The weekend had come and gone, and now the mercenaries of BLU are ordered to return to work immediately. Some begrudgingly trudge over to the battlefield, while others have never been happier to be back after so long. But well into the afternoon, one worker had not even bothered to leave his room.
“Docteur, he has not budged one bit since zhe beach party,” Alan cries as he grabs hold of Hartmann's sleeve. “He won't talk to me, and when he does, he starts acting all grumpy. Even worse, he has not eaten anyzhing I've given him. He's possessed, I tell you—possessed!”
Hartmann raises a brow. “Zhat is veird. I doubt he's possessed, though. Did somezhing happen?”
“Happen when?”
He groans and slaps his palm against his forehead. “Zhe beach party!”
“Oh... I dunno. I was with Pasha and Luca zhe whole time. Well, and you, if you count zhat time when I fainted.”
His brows furrow at the mention of the BLU Heavy and the RED Spy. He has a terrible taste in friends. “I see. Well, keep up the good work, Spion.” He pats the Spy on the head and enters the dorm.
Curled up tightly in his blankets is Mortimer. The Sniper doesn't react to the door opening, nor to the heavy footsteps approaching his bed or the equally heavy load sitting at the edge of the mattress. “Guten tag, Morty. I've heard you aren't feeling vell. Do you need a checkup?” A hand pulls the blankets from Mort's grasp, stripping him of his shell. He flails about, attempting to regain his grip, but gives up and curls up in a fetal position. “Now, zhen,” the Medic says as he tucks the sheets in a lump beside him, “Vhat's happening?”
Mort mutters, “Nothing.”
“You von't talk to Alan.”
“I was getting sick of 'im, anyway.”
“You von't eat anything.”
“Haven't been hungry.”
“For an entire veekend?”
Pause. “Doc... Do you hate me?”
Hartmann's hands twitch nervously. “Vell, you can be a bother at times. You're not zhe brightest, und you can act like a Kindermann. But you're a good man, Morty. You are...” He stops to gather some words that don't sound too cliché. “Vell, you know how to stop a fight before it happens. Remember zhe first time ve met? I vas on zhe verge of punching Jane's lights out, and somehow, I didn't. It vas because of you. I don't know how you did it, but I think that's your greatest strength.” He pulls Mort closer and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “You're like a puppy: you're simply impossible to hate!”
Hearing this, Mort can't help but smile. The comment reminds him of what Miller said, and it warms his heart. But then he remembers the last thing Joey said to him, and his shoulders slump. “Not really.”
Frowning, the doctor moves his hand to brush the bushman's messy brown hair. “Nein? Says who?”
“Says Joey.”
“Joey? You mean zhat pitiful excuse of a Sniper? Aw, forget him! He's not...” Hartmann stops to look down at Mort, whose lips quiver and whimper, and he bites his tongue, letting him sob in peace.
Once all the tears have fallen, Mort wipes his eyes and sniffs. “We were the best of friends, me an' Joey. I never was good in school, an' middle school was utter hell. I was always bullied by the other kids fer bein' girly an' stupid, but then Joey came in an' saved the day. That first moment when we met, I thought he was a superhero or my guardian angel. In the end, he turned out to be a big crook.”
“A crook?”
“When he left, he took my heart with him. And then, years later, he absolutely shattered it, leaving me with nothing but pieces.”
“I see...” His eyes widen as he realizes, “Vaitaminute, Joey's a guy!”
Mort, with curious eyes, stares up at the Medic. “I know it's really weird, but is it really so wrong?” His fingers clench at the fabric on his blouse. “I was in love with Joey. I never told anyone, though, so I kept it to myself. Even when he left, I didn't feel too sad about it, 'cause I knew I would see him again someday. So when he told me he couldn't believe he was ever friends with me, my heart...” He averts his gaze.
Hartmann does the same, burdened by the weighty atmosphere. Finally, he places a hand on Mort's shoulder. “It might not make you feel any better, but if you go on zhe battlefield, zhere's a chance you'll find him zhere. And vhen you do, you can go punch his lights out. Let him know how you feel!”
The Sniper's lips curl up into a tiny smile. “Really?”
“Ja, really.” He slaps his back—gently so—and helps him up. “Vell, vhat are ve vaiting for? Ve've got a cart to push!”
Mort's face falls. “You don't mean...?”
“I LOVE Payload missions!” Joey has settled down on a raised platform atop of the mine, through which a slim rail track runs along the rocky terrain and up the rickety wooden slopes, leading to a series of rustic RED buildings. Looking around, he can see his other teammates scattered about, preparing to ambush the unsuspecting BLU mercenaries. According to the information gained in their last victory, the enemy will be pushing a bomb-armed cart on a linear path—marked by control points—up the incline and towards the buildings, where it's set to detonate, causing significant damage to company property, as well as the potential loss of important resources. At this point in time, they will have already progressed past the first checkpoint and are heading towards the second.
Joey raises his bow and pulls back the arrow, its tip pointed squarely at the cluster of BLU shirts gathered behind the glowing cart. But as soon as he catches sight of a familiar face, he falters, and his arrow comes flying out clumsily, missing the group entirely. As he stops to reload, he watches as Mort diverts from the group and aims his rifle at a RED in the distance, only to put it down immediately after to pick up something. Joey squints to see what the hell his (former) friend is up to.
“Hey, Doc! Look at what I found!” Mort approaches Hartmann, who is preoccupied with healing an ailing Duncan, and shows off his newly discovered treasure. The item in question is constructed by stretching an alligator's hide onto a round, wooden frame. “I think it's some kind of native art. I could be rich!”
Duncan takes the object to inspect it closely, then bursts out laughing. “Yer not gonna get rich, lad, but what you've got here is far better than any ol' art piece. What you got 'ere is a Darwin's Danger Shield, courtesy of Mann Co. Put it on at yer next Respawn, an' give 'er a go!” As he watches Mort run off to get mauled in a sadistic display of bullets and projectiles, the Demoman cannot help but smile. “Such an eager lad, isn't he? It's refreshing to see young blood like him on the field. Even Vince looks like an ol' fogey compared to 'im.”
“Hey, you vatch your mouth, old man!” Hartmann playfully punches Duncan, who takes it in stride. “But I suppose you have a point. Bothersome as he is, I hope he never changes.” He witnesses Mort's frequent misaiming and subsequent fiery death. “On second thought, his aim could use some serious improvement.”
Shortly after Respawning, he dons the gator shield, sacrificing his sub-machine gun in the process, and runs out, sniper rifle in hand. It's proven to be surprisingly useful, as its durability gives him a better chance of survival. On the other hand, because of the organic materials from which it was made, it also makes him more vulnerable to fire, meaning he will need to steer clear of Pyros. The absence of the SMG would have been another downside, but the weapon's lack of use makes it hard to miss.
More confident than ever, Mortimer comes out from behind his hiding spot and is risking becoming an open target for the sake of setting his sights on the Soldier that's been hindering his team's progress. But just as he is about to pull the trigger, an arrow barely grazes his cheek, slicing some hairs from his lengthy sideburns as it flies by. Miffed that his aim's been screwed, he scans his surroundings for the perpetrator, finally stopping at the platform above the mine. He runs off to hide, then stares through his scope, zooming into the figure reloading his arrows.
Joey?
For a long moment, he hesitates, his trigger finger twitching. On the one hand, shooting him will free his team of a huge obstacle. On the other, he'd be killing his own friend, potentially creating a bigger rift between them. He muddles over the moral dilemma for a while, but eventually sets down the rifle and joins his team as they start progressing towards the third checkpoint.
As they push past the shallow mine, Mort diverts again, this time going up the two-story building, where he last saw Joey. Kukri in hand, he rushes up the stairs, reaching his destination in short time. But as soon as he finds the roost, his legs suddenly stick to the floor, and his numb hands drop the knife.
Moments before, Joey had gotten into a struggle with a Spy from the BLU team. Thankfully, he was weak and terrible at stealth, so disposing of him was far from difficult. He was just about to throw the Spy from the window when Mort came in. He curses under his breath and drops the blue-suited corpse. “Did you seriously come all the way up here just to kill me? Awfully reckless of you.”
Mortimer snaps out of it and picks up his knife, only to sheathe it. “Actually, I came here to talk.”
He sneers. “Do you remember where we are? We've got a job to do here! I ain't got time to mess around!”
“I ain't messin' around, either! You've been actin' like a big jerk lately. I dunno what RED's done to you, but I don't want our friendship to end just 'cause we're on different teams.”
“I didn't do anything but tell you the truth. And the truth is, you're a meddling, saccharine fool!”
“I may be a meddling idiot, but I do it because I care and I believe in doing things for the greater good.” Mort whips out his kukri and points it at Joey's chest. “Let's settle this like mercs do. If you win, I'll stop meddling and we'll end our friendship here an' now. But if I win, you'll take back what you said and we can keep being friends.”
Joey's features soften as he gives a smirk. “Loser pays for dinner?”
“Dinner for the rest of the week.”
He shows off his Bushwacka and jabs it in Mort's direction. “As the old cliché goes: You're on!”
SHING! The clash of steel rings throughout the area as the two duke it out. Joey has the advantage in size and power, though his blade could not reach its full potential. Meanwhile, Mortimer is more agile, his strong and sturdy legs making up for his knife's old age and comparatively short length. Some nicks and cuts are made here and there, but the duo's skill levels are equal enough that it quickly becomes a stalemate. Shortly after realizing this, they settle on a battle of fists. The spiked knuckles on Joey's gloves prove themselves useful, capable of causing severe injury and bleeding, but Mort's thighs are strong enough to snap bones in half. Ignorant of the time passing around them, the duel continues, a flurry of fists and kicks creaking the floorboards and smashing the lockers.
Meanwhile, Vincent has just respawned and is heading towards the third checkpoint when he hears a ruckus going on in the nearby building. Recalling the last time he saw Mort, he becomes concerned about the Sniper's current state and starts running as fast as he can inside. As he dashes up the stairs, he can hear voices alongside the noise and calamity.
“Dammit, Mort, I'm not gonna lose this time! 'Specially not to you.”
CRASH!
“Sorry, Joey, but I'm the winner of this round.”
SMASH!
“Not so fast. I can still get on top!”
THUD!
“Oh, Joey, you sure know how to play rough!”
The Scout's unsure of how to interpret the conversation going on, but when he barges in on the fighting duo, his eyes grow wide at the sight before him. The two Snipers are on the floor, with Joey pinning Mort's hands down, and with Mort's legs spread out and wrapped around Joey's waist. Their bodies brushing against each other and their noses practically touching, they appear to be in the midst of an intimate moment. Vince, his cheeks flushed, repeatedly shifts his gaze as he stammers, “C-carry on with your business,” and exits stage left.
Stunned, Joey opens his mouth to explain to the BLU Scout as he runs off, but no words come out. As the light footsteps fade into the distance, Mortimer moves in to kiss him on the cheek. “Looks like dinner's on you, sweetie.” He chuckles as he stabs Joey in the chest with his kukri and twists the blade, killing him instantly.
That evening, after celebrating a narrow victory with his comrades, Mortimer hurries to the locker room to shower and change into a nicer set of clothes. As he walks out, he bumps into a large figure.
“You certainly clean up nicely.”
Mort looks up and smiles at the familiar face of the doctor. “Thanks, doc. I took your advice an' told 'im how I felt. Thanks to you, I've got a date!”
“Ah, zhat's vonderful to hear. By zhe vay, I've heard about vhat happened back at zhe payload mission.” He leans in and whispers in Mort's ear, “Next time, do it outside zhe battlefield. You vouldn't vant your little secret to go out, ja?” He pats the Aussie on the shoulder and grins. “Vell, best be on your vay now. Ta-ta!” It takes all of Mort's effort not to punch him out of embarrassment.
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