Chapter Thirteen: Ceasefire

Author's Note: A short prelude into a two-part filler arc. Sorta.

For several weeks, they fought, RED and BLU, and their victories were scattered, adding up to a perpetual stalemate. After many achieving many wins and many more losses, the Administrator had announced an order for a ceasefire. The rookies, not expecting a break from action so soon, were confused and relieved. As Duncan explains, whenever circumstances arose—such as signs of stalemate or a drop in resources, or an emergency situation—both teams would receive a ceasefire order, thus halting all mercenary activity until the issue is resolved or whenever the boss calls for it. "Until that happens, ye'd best enjoy the downtime you got."

Ecstatic, Mortimer, Alan, and Vincent chat all morning about the things they can do during their time off. Alan suggests going clothes shopping, having noticed Mort's lack of variety in his wardrobe. Meanwhile, Mort rambles on about the new fair that just opened up and how he's been dying to go visit it. When it's Vince's turn, he agrees with both their plans, while adding, "Hartmann's been nagging at me to get a new swimsuit lately, though he hasn't explained why. And I think I'm gonna need new clothes at this rate." He tugs at the collar of his shirt, an artifact from a time when he was a few years younger and not nearly as broad-shouldered.

After breakfast, the three of them set off for the clothing store in search of swimsuits. Alan dons a girlish, vintage style body suit that ties into a ribbon in the back of his neck, while Mortimer rushes to try on a speedo that accentuates his better assets. But Vince finds himself in a bit of a bind, as most of the store's offerings conflict with his own conservative tastes. As mens' body suits gradually fall out of style in favor of swim trunks and speedos, he cannot fathom the idea of baring himself for the world to see.

"Just get some trousers an' put a shirt over the rest of ya," Mort suggests bluntly.

"Well, I suppose that's true." Vince sorts through a selection of shorts and tops that he picked out just moments ago.

Alan picks up a pair of shorts and gasps at the tag on the interior belt. "I expected it to be smaller, but you and Mort are zhe same size!"

Flustered, Vince snatches the shorts from the Spy. "I might've gotten a bit bigger around the waistline the past few months. But it's mostly muscle, so it's no big deal."

"Waitaminute, really?" Mort pops in, swiping the same pair of trousers Vince was holding. "I need proof of this!" He runs into the fitting room and slams the door shut. After a couple of minutes of grunting and pulling, he cracks open the door and pops out, revealing the shorts stuck halfway up his thigh. He whimpers, "I think I'm the one that got bigger."

As Mort slips back into his own pants, Vincent points out, "You know, for someone who's not much of a runner, you've got pretty strong-looking thighs. Do you work out or something?"

Opening the door, he says, "Oh, naw! I jus' got girly hips, is all. Kids used t' make fun of me for 'em, an' they caused me all kindsa trouble, but I've learned to deal with it since. I'm surprised ya never noticed earlier."

"I-I have, actually. But I never thought to bring it up, because I thought it'd be rude if I did. Er, sorry, sir."

"Aw, it's no drama." Mort leaves the fitting room and starts sifting through the selection of trousers. "That's what we're here for." He finds a pair of shorts that resemble the ones he was trying out earlier, only a light shade of tan and a couple of sizes wider. Laying them in front of his crotch and thighs, he smiles in satisfaction. "These oughta do it." He throws them in a pile with his speedo and a few shirts that caught his eye early on.

Finishing up for the day, the trio heads over to the register. First is Mortimer, whose outfits are light in color and fabric, and more fit for warm weather, though rather tacky. Next is Vincent, whose clothing is also practical, but a bit more tasteful. Finally, the cashier rings up some rather fancy and feminine garments, leading them to refer to Alan as "ma'am". After leaving the store, they head to the diner to have lunch and chat with Duncan.

With the ceasefire in place, the Demoman has more time to dedicate to himself. "But Janey's been kind of antsy since the announcement. He can't stand a moment when he's not blowin' up stuff."

"Sounds like he's got a lot of pent-up energy to release," Vince says with a nervous chuckle.

Mort gulps his food down. "But what about that family of raccoons he got out back?"

"They can take care o' themselves, fer the most part. The lad needs more human friends, anyway."

For the first time in the conversation, Alan speaks. "What about Aiden? I've seen Jane talking to them some occasions. Maybe zhey're secret partners in crime, or lovers!"

Duncan's elvin ears perk up, dumbfounded. "Bullshit! I never heard or seen anything about this. Tell me more."

"Well, from what I've noticed, a lot of zhe conversations are initiated by Aiden, yet Jane never lashes out at zhem. In fact, he seems a lot calmer around Aiden, sometimes even smiling. Which can only mean zhey are lover—"

The Scotsman covers the Spy's mouth with one hand, while stroking his beard with the other. "So the little Pyro's what makes 'im jolly, eh?" He uncovers Alan's mouth and slaps him in the back instead. "Thanks fer the intel, lass!"

While the so-called "lass" wallows in his praise, Vince strikes up an idea. "If you want them to bond, why not take Aiden to one of your monthly camping trips? I'm sure he'll lighten things up, so to say."

"Nah, too much trouble. 'Sides, that's the only time Janey an' I have any time alone."

Alan sports a cat-like grin. "Alone? Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your voice, Mr. McCullen—"

"It's not like that." Duncan sighs and turns to Mort. "How 'bout you? Any bright ideas?"

Mort scratches his scruffy sideburns. "Well, it's not really much, but there's always the fair..."

"You're just saying zhat because you want to go zhere," Alan butts in.

"Mann's Fair, eh? That has got to be..." Duncan's lips curl up into a grin. "The most brilliant idea you've ever had! You're a genius, Mort!"

"He is?"

"I am?" Mort almost chokes on his food. "No, no. Alan's right: I was bein' rather selfish when I said that. I thought maybe we could all go, an' leave Janey an' Aiden to their own business while we go have fun elsewhere."

Duncan says flatly, "Lad, you seriously don't realize the amount of genius yer spewin', are ya?"

"Trust me; I'm no genius." Mort isn't certain what he had done, but he feels as if he had just unleashed a monster.

At the base, Hartmann announces a group meeting in the lounge room. The lounge is crowded, with Mort surrounded by his fellow teammates, along with a few strangers who might as well be nameless, on account of how generic they look. At the center is the host of the meeting himself, who claps loudly and sternly orders silence in the room. "Now, zhen. As you all know, zhis veekend marks zhe Fourth of July, so our superiors have ordered a ceasefire. Zhat means a three-day vacation for all of us!" Everyone cheers. "But because I don't have any confidence zhat you vill be able to do anyzhing productive at all during your break, I have decided to schedule a little field trip for all of us." Some of the mercs groan at the thought of being treated like schoolchildren, but they are immediately silenced by a few shots from the doctor's syringe gun. "Tomorrow, ve are all going to zhe beach! Now, isn't zhat exciting? If any of you have any problems vith zhis, you'll have to take it up to me."

The reception to the news has taken a turn towards the positive, with only a few mercs showing signs of concern or contempt. Among the concerned is Aiden, who quivers upon hearing the word "beach". Being obligated to reveal themselves to the world and step into a large body of water filled with God knows what kinds of weird, potentially dangerous creatures and foreign objects that could be hidden beneath that shimmery, salty surface? No, thank you!

Thankfully, Miller is by Aiden's side. He's the only one who understands them, the only one who knows about the Pyro inside and out. He approaches the fat doctor and raises a hand. "Hey, Doc. Ya got a second? We need to talk." The Engineer takes Hartmann off to a spot far out of Aiden's hearing range, and they have a conversation, which, from the Pyro's perspective, seems to have suddenly taken a grim direction. Once they finish speaking, Miller returns, a crooked smirk on his face. "Good news, little buddy: you're good to go."

Relieved to hear this, Aiden starts slipping through the crowd, hoping to escape into solitude, but is stopped by an imposing, dark-skinned man. The dark man hands her a pass to the fair. "Mort gave me an' Janey tickets to go to the fair tomorrow, but I'm goin' with Hart an' the others. So I figured, since ya don't got anywhere to go tomorrow, you can join along with 'im. Janey don't like the beach much, anyway. Whaddaya say?"

Aiden is reluctant to take the ticket. On the one hand, they can hang out with Jane for an entire day, but on the other, they may not be able to enjoy it alone, just the two of them. Still, the opportunity is too good to miss. Their fingers grab hold of the ticket, and they nod. "Thank you," Aiden's voice, husky yet girlish, says, the message distorted through the filter on the gas mask.