Chapter Twelve: Rabbit Hearted

Author's Note: A direct continuation to the previous chapter, we return to Mort, and introduce a new RED character!

Mortimer enters the pharmacy and is greeted by a long line of people. A good lot of them are civilians, but there are also a handful of mercenaries scattered about, such as the RED in front of him. The RED, while not as massive as Hartmann or Pasha, is nothing to sneeze at, towering over him by half a head. Judging by the attire, Mort assumes he must be a Sniper, though he looks meatier than the lanky ones he usually encounters (though he can't really call himself slender, either). Under the stranger's Outback hat is long, golden hair, tied back in a ponytail, and—Mort recognizes the second he sees it—a tanned face half-covered in scars. His mouth opens into a wide smile as he blurts out, “Joey! Is that really you?”

The stranger turns around, revealing the full extent of his injuries, though his face still manages to look handsome—and equally happy to see Mortimer. “Morty? Good lord, it is you!” He picks up the BLU Sniper and hugs him tightly. “It's been ages since I've seen ya! How's life treatin' ya?”

“Great,” Mort says, struggling for air. “Can you put me down... please?”

“Oh.” Joey gently sets him back on his feet. “I see you got accepted into BLU. But what're you doin' here? Didn't you say you were gonna be a doctor or something?” He snaps his fingers. “You got hired as a Medic, didn't ya? I knew you could do it!”

“No, I'm not! Actually, I'm a Sniper.”

“A Sniper? But bein' an animal doctor was your dream job, wasn't it?”

“Don't get me wrong, it still is. It's just...” He trails off, crestfallen. “Well, shortly after you left, I flunked out of school.”

Joey gasps in shock. “Flunked out? Whaddaya mean, you flunked out? I tutored you the whole time we were buds, an' you're tellin' me that was for nothing? I oughta crush your stupid head 'cause you're so stupid...!” His hands, clasped against Mort's temples, were primed for doing just that, but he gives up and lets go with a sigh. “It's your old man, isn't it?”

Mort nods. “Sorta. But it's not like I was smart enough, anyway. If it weren't for you, I'd have never survived middle school.”

“Right you are about that. You were always a little wimp, lettin' everybloke push you around like some kind of... non-sentient mannequin-thingy!” Mortimer chuckles; Joey, normally eloquent, can never come up with the right words when his emotions take over. “But you seemed to have survived this long without me. What the hell happened when I was out?” Mort explains how he ran away and fended for himself, relying on odd jobs and the kindness of strangers, and Joey listens with an ounce of skepticism in his expression. “Is that so? Kid, you're such a goody-two shoes. No wonder you let people push you around. Still, that's pretty bold of you, running off without turning back. Perhaps you're stronger than I believed you to be.”

“Aw, I'll never be as strong as you! I just acted like I usually do. Sure, there were some strings attached, but kindness hardly comes without a price these days.”

Hearing Mort's story, the RED is immediately reminded of the tale of Cinderella. He never believed such stories could ever happen in real life, let alone so close to home, yet here is the living proof of such possibilities. “You're an idiot, Mort. But you're a lucky idiot. Lucky, goody-two shoes Mortimer.” It's painful to admit, but he cannot help but be envious of his old friend. Best to change the subject. “So, what're you here for?”

Mort's mind takes a moment to remember. “Oh! I'm just running an errand for the doc.” He removes the form, folded neatly in his pocket, and skims through it. “He asked me to get some prescriptions, but it's all gibberish to me.”

“Lemme see that.” Joey takes the form and reads it, murmuring to himself. “Anxiety, antidepressant, appetite stimulant... Wolfsbane?” He hands the paper back to Mort. “It's mostly painkillers and psychiatric meds. It's signed off, so just hand them that sheet, simple as that.”

“Ta, mate.” He pockets the form. “What about you? You on an errand, too?”

“Yeah, 'bout the same as you. Plus, I gotta get some ointment; my scar's actin' up again. An' maybe some painkillers an' bandaids. Those Scouts can pack a wallop, ReSyst or no!”

“Scouts? Ya mean Vince an' Valdo?”

“Yeah, those two. BLU kid put up a good fight, but Val gave me one for losin' to his bro.” He realizes the speed of which the line has shrunken. “An' the doc'll do the same if I don't get this in on time!”

Following after Joey, Mort frowns as he thinks about the implications behind his words. “Joey, are you sure you're alright?”

Joey hesitates. “I'll live. I'm used to it by now.” As the civilian in front of him takes their prescription and leaves, he steps forward and slips out a form to hand to the nurse at the counter. Staring at the RED Sniper's bare forearm, Mortimer notices a large bruise located in the same area where his humerus—Is that what they call it?—would be, along with some scratches and what appear to be bite marks. The wounds seem random at first, but the more he tries to imagine the scuffle that might have happened, the worse the outcome. By the time Joey retrieves his order and walks out of the pharmacy, Mort is left frozen in terror.

He was hardly back for more than a minute when Hartmann gave him the news. “He's gone?”

“Ja. I've searched all over zhe barracks und asked around, but nozhing.” The doctor swipes the prescription bag from Mort's hands and turns away. “Go gather your Spy friend und find him—now!” He points at the door—an unnecessary action, as the Sniper easily understood the message and was already gone by then.

Vincent had left the barracks overall and headed for the town. He knew perfectly well the consequences for disobeying Hartmann's orders, but he needed to get away for a bit, to walk around and think things over. Thanks to the anti-anxiety medication and the exercise, he's become more relaxed than he was earlier, and can think more clearly. Looking around his current environment—the lush greenery of the local park—he begins to wonder when was the last time he stopped to smell the roses (metaphorically and otherwise). Speaking of roses, he notices a familiar-looking red shirt and promptly averts from him. Holy crap, it's Joey! Maybe if he doesn't see my face, he'll ignore me and go about his business of not beating the snot out of me.

“Oi.” Body trembling and eyes wide like saucers, Vince turns his head to look up at the tall and intimidating Sniper approaching him. Too late. “You're Mort's friend, aren't you?” Vince weakly nods. “I jus' wanna say congrats for putting up a good fight.” Wait, what? “I have to admit, I wasn't expecting much from what I've heard about you. But you really proved me wrong. And you don't seem like a bad kid. So I thought... Well, I guess what I mean to say is...” He holds out his hand. “Ya wanna hang out sometime?”

Vince can do nothing but stare at the Sniper's sheepish grin and accept his hand. “Um, okay, I guess. You did well, too, I guess. Are you a friend of Mr. Mundy's?”

“Yeah. Never expected to see him 'round these parts. Almost like Fate wanted us to meet again.”

“Wait. Did you see him recently?”

“Saw 'im at the pharmacy some time ago. Speaking of which, I really oughta head back.” He looks around, then says, “Um, you don't happen to know where the barracks are, do ya? I'm kind of new to these parts, an' my ride left without me.”

“Oh, sure. I can't lead you all the way back, obviously, but I can escort you to the forts, at least. It's pretty straightforward from there.”

During their trek back to Teufort, the two of them chatted about work, then moved on to more personal subjects once the topic got awkward. Vince started talking about his brothers, but turned silent when the mention of his twin's name caused the taller man to wince. “... Sorry.”

“Hn? What's there to apologize for? He's your brother. What goes on between him and me is our business. 'Sides, he's not as terrible as you think he is.”

“I know he isn't. But still, as the older brother, I feel like I should be responsible for his behavior.”

“Don't blame yourself. His behavior, his fault. You've got nothing to do with it.”

Vincent stops to look at the bruises on Joey's arm. “Where did you get those bruises?” Joey falls silent, the answer obvious from his averted gaze, and the Scout starts welling up in guilt and shame. “I'm sorry.”

“Quit that! You're even worse than Mort, ya know that?” Vince, startled by his outburst, shuts up immediately. Realizing just what's done, the Sniper tries to make up for it, however tenuously. “S-sorry. I didn't mean to...” He sees the bright red pagoda in the distance and points at it. “How 'bout we have tea? My treat.”

Once they settle down at Kanpai's, the two of them are greeted by Zhen Dou, who serves them their food. Considering he hardly ate the whole day, Vincent allows himself to indulge in slight excess, ordering an assorted bowl of rice, beef, and veggies. Meanwhile, Joey orders a hearty meal of marinated meats and saucy noodles. Though Zhen was preoccupied with serving other customers in the restaurant and bar, every once in a while, he would catch a glance in their direction and smile. When he finally returns to them, he happily hands Joey some coupons and contact information for the restaurant, whilst also sneaking in his personal phone number.

As they walk out of the restaurant, Vince jokingly comments, “It's only first day here, and you've already got a girl's number. You're quite the ladykiller, Joey!”

Joey says flatly, “Vince, that server was a boy. His posture seemed straighter and more masculine, as if he's trying to compensate for his small size. He also has a more prominent jawline, a huskier voice, and his shoulders are flatter and slightly broader. And his handshake feels awfully strong for a mere food server, though that's more a determinant of occupation than gender. Also, he smells funny.”

“Okay, now you're just pulling my leg.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but is interrupted by a voice calling Vince's name. Suddenly, the Scout is ambushed by a slender figure in a blue dress, causing him to instinctively throw them over the shoulder onto the ground. As he's holding down the figure—“Spy?”—he's approached by the name-caller, who is currently stuck in Joey's headlock. “Mr. Mundy?”

After letting their captives go, Mortimer explains that he and Spy had been searching all over the town for them, and Vincent, having explained his and Joey's side of the story, apologizes for causing them trouble. “Aw, it's no drama. Glad to see you're in safe hands.” He flashes a grin in Joey's direction. “Since we're all headin' for the same place, y'all can ride in my van.”

Joey smiles politely. “Thanks, but I think I can handle things from here. 'Sides, I can't risk letting our teams see us fraternizing with the enemy.” Then, as he spots a taxi pulling up to the side of the road, he shouts “See ya on the battlefield!” and runs towards it, leaving the trio of BLU mercs behind.

Save for the unusual spot in which it parked, the taxi appears—to the unobservant—to look and act like any other taxi would. However, as soon as Joey settles himself into the backseat, the driver sheds his uniform, revealing a man in a red suit and balaclava. He's not alone, either: sitting in the passenger seat, hidden from outsiders by a tinted window, is an elderly man in white. “Did you get it?” the elder asks, his calm voice tinged with an underlying impatience. Joey nods and holds out the prescription bag for him to take. As he inspects the contents, he sighs in satisfaction. “Ah, yes. Gut. Everyzhing is here.”

“You took your lovely time, though,” the red-suited man interjects, his accent adding a sense of deviousness to his tone. “Did somezhing happen between you and BLU?”

Reluctantly, Joey answers, “I met an old friend of mine, an' Valdo's brother.”

“And by 'old friend', do you mean Monsieur Mundy?” Like a magician, he slips a pair of photos from his sleeve and displays them to the RED Sniper. “I would suggest picking your friends more wisely, Mr. Buckman.”

Contrary to the driver's skepticism, the elder sounds oddly curious. “'Mundy', you say? As in Mortimer Mundy?” Joey can only nod in silence, his gesture picked up through the rearview mirror. “Vell, zhis is certainly an interesting turn of events. Amusing, even. In fact, I zhink I can make zhis vork to our advantage.” The elder flashes a grin at the mirror, and the Sniper, staring at the reflection, shudders in fear.