Those were the only words either of them spoke as the car drove on. If anything, Scout found the silence harder to take than the questions would have been. It seemed to have actual weight. Why is he heah? She's my ma. What the hell business is it of his? He settled against the door of the cab, sinking into resentment.

By the time the car pulled up to the airport terminal, Scout had never been so glad to see a building in his life. Scout pulled their bags out of the trunk while Spy dismissed the cab driver – probably to a shallow grave, if Scout knew anything about Miss Pauling's efficiency.

"Your plane is boarding right now," the woman at the check-in counter told them. "I'll call up and tell them the last two passengers are coming now. But you'd better hurry!"

"Hurryin' is my middle name!" Scout said, feeling a rush of relief that here was a problem he could actually solve with his speed. He touched his cap. "Latah, Frenchie," he jeered, and dashed off like a bat out of hell.

Somehow the two of them still reached the boarding gate at the same time. The airport staff waved them through with a "You just made it!" and within a few moments Scout was pushing his way down the airplane aisle.

"Hey, wheah you goin', Frenchie?" he demanded as the Spy turned aside.

Spy raised a supercilious eyebrow. "A zhentleman nevair travels anything other zan first class," he said. "See you on ze ground." And with a nod, he disappeared behind the first class curtains.

"Aaah, screw you, Spy," Scout grumbled, but really was deeply relieved he wouldn't have to sit next to him all the way to Boston. Finally, he mused, dropping into his seat with a sigh of relief. A chance to just be alone with my thoughts –

"Yo, Red."

Scout nearly jumped out of his chair. His head whipped around to see, sitting next to him, leaning moodily against the window, Blue Scout. Blue glanced up at him. "How ya doin."

The two rivals stared at each other in understanding. It was like looking into a mirror. Scout could see the drawn look to his rival's features, the worry in his eyes. He hesitated a moment. "You too, Blue?"

"Yeah. Why d'ya think I tolja to call your ma?" Blue shrugged with an attempt at humor. The RED and BLU mercenaries had long known about their oddly paired lives, but this was the first time Scout had ever actually thought about what that meant. He found himself filled with a strange sense of kinship and something like gratitude. At least I won't have to go through this alone.

"How'd ya find out?" he asked.

"Call last night from my ma's friend Mabel. Said they'd taken her ta Mass General. I was ah," Blue glanced diffidently at Scout. "I was thinkin it might not be the same for you. No such luck, I guess."

"What'd dey tell ya?" Scout reflected he might able to get some more information on his own mother by asking Blue.

Another shrug. "Probly about the same as dey told you. Dr. Silverman ran some tests, did some X-rays. Said it was lung cancah, not – not so good – an' dat dey'd hafta do an operation ASAP." Blue glanced at Scout. "You heah anything else?"

Scout shook his head. "Nah. 'Cept that our Medic offered ta give a 'second opinion.'"

"Ours too. No way in hell." The two Scouts shared an awkward chuckle. Blue added, "Jus' tell me your Snipah didn' try any Jarate."

"Nah. He did say he'd headshot anyone we wanted for us though."

"Heh. Snipahs," Blue said, and the two of them snorted a laugh together. There was silence for a moment, as the sounds of the crew doing the pre-flight check went on in the background.

Blue broke it. "Your – ah, ya bruddahs make it back?"

Scout shook his head. "Nah. Yours?

"Nah. At least – I mean, at least we're gonna be there, I guess. That's somethin', anyway."

"Yeah, that's what Engie said." Scout looked at his counterpart. "You know he used ta be married?"

"Huh. Engie?" Blue Scout was clearly taken aback. "That sly dog. Always the quiet ones – I nevah woulda guessed."

"Tell me about it. What next – Pyro havin a toddlah?" The two of them shared a chuckle together – then stopped at the same moment as the horrifying implications sank in. Scout shuddered and noticed Blue doing the same thing.

"Yeah." Blue grimaced. "Some things man was not meant ta know, I'm tellin ya."

"I heah dat." Scout paused, and then nodded up toward the front of the plane. "Did, ah – did he come?"

"Yeah. God knows why 'cause I sure don't. I don't even want him to be heah."

"Me neithah. She's our ma."

"Yeah." The two again shared a look of understanding; then Scout sighed. "I guess just one moah question. How come you get the window seat?"

Blue chuckled. "I guess Miss Pauling jus' likes me bettah."

"In ya dreams, Blue," Scout said but didn't have the energy to rise to the bait. The next moment the seatbelt light came on and the captain's voice came over the intercom. As the announcements droned on, Scout settled back into his seat. He was not looking forward to the other end of the trip.