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Soldier lifted his chin to glare at the impressively large alarm clock that sat on his bedside. It was nine-thirty, surely late enough for all of the mercenaries to have finished dinner, and for whoever’s turn it was to do dishes to have cleaned up a long time ago. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed for what felt like an eternity, clenched fists resting on his knees, spine as straight as an iron rod. It was surely a form of torture to endure the smell of fried chicken worming its way under his door and seeping into his nostrils. Nothing he couldn’t endure. Fried chicken that wasn’t from the restaurant down in town, but homemade fried chicken, that Engie had taught Scout how to make. They’d all been looking forward to it for a week, himself probably the greatest cheerleader of its creation, and now he was missing out. There would be leftovers, as Soldier was confident the most pompous out of all of them wouldn’t get his fingers greasy with it, but it was never the same warmed up. Soon, the smell faded entirely, along with the occasional laugh or shout.
Soldier stood in one fluid, practiced motion and smoothed out the creases in his pants.
The base’s lights were dimmed low, as they always were after nine, and he was not disturbed in the hallway. The kitchen was dark and vacant, but when he flipped on the lights there were still some dishes in the sink, plates primly stacked on top of one another like they’d been left there on purpose, instead of the usual haphazard way dishes were tossed into the basin.
“Ah, there you are.” Dell had materialized behind him. “You skipped dinner again, Solly. It was fried chicken night. Thought you wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
It struck Soldier suddenly that Scout was not the only one who had missed his absence, and guilt began to churn in his stomach like a stormy sea.
“Wasn’t hungry,” he said gruffly, and turned back around to the direction of the fridge.
Dell didn’t say anything more. He moved to the sink next to Soldier and turned on the tap slowly, watching the warming water cascade down the drain. “You feeling all right? Need to see Medic? You’re always hungry at seven.”
The sea roared louder. “I’m fine, private.”
Soldier watched Dell out of the corner of his eye while he waited for his plate to warm in the microwave. The other mercenary was deliberately doing the dishes slowly, and took extreme care with drying every plate.
“You know you can talk to me or Medic, right? Been worried about you. You missed a couple other dinners real recently, too.”
“Focused on battle,” he answered, which wasn’t entirely a lie. No one had said anything, but Soldier was convinced the team had realized as well as he himself had that he wasn’t performing as well lately. A few of the mercenaries had gotten angry at him for missing the telltale noise of an enemy Spy de-cloaking, or their shouts for assistance. It seemed to be forgotten the minute they left the battlefield, but Soldier knew it wouldn’t be that way forever. It was true that he felt his mind was clearer when he was hungry, but his fix to the problem hadn’t been successful. No amount of concentrating on an empty stomach was helping.
“Well,” Dell said finally, and Soldier could tell he was disappointed, “All right then. You keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
Could Engie tell what was wrong with him? Would he whisper it to Medic, to the loudspeaker woman, with suggestions of incompetence and old age? Soldier set his mouth in a hard line and retrieved his unevenly heated plate from the microwave, bustling back to his room.
“Herr Soldier.”
Soldier slowed to a stop on the track, his chest heaving. He could barely hear Medic over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, like a war drum.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine, private,” he answered in between breaths. “Top of the line.”
Medic regarded him with an unreadable expression. “I was wondering if you would indulge me with an examination.”
Ice seized his chest. “What for?”
“It’s routine.”
Soldier doubted it. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. If he turned it down, Medic would be suspicious, but also, he was just asking without seemingly any reason for the inquiry.
“A little busy,” he answered, gruffly, and pulled the front of his shirt up to mop his face.
“All right, then. I have a reason.”
“What?”
“The first two times I called for you, you did not hear me.”
The two of them regarded each other for what felt like several minutes.
“I was distracted,” Soldier said.
Medic rolled his eyes and raised his hand in a beckoning motion. “Stop being such a baby. It will only take a few minutes.”
Soldier sat on the edge of the examination table with his fists on his knees, fixedly studying the tile on the floor of the medbay. Medic took his time hemming and hawing, sticking one instrument after another inside his ears. At one point, the medigun that was positioned above the table was flicked on and he was bathed in the blue healing vapor he was accustomed to. Medic seemed unsatisfied by the result, his frown deepening.
“You can put your helmet back on.”
Soldier was glad to do so.
“How long have you been having problems? There is no point in fibbing.”
“Last few weeks,” Soldier answered gruffly.
“Does your hearing ever go completely?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever hear a high-pitched whine?”
“Yes.”
Medic tutted. “Is this why you have been skipping dinner?”
Soldier’s fingers, which had begun to relax now that the jig was up, curled back up into a fist. “It’s hard to hear everyone at once.”
“Understandable. You know, it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
Soldier did not answer.
Medic sucked air in through his teeth. “We’ve been doing this for...how long? We’re all getting older. It’s natural. Except in your case. Likely all the rockets exploding next to your ears have accelerated your condition. I’d have to look some more to be sure, but you could be experiencing permanent, total hearing loss very rapidly.”
Soldier felt as if he’d been bashed over the head with his own shovel.
“I wouldn’t worry, Herr Soldier. This war can’t go for too much longer. I won’t report it to the Administrator, but perhaps you should find some ways to get around if your hearing does go, in retirement. You may be a deaf, old man, but you will be a rich, deaf, old man.”
“Get around?”
Medic gave a shrug. “I don’t know. Talk to Pyro, maybe? They get around just fine. Sign language, I think it is.”
Dell caught up to him outside of the medbay. “Hey, how’d it go?”
The concern that Dell exhibited for him made Soldier feel as if he was rooted to the spot. His tongue did not want to move, to form words, to say things that would cut Dell’s hopeful expression into ribbons. But he knew that Dell would see through a lie, and he could just as easily ask Medic for the truth. It was just better to tell him.
“I may be experiencing permanent, total hearing loss very soon.” Soldier repeated stoically.
The other mercenary’s face looked like it was about to crumple. “What?”
“It’s all the rockets. The price of war, son. We’ll be retired soon, in any case.”
“But your hearing, completely gone? That’s...Soldier, that’s worse than I ever imagined. Is this why you’ve been avoiding dinner? I’m real sorry for going behind you and talking to the doc, but...holy hell, total hearing loss...I’m so sorry, Solly.”
It was Dell’s sincerity that made Soldier want to fold under the pressure that was suddenly laid upon him. Moving his shoulders up and down was a specific, pinching pain that felt incredibly mechanical. He did it anyway, and forced his lips to spread in a smile that looked more like a grimace.
“It’s fine, private.”
“Do you want to…”
“I’m tired,” Soldier interrupted, and proceeded down the hallway to his room.
He lay in the dark for a long time, clinging to the sound of the faint thumping in his ears of his own heart beating. It was almost tortuous to not only have to deal with his own feelings on the subject, but someone else’s. How much less effective would he be if it happened tomorrow, unable to communicate with his teammates? Missing out on team dinners, the joking and the jostling, had been slowly crushing him, like he was sleeping under a massive weight. To miss out entirely, unable to track the course of conversation forever? There was wetness on his cheek, and startled, Soldier wiped it away quickly. He needed to calm himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, to be old and retired and unable to hear. Retirement. An image filled his mind, a field of wheat golden in the afternoon sun. There was a red barn, too, and a house with a wraparound porch. He wouldn’t have to hear too much, especially if he was with someone else to hear things for him, like the whining of the dog at the screen door to be let out. A pair of boots appeared, bringing the famous apple pie out of the oven. That would be almost heaven. Retirement would be quiet, but Texas was quiet too, like Dell had always described. He could write what he wanted to say, and they would be quiet and content together until they died. He had always been just fine to let Dell speak when they were together, parked in the corner of the workshop, out of the way and listening to a practical dissertation on the other mercenary’s work. An overwhelming wave of emotion overtook him. He would never be able to hear Dell’s voice again. Its softness, the way it was gravelly when he’d had a beer or two, his laugh. There were so many things he’d never stopped to appreciate enough. Crickets in the night, the popping, dying fire when everyone else had gone to bed and it was just the two of them under a vast blanket, watching the stars come out.
When morning came, Soldier’s eyes felt glued together with lack of sleep. He lay there for a moment, his mind reeling like a film roll, playing for him what he had conjured to soothe himself to sleep. The acute pain in his side of want cut into his breaths and made them short and shallow. It seemed like the wool over his eyes had been removed, that that was what he had really wanted all along, to be comforted and to comfort someone else while taking the dogs on a long walk around the wheat field. Now it seemed incredibly obvious what he wanted was with Dell, who he had always felt something more with than friendship, but unsure and unwilling to test the waters, had waited and perhaps shot his chances full of lead. Now he was becoming obsolete, and it did not matter that he had finally realized what he wanted. He finally rolled out of bed and almost ran right into Dell, who was waiting with folded hands outside of his door.
“Sorry, Soldier. Good morning. How are you?”
“Fine.” he answered, heart low in his stomach. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine, thank you. I was thinking, if you didn’t have any plans today, I could start up my lessons again.”
“What lesson?”
“Sign language. Taught Pyro a bit a while back, I’m sure you’ve seen them using it. But I grew up right next to a farmer that my daddy became real good friends with, and he didn’t have his hearing. Taught us all sign language. We stopped the lessons a while back, exhausted my memory and the book I’ve got. But I thought it might be a good idea, with your circumstances and all, to start them back up again. If you don’t want to, no pressure. I just thought it could help you to have an alternate method of communicatin, in case your hearing does go. What do you think?” he looked so goddamn enthusiastic, and Soldier’s chest contracted painfully. What he would have given to have a lifetime of seeing that smile, but it was the mistake he had made that was hurting-he should have said something sooner, before he was to meet his fate.
Soldier struggled to organize his words. “Fine, private, you can try to teach me.”
Dell’s face brightened. “Really? I’ll have to get looking for that book! See you later, then!”
It was hard not to mirror Dell’s smile. “Okay.”
He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Dell had ushered Scout out of the kitchen so they could have silence, and was currently digging through the fridge for a spot to put his leftover lunch. Soldier couldn’t decide if he should keep his hands on the table, or in his lap.
“So,” he tried, “What’s first?”
“We’ll go over the alphabet first.” Dell said from deep inside the fridge.
Soldier blanched. “I know the alphabet, Engie.”
“I know you do, but there’s a different alphabet for sign language. I promise it’ll be interesting.”
They went slowly, but Soldier’s brain felt like it was already receding into fog. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, and it was difficult for him to form some of the letters. It was almost as if his hands were rusty, and he shook them out several times under the table, willing them to work the way he wanted them to.
“All right, good,” Dell encouraged the both of them. The whiteboard pen that he was clutching squeaked against the board, small, pristine diagrams of hands splayed in different positions appearing. “Why don’t you try? Spell Soldier.”
The kitchen went quiet. His fingers faltered when he struggled to remember the sign for e , but when he looked up at Dell the other mercenary gave him a patient smile. When his fingers finally finished in the r position Soldier felt such a surge of accomplishment that a broad smile spread across his face.
“I have done it!”
“That’s excellent, Solly! Really, really excellent! You’re taking it on so fast!”
“How do you say thank you?”
“Like this,” Dell said, and brought his flattened hand to his lips, quickly flicking it backwards.
Soldier carefully repeated the sign and then held up his hand, carefully and deliberately spelling four letters. Thank you, Dell .
A warm, pleased blush spread across Dell’s face. “Aw, Solly, you’re welcome. Maybe I’m in the wrong career and should have been a teacher!”
Dell said something else about next week, low and pleasant, and Soldier wallowed in the sound of his voice, letting the warmth of his smile roll around the room. He lay for a while in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands above the covers, practicing the signs that came easily to the forefront of his memory and words that he thought to spell. Dell. Soldier. Coffee. Dell. He couldn’t make his fingers go as fast as he’d liked, but Dell told him that it would come easier with practice, and now he could spell and communicate anything he wanted. There would be people that understood him, without having to shout, although all that he felt like doing at the moment was hollering to the heavens about his small success.
“Soldier,” Dell began upon sitting down at the table, beginning their second lesson with a signed hello , “I think you should remove your helmet.”
He had blanched, hackles immediately raised at the prospect. “Why?”
“So much of being able to read someone else’s sign language ain’t just reading the signs. It’s the facial expressions, too. The eyes. It really does help. I’ll remove my goggles, too.”
He had watched in sort of a stunned, transfixed silence as Dell’s fingers worked their way underneath the straps above his ears and pulling the goggles off, that had already left slight red rings around his eyes, even though it was early in the day. He was around blue eyes all day, but Dell’s eyes were unearthed to be soft golden color, hidden by the dark, shaded lenses, like gemstones emerging from the shadow of a cave. His intelligent eyes, softly studying Soldier over his beard, made his face look more complete and homely in a way Soldier did not realize was missing. There was a dappling of freckles across his nose, too, normally hidden by the bridge of the goggles, and Soldier was studying their pattern, a little starstruck, when Dell gently cleared his throat.
“Oh.” Soldier’s hands jerked up to his ears. He could feel the warmth from his blush radiating out from his face like a sunburn. It felt odd removing the helmet, warm air from the recently used oven kissing the back of his head, which felt incredibly exposed. He had to fight the itch to replace the comforting dark of the helmet, but instead deliberately set it on the table to the side of him, and flicked his gaze up to meet Dell’s.
It had been a few tumultuous weeks. Learning the alphabet had been a struggle at the time, but Soldier realized he had taken it for granted, and it had really been a tiny struggle in comparison to what was coming down the line. But he was making progress, slowly. Soldier basked in Dell’s approval like a cat on a sunny patch of kitchen floor, staying up extra late on the evenings before their lessons to brush up on what he may have forgotten. They stuck to their few lesson times per week-Dell, not wanting to overwhelm him, had suggested they only meet once weekly. But Soldier was noticing increasing amounts of times that his hearing vacated him, and wanted to proceed with the lessons with a sense of urgency. His brain refused to move as fast as he wanted, like a cow in the road, and no matter how much he studied the battered book or the carefully drawn pictures he could not take it in as much as he wanted to. Soldier felt a quiet desperation to envelop the knowledge. Soon, it could become all he had. He had been telling Dell that his hearing was fine, even getting better, and wanted to proceed with the lessons out of interest or just-in-case precaution. The one time towards the beginning that he had admitted it had gotten worse Dell had been visibly stressed during the lesson, running a hand over his head several times, worried about what was most important to teach first. Medic was doing regular checkups on him and providing him with honest, clinically distant updates on his deterioration, which Soldier appreciated greatly. He took lengths to ensure that Medic and Dell were not in the same room for too long together, worrying that the truth might spill out of Medic’s mouth, going so far as to unnecessarily scream for Medic on the battlefield when he saw the doctor lingering at Dell’s dispenser. It was worth risking the doctor’s irritation and a few strange looks from Dell to avoid any possibility of Dell’s heart being shattered.
There was something that went unsaid, the reality that at the rate his hearing was going he would not possibly learn everything he wanted to. For all Dell’s optimism, Soldier was sure that the both of them were equally aware of it.
It’s all the rockets. The price of war, son. We’ll be retired soon, in any case.
Soldier studied the table. He had said it, mostly to reassure Dell. But was it true? Would they be fighting this war until they were too old to crawl out of bed? The respawn system protected them from many things, but not from aging and permanent hearing damage. If the loudspeaker woman found out he couldn’t hear, she would retire him early, kick him off the team for being obsolete. A weak link. Fear began to creep into his chest like a cold water leak. Involuntarily, his fingers began to spell letters in his lap, which had become his default response when he needed to get his mind off of something. Dell. Dell. Dell. Dell.
A hand on his shoulder. Soldier jumped.
“You rang?” Dell asked, a soft smile spreading across his face, his eyes flicking down to Soldier’s hands. “Guessing you didn’t hear me callin’ for you.”
“Oh. No. I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, although Dell had told him to stop apologizing.
“Don’t apologize,” he said on cue. “Ready to start?”
He was distracted. It felt like his head was swollen full of information that was difficult to process, file, and store away. He was losing his hearing. It was something that he had known for weeks now-maybe months? It didn’t go away, like other things, the thoughts were persistent like the smell of decay. He was losing his hearing and couldn’t learn fast enough. How competent would he be when he really needed it? What would happen to him if they didn’t retire before he lost his hearing?
“Soldier,” Dell said again, for the fifth time.
The other mercenary’s hands had stilled several minutes ago, slowly ceasing motion like a dying spider.
“Yes.”
“You’re distracted today. Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“You know you can talk to me, Sol. Ain’t no one expecting you to go through this on your own.”
The unspoken I’m here for you lingered on Dell’s tongue. They both knew it was there. But when Soldier did not say anything more, Dell leaned back in his chair.
“We can cut it short for today. You’re making so much progress already, you’re way past where I’d expect.”
He sat there, unspeaking, unable to soak in the reassurance, as Dell slowly got up from his chair and took his time leaving the room. Soldier was still there five minutes later when Dell came back and sat next to him, putting one hand on his arm. The other mercenary was so close Dell could smell the machine oil and apple pie scent that wafted off him like an open oven.
“I ain’t gonna push you to talk.” Dell said quietly. “But I ain’t gonna leave you alone, either. I’ll just be here.”
A beaten paperback was unearthed from somewhere, and Dell sighed gently as he leaned back in his chair, flipping to a dog-eared page.
“What do you think will happen to me?”
The air in the room stilled.
“What do you mean?” Dell asked back, casually, as if they were talking about the weather.
“When I lose my hearing. The loudspeaker woman could-”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” Dell interrupted him sharply, setting down his book on the table with a soft slap . “What she don’t know ain’t gonna hurt her. You don’t need your hearing to be you, Sol, you’re gonna be just as terrifyin’.”
Soldier wanted to take a moment to bask in the compliment, the assurance that he was looking for, but words were tumbling out past his teeth.
“She will find out. Eventually.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Maybe so,” Dell admitted softly. “But she’s not as heartless as you think. This war has got to be over soon, we all see it. Everyone’s tired of fighting, even her. They’ve gotta keel over soon, and then the money’s gonna run out. Even if that’s after you lose your hearing, she...I don’t think she’d just kick you to the curb. Any of us, after how long we’ve all been here together.”
“What about after?”
“After, you can do whatever you want, Sol. We all got enough money to do...well, just about anything.” Dell snorted. “Except Scout, maybe, if he keeps buyin’ that memorabilia.”
“What about you?” he felt a need to keep asking questions, to keep Dell speaking, so his own mind would not cave in upon itself.
“Me? Well, I haven’t...the plan has never changed. Always been to go back to Bee Cave. Tinker around till I’m in the ground. Now that I’ve got the money, there’s some projects I’m real excited to tackle. Probably get a dog, or two. It’ll be different, not having y’all runnin’ around. What about you?”
Soldier studied what he could see in his peripheral vision, the corner of Dell’s paperback peeling away from itself. “Don’t know.”
“Well,” Dell said, carefully. “Like I said, it’ll be real quiet. You could always come keep me company.”
It felt like his heart stilled in his chest, and then started up again, beating so furiously Soldier was sure he was shaking minutely in the chair.
“Okay, private,” he managed to say. A sudden waft of smell reached his nose, apple pie, and he realized with a start that Dell was awfully close to him, so close that he could see a patch of golden stubble on the side of the mercenary’s face. An urge to brush Dell’s cheek with his thumb swelled, and he followed on it, feeling Dell’s breath still coming out of his nose when he held his face.
“Solly,” Dell said softly, almost imperceptibly, and Soldier kissed him.
When he woke on Sunday, it was unusually quiet. Soldier lay there for several minutes, a warm, comforting pressure on his chest. Dell was there, he had been there since they had somehow made it down the hall in the dark last night, locked in each other like a pair of teenagers. It still felt sort of unbelievable, and Soldier ran his fingers over the curve of Dell’s freckled shoulder, as if it would disappear if he stopped touching it. It finally happened, after a roaring awakening that he desperately wanted it to happen, and now they were here, together. Soldier lay there, eyes open, waiting for the normal sounds of chirping birds, or even hollering from somewhere off in the base. There was nothing. It was too quiet, and he realized with a sudden fear that he could not hear the rustle that his hands made travelling up the sheets. Soldier snapped his fingers next to his ear. Nothing. The silence seemed to swell and overwhelm him, and nauseated, Soldier stumbled out of bed, out from under Dell, his sheets tangled around his legs like jungle vines. There was a horrible absence of anything as he blindly stumbled around his room, not knowing where he was going, just anywhere, hoping that one step would impact his brain into hearing again.
When he swung his head back towards the bed Dell was up, saying something that Soldier could not hear, and he clasped his ears and felt his chest heaving like there was a balloon inside it. Dell took him firmly by the shoulders, and then, when Soldier had stopped pacing, Dell let go and began to sign. It felt impossible to concentrate on it, to read it, and it was tempting to sink into the urge of laying on the ground and not looking at anything. Dell repeated himself, patiently.
Is your hearing gone?
Yes , he signed back, his fingernails cutting into his palm so tightly they almost drew blood.
Let’s go to Medic.
They went. He could only numbly watch the doctor’s lips moving, looking back and forth between him and Dell, who only let go of his hand to sign to him.
He says it’s gone , Dell signed, and then looked at him for a long moment, searching for any reaction. It was over, then, it was gone and the day had come, and Soldier felt the volcanic overflow from his emotions beginning to cool. There was no longer any what-ifs, he had lost it, and his last words had been agreeing to the suggestion of living out the rest of his days after the war on a sunny farm with wheat waving in the background.
OK, he signed, and went to get his breakfast.
Soldier felt a pressure against his leg, and looked down, his vision suddenly swallowed up by a golden retriever’s pink tongue. He reached down and stroked the top of the wiggling mass of fur’s head, the soft smell of cherries wafting up to his nose. His pant leg was quickly growing wet. Beans always ran around the house like a demon unleashed after he was washed, and Dell always chased after him with a towel, tiring himself out, but Soldier never minded. It always amused him without fail to see Dell so determined to wash and then dry the dog, even though half the time Beans would flee the bathroom and go right back to wiggling in the dirt underneath the porch.
Good boy, he signed to Beans, a proud smile sitting high on his face.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the porch door open, and Dell appeared, predictably put out, one hand on his hip and the other holding an unused towel. Soldier saw his eyes go to the damp dog and wet spot on his pants, and Dell’s eyes rolled once, but he was smiling.
That dog, Dell signed to him. Like a bat out of hell.
They both looked at Beans for a long, fond moment, and Soldier saw him soundlessly bark and then stood up himself.
Dinner? He asked. Beans recognized the sign and began wagging his tail, leaning heavily into Soldier like the pressure would make him move faster. A wet nose found the back of his knee and probed.
They sat, later, on the couch with an exhausted Beans sleeping between them, the television on some nature documentary. Soldier’s eyes fell out of focus with the subtitles and he let his head recline against the back of the couch, against Dell’s arm, which was warm like a sack of heated rice against the back of his neck. He let his old, creaky bones sag into the cushions and looked out of his peripheral vision at Dell, who had fallen fast asleep. Tomorrow, perhaps, they would finish refreshing the barn with a new coat of paint, and then maybe try the new place in Bee Cave for lunch. It had an outside patio where they had noticed they could tether Beans, which was quickly becoming what their life was revolving around. The golden retriever in question raised his heavy head and then let it fall with the weight of deep sleep back onto Soldier’s leg, a thin stream of drool beginning to pool on top of his knee. It was almost heaven, and that was heaven enough.