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It was an early Wednesday morning, the clock had just struck 6am sharp and it was time for the mercenaries to start getting ready for a long day of battles. For most people, waking up early was a nightmare, they’d rather stay under the warmth of their covers and sleep for another hour or so.
But for Engineer, the morning was his favourite part of the day. He’d always been a morning person. To him, there was nothing better than waking to the sound of the birds singing their sweet song, greeting the sun as it peeked over the horizon, the warmth spilling over his skin though the curtains as he stretched and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Most of all, he enjoyed his breakfast. And more than that, he enjoyed making breakfast for other people.
To put it lightly, Engineer was an amazing chef, it was a talent that he’d learned from his parents. As a child, he would help his Ma cook dinner for the entire family, it’s where he learned how to make such delicious food. “That’s real Southern cooking right there,” he’d say, as he piled up a plate with barbecued ribs, the tender meat, sticky with homemade sauce, falling off the bone. Engineer loved to share his cooking with other people, he was always thrilled by the reactions he got, and his genuine Southern food could always entice the pickiest of eaters. Which is why he had no problem with cooking breakfast for the entire team.
Engineer had woken up in a particularly good mood this morning, more chipper than usual, which reflected in his breakfast for that day. He’d decided to go all out, frying up sausage, eggs, beans and a few hash-browns on the side. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his comrades’ faces as he gave them their breakfast. A good, hearty meal at the start of the day was sure to aid in their victory in battle.
One by one, each mercenary was awoken by the tempting smell of a fry-up. They dragged themselves out of bed and into the kitchen, where they sat around the table, half-asleep and bleary eyed, but eagerly awaiting their breakfast. Engineer proudly set a plate, piled high with food, in front of each of them.
As the mercenaries picked up their forks and began to enjoy their meal, Engineer stepped back to admire his work. Spy gave a hum of approval as he took his first bite, Scout began to shovel food down his throat as if it was his last meal, and Medic commented on how his sausages were almost as good as the Bratwurst from his home country. “This is a true American breakfast!” Soldier had barked, grinning at him while presenting a mouthful of half-chewed up hash-brown.
His chest swelled with pride as each merc commended him on how delicious his food was, even Spy, who was notoriously picky and stuck up when it came to food complimented him. As they polished off the rest of their breakfast, and Scout licked the remaining sauce from his plate – which Engineer had scolded him on countless times before – he began to clean up the kitchen. He didn’t mind the clean up job, the more plates he had to clean meant the more mouths he’d fed and bellies he’d filled.
Suddenly, an exhausted sounding groan caught the Engineer’s attention. He turned around to see the Sniper, looking half-dead, with scruffy unkempt hair and dark rings underneath his eyes. That’s strange, he thought to himself, Sniper is always up before everyone else. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Sniper at breakfast. Had he ever seen Sniper at breakfast? He knew that the marksman liked to wake up incredibly early to get ready for the day, he prided himself on his professionalism after all. Sleeping in late was sure to affect his sharp aiming skills.
Engineer flashed him a smile, “Mornin’ Mr. Mundy! Sleep well?” he greeted cheerily. He already knew the answer to that question, the Snipers rough appearance told him that he’d probably not slept too soundly.
“Didn’t sleep well.” Sniper grunted bluntly in response, his voice more gravelly than usual. He reached into the cupboard and retrieved his ‘#1 Sniper’ mug, a Christmas gift he’d received from the team a few years back. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and began to make his way out of the kitchen, ready for a long day of sitting in his lonesome tower, and blowing the enemy team’s heads off. Engineer frowned. That was his breakfast? It could hardly be called breakfast. How would the Sniper be able to work on just coffee? Didn’t he know that he needed a full stomach to function properly throughout the day?
“And where do you think you’re going, Mister?” questioned Engineer, standing in front of the door to block Sniper’s path while crossing his arms. “Where’s yer breakfast?”
Sniper’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Eh? What are you talkin’ about? It’s right here.” He held up his cup of coffee as evidence.
“I mean a proper breakfast. That ain’t no way to start yer day. Ya can’t be headshottin’ the enemy team on an empty stomach. Won’cha get hungry?”
Sniper rolled his eyes, “Ain’t had breakfast in God-knows how long and I do my job just fine.” He was too tired to deal with this, he already had a pounding headache and the Engineer’s berating voice did little to soothe it.
Engineer scoffed, “Nonsense. I’ll dish ya up a plate, don’t you worry ‘bout it.” Sniper was about to interject until Engineer began to fill a plate with a mouth-watering looking breakfast, “No breakfast,” he chuckled to himself, “never heard such a thing.”
Sniper had a job to do and he couldn’t waste his time by eating. He was a professional, he couldn’t let things like hunger get in the way of his performance. It wasn’t like he got hungry that often anyway, just a black coffee was enough to keep him going for the day. Maybe some critters that he’d hunted by himself and roasted over a fire if he was particularly peckish, things like mice and rattlesnakes were his favourite. But a full fried breakfast? Sniper couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one of those.
Before he could open his mouth to argue, a plate of eggs, sausage, beans and hashbrowns was being pushed into his hands. “Now I ain’t gonna take no for an answer,” Engineer told him, “ya better finish it all by the time I’m done cleanin’. You could really use it, string bean.”
Ignoring the comment, Sniper couldn’t deny that the food looked and smelled absolutely amazing. As much as his stubbornness wanted him to just walk away, he couldn’t help himself, he grabbed a fork and began to dig in. After taking the first bite, he started to scarf down forkfuls of food like a starved animal. Engineer had never seen someone eat so fast, he was almost worried that the bushman would choke. Within 30 seconds flat, Sniper had cleared his plate, much to the delight of Engineer.
He’s sure that a full stomach would help Sniper’s performance in battle, and he was absolutely right. The marksman had beat his personal record of most headshots in a day, and Engineer liked to think that he’d been the cause. A belly full of real Southern cooking is sure to make anyone ready for a long day of fighting.
---
The day was coming to a close and the sun began to set. Engineer wiped the dripping sweat from his brow, the New Mexico sun was harsh and unforgiving. He was tuckered out after a long, gruelling battle. He’d been constantly harassed by spies all day, every time he placed a sentry, one of the little snakes would place a sapper on it and ruin his hard work.
After an exhausting day like this, there was one thing that Engineer could still look forward to and that was cooking dinner for the team. After showering and changing out of his sweat and blood covered uniform, he started to work on dinner. On the menu tonight was barbecued ribs, covered in a sticky honey glazed sauce. His fellow mercenaries looked at him eagerly as they waited at the table, forks in hand and ready to dig into another one of Engineer’s delicious meals.
Engineer started handing out the plates to each of his teammates, he counted every person as he did. Scout, Soldier, Pyro, Demo… everyone was here. Engineer had a strange feeling in his gut, he scratched his head and thought for a second. Something felt off, like he was forgetting something. Did he miss out an important step while cooking? Did he forget to add an ingredient? Was there someone missing…?
“Sorry ve are late, herr Engineer!” He turned his head at the familiar voice of Medic, who sat down at the table, closely followed by Heavy. Once the couple had joined, the table was looking much more full.
Engineer sat down with the rest of the team, feeling settled after his forgetfulness and ready to tuck into his food. They ate in silence, the only sound that could be heard was cutlery scraping against plates as they wolfed down their food. It was a peaceful way to end a long day of work. The tranquil silence was soon broken by Scout, much to the annoyance of everyone at the table, who burst out speaking with a mouth full off food.
“Guys, is it just me or is throwin’ piss jars at people real fuckin’ rude? Cuz I think so!” Scout exclaimed, most of the food in his mouth ending up on Spy’s plate, who was sitting right across from him.
“Horrid boy…” The Frenchman muttered in his native language, using a napkin to wipe flakes of spit and half-chewed food from his plate.
“Son, how many times have I told ya not to chew with yer mouth open!” Engineer scolded, “remember yer table manners.” He pointed to a sign on the wall titled ‘Engineer’s kitchen rules’. Sure enough, rule number 4 stated ‘no open-mouth chewing at the dinner table’.
Scout huffed and swallowed his food before continuing, “Anyways, did ya hear what I said? The enemy Sniper threw a jar of piss at me! Piss! How gross is that? What a freakin’ animal!” He motioned with his hands and as the spoke, almost poking out Demo’s only good eye with his fork, who had the misfortune of being sat next to the loud-mouthed Bostonian.
Engineer nodded his head in acknowledgement, not really listening but not wanting to hurt the runner’s feelings either. Although he wasn’t paying attention to Scout’s little rant, there was something that he said that stuck out to him. Did he mention the Sniper…?
Of course, I’ll be damned! That’s why the table felt so empty, it was Sniper who was missing. It all made sense to him now, if Sniper was never at breakfast then why would he ever show up to dinner? Engineer could have slapped himself for being so stupid. He tries to remember a time that he’d actually seen Sniper sitting at the dinner table with the rest of the team, but his mind was blank. For some reason, he felt sympathy for the marksman. Engineer knew that he was a loner and preferred his own company, but it made his heart ache to think of Sniper so isolated from the other mercenaries.
The sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor signified that most of the team had finished their meals and were heading back to their rooms for the night. As Engineer began to collect the dirty plates, his comrades complimented him for his excellent cooking.
“You deserve a medal for those ribs, private!”
“An exceptional meal as always, laborer.”
“Hudda hudda huh!”
Engineer smiled politely at his teammates, wishing them a goodnight, before they each headed off to bed. He thanked his lucky stars that he’d decided to make a large enough portion of food so there would be extra remaining, just in case someone asked for seconds. Using a left-over portion of ribs and a side of vegetables, Engineer started to dish up a separate plate for Sniper. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t let the Aussie go hungry now, could he?
He hoped that Sniper wouldn’t mind, but seeing as how he scarfed down Engineer’s breakfast like he’d never eaten, the Texan was sure that he’d be grateful. Before heading out the door, Engineer grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, specially for the marksman.
---
Once Engineer had arrived at the beaten-up van, he knocked twice and politely awaited a response. A few minutes passed without a reply, and he began to get a little nervous. He knew that Sniper would most likely prefer to be left alone but he couldn’t stand the thought of the marksman going to bed hungry every night. So he tried again, louder this time. After the second knock, a noise could be heard from inside the dingy van. The sound of banging and cluttering, almost like someone had fallen straight out of bed and onto the floor.
Footsteps could be heard that got closer and closer, until the door swung open to reveal Sniper, clad in only his underwear and a tank top, teeth gritted in aggravation and an irritated look on his face.
“I told you little wanka’s to stop knockin’ on me doo-“, Sniper cut himself off once he looked down and saw the Engineer, “oh um… Sorry mate, thought you were someone else.”
Engineer chuckled at the Australian’s little outburst. “No problem, pardner.” He suddenly felt a little guilty for interrupting Sniper’s rest. After a hard day’s work, the last thing you’d want is Scout and Pyro ding-dong-ditching your house… or in Sniper’s case, his van.
An awkward silence fell between the two, neither mercenary knowing what to say.
“So… can I help you?” Sniper questioned, voice still groggy and thick with sleep.
“Ahm sorry for interruptin’ yer nap, Mr. Mundy, but I brought ya some food.” He held up the plate of ribs for Sniper to get a better look at. “Didn’t see ya at dinner so I thought I’d bring ya some.”
Sniper glared, clearly annoyed that his precious sleep had been interrupted just for this. He looked down at the plate, and then back up at Engineer. “I don’t want yer bloody food, mate. Never had dinner before so why would I want it now?” he snapped.
Engineer was taken aback. He could tell that Sniper was cranky and irritable after just waking up, but he didn’t expect this kind of reaction. He suddenly felt stupid, standing there under the marksman’s heated gaze.
“I thought ya might like it, seein’ how much you enjoyed mah cookin’ this morning.” Engineer replied, sadness and humiliation laced in his voice. “But if ya really don’t want it, then I don’t mind throwin’ it away.” Sniper was a loner, an introvert, of course he didn’t want to be bothered, Engineer should have remembered that. But he hated to see Sniper so alone, he was part of the team and deserved to be treated as such.
After seeing the defeated look on Engineer’s face, Sniper felt an ugly feeling of guilt twist in his stomach. He mentally kicked himself for snapping at the Texan, when he was only trying to do something good for him.
“Nah, can’t be wasteful now, can we?” He sighed and took the food and beer out of Engineer’s hands, “ya not half-bad at cookin’…” Sniper admitted, looking away sheepishly.
Engineer was silent for a moment, until a lopsided grin spread across his face. “Aw shucks!” He tipped his helmet forward to hide his growing smile, “ah hope you enjoy yer meal, Mr. Mundy.” He said before turning to head back to the base.
Sniper grunted in acknowledgement before closing the van door behind him. He set the plate and beer down on the rickety table, taking in the delicious smell. He started to wonder why the Engineer had done this. Sniper knew he could be somewhat unapproachable at times, it wasn’t that he disliked other people, his social skills just weren’t the best. He didn’t have that many friends growing up and even in his adult years he tended to stick to himself. Making friends was something he’d always struggled with.
Which made it all the more confusing as to why the Engineer went out of his way to talk to him, even going so far as to bring him a homemade dinner. He didn’t know why he would try and make friends with the marksman, they were almost polar opposites. Engineer was cheerful, generous, optimistic, always there to lend a hand to his fellow teammates… he was everything that Sniper was not.
After he finished his meal, he stared down at the empty plate and could only be reminded of the Southerner’s lopsided grin that made Sniper’s stomach twist into knots.
---
A few weeks had passed since Engineer’s last visit, and every day without fail, he had given Sniper food. He would bring a dish of whatever delicious meal he’d cooked that evening and brought it to Sniper’s van, who accepted with a mumbled ‘thank you’.
Sniper placed the most recent dirty plate on top of the mountain of others that had accumulated in his van. Admittedly, he was too lazy to bring them all the way to the base’s kitchen to wash them but now the mess was becoming too much. The unwashed dishes had made themselves at home among the rest of Sniper’s cluttered and chaotic van. The pile of grubby clothes crumpled on the floor, the overflowing ashtray and collection of piss jars became what he liked to call ‘unique decoration’. Sniper liked to think it gave his home some character. There was no point in cleaning if things were going to get messy again, right?
But he knew that Engineer would start pestering him and asking where all those missing plates had gone if he didn’t bring them back. So he took the stack of plates, being careful not to drop any, and made his way to the base’s kitchen.
It wasn’t long after Engineer had made dinner for the team, and as usual, he was washing the dishes. A Johnny Cash song was playing on the radio, Sniper noted, recognising the song that Engineer frequently played. The Texan was softy humming along to Cash’s deep baritone voice.
Sniper meekly shuffled into the kitchen, clearing his throat to get the Engineer’s attention. He was snapped out of his little daydream and turned around at the sound of the other’s entrance.
He wore a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves, as well as an apron with ‘Crit the cook’ written on the front. Underneath, he’d swapped his grubby, oil-stained overalls for a loosely fitting blue flannel and relaxed pair of jeans. He was missing his usual helmet and goggles, a rare sight for Sniper as he only saw the man when he was in his workshop or on the battlefield. It was strange to see him dressed so casually.
“Well howdy there, Mr. Mundy!” he greeted with his usual cheery Southern hospitality, “what can I help ya with?”
“Um… I brought yer plates back.” Sniper answered, holding up the stack of plates for the shorter man to see.
“That was mighty kind a’ you ta bring em back fer me,” Engineer dried off his hands on a nearby towel before taking them from the marksman, “Been wonderin’ where they disappeared to. Was startin’ to think you were usin’ em fer target practice.” He chuckled.
Sniper laughed awkwardly in return. It was a rough, gravelly noise. Something more akin to a cough than a laugh.
“Uh, I could help clean them if you want?” Sniper shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling very on edge.
Engineer’s grin grew wider at that, “Well I’d appreciate the help, Mr. Mundy.” He motioned towards the large stack of plates, “How about I wash em an’ yew dry em?”
Sniper shrugged, “Fine by me.”
The mercenaries got to work. They were standing close together by the sink, there was not much room for both men to have much space, but neither one minded. But every time their elbows would occasionally brush together, Sniper’s heart would flutter, making him feel like a love-struck teenage girl.
A comfortable silence fell over the two. Engineer washing the dirty plates in the sink, while Sniper dried them before placing them on the draining board. The Kiwi’s nerves were slowly being calmed by the soft acoustic guitar playing on the radio, and the Texan’s humming as he sang along.
They continued this routine for several minutes, and a few Johnny Cash songs later, Sniper coughed to break the silence before speaking, “Ya don’t have to be so formal, ya know.”
Engineer paused his humming and he looked up with a puzzled expression, “Huh? Whaddya mean?”
“Well yer always callin’ me ‘Mr. Mundy’. It’s so… formal?” Sniper tried to explain but when he looked over to the other man, he still looked confused, “Mick. Me names Mick.”
It took a few moments for Engineer to grasp what the marksman meant, but when he finally caught on, a lopsided smile spread across his face. It reminded Sniper of the sun.
“Howdy, Mick. I’m Dell, Dell Conagher.” He stuck his hand out for the other man to take, still wet with soapy dish water but Sniper didn’t mind. He shook Dell’s hand, it was cold and dripping but he had a firm grip – strong, hard-working hands he noted.
“Dell…” Sniper tried the name on his tongue and it felt right, as if he’d said that name a thousand times before, “Dell Conagher. Suits you.”
“Mick… Mick Mundy. Suits you too.” Engineer playfully mimicked, lightly elbowing Sniper in the ribs.
This time when Mick laughed, it was genuine. There was no awkwardness no tension, nothing was forced. Most of the time when he laughed, it would be at the expense of the enemy team, a gruff spiteful taunt. But this noise was light, it came from deep within his chest, bubbling up and spilling over his lips before Mick could stop it.
Dell was in awe. He tried not to show it, but the look on his face said everything. He’d never heard Mick make such a sound before. The usual tired, stoic face of the marksman was replaced with a beaming smile, showing his perfect crooked teeth.
As Mick’s laughter died down, he looked over to the other man. Once he saw the clear adoration in Dell’s eyes, he quickly averted his gaze. Another heavy silence fell upon the two. Dell felt slightly defeated at the Sniper’s shyness. He wanted to bring him out of his shell even more. He wracked his brain trying to think of another way to make him smile.
The radio was still playing, Dell noticed, and ever the problem solver, he quickly made a plan. He pulled off the soaking gloves and undid his apron, folding it neatly and hanging it up on a nearby hook.
“Ya know this song, Mick?” Dell asked.
“Uhh…” Mick listened closely to the words, the voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t recognize the name of the song.
“It’s called ‘I Walk the Line’ by Johnny Cash. This just might be the best country song ever written. One of my favourites,” he explained, “Here, how ‘bout I sing to ya? I don’t have mah guitar but I can still sing. It’s been a while since I’ve had an audience.”
Dell outstretched his hand to Mick, who stared at it with a dumbfounded expression. After a moment of bewildered staring, he took the offered hand and the Texan lead him to the middle of the kitchen, where they had more room.
Dell pulled Mick into a light embrace, he knew the Sniper wasn’t fond of touch so he wanted to make sure he could leave if he wanted. But the marksman didn’t leave, he returned the gesture buy wrapping his lanky arms around Dell’s shoulders. The Engineer’s arms rested around the other man’s waist, pulling him closer.
He began to sing, his deep, calming voice harmonized well with Cash’s. Mick was entranced by their soulful, baritone duet.
“I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line,”
Dell’s head came to rest on Mick’s shoulder, and he gently swayed the other’s body in time with the music. The Sniper’s cheek pressed against the top of Engineer’s head, his rough stubble scratching Dell’s scalp but he didn’t seem to mind. He just continued to sing.
“As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night
And happiness I've known proves that it's right
Because you're mine, I walk the line,”
Dell lifted his head from where it rested on Mick’s shoulder, so he could look at the other man. As he sang, he observed the Sniper, regretting that he hadn’t done so sooner. The Australian had long, sharp features. His high cheekbones, scruffy stubble and dark eye bags gave him a rugged but handsome appearance. He contrasted Dell’s own soft, rounder face.
“You’ve got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can’t hide
For you, I know I’d even try to turn the tide
Because you’re mine, I walk the line,”
Mick glanced down at the shorter man, feeling his cheeks grow slightly warm when they locked eyes. Engineer raised a hand to cup Sniper’s face, it was rough and callous from years of hard work but he held the marksman so gently, almost as if he would afraid Mick would break. As if he was the most precious thing in the world
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the end out for the tie that binds
Because you’re mine, I walk the line.”
As the song finally came to a close, there was silence. It wasn’t awkward, nothing needed to be said, both men understood. It felt as if their warm embrace was the middle of the universe, like nothing else in the world mattered. Neither of the mercenaries had felt such peace and serenity in someone’s arms before.
Wordlessly, with hands cradling their faces, they pulled each other forward and smiled as their lips gently met.