Sup TF2chan. Long time lurker, first time writer, etc etc. Here's something I've been sitting on for close to a year now and have only recently gone back to finish off. It has a lot of Medic. The first chapter was largely written at 11pm on a balcony in Albequerque, NM after 8 hours of driving on the wrong side of a very long, straight road surrounded by rocks, so it's a bit wangsty, but it picks up in later chapters. Thread title is technically only the title of the first part, but I have nothing else so it'll have to do. Also, preview isn't working so I'm sorry if everything is borked. ------ There was blood on the ground. He opened his eyes, but the world was dark red and blurry and spinning like a top. There was gravel pressing into the side of his face, but he couldn’t work out how to turn his head. He could hear shouting in the distance, and the bark of guns, but the roaring in his ears was so much louder. There was quite a lot of blood. The battle had started about tea-time, because war is not a civilised thing. Despite this, it had all gone reasonably well for a while. They’d pushed the enemy back, bullets flying and shotguns barking, all the way across the field. By the time dusk fell and the shadows grew from the dark places, they’d run out of space and found them face to face with a band of desperate men who were suddenly at arm’s length. The guns disappeared and everything was knives and fists; someone had called for them to fall back and then he’d turned around and someone else had punched him in the face. There’d been a moment of shock; just a moment, but a crucial one. He hadn’t been punched in the face since he was at school, but the feeling was exactly the same: the pain and the disorientation and the horrible crunch as his glasses shattered, and then everything had been indistinct shapes and colours. Except this time the colours were washed-out blue and red, instead of school-uniform grey, and the red blobs were firing at him instead of just laughing—to be honest, he wasn’t really sure if that was any worse. It had been some basic instinct deep inside of him that made him pull out the needlegun and fire blindly at anything that looked even remotely red. Everything had been a weird muddy colour in the strange light just before the night. The resulting screams could have been anybody’s. At that point he’d been past caring. There really was an awful lot of blood, actually. There were several bullets somewhere around his spleen. Oh well. He could live without a spleen. He wasn’t even sure what it did. He probably ought to know, really. Something about digestion. Perhaps that was where all the blood was coming from—ah , no, that would be the big artery near his collar-bone. He couldn’t even remember its name, but it was leaking life all across his nice clean coat, and that was going to stain horribly. It was the rocket that had really done it. He hadn’t even seen it coming, stumbling about half-blind, but he sure felt it when it hit right in the middle of his back, lifting him up and hurling him across the battlefield like a doll. He’d hit the ground with his shoulder, which had promptly cracked. But he’d picked himself up, like he always did, like his teammates always did, wrenched down the lever on the medigun... and nothing happened. No warm blue healing beam, no rush of energy, nothing. Run, his subconscious screamed. Get out of there! RUN! So he had. He’d dropped the needlegun and turned tail. There was an explosion of pain in his side that felt like a shotgun and came with a jolt like he’d been kicked in the ribs, but he’d kept going. He’d been too afraid to stop, even when his ears caught the sound of a minigun spinning up with horrifying inevitability, because if he stopped he was as good as dead. Unfortunately he’d been halted violently as a stray shell shattered his ankle and sent him sprawling to the ground. He had wondered, with the dizzying clarity of a man seconds from death, whether they were carpals or tarsals or perhaps neither. He should know that. He never claimed to be a good doctor. But he tried. Gott in Himmel, he tried. “You’ve failed.†The words echoed down the years, dragging behind them countless images. His father, stern and patrician, standing next to the fireplace as he asked again why he thought it acceptable to barely scrape through his last exam, while his mother just shook her head sadly, looking more ill than ever. His eternally frustrated teachers as they handed him page after page of his work--“Must try harder.†The menacing, hawk-like form of his private tutor as she informed him that he would never amount to anything, that he might as well take his books and go home. In his mind’s eye, his 10-year-old self stamped his little foot and glared up at them through too-big glasses. “You’re lying! I’m not a failure! I will be somebody. I will, I will!†Sometimes trying wasn’t enough. Ther was another bullet in his chest somewhere and his breathing felt all lopsided. Collapsed lung? That’d leave a mark. Shifting his head slightly (and even that was like acid in his veins) he could see the medigun, lying about a metre away and leaking gently-glowing blue coolant out onto the gravel. Even the stupid gun was bleeding. He’d run. That was even worse. His teammates had counted on him, had trusted him. And he’d run away. He’d failed himself, he’d failed the company, and he’d failed the team. They wouldn’t last long without a doctor, the idiots, rushing headlong into danger like they thought they were invincible. Stupid, stubborn fools, the lot of them—except he’d come to like them, over time. They were almost family, really. Admittedly, the sort of family that fought constantly amongst itself, where half of it wasn’t talking to the other half because of something someone said at the last dinner party, and where there had to be rules about the maximum number of weapons one was allowed to bring to breakfast, but still a family; to admit it, though, was more than his life was worth. Which, he thought as the blue uniform slowly turned purple, was probably not a lot. Funny how everybody bled red, no matter what colour they wore on the outside. Suddenly there was light. Or rather a light, a little blue dot that danced across the landscape and slid to an abrupt halt next to his hand. He didn’t know what it meant, but it felt friendly, somehow. Comforting. Slowly, excruciatingly, he inched his fingers over the tiny light. It flickered twice, as if in greeting, then went out. He suddenly felt very, very alone. There were so many things he should have said, but never did, a laundry list of secrets-that-shouldn’t-have-been. Should have told him, should have told them. Bit late, now. Now he’d never know, and it was all his fault. He was stupid and foolish and now he was going to die, with so many things left undone, unsaid. Unknown. It seemed absurd, really. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered the possibility of dying in the line of fire. It was practically there in the job description. He’d just never expected it to be like this. “Give your life for the good of the company!†just wasn’t the same as “Die slowly and painfully in a desert full of regrets and bits of lead.â€. He’d heard people say that your life flashed before your eyes the instant before you died. But all he saw was the night after a recent landslide victory when someone had found a battered, bloodstained but useable pack of cards in one of the storage rooms. They’d played Go Fish and Rummy and poker and a whole range of stranger games, bickering constantly over rules and regional variants and where the other joker had gone and why there were five aces and whether that mattered. He’d discovered that while he was bad at cards, with sufficient application of alcohol, everyone else became worse. They’d talked and joked and laughed, someone had brought out a shiny new record player and a stack of vinyl, and for a few hours it was hard to believe that they were miles from civilisation, in the middle of the desert, trapped in a stalemated war with no end in sight. He could still hear their voices as they’d argued and squabbled and—no, no, those were real voices. Real voices in the real world, not a memory. Voices here, now, nearby, but he couldn’t understand them through the pain and the roaring and those stupid accents. They sounded angry. Or afraid? It was hard to tell. Blue blurred across his view. One of the blurs picked up the medigun, and now the voices sounded confused and frustrated. Then there was a flash of blue light and suddenly, air in his lungs again and feeling in his fingers. The medigun spluttered and died, but he could breathe again, and each lungful was better than the last. The voices were clearer, reassuring. He tried to respond, something biting and sarcastic, but the stinging retort came out as a croak, and when still-blurry arms hoisted him off the gravel he clung to them and sobbed out all the pain and the failure and the horrible, crushing shame as a sub-machine gun rattled into the still night. --- When he awoke in the infirmary some time later, he felt rather embarrassed about the whole thing.
Right, done with the next part too. Hurrah! Things start happening here. Maybe. --- It was early the next morning when Medic woke up. This was the first thing he noticed and he could tell because the sunlight was blazing through the east-facing window right in his face and setting off little explosions behind his eyes. Eventually the blinding glare subsided into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the infirmary, which wasn’t much of an improvement, even when a cursory blind groping of the bedside table uncovered his spare glasses. The second thing was the pain, which was a dull all-over throb with interesting stabbing bits across his torso, and it crept up on him while he was distracted and cuffed him soundly about the head. “Nnnngh,†he said, and immediately regretted it because that just made his lungs ache more. “Mornin’, doc,†replied a voice that was far more cheerful than Medic felt it had any right to be. A pair of blurry aviators appeared at the left side of his vision, but it took a while for the face wearing them to join in. When it did, it looked sympathetic. “How’re you feeling?†“Like I’ve been dragged srough Hell backvards,†Medic groaned. He felt utterly exhausted; it took a ridiculous amount of effort to even concentrate enough to speak. “Vat happened?†Sniper shrugged, sitting down next to the bed and cradling a very large mug of decaf coffee. “Not much to say. We got our rears handed to us. ‘s about the long and short of it. In the end we just had to scarper. Medigun exploding didn’t help much,†he added. “It’s a write-off right now. Truckie’s workin’ on it but he says it’s gonna be a while. ‘fraid you’re gonna have to come back the long way this time. So to speak. I reckon we can pull back the ground we lost, though.†“Stupendous.†Medic rubbed gingerly at his forehead, where a new and different form of pain was now developing. “Vat’s ze damage? And is everyvun else all right?†“From what I can tell, three ribs broken, two cracked, ankle shattered and bullet holes everywhere. At least we managed to get your shoulder back in place. Still, by rights you should be stone dead. Dunno what sorta fumes you’re getting from that gun but I reckon we all need some. And yeah, we all got out, mostly in one piece. You’re real lucky I spotted you when I did, though. We almost left you behind.†A memory of a little blinking blue light resurfaced. “I remember... I saw your sight.†“Yup. Had to leg it down to the ground to get you out of there. Thank God Heavy was still around, I don’t think I coulda carried you. So we grabbed you and ran. Got back here okay, but we’re a bit stuffed now. The medigun don’t work and you’re out of action. HQ are silent, so I guess we’re just gonna have to wait this one out.†Sniper paused to take a deep swig of his coffee and Medic noticed the dressings covering his hands. “I hope you didn’t get zose playing hero.†Sniper looked down at his hands as if he’d only just noticed the plasters himself. “These? Nah, I fed your birds last night,†he said in a tone of voice which suggested he really wished he hadn’t. “They’re vicious little buggers, aren’t they? One of ‘em nearly had my hand off.†“Oh, zat vas probably Hypatia. Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t like people very much. But sank you anyvay. For zat, and ze daring rescue.†“Yeah, well, as I said, Heavy helped. And by helped, I mean he did the actual carrying and then hung around here pacin’ and mutterin’ for hours while I was patchin’ you up. Had to tell him to piss off and get some sleep in the end. Not that that helped, I don’t think. Whole base is a bit tetchy right now.†“Vat do you mean?†Medic made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, winced, failed and gave up with a sigh. “Well, Soldier was pissed off that we retreated. He had a good yell at us last night after we got back. Called us pansies, Commies, you know, the usual. Had a go at Spy, said his info was bad and that was why it all went to the dingoes. Spy said his intel was fine, of course, and it was you goin’ down that was where it fell apart. So that got Heavy going, sayin’ it was Solly’s fault you got hurt and that he shoulda called the retreat earlier, that he was a bad leader for not keeping an eye on all the team. Solly said something about not wanting to spend his battles ‘watching out for Nurse Sally there’†– here Sniper did a passable imitation of Soldier’s Midwestern snarl, albeit at about a third of the usual volume – “and then Heavy decked him. I mean, yeah, Solly was being a bit of a wanker, but that was still a bloody stupid thing to do. So Truckie and Demo and me have to pull those two apart before they pull each other apart. Meanwhile Spy’s done that thing where he starts trouble then buggers off before it gets bad, Pyro’s gettin’ all antsy—you know he doesn’t like it when people fight—and I don’t even know where the hell Scout was. So now Heavy and Solly aren’t talkin’, Truckie hasn’t come out of his workshop for at least twelve hours now, and no-one knows where Spy is.†Sniper stopped for breath here, and seemed to be considering something. “Also I’d really ‘ppreciate it if you’d move that tub o’ guts an’ things from Storage. I went in there to find birdseed and nearly fell over the bloody thing.†“It’s an experiment,†offered Medic weakly. “About what?†“I don’t actually remember,†Medic admitted, a little sheepishly. “I suppose now I’m just vaiting to see vat vill happen.†“I doubt it’ll make much difference to the results if y’ just move ‘em into the garage or something,†Sniper said, standing up. “I may not be a scientist but I’m pretty sure I could tell ya what’ll happen eventually. Now get some shut-eye, you look absolutely knackered. ‘s making me feel tired just lookin’ at you. Maybe by the time you wake up Truckie’ll have fixed your gun and we can get you back on your feet.†“You do all fall apart vizout me, don’t you?†Medic said with a half-smile, and was asleep ten seconds later.
I like it. I;m not good at critique or saying why I like it. I just do.
>>3 Seconded. I'm always fond of snapshot stories, and I thought you did a good job of turning it into more of a group drama than just an, "X almost dies" piece with the second part.
This chapter has taken so long to edit I can't even. Also, there is Heavy/Medic. Consider yourself warned. In other news, I rather like writing Scout. ===== The next time Medic woke up, it was because something was pecking at his ear. Managing to turn his head to look at whatever it was rewarded him with a pair of beady black eyes and a peck to the nose instead. “Archimedes, no!†Medic brushed the offending creature away but only succeeded in getting it to retreat to the back of a nearby chair, where it regarded him with a vaguely reproachful expression. “Ach, it vould be you, vouldn’t it? I keep telling you not to do zat.†Despite his lack of patience, Medic was actually feeling a bit better. His ribs still ached and the stab of pain received trying to bend his ankle suggested he wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, but his head was clearer. Perhaps Sniper had been right about the Medigun fumes- “YO, DOC!†“Oh, Gott...†There was no mistaking that voice which penetrated his poor beleaguered ears with all the destructive force of a pneumatic drill and demanded immediate attention. In an unprecedented display of avian wisdom, Archimedes abandoned the chair back for the relative safety of the overhead lights as the Scout threw himself into the vacated spot. Medic glowered at the intrusion. “Hey, Doc!†Scout chirped. “How’s it goin’?†And before Medic could even open his mouth to be appropriately snappy, he was pre-emptively interrupted. “And where the hell are your band-aids? You need to tidy up in here, man, I can’t find nothin’ in this place!†“Sird cupboard on ze left, middle shelf,†Medic said through gritted teeth, and as Scout leapt off the chair to go look, added, “And you are in no position to pass judgement. I have seen your room, it’s a vonder you can even find ze door in zat disaster zone.†“Whatever.†There was the sound of rummaging from the other end of the room, with running commentary. “Wow, there’s a whole lotta crap in here, Doc. Anyway, I know where all my stuff is, it’s fi-HOLY CRAP!†Something glass shattered on the floor, followed by an unpleasant splat. “Aw geez, are those kidneys?†“Oh, I vas vondering vhere zose had gone,†said Medic innocently. “ Geez, Doc, that ain’t right!†Scout sat back down with a box of adhesive plasters in one hand and a splash of something suspiciously dark red across his cheek. “You’re really freakin’ weird. You know that, right?†“I have been told zis, yes.†Mostly, in fact, by Scout. “Is Soldier still on ze var pass?†“Oh man, you have no idea. It’s like he’s trying t’ pick a fight with everyone in the base. Demo said he had a punch-up with Heavy. Then he’s hammerin’ on Engie’s door and yellin’ at him to come out. Next I see him he starts bitchin’ at me about you gettin’ hurt, and I’m like, what the hell, man? It weren’t your freakin’ fault you got hurt. Asshole.†“Sank you for ze faiss, Scout.†“Sure thing. You were pretty cool out there actually.†“I vas?†Medic was surprised; Scout did not dispense his approval readily. “Yeah. I mean, when their Demo punched your glasses off I thought you were done for, but then you just pulled out that gun and you were all like, ‘PING PING PING’ and holy crap, there were needles freakin’ all over him!†Scout punctuated his dramatic retelling with expansive arm movements, in between trying to apply a plaster to a cut on his elbow one-handed. “I think some of them even went up his nose! It was so awesome.†“It felt less awesome,†said Medic. “Do you need help vis zat?†Scout was really not doing a very good job with the plaster. “Nah, man, I got this,†Scout insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Man, you shoulda seen all the bullets Snipes was pickin’ outta you last night. It was like a whole jar full. You were a mess, man. Dunno how you didn’t just fall apart. Freakin’ amazin’ stuff. And then Lardass is hovering around being all, ‘Eees Doktorrr okay? Will Doktorrr be okay?’ like he’s your freakin’ mom or somethin’. But yeah, Solly’s still mad. You seen Spy? We can’t find him. No? Eh, he’ll probably turn up, stupid frog. Oh, and Pyro’s makin’ chilli tonight, so you’d better be able to walk by then, ‘cos you know that’s awesome stuff...†Scout rambled on, happily oblivious to the fact that his captive audience was growing less than attentive. Medic’s headache was threatening to return in full force when the sound of the door and a shadow looming over Scout heralded the arrival, none-too-soon, of the Heavy, who looked less than impressed to find Scout already there and taking up space. Scout paused in mid-flow, arms spread wide as he demonstrated exactly how big the horrible monster he’d seen in the sewers had been. “Time to go, leetle Scout,†Heavy said simply. Scout pouted childishly in response. “No way, man! I’m talkin’ to the Doc. Get in line. So, like I said, it had all these teeth and huge freakin’ tentacles and-“ “Time. To. Go.†Heavy reiterated very slowly and pointedly and, as he leaned closer to emphasise, added, “You have blood on your face.†“What?†Instinctively Scout’s hand flew to his cheek, and came away red and sticky. “Aw geez! Fine, I’m going. See ya later, Doc.†And with that he left, making rather more noise than necessary and leaving the box of plasters and a very welcome silence behind him. Medic sighed in relief. “Sank you. Zat was becoming... trying.†“Is no problem,†Heavy shrugged, sitting down. “Scout is young, talks too much. One day he will grow up. Maybe.†Medic made another concentrated effort to sit up, which was rather more successful than the first. “I sink zat is perhaps a bit optimistic,†he chuckled, then immediately hissed in pain as the broken ribs protested. Heavy frowned. “How is...†“It hurts to breaze.†That seemed to sum up everything nicely. “And I have had different-shaped pieces of lead in all sorts of places I did not know zey could go,†Medic added with a dry smirk. He’d been feeling decidedly unfriendly ever since he first came around, but there was something tremendously comforting about the Heavy’s presence. “I honestly do not know how you manage it.†“Hah!†Heavy laughed, short and quick. “Much training. Also, Kevlar. But you did well. You are still alive, da? Is good start. Soon you will be wanting my job!†Heavy laughed again, and Medic couldn’t help but grin. “Maybe next time we swap. You go first, I take leetle medigun!†This time it was Medic who laughed at the absurd image of himself staggering through no-man’s-land with a gun that weighed almost as much as he did, while the Heavy lumbered behind with Medic’s spectacles perched ludicrously on his nose. “I don’t sink I could even lift your dear Sasha,†he chuckled. “Besides, she reqvires a better man zan I.†There was once a time, long ago, when Medic would have scoffed at the idea of referring to a 150-kg minigun as ‘she’. Within a month of arriving at BLU headquarters, however, anthropomorphising weaponry had proved to be the least of his problems. “You are good enough, Doktor,†said Heavy, apparently without thinking, and then looked as if he’d just admitted some terrible secret. “Nyet... I mean... is not...†He gestured frustratedly with one hand, as if the words that eluded him could be plucked from the air and made to behave. Medic took pity on him. “Don’t vorry,†he said, patting Heavy’s shoulder. “I’m not going to steal her avay from you! Besides, I am not going anyvere for a while.†“I am sorry, Doktor.†Heavy rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. Medic laughed incredulously. “Vat for? Zis vasn’t your fault!†“But we are team, Doktor,†Heavy insisted. “I did not watch for you, and you got hurt.†“Ze team is a team,†Medic reminded him. “Ve vatch for each ozzer. It vas no more your fault zan it vas anyvun else’s.†He paused for a moment, thinking. “Alzough, if Soldier spent less time shouting and more time aiming, zat could help.†Medic’s attempt to lighten the mood again failed spectacularly; if anything, Heavy looked even more serious. He’d started fiddling distractedly with the overhanging bed-sheets, and as he spoke his hands drifted upwards as if of their own accord. “When we bring you here, you breathe only a little, dere is so much blood... Sniper says he does not know... I was afraid. I t’ink, maybe dis is time I lose you.†Here his fingers rested on Medic’s wrist, drawing a surprised gasp from the doctor. For several seconds Medic couldn’t manage to say anything. When he finally found his voice, it came out as a dry rasp only partially caused by the many bullets that had recently been rattling around in his chest cavity. “But you didn’t lose me.†“I know.†Heavy’s hand seized Medic’s in a vice-like grip. When he’d been younger and (relatively) more innocent, Medic had been on a rickety wooden roller coaster at a seaside resort beside a pretty young girl he’d never met before. At the top of the first hill she’d turned to him, blue eyes glittering, and taken his hand in hers. At a loss for what to do, he’d squeezed back and told her not to be afraid. “I’m not,†she had smiled, just before the world dropped out from under them. Years might have dulled the memory, but there was little doubt the sensation was identical: warm skin against his own, the surge of adrenalin and the feeling of plummeting towards an uncertain fate. But there was no resort, no roller coaster and no pretty girl, just the desert, the fluorescent glare of the infirmary lights, and the Heavy, gripping his hand as though he might slip away. He lifted his eyes to meet Heavy’s and froze. He’d thought he’d known what it was like to be stared at. But the derisive looks of a few med school students paled in comparison with the way Heavy’s eyes burned with something he couldn’t quite place. Anger? No. Fear? A little. Pleading? Perhaps. Whatever it was, the sheer intensity of that gaze was frightening—terrible and beautiful and how could people think the Heavy was just dumb muscle? Couldn’t they see the intelligence in those eyes, masked though it was by a language barrier it couldn’t quite master? A part of Medic wanted to run, to wrench his hand away and flee as far as he could before that stare burned him up utterly. But a worryingly large part of him hoped, wildly and desperately, that he would never, ever have to let go. “Hab keine Angst,†Medic heard his younger self say. “Don’t be afraid.†And he wouldn’t be. He set his jaw, returned Heavy’s stare with one of his own, and squeezed. Seconds ticked by, stretched out to infinity like a rubber band, and nothing moved in the infirmary. While his body seemed rooted to the spot, Medic’s mind raced, turning over every observation, everything he could remember that they’d ever said to each other, from when they’d first met, through every meal, every battle, every debrief, right up to Heavy’s declaration that he was ‘good enough’. He’d always felt so at-ease around the man, so safe and secure—something he couldn’t recall ever feeling about... well, about anyone. He’d often wondered, through many a sleepless night, why this was. He’d tried his usual scientific approach, analysing the data and eliminating conclusions, and come away with exactly one Hypothesis, which deserved every inch of the capital letter. It terrified and confused and thrilled him in equal amounts, and he desperately needed to know if it was true. Then Heavy’s fingers slid between his, gripping even harder. Medic could feel the bones in his hand (‘Carpels!’ a tiny voice at the back of his mind declared triumphantly) grinding painfully, but he would not back down, not this time. He’d done enough running to last a lifetime. His stare dared Heavy to do... something, anything to break the tension, to prove or disprove what was quite possibly the most important question Medic had never asked. Medic realised he’d been unconsciously holding his breath. Instinctively he opened his mouth to take a gulp of air, and the band snapped. Everything happened at once. Heavy lunged forward to his feet, knocking over the chair in the process, and crushed their mouths together. Startled from his doze on the light above, Archimedes leapt into the air in a flurry, showering feathers everywhere. Without thinking, Medic made to grab the back of Heavy’s neck with his free hand—the one attached to his recently-dislocated shoulder. Agony lanced down his arm, making him cry out and pull back from the kiss, clutching the offending limb. Heavy leapt backwards as if he had been burned, face a mask of horror, and nearly fell over the chair as he scrambled back, stammering apologies. “Oh, Doktor, I am sorry... I did not... I cannot... I am sorry!†And with that he disappeared out the infirmary doors, leaving Medic to scream after him. “Vait! Please, come back! Um Gottes Willen, come back!†If his ankle hadn’t been shattered, Medic would have been out of those doors like a rocket, broken ribs be damned, but in his current state, he knew, he wouldn’t have made it halfway across the room. With no other option, he lay back down amongst the white feathers and muttered every expletive he could think of in every language he could remember. None of them were at all satisfying. In his despondency, he didn’t notice the way the air shimmered in the corner of the room, or how the door quietly opened and shut itself, leaving only the faint smell of cigarette smoke behind.
I'm loving this. The balance of moments that make me laugh out loud, melt into a gooey puddle, and hold my breath in anticipation is excellent. I humbly request that more be forthcoming.
Awww, poor Medic! That was an unfortunate turn of events. I like the imagery of Archimedes taking flight as they kiss, though. That's adorable.
Medic's "hab keen angst" immediately reminded me of Die Toten Hosen's 'Alles ist Eins'.... And that mention of spy atthe end there makes everything a little more ominous.
Medic's "hab keine angst" immediately reminded me of Die Toten Hosen's 'Alles ist Eins'.... And that mention of spy at the end there makes everything a little more ominous.
That was probably the most perfectly written Scout I've ever read. Sniper isn't supposed to monologue, but it worked perfectly with the Scout. Normally I read their lines in their voices, but with Scout, it was like he was standing in front of me, talking to me.
Aaaaand now I've run out of chapters to edit and have to actually write some more. I could write about Medic's birds all damn day. ----- It was a little before noon when the Engineer entered the infirmary to find Medic glaring at the ceiling, not moving except, every so often, to brush away whichever of his interchangeable birds it was that was pecking at his fingers. He didn’t even acknowledge Engineer’s presence. “Er, mornin’, Doc.†Medic turned his head, looking slightly surprised, as if he had only just noticed him. “Oh,†he said flatly. “Hello, Engineer. How is ze medigun coming? Archimedes, stop zat! I am not food!†This last, together with a particularly vicious swipe, was directed at the bird, which took off in a huff. “Fixed,†said Engineer, with just a touch of pride, depositing said gun on the side of the bed. “Weren’t easy, but Ah got it in the end. ‘n fact, Ah reckon it works a darn sight better than it did! Sorry it took so long. Shall we fire her up?†“Please. Ze novelty value has vorn off now.†A flick of a switch had the medipack thrumming to life. It was possibly the most beautiful sound Medic had ever heard. Engineer pushed down the lever of the medigun and Medic felt life rush back into him like the oncoming tide. Bones cracked and realigned, skin fused over bullet holes, and the pain fled until it was just a strange itch at the back of his skull, and then that too was gone. Medic sat up slowly and carefully, but everything seemed to be working as usual. He took a deep, pain-free breath and flexed his arm experimentally. “Much better. Sank you, Engineer.†“No problem, doc. You took one for the team out there. Least I could do, really.†Engineer rubbed his eyes tiredly; he had clearly been up most of the night. “Now, Ah gotta go grab a nap before lunch. Take care, doc.†When Engineer had left, Medic got up and tidied almost mechanically, dogged by an unrelenting Archimedes who seemed convinced, in that way animals often are, that something was Not Right. He made the bed, put away the box of plasters and the various things Sniper had left around the previous night, then picked up the kidneys from the floor and put them in the fridge where they were less likely to drop on unsuspecting patients. Some fifteen minutes later he stepped out of the shower feeling a little less like something the cat had dragged in and left on the doormat. He’d spent most of those fifteen minutes thinking, and all that he had decided was that he needed to think some more. So he dressed and went to feed his birds. Admittedly, they weren’t really ‘his’, insofar as ownership went. Most of them were feral creatures who came and went as they pleased and stayed because they found the base interesting or (more likely) because Medic fed them. Indeed, when he entered the lab now it was virtually empty. Still, a few of the ‘regulars’, as he liked to think of them, were dotted about the room in little feathery heaps. These were the ones who stuck around long enough to be given names and develop personalities. For instance, he got about two metres into the room before he practically fell over Hippocrates, who was an ornamental dove with a wonderful temperament but a regrettable tendency to fly into closed windows and an uncanny ability to be exactly where one wanted to put one’s foot. Fortunately, a nearby lamp reduced his momentum enough to stop him being sprawled across the floor in an undignified manner. Unfortunately, it then brought him eye-to-beady-eye with a large and disgruntled-looking wood-pigeon. “Ah. Guten Morgen, Hypatia.†The bird huffed – there was no other word for the way she ruffled her feathers up like a posh old lady who had just heard something scandalous – and regarded him with an expression of utter contempt. The rest of the team had laughed at Medic when he’d tried to explain that his birds had expressions, but it was so obvious. Hypatia, for instance, was capable of displaying a whole range of negative emotions, from mild irritation through annoyance to anger, horror, disgust, or just plain indifference. “Fine, be zat vay.†Medic stepped carefully over Hippocrates, who was wandering obliviously around his feet, and pulled an extremely large bag of mixed seeds from under the lab bench. He poured an arbitrary amount out onto the floor, waited until the sudden rush of wings had died down, brushed the feathers off his waistcoat and looked around to see if he’d missed anyone. He was not especially surprised to hear a mournful coo from the direction of Sigmund, the resident skeleton. Sighing, he removed one of the many unwashed coffee cups from the windowsill, where they were gathering along with an assortment of beakers containing various unspeakable things in vinegar, filled it with seed and went to see what the matter was. As he got closer, the head of a very small collared dove appeared out of Sigmund’s right eye socket and mumbled softly at him. “Ada, liebchen, you can’t stay in zere all day,†Medic said, offering the bird the cup of seed. “All you do is eat and sleep. I never see you; you’re not value-for-money at all,†he complained half-seriously. “You need to get out more.†Ada gave him a look which implied she thought he was absolutely mad for even suggesting it and picked at the seed primly. The rest of the team had laughed even harder when they’d found out that Medic talked to his birds, although he failed to see exactly what the problem was; it wasn’t as if he expected them to reply. In fact, it was quite nice to be able to talk to something that couldn’t talk back. He found it helped him think, and he needed to do a lot of that right now. “Vat is wrong vis me, Ada?†he asked the bird, who thankfully declined to answer. “Heavy is my best friend. I trust him vis my life, many times over, but I have not... I have never... never desired...†The bird levelled what was inarguably an incredulous look at him. “Well, fine, perhaps vunce or tvice, but I vould never have considered acting on zose desires! Zat vould have been unsinkable. But... he started it! He kissed me. And it vas vunderful. Mein Gott, I vant him, Ada! No... no, it’s more than that. I...†He paused for a moment, almost afraid to finish the sentence, but there was no denying what he felt. “I love him.†There, he’d said it, and there was something cathartic about it so he said it again. “I love him. And I sink—no, I’m sure he loves me too. Sniper said he was fussing, he vas vorried – he said I vas ‘good enough’ for Sasha! Can’t you see vat that means?†Ada was now ignoring the seed and had turned her attention to nibbling at the edge of Sigmund’s eye socket. Medic was vaguely aware of the absurdity of the conversation. “Vell, no, I suppose not, you are a bird, zese sings don’t really bozzer you, but he treats zat gun like a lover. To sink he vould let me even touch her is incredible. Vat else could it be?†“Oh, but vat if I’m wrong? I vould end up looking a fool at best and a madman at vurst. And even if I am right, vat if ve are discovered? Ve vould surely lose our jobs, and I cannot—I vill not go back to Deutschland. Zere are too many variables. Oh, Ada, vat do I do?†Ada was saved from having to answer this, partially by nature of being a bird, but mostly because Archimedes, who enjoyed a rather strained relationship with the rest of Medic’s flock at the best of times thanks to his boisterous personality, decided at this point that Hypatia would benefit from his immediate company and bravely attempted to squash in next to her on the lamp. Naturally, Hypatia was having none of that, and dealt with the intruder the same way she dealt with most problems: by cuffing him round the head with her wing. Stunned, Archimedes toppled backwards off the lamp and bounced off Hippocrates into one of Medic’s many industrial-sized bottles of iodine, which immediately spilt everywhere. Hippocrates promptly fled the scene, managing about four metres before his progress was spectacularly arrested by the window-pane. There was a dull thud, a pause and then a soft splat as the unfortunate Hippocrates slid down the glass into a jar of pickled eyeballs. For a few seconds there was complete silence in the lab. Then, slowly, Medic started to laugh. It began as a dry chuckle and grew and grew into a full-blown guffaw until he was clutching his sides and gasping for breath. Hypatia huffed again at this display and pointedly turned her back on him in disgust, but Medic couldn’t care one whit. Suddenly it all made sense: a beautiful, crazy, wonderful sense. Why was he worrying about this? He was a disgraced doctor hired by a shady super-corporation and trapped in the desert with eight other equally strange men and a flock of neurotic birds, fighting a war that never ended. There was every chance that he would die horribly tomorrow. And despite everything, he was still a scientist. No real scientist would back down from his research because he was scared of it. This could be the most important thing Medic would ever discover. And if anyone else found out? Well, there were always a few choice chemicals which could fix that pretty quickly, one way or the other. The important thing was to find out, and fast. Now his mind was made up, Medic felt more alive than he had in years. Grinning like a maniac, he grabbed Sigmund by the ear-holes and swung him round to look Ada straight in the eye. “Life is wunderbar, Ada!†he cried. “Archimedes is covered in iodine, Hippocrates is in ze eyeballs and I am in love! Mein Gott, I must find him! I must know!†So, whistling merrily (and still being carefully ignored by Hypatia), Medic plucked Hippocrates out of the beaker and set him on the top of the light box, where he wobbled gently but otherwise seemed unharmed by his escapades. Archimedes protested greatly to being held down and blotted at with a towel, and in revenge distributed brown splashes all across Medic’s face and down his waistcoat, but it would take far more than a few stains to put a damper on the doctor’s good mood. Lab cleaned and reassembled, Medic said goodbye to Ada, waggled his fingers at Hypatia as he passed (earning himself a painful nip) and headed out to put Science to the test. ====== Twenty seconds later he came back in, retrieved a battered copy of Gray’s Anatomy from where it was propping up one leg of the bench and opened it at a bookmark. “Metacarpals! Verdammt!â€
This is just amazing! I can't get enough of Heavy/Medic, they fit so well together!
The birds and the metacarpals slayed me, and I love Medic in love. I can't wait for more! (Baw, and I want to cuddle Hippocrates... poor baby.)
How often does Medic talk to his birds like this? I could see spy taping his conversations and stabbing himself to keep from laughing and then distibuting it to the team. Anyway, I love Heavy/Medic and this story is cool.
Oh, yesyesyes, this is so cute and sweet, I love it, I can't even tell you how much. :3 Hope you update soon so I can lavish you with more love and admiration! X3 (Now go, Medic, run and find your man, and have many mushy keeses.)
oh god what the fuck. did not know this was going to turn into gay erotica.
>>16 It's tf2chan. Everything ends up gay erotica. If you aren't interested in it then just do what I do and skim over that part.
My gosh, is this my first love bump? Ooo, I'm all a-quiver. Thanks for all the love, guys! >>16 HAH, SUCKS TO BE YOU! You know, the third chapter did have a warning on it, so lern 2 be reading? Next chapter is written, now in long process of editing. Expect it by the end of the week. Maybe.
Djfhdsjdkd so awesome. I can't wait for more!
Poor Medic, with his neurotic pets. They remind me of mine-- I can picture my cat tripping over something and landing in pickled eyeballs.
Oh wow. I love everything about this. Especially the melodrama. I'm giggling in anticipation about how Medic will handle Spy finding out. All Medic needs is an evil twin and this will be my new favorite soap opera.
>>20 Medic's birds may or may not be based on my cats... >>21 Medic evil twin I PROMISE I WILL MAKE THIS HAPPEN ------- The kitchen was empty when Medic passed through, which was disappointing because he’d been rather hoping he hadn’t missed lunch. A proper meal would have to wait, though; there were more pressing matters to which to attend. Undeterred, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and headed to the common room, where he found Pyro curled up behind a comic book and Scout on the floor glued to the television, in their usual arrangement. “Oh hey, the Doc’s back!†Scout rolled over onto his back in lieu of actually bothering to get up. “How ya doin’?†“Better zan you if you don’t take off zose muddy boots before Soldier sees you,†Medic said with a wicked grin, prodding the offending footwear with his toe as he passed. “It took me two hours to scrub ze bloodstains out last time, don’t make me do it again. Hello, Pyro.†Pyro gave a cheery thumbs-up from the armchair. “Do you know vere Heavy is?†“Ain’t he with you? He didn’t come to lunch, we assumed you guys were talkin’ about, I dunno, guns and books and comin’ from weird places and crap like that. Musta been pretty interesting, ain’t like him to miss food.†“No. No, it’s not-†Medic was interrupted by an explosion of laughter from the television. “Are you vatching Bevitched?†“They’re re-runs. Ain’t nothin’ else on,†Scout complained, turning back over. “Freakin’ stupid anyway. How come no-one notices she’s always twitchin’ her nose and then weird crap happens. I mean, if my girl’s nose was all twitchy ‘n’ stuff I’d take her to a doctor ‘cause that ain’t right, man, y’know what I mean...†As Scout continued to detail, at great length and volume, all of Bewitched’s shortcomings, Medic escaped out into the corridor. After a pause to consider his next move he headed in the direction of the sleeping quarters, nibbling at the apple. He was about half-way there when the Spy appeared out of thin air in a cloud of blue smoke and grabbed his arm. It was a testament to the solid steel nerves he had developed working for BLU that Medic only choked on the apple very briefly. “Intel room,†said Spy conspiratorially over Medic’s coughing, not letting go of the doctor’s arm. “V-vat?†“Go to ‘im, docteur.†“Vat are you talking about?†Medic straightened up, having won the tense battle with the piece of fruit and looking only slightly the worse for wear. “Ze intel room. Go to ‘im,†Spy repeated, and there was a flash of something strange in his usually unreadable eyes – pity? “Go, before it is too late.†Then he was gone in another cloud of smoke, leaving Medic puzzled, and then extremely worried. Who was ‘he’? Could he have been talking about Heavy? It was well-known that Spy considered it his prerogative to poke his nose into other people’s business; naturally, he claimed that it was his job to know. Could he have seen them in the infirmary? If he had, did he intend to pass on this knowledge? Despite his insistence that he was a Proper Gentleman, it would not be surprising for Spy to engage in blackmail, even of his own teammates, but Medic was no stranger to extortion and that expression hadn’t been one of a man about to name a price. What did it mean? “Ve vill discuss zis later, Spy!†Medic declared to the apparently empty air, and then, because he felt he ought to make it sound a little more threatening, “I know vhere you sleep!†That sounded weak even to him, but it would have to do. The Hypothesis was burning at the back of his skull, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and he needed an answer, not more distractions. He turned on his heel and headed for the intelligence room. His route took him past the corridor to the old Respawn room. Rumour around the base had it that the machinery in that room had once been able to pick the dead right off the battlefield and bring them back to life in a matter of seconds. This was probably nonsense, though. If it were true, it would be a marvel of science, but Medic had never known the machine to work and the only person who claimed to have witnessed it was Soldier, whose testimony was questionable at best. Engineer had once tried to get it running, but after spending two weeks in amongst the tubes and valves he had declared that he couldn’t find a durn’d thing wrong with it, and appeals to BLU headquarters for advice had come back with the same two-word order: ‘Don’t die.’ So they’d locked the door and done as they were told. The intelligence room was only a little way past Respawn, but the walk seemed to last a lifetime. Finally, Medic stopped outside the door, lifted his hand to the keypad and paused. What was he going to say? He hadn’t really done this before, but he was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to start with ‘Hello, I’m madly in love with you, I don’t suppose the feeling is mutual?’. This was going to require some subtlety, and he’d never been very good at subtle. He took a deep breath, punched in the code and opened the door. Heavy was sat at the desk behind a mountain of books, and looked up as Medic entered with an expression rather like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel. “Doktor! Er...†Heavy set about frantically closing all the various books spread across the desktop; most of them looked to be in Russian but the largest one was a Russian-English dictionary absolutely bristling with bookmarks. “You are better, da?†One over-enthusiastically slammed cover sent several sheets of densely handwritten and liberally annotated Cyrillic sliding to the floor. Heavy muttered something that sounded like a curse. “I’m... fine, sank you.†Medic tried to sound casual and didn’t do very well. “Vat are you doing?†“Nothing,†said Heavy a little too quickly, standing up. “Is... is nothing, doktor.†His face, however, said otherwise. Starting to regret this course of action but now fully committed, Medic fell back on a classic. “Ve need to talk.†Heavy bit his lip and looked pained. “Da, Doktor,†he said meekly. There was a terrible, awkward silence. There was so much that Medic wanted to say, but where could he even begin? He couldn’t possibly start to explain all the wonderful feelings, the strange thoughts and the unspeakable desires bubbling and seething under his skin like the concoctions in his second-year biochemistry labs. He cleared his throat and beat a coward’s retreat. “You first?†Heavy sighed. “I... I cannot. Is too difficult, too much. I cannot find right words. T’ings are different in English,†he said mournfully. “T’ings mean different t’ings. Is too much—ugh, what is phrase?— too much room for mistakes.†Medic’s eyes widened. “Zat’s... zat’s vat you’re doing here, isn’t it?†he asked, almost to himself, looking around at the books and paper with a new wonder. “Searching for vords.†“I am sorry, Doktor,†Heavy said, frowning at a point somewhere above Medic’s shoulder. In the glass retort of Medic’s heart, the solution of emotions began to turn the horrible brown colour which meant throwing the whole damn mess down the sink and trying again, and this time it was going to take more than turning up the gas to salvage the situation. “Zen don’t use vords,†said Medic’s mouth suddenly, without the consent of his brain, and the frown slid off Heavy’s face as slowly and surely as the sunrise. He took a couple of cautious steps towards Medic, as though the doctor was some small animal that might take fright if he moved too suddenly, and lifted one finger equally slowly to the large yellow-brown streak across Medic’s cheek. “What happened?†“Archimedes happened,†said Medic, by way of explanation, grateful to finally have something to say. “It’s iodine. I hope it vill come off eventually.†Heavy smiled knowingly. “Is trouble, dat one. Is not your colour,†he added with a wink. Medic felt he should congratulate his friend on a truly masterful change of topic, but Heavy’s fingers seemed reluctant to leave his face. As he thought this, those same fingers slid down his cheek and along his jaw-line to gently cradle his face, and the worrisome mixture deep inside him sublimed into a beautiful vapour the colour of the eyes now holding his own. This was it, he realised dizzily. The time for subtlety was long past, now Heavy was standing right there stroking Medic’s cheek with his thumb and looking at him like that with those terrible, beautiful eyes and it was now or never because if Medic didn’t get it out right now he was going to explode. “Heavy, I l-“ “ATTENTION! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!†The intercom interjected with its usual charm and the beautiful vapour combusted violently, showering glass everywhere. “I VAS TALKING!†Medic screamed at the air. He had been so close! Five more seconds, that was all he needed! “No, no, zis is not happening!†“Quiet, Doktor.†And, of course, Heavy was infuriatingly un-rattled, although there was a unusually intense edge to his voice now as he grabbed Medic’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. “You get medigun, meet me outside. We will talk later.†“Promise?†Medic asked desperately as he removed Heavy’s hands, and was it just him or did Heavy hold the contact just a fraction of a second longer than necessary? “Promise.†“Fine. I vill hold you to zat!†Medic called over his shoulder as he took off at a run for the infirmary, cursing under his breath all the way. Some unfortunate RED was going to suffer dearly for this.
...I hate you. And I'll hate you even more if you don't update soon!
OMFG Evil twins! Yes! Is Spy a possible HeavyMedic fangirl? Thats the vibe I got from him. I love reading the first chapter and seeing how it got here. It's so different. Did you have an idea in mind or are you just kinda wingin it? Anyways, I enjoy this derpy romance and the characters trying to make it serious. Tis amusing.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU Call me silly and melodramatic, but I really like the use of that type of interuption in stories. Unless it actually kills someone or happens a million times.
Have a sniffing suspicion that heavy might die, that promise thing oh lawds.
I love every single syllable of this fic. Your attention to little details is so precious. And Heavy with a bookmarked dictionary is absolutely the best thing ever. He reminds me of myself, many years ago, trying to master this language. ...although I didn't have a pretty Medic to confess my undying love and devotion to.
>>26 NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO! Make it work deathfics are not happy nononononononono if heavy dies, I might... just... just... make a comment that says "this is sad and I don't like it"
I hope the Heavy doesn't die :c Oh god oh god. I really enjoy this! Almost every fic has the Medic completely steely and collected, it's really fun to see him kind of flustered.
All my love for Heavy's bookmarks and his desire to learn English for his doctor, as well as the doctor himself and trying to get the right words out at the wrong time. The Announcer is a terrible cockblocker. You write wonderfully and you have my full attention for whenever you update next.
I'm popping my chan cherry just to say this: please, I beg you, KILL NO ONE. Out of all the fics I've read in the past few weeks, this is one of my dearest favorites. I love, love, LOVE this Medic and Heavy, and you will break my heart forever if they don't have a happy ending. Please, please let them live. I love this fic so much, I don't want it to hurt me...!
I make no comment on the eventual fates of anyone involved here, but in response to >>24 yes, I am winging it utterly and have no idea where we're going. (Captcha: 1796, pstifin. 18th century AU? And tiffin, you say? What a good idea, Captcha!)
*holds head in hands* Oh god, I didn't even think it was *possible* you might kill someone until the other people started to beg you not to do it. Now I'm scared D: But I still love this story so muuuuuuch, I can't even say it right. Eagerly looking forward to the next update, love!
I say kill heavy. Your first post show you can write intense scenes magically.
HURRY THE FUCK UP AND UPDATE
35 Calm yourself and be patient.
>>35 THE NEXT CHAPTER IS WRITTEN. NEEDS EDITING. SO MANY WORDS. >>36 I really don't mind in the slightest. It's been a while since someone actually cared what I was writing.
I hope this delivers. I also hope I never have to write a fight scene ever again. I think I shall be scarred for life. ===== Exactly four minutes and forty-three seconds later, Medic peered cautiously around the frame of the base’s main entrance and took stock of the battlefield. The sound of gunfire reached his ears, but from this position, he couldn’t see any of what was happening. In front of the base the land flattened out before sinking, and the edge of the plateau was marked with jagged rocks that gave an approximation of cover. The brunt of the RED attack would come up from the west, where the land sloped downwards towards the grey shape of one of the mysterious control points; BLU had the advantage of higher ground at present, but if they wanted to push down to the point they’d be wide open to artillery and sniper fire. To the left of the field, Sniper had found a gap between two rocks wide enough for a scope and was scanning the field, and to the right was Heavy, crouched behind a particularly large outcropping with his minigun in hand. He looked back and caught sight of Medic, and gestured him over. Medic nodded in acknowledgement, took a deep breath and made a break for the rocks immediately in front of him; he fetched up against the stone beside Engineer and the beginnings of a dispenser. “Afternoon, Doc!†said Engineer cheerily, given the dispenser a solid whack, and Medic marvelled at his ability to keep up such a light-hearted disposition in the middle of battle. “Feelin’ better?†“Yes, sank you. How are ve doing?†“Dunno, everything’s happening right down the hill. Haven’t heard a thing-“ Engineer’s reply was immediately invalidated as a blue shape came flying over the rocks and landed on its back in front of them with the crunch of vertebrae. “Awright! Doc! Hardhat!†“Dangit, Scout!†Engineer scolded as Medic locked the medigun beam on the prone Scout with a sigh. “Now, what’s happenin’ up front?†Scout picked himself up and brushed off red dust. “Thanks, Doc. Right, me ‘n’ Solly ‘n’ Pyro’ve got ‘em on the run, but ya gotta haul this-“ He punctuated his sentence with a kick to the dispenser. “-down there or we’re gonna be screwed. ‘kay?†“Sure thing, partner,†Engineer agreed and Scout took off back down the hill, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “...freakin’ REDs makin’ me miss my freakin’ show...â€. Medic stuck his head quickly over the rock. “About a hundred yards down, on ze right?†he suggested. There, what remained of some sort of wooden hut rose out of the dust. Engineer took a quick look to confirm. “Looks good, but ah’m gonna need some cover fire.†“Heavy and I vill handle zat,†said Medic. He checked that the coast was clear, then dashed across the gap to where Heavy was waiting, ducking to avoid being brained by a stray shell. “Engineer needs cover?†Heavy asked. Medic nodded. “On my mark...†Medic peered around the rock, one hand in the air to signal to Engineer. Beside him, Heavy set Sasha spinning. “RED Pyro at eleven, Soldier has engaged... no, Soldier’s falling back... GO!†With a roar, Heavy swung around the rock, barrels blazing, with Medic close on his tail. Further down the slope, Soldier was staggering towards them swiping at the sleeve of his jacket, which was on fire, and turning every so often to unload his shotgun frantically in the direction of the RED Pyro. The Pyro in question was only giving chase on average, instead skipping backwards and forwards just out of shotgun range. When he caught sight of the incoming BLUs, however, he changed tactics, swinging out in a wide arc across and down the slope, flamethrower at the ready and always just a little ahead of Heavy’s fire. The BLUs pushed down and down, Engineer dragging the half-built dispenser, and a hundred yards turned out to be really quite a long way. They’d almost reached the cover of the hut when the Pyro obviously decided he was bored with this game and started advancing, throwing a lance of flame out in front of him but still moving too fast for Sasha’s bullets to do any harm. Heavy snarled in frustration, Medic took a cautious few steps backwards, medigun still trained on Heavy, and then suddenly the RED jerked violently, dropping the flamethrower as his right arm became useless. Heavy took the opportunity to empty lead into him at four bullets a second. Medic looked back over his shoulder and caught the flash of sunlight off Sniper’s scope, and threw him a distant salute. Behind him, Engineer began setting up the dispenser just inside what was once the door of the hut, allowing Medic a brief moment to reassess the battle. Most of the action was happening further down the slope, where their Pyro and Demo were pinned down by the RED Soldier and his Medic. It looked like they were needed quite badly- “MEDIC!†Medic looked around hurriedly for the source of the cry and quickly spotted Soldier, half-hidden behind an old oil tank, bleeding profusely from a wound in his side. “Push forvard, zey need help down zere,†he instructed Heavy. “I’m going back for Soldier.†“What? No-“ Heavy caught Medic’s wrist as he turned to go. “Doktor, please.†“Vas?†Heavy’s eyes were wide and pleading, and Medic trembled, although he couldn’t be sure why. “I can’t do dis without you. I... I need you, Doktor.†Medic’s heart leapt. He was needed. No-one had ever needed him. To be absolutely necessary to another’s survival--the very thought was both wonderful and terrifying. He wanted so badly to tell Heavy he needed him too, that he couldn’t imagine managing to exist without him. But this was a battlefield and he could see Engineer out of the corner of his eye giving them a very strange look, so he kept it to himself, for now. “I vill be quick,†he reassured Heavy. “Trust me.†Heavy let go of his arm reluctantly. “Always,†he said quietly, but his eyes betrayed his unease. Medic gave him an apologetic pat on the arm and headed back for Soldier, closing the last five metres at a run to avoid a pair of badly-aimed grenades from RED’s Demoman. Soldier grunted a thank-you when Medic turned the medigun on him, and he must have been in a pretty bad state because he didn’t even have anything scathing to say about Medic’s injury the day before. It was when Medic was picking bits of Soldier’s jacket out of the burn down his arm, so it would heal properly, that he saw the light. It was tiny, just a little red dot on a red desert, but the terror that gripped him was crushing. Instinctively he flattened himself against the meagre cover, pulling Soldier back with him. “RED Sniper!†he yelled, at the exact instant that he heard Heavy’s gun spinning up. “Oh Gott,no!†Suddenly unconcerned for his own safety, he leaned out around the canister, knuckles white under his gloves, in time to see the RED Demo fleeing from Sasha’s fury, Engineer crouched behind the now-operational dispenser, and there! At the window of the dilapidated building to the left of the point, a flash of red and the glint of a scope. He didn’t hear the shot, so far away. He didn’t feel the jolt of impact, and he didn’t see the expression on Heavy’s face. He didn’t hear the answering crack from up the slope, or see the RED Sniper crumple. All he heard was the sound of a 150-kg minigun hitting the ground. He barely even heard himself screaming, though the sound clawed its way up his throat like a wild animal, leaving gaping emptiness behind. How could it end like this? He had to get to him, had to help, there was always a chance... He lunged forward and was brought crashing to the ground as Soldier grabbed the back of his coat “Stand down, private!†Soldier ordered, reeling Medic back in. “There’s nothing you can do!†“Bastard!†Medic spat as he struggled uselessly. “Let me go or I svear I vill kill you!†“I said, stand down!†One shoulder-wrenching movement had Medic’s arms locked behind his back. “That’s an order!†Medic fought back like a wet cat, but Soldier’s grip was like iron, and Medic cursed and spat and accomplished exactly nothing. It was all his fault, he realised. Once again, he had failed himself, had failed his team... but this time, Heavy had paid for his incompetence. And he hadn’t told him. Oh, he’d been so confident, so sure, talking to his pets safe in his lab, but when Heavy had stood in front of him, he couldn’t do it. Not only was he a failure, he was a coward, too, and so Heavy had died not knowing that Medic would have followed him through Hell itself. Medic stopped struggling then. There was no point any more. He felt Soldier relax the death grip on his arms, but what difference did it make? He couldn’t move; his heart felt like a lead weight in his chest, pinning him in place He couldn’t go on like this, broken and empty. He couldn’t even cry. This was beyond crying. He remembered Spy’s words, whispered urgently to him like they were the most important thing in the world. ‘Go to him.... before it’s too late. ’ But he hadn’t, and now it was too late, and it would always be too late. Then, quietly and without any fuss or bother, Heavy’s body vanished. Hush stretched out across the battlefield. Medic stared dumbly at the spot where Heavy’s body had been, but his brain wouldn’t work, couldn’t understand. Then the silence was broken by Soldier, who arrived with unprecedented speed at an impossible conclusion. “Respawn!†Medic had never run so fast in his life. It was a fool’s hope, a ridiculous notion, but Medic clutched at that hope like a drowning man. He tore up the hill and back through the base, ignoring Soldier’s shouts to get back there and do his goddamn duty. He was gasping for breath by the time he skidded past the corridor to Respawn and had to double back, and then spent the longest twenty seconds of his life trying to get the rusted-up lock to co-operate, because it couldn’t end like this. Finally he wrenched the door open (and how it screamed on the rusty hinges!) to reveal a flurry of years-old dust, the previously lifeless tubes and dials of the Respawn machine clicking and whirring like some mechanical creature, and in the middle of it all the Heavy, coughing and dazed but so very wonderfully alive. If Medic hadn’t been clinging to the door for dear life, he would probably have fallen over in relief. He pulled himself together and rushed to help Heavy to his feet, partly out of concern, but mostly because he just had to touch him, to make sure he was real, alive, and not some sign that Medic was finally going crazy. But no, here was his friend, looking dazed and slightly baffled but living and breathing despite everything, and Medic hugged him desperately, as if he were the only solid thing in the world. “Doktor?†Heavy groaned, rubbing at a spot just above his left temple, as if trying to chase away a headache. Gently but firmly he removed Medic’s clinging arms, looking confused. “What... what happened? Where is dis?†What could Medic say? Should he tell Heavy he just caught a bullet in his skull? Would Heavy even believe him if he did? Perhaps it would be better to lie; he could say Heavy was knocked out, perhaps... but no. Heavy was smart, he would figure it out sooner or later, would know Medic had lied, and that thought was just too terrible to contemplate. Medic steeled himself. “You... died.†“Oh.†And then, “Okay.†“Vat?!†This was not the reaction Medic had been expecting. “Zat is all you can say? You vere dead!†“Maybe, maybe. But now I am not,†said Heavy gently, hands resting on Medic’s shoulders. “And you are here. So all is good, yes?†“Vell, I suppose so...†“Good!†Heavy clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Now, we see how battle is going, and worry about not being dead later.†As Heavy spoke, the whirring of machinery changed tone. There was a squeaking sound like someone letting the air out of a balloon, which got louder and louder until it ended in an anti-climactic phut and the Scout materialised in the middle of the room, about three feet off the floor. THUMP. “Ow...†“Mein Gott... †Medic hauled the disoriented Scout up and subjected him to the same once-over he’d given Heavy. “Vat happened?†“Dunno, man. Okay, so, their Demo-dick is yellin’ at me and I’m hoppin’ around all like, ‘POW POW POW’ at him but he keeps callin’ my ma a whore and I’m like, shut up, doucheface, my ma ain’t no freakin’ whore and even if she were you couldn’t afford her ‘cause she’d be one of them real classy whores that have, like, huge mansions and fancy parties and crap and-“ “Scout, please.†“Sorry, Doc. Anyway, so then he gets this creepy grin like what my bros used t’ get when they’d put worms in my food and they were waitin’ for me to eat it and then there’s something behind me and it hurts, right here-“ Scout contorted himself to point right between his shoulder-blades. “And suddenly it’s really freakin’ cold and then I’m here. What the hell, Doc?†“Sounds like Spy,†said Heavy. “So Scout died too, and now isn’t dead.†“What the hell, man? You sayin’ I died? No offence, pally, but I think I might-a noticed.†“Don’t be silly,†Medic chided, now peering into Scout’s ear. “How vould you know? Zat is vat dying is.†“I dunno! And leave off, Doc. I feel fine. Gotta get back out there and bust some RED heads!†Scout paused for a moment, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and looking lost. “...where the hell’s my bat?†As if in answer, there was another drawn-out squeak and Sasha appeared in the middle of the room, falling to the ground with an almighty thud. “Awright!†Scout said as Heavy scooped the gun off the floor like a lost child. “C’mon, c’mon...†He held his hands out expectantly. More squeaking later, a battered baseball bat phut-ed into existence above his head and obeyed the laws of physics with a crack. “OW! Medic sighed wearily and engaged the medigun as Scout readied his newly-returned bat. “Ve should move out.†“Yeah!†Not needing any further prompting, Scout sped off, leaving Heavy and Medic to trail rather more slowly and less enthusiastically after him. Outside, the battle raged on much as it had been doing for some time now. After explaining to a gobsmacked Sniper that yes, Heavy had come back to life (or “respawnedâ€, as Soldier put it) Medic pointed out that the first thing they needed to ascertain was whether RED had a functioning Respawn system. This proved to be remarkably easy, since as soon as Medic stuck his head out of cover to survey the field there was a sudden stabbing pain between his eyes and he found himself flat on his back in the middle of the amazing machine. “Oh,†he said. That seemed to cover everything. So RED had a Respawn too, and the playing field was levelled. With each side having a constantly regenerating team, the only advantages left were situational. It would take a while to adjust tactics to accommodate Respawn, but in the meantime, BLU held the higher ground, and the push down to the point was only a matter of time. A quick team consultation (which took place across several respawn cycles, for maximum annoyance) decided that the best strategy was a method of attrition. Engineer dragged a set of disused teleporters out of Storage and set up the entrance just outside the spawn point. The other end started off behind the rocks at the edge of the plateau, and was later dragged down the slope as they pushed the enemy back slowly but surely. The sun was slinking low across the western sky when Medic and Heavy found themselves ten sticky-bomb-strewn metres from the point and staring down a maniacally grinning Demoman. “Come oon, lads!†the RED taunted, cackling madly. “Give us a goo!†Medic glanced frantically down at the Ubercharge meter. Ninty-five percent! So close, but he needed a few more precious seconds- “HEY, CHUCKLEHEAD! Time to take back what you said ‘bout my Ma!†Distracted, the RED glanced behind and was rewarded for his foolishness with a bat to the face and a stream of abuse from Scout. The RED levelled his grenade launcher at the kid and- One hundred percent! Excess energy crackled up Medic’s arms like lightning as he engaged the charge. Heavy roared and advanced over the field of sticky-bombs, blasting the RED off the point in a stream of lead. Medic felt metal under his boots, a thud as Scout landed on the point beside them and the draining feeling as the charge wore off, and then it was over in seconds. “VICTORY!†Well, that went better than expected.
Yay respawn! Great story as always
Wow. I always wondered how the Team first reacted to the concept of respawn. Solly was the only one who had ever said it existed before, how is everyone going to adapt? And the action scene was great! I love Scout and his mouth!
Moar.
Why are you an anon? I just want to kiss you for such a great story. My god how did I not notice this until now? I'm hooked and can't wait for the new update!
>>42 Fear, mostly. But so far I haven't been run out of town for terrible writing so I might grab a name at some point. Thanks for all the comments, guys! I really appreciate them!
Oh my god I love this story so much. I really really do.
I demand more, Good sir.
one of them real classy whores that have, like, huge mansions and fancy parties and crap I love scout.
This would have been up sooner but then I remembered about >>21. I apologise in advance for Spy's accent. ----- After scraping the rest of the team off the desert and mending an variety of bullet holes, broken bones and bruised egos, Medic insisted on seeing everyone for a full physical exam, in the hopes of understanding a bit more about the mysterious workings of Respawn. Scout was first in line, partly because Medic wanted him out of the way, but mostly because when the doctor had announced his plan, someone had whined loudly, “Aww geeze, doc, tonight’s Batman night!â€, and Medic was feeling vengeful. At the beginning of the examination, Medic made the tragic mistake of thanking Scout for his excellently-timed diversion of the RED Demoman, and so spent the next twenty minutes examining and meticulously recording every injury and every scar and comparing his observations to his existing notes, while Scout waxed lyrical on his “awesome skills, I mean, man, did you see his face?!â€. He repeated this process, minus the gloating, with each successive team member, supervised by an assortment of his birds who seemed to think his medical procedures were some sort of entertainment arranged for their benefit. At about eight o’clock it occurred to him that he had never managed to get any lunch and he reluctantly emerged from the infirmary to eat with the rest of the team. Dinner was usually an animated occasion, and the events of the day had provided plenty of new talking material. Indeed, when Medic arrived on the scene unfashionably late, Spy and Engineer were already engaged in a heated debate that was bordering on the metaphysical. “Now, look here, Spah,†Engineer was saying, sounding frustrated. “Ah must be the same person that ah was before Respawn. Ah still got all mah memories and what-have-you.†“But ‘ow do you know zey are yours?†Spy punctuated his point with a vicious stab of his fork. “Consider zis: I saw you take a scattergun shot to ze face, and yet ‘ere you are, with your face still attached. Your body disappeared from one place and reappeared in anozzer, mended. Are you sure it’s ze same body? And if it is not ze same body, ‘ow do you know zat ze memories it contains are ze same memories you ‘ad this morning?†There was a long pause as Engineer contemplated this new problem, and eventually he conceded defeat with a sigh. “Dangit, Spah, ah don’t know.†“Exactly my point, dear labourer,†said Spy with no small amount of smugness. “Ah never did hold with this philosophical stuff,†Engineer grumbled. “Ah mean, for all ah know, ah’m still dead.†(“Bloody crap afterlife, then,†muttered Sniper from down the table.) “Ah,†said Spy. “Now, zat is a different question entirely. The answer is zat you cannot know! You ‘ave no way of comparing!†“So der is no question! Is meaningless,†Heavy interjected. Spy looked taken-aback. “What do you mean?†“You say I do not know if I am still dead,†Heavy explained. “But I feel alive. So if feeling dead is the same as feeling alive, what is difference? Does not matter. Is just different words for same thing.†Spy sniffed haughtily. “What a naïve way of thinking.†“Actually, I sink it’s razzer deep,†said Medic, sitting down, and that put a stop to that argument before it could develop further. The examinations continued after dinner. Medic deliberately left Heavy until last, for fear of... something. He wasn’t quite sure what, but he was sure it would be interesting finding out. He was, however, beginning to regret that decision; every time he so much as thought about Heavy, even in passing, there would be this strange fluttery feeling in his chest and he would find himself staring off into the distance with all kinds of thoughts running through his head. After the third time Engineer, full of concern, asked him if he was all right, he was forced to admit to himself that he had a problem. Thankfully, by that point, there was only one team member left between him and the answers he sought. Unfortunately, that person was Spy. Medic was usually fairly relaxed and talkative in the safety of the infirmary– at least, when he wasn’t being gabbed over incessantly by Scout. But the instant Spy walked in the room, Medic’s end of the conversation was reduced to the bare minimum necessary to carry out his job. Any attempt by Spy to engage him was met with stony silence, and after a while Spy was silent too. In fact, Medic had almost finished when Spy spoke again. “You think I am going to blackmail you.†It was not a question. “You vould not be ze first.†Medic’s response was clipped and to the point. “I know.†“Oh? And vhat else do you presume to know?†“About you? Much.†There was none of Spy’s usual arrogance in the remark. “I know ze names of your parents, ze street you grew up on, your first school. Ze reports from your medical school tutors are interesting reading. And zen, zere is zis...†He leaned over withdrew a folded photograph from the pocket of his jacket, now draped over a chair. He flattened it and tossed it onto the table. Medic stared. It was a portrait of a family, stiff and formal and unrealistic. The man was tall, dark-haired and imposing, with a strong jaw-line and angular features set in a mask of disapproval. Beside him was a woman, blond curls and high cheekbones suggesting past beauty but now drawn and tired, as though after a prolonged illness. But the most striking in the photo were the pair of young boys, identical from the thick-rimmed glasses to the starched cuffs of their uniforms and matching bored expressions. “Vhere did you get zis?†Medic demanded, rounding on Spy. “I ‘ave my contacts,†Spy replied coolly. “You ‘ave not spoken to your brozzer in twenty-five years. Why is zis?†Medic fell back, a little calmer, and picked up the photograph with trembling hands. “Ve did not see eye-to-eye,†he said quietly. “You both attended ze same med school, yes?†“It vas my fazzer’s grand scheme,†Medic said with a tinge of bitterness. “He vanted both of us to become doctors. But my brozzer didn’t care for my fazzer’s plan. He dropped out after two years.†“Why?†“Because he is a monster,†said Medic bluntly, putting the photograph back down. Spy took a moment before replying. “Zere are some who might say ze same about all of us,†he said carefully. “Zey have not met my brozzer. It vas never about ze science, for him. He did not vish to learn. He only vished to destroy. And... he held opinions zat I happened to disagree vis razzer strongly.†“’ow old were you when ‘e was blackmailing you?†Spy said suddenly. “Fifteen.†“Could ‘e prove it?†“Of course not. But zey did not need proof! Zey merely required a suggestion, and I vas a child and terrified. If my parents had even suspected... I saw no ozzer option.†Medic gave a humourless smirk. “Of course, if it had happened now, I vould probably have shot him.†“Are you threatening me, Docteur?†“Zat depends. Can you keep a secret?†A tense silence descended, during which Medic picked up the magnifying glass and the steel ruler to look over Spy’s upper arms, and held for a long while, until Spy sighed. “I would like to tell you a story, Docteur. If I may.†“If you must.†“When I was a younger man, in France, I... I ‘ad a friend. For ze sake of ze story, let us call ‘im Jacques. Once, in a bar in Avignon, ‘e met a lady. She was beautiful, as French women are, and clever, too. Zey spoke only briefly zat day; ‘e did not even know ‘er name. But ‘e did not forget ‘er. Now, Jacques travelled all over ze world, for ‘is business. Many months later, in Italy, ‘e sees a woman. Ze ‘air is different, ze clothes, but ‘e knows ‘er face. It turns out, she is in ze same business as ‘e. Zey see much of each other for ze next few weeks, until zeir work requires zat zey go zeir separate ways.†Spy’s tone grew soft, almost melancholy. Despite everything, Medic found himself listening raptly. “‘e does not see ‘er zen for almost a year, but ‘e thinks of ‘er constantly. Eagerly, ‘e awaits ze day ‘e sees ‘er again, and ‘e realises that ‘e loves ‘er. It is a shock, per’aps. ‘is business leaves little room for relationships. Never ze less, ‘e loves ‘er more zan ‘e ever thought possible. But ‘ow can ‘e tell ‘er? ‘e ‘as no way of contacting ‘er. So ‘e waits, and ‘e waits. Finally, zeir paths cross, in a tiny village in ze Swiss Alps. What are ze odds, ‘e thinks! Per’aps it was meant to be. But she is distracted. ‘er work has become... difficult. She fears she will fail, and so she cannot stay with ‘im. ‘e asks for one last night, before she moves on. ‘e thinks to tell ‘er of ‘is love. But when ze moment arrives, ‘e cannot say it. ‘e fears ‘er rejection, ‘er scorn. Ze moment passes, and ‘is lady leaves.†Medic put the glass and the ruler down quietly. He had a horrible suspicion he knew where this was going. “For many months, ‘e searches for ‘er. ‘e uses every contact, every network that ‘e knows. It is almost two years since zeir first meeting when ‘e locates ‘er employer. And it is two years and a day when ‘e finds ze report of ‘er death, three days after ‘e last saw ‘er.†Spy’s words hung in the air like smog, thick and choking, and Medic couldn’t find anything to say. “I do not intend to blackmail you,†said Spy finally. “Nor will I reveal what I know to my superiors. You ‘ave my word. Now, are we finished ‘ere?†“Vat? I, er... yes, I suppose ve are.†“Merci, Docteur.†Spy buttoned his shirt and jacket in silence while Medic stared unseeing at the photograph still on the table. He didn’t say anything until Spy was halfway to the door. “I’m sorry.†That didn’t even begin to cover it, but Spy nodded anyway. “You ‘ave been given a second chance, Docteur,†he said. “Do not make the same mistake I did.†Medic waited until after Spy had left before replying. “I von’t. I svear.â€
Awwww!
May I say how refreshing it is to see Spy being...well, nice? So many times is he the 'bad guy', blackmailing his fellow team mates. No, this was so delightfully heart warming, and I'm glad to see something different, Spy portrayed in a positive light! So thank you, I thought that was great. I only hate how you made that cliffhanger, waiting for the conversation with heavy. Can't wait for more!
I like the way spy is written here. To often spy is portreyed as a jerk so I'm glad to see a nicer spy for once. Any way I love this story and am probably never going to stop obsessing over it.
Bit of an oxymoron but this is one of the most original fanfics I have ever read. And it revolves around MedicHeavy nonetheless.
It'll suck when this story is over
But it's not, and that's the problem. Craving for more.
Fear not, anons! I am working diligently on the next chapter, although it may well be the last as I'm not really sure how to take it from here and I have at least one other story waiting in the wings. Thanks for reading, guys! Your comments are delicious ambrosia to me.
I just read through this whole thing, and it is BEAUTIFUL. Such a wonderful story. I cannot even find the proper words to express how amazing this is. It's just.. lovely. I was terrified, for a bit there, that our poor Heavy was going to die. I cannot handle death fics, so I am a thousand times over grateful that respawn is up and running. Either way, this is absolutely beautiful. Please, continue. I shall await your updates with bated breath.
Alright, guys, this is the last real chapter, although expect a short epilogue in the near future, and possibly some one-shots. Contains gay, fluff and violins, not necessarily in that order. ===== It was well after dark when Heavy entered the infirmary. Although he had arrived when the doctor had asked, Medic was nowhere to be seen, and the room was unsettlingly quiet. He spent a few minutes wandering around and peering at things, but Medic kept most of the truly fascinating equipment and specimens in his private lab, so that avenue of entertainment was pretty barren, and still no doctor was forthcoming. A knock on the door of the lab elicited no response, so he looked in, mostly out of interest. To his surprise, Medic was at his desk, shuffling furiously through a pile of papers with a pen between his teeth. “Vun moment, bitte,†he said without looking up, slightly muffled by the pen and sounding tired but cheerful. “Okay.†Heavy looked around the room, and amongst the anatomical diagrams, complicated machinery and specimen jars, several pairs of beady eyes stared curiously back. Heavy had always been fond of birds, and Medic’s flock tolerated him rather better than they did the rest of the team. He held his hand out as non-threateningly as possible to the nearest bird, which considered it critically and then presented its head to be stroked. “Zere!†Medic announced triumphantly, placing the now tidied stack on the desk with a satisfied nod. He looked up at Heavy with a grin on his face – and stopped, agape. Heavy turned his attention from the bird, which was now stretching its wings and cooing happily, just in time to see the pen fall comically out of the doctor’s mouth as he stared. “Hypatia! Vatever are you doing?†The wood-pigeon in question immediately took off down to the other end of the room, upsetting the teetering piles of books on which she was sat, and perched on a cupboard, straightening her feathers as if nothing had happened. “Doktor! You scared her!†Heavy said accusingly. Medic gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Scared? If I had tried zat, I vould be picking up my fingers from ze floor now.†He shook his head in astonishment. “Birds...†“So, you want to examine, da? Should I take off shirt?†Later, Heavy would admit that the lascivious grin had probably not been a necessary addition to the already suggestive question, but in the meantime it was worth it to see the doctor blush to the tips of his ears. “No, no, sank you,†spluttered Medic, before composing himself and clearing his throat. “Zat is, I believe ze data I have is sufficient. Ze results have been quite fascinating!†“What do you find?†While Heavy was indeed curious, now that the battle was done, as to what the Respawn machinery actually did, he was mostly asking because of how wonderfully excited Medic became when he was explaining his beloved Science. From the way the doctor’s eyes lit up now, Heavy knew he would not be disappointed. “Vell, ze first sing I did was to compare injuries received today vis scars visible on ze skin as of zis evening. For instance, ve met Scout in Respawn after he had been stabbed by ze RED Spy, but zere is no visible scarring from ze injury. Conversely, Scout also sustained several bullet vounds near ze end of ze battle but did not die. I healed zese aftervards, and zey all left scars, as expected for vounds healed vis ze medigun.†“Respawn heals wounds?†Heavy suggested. “Better than medigun?†“Ah, now,†said Medic, one finger in the air. “Zat is vat I sought at first, and ze data from ze rest of ze team supports zis. But vhile examining Scout I discovered somesing else. He had a cut on his elbow zat he sustained vhile ze medigun vas not vorking, so it vas still not healed when ve vent into battle today. Zis cut vas vun zat I healed after ze battle! So, alzough I healed Scout many times today, zis cut reopened every time he respawned!†Elbows on the table, he spread his fingers in front of him in the universal pose of enthusiasts everywhere. “So, zis is my theory. Ze machine records ze state of each subject at ze beginning of battle, like a photograph. Zen, vhen ze subject dies, ze machine reconstructs zem according to zat record. Hence, ze lack of scarring, since ze subject is returned to a state vhere ze wounds did not occur.†Heavy was impressed. “Is good theory,†he said as he picked up the things Hypatia had scattered across the floor. To his surprise, it was mostly books of sheet music. “What is dis? You play instrument?†Medic looked just very slightly embarrassed. “Ze violin, yes. A little.†“You did not tell me,†said Heavy, a little reproachfully, thumbing through the stack. The music seemed to consist mostly of Mozart and Beethoven, with a smattering of Bach and some other composers he didn’t recognise, although he was pleased to note a recurrence of Tchaikovsky. Behind the desk, Medic shrugged. “You did not ask. And unlike Scout, I do not assume zat ze rest of ze team shares my taste in music.†“Still, did not say...†Heavy had discovered an interesting change in the music, starting about two-thirds of the way down the pile. The austere covers of the classical scores gave way to bright colours and illustrations, and the names of composers disappeared, replaced by the word ‘Traditional’ and variations thereof. “Dis is not Mozart,†he said with a faint smile, and now Medic definitely looked embarrassed. “Yes, vell,†he said awkwardly. “Like many sings in my childhood, ze violin vas my fazzer’s idea, and I did not have much say in it. He said I needed to be ‘more cultured’. I vas allowed to study German composers and little else, but classical music bored me, and ze brief forays I vas granted into ze Russian Romantics vere a definite improvement but all too rare. Traditional music is fascinating, zough, and razzer more fun to play, I have found. Of course, my fazzer vould never let me play it – he said it vas ‘common’ – but sankfully it has been many years since he vas in a position to dictate my musical direction.†“So, is folk music?†Heavy asked, selecting a piece at random and flicking through. It seemed to involve a lot of drinking, a certain amount of smut and a bit of dying, which sounded like folk music. “Is German?†Medic shook his head. “Zere is not very much German folk arranged for ze violin, and accordion music sounds silly on it. Vhat you have zere is mostly English, Scottish and Irish, vis a little Finnish, a couple of Hungarian dances, and I sink zere is a Russian drinking song in zere somevhere.†Sure enough, a bit further down the pile was a sudden burst of Cyrillic. Heavy chuckled. “I t’ink I know dis one. Is very rude!†“All ze best vuns are,†Medic agreed with a laugh. “Is true. Ah, perhaps...†Heavy paused, unsure how Medic would react to his next request. After all, there was still the matter of the doctor’s unfinished sentence, although Heavy dared hope that he knew how it was supposed to end. Still, he could wait until Medic was ready to finish it – he’d waited this long, after all, and that had been without even a spark of hope – and meanwhile it couldn’t hurt to ask. “I do not know other songs. Perhaps you could play one?†“Vhat, now? I really should file zese reports...†“Please?†Heavy effected the most imploring face he could manage. It would probably have worked better on someone less naturally intimidating. “You work always so much, should have time to relax.†Medic sighed in defeat and stood up. “Fine. Go on, choose vun. But just ze vun, mind.†Heavy selected a promising-looking piece, then watched, mystified, as Medic wheeled Sigmund the skeleton over from his corner. As he did so, a very small bird emerged from the skull and peered sleepily around. “Oh, excuse me, Ada,†Medic said to the bird, which gave him a withering look and retreated back inside Sigmund’s cranial cavity. “Archimedes broke my music stand some veeks ago,†he explained. “Since zen, I have had to... improvise. It is amazing vhat a little vire will do.†And with that he bent Sigmund’s arms up at the elbows and propped the sheet music up on the skeleton’s forearms. “Ah, ‘Betsy Bell and Mary Gray’. Zis is a good vun.†He dragged over his desk chair and stood on it to reach a case at the very top of a set of cupboards. “It is about two Scottish vomen who die of ze plague.†He said this with more relish than might be considered normal. “It is, of course, terribly sad.†Heavy watched silently as Medic brought out the violin. Now, he was the last person qualified to pass judgement on getting overly sentimental about inanimate objects, but there was something very serious, almost reverential in the way Medic held the instrument, the care with which he rosined the bow and plucked at the strings until he was satisfied with the tuning. Of all places, he kept it on the highest shelf in the room. Heavy wondered briefly if it had been a gift. “Now,†said Medic mock-seriously as he tucked the violin under his chin and wagged the bow in Heavy’s direction. “You must not judge me too severely; zis is quite a tricky piece in places.†As soon as Medic drew the bow across the strings for the first time, Heavy knew it had been a good idea to ask. It began stiffly, but as he played, Medic relaxed visibly and the music flowed smoother in response. It was indeed sad, full of discord and harsh, lamenting notes, but far more interesting was the doctor himself: how his eyebrows rose as the music slowed and fell as it sped up, and how at some point he began silently mouthing the lyrics. Particularly endearing was the intense expression as the piece navigated a particularly intricate middle section, and the odd wrong note was well worth the cross little frown it produced. By the time Medic pulled the last heartrending wail from the violin he was grinning widely. “Vell, zat vas fun!†he declared. “Shall ve have anozzer? Somesing happier, I sink.†“Dis one?†Heavy passed over a piece that seemed to consist almost entirely of semiquavers. Medic beamed. “Ah, zat’s more like it. Zis vun is an Irish reel. Or, razzer, two reels, back-to-back. Zey are meant to be music for dancing, but I sink half ze fun is in seeing how fast it is possible to play zem.†It was a definite improvement over the first tune; the melody bounced and rolled on its way with the unstoppable momentum of a freight train. Medic’s foot tapped along to the tempo, getting gradually faster and faster as he got a handle on the tune. There was barely a pause between the two halves as he barrelled on, and it was all too soon when he wrought the last note with a flourish and demanded a drink and another tune, in that order. So Heavy was sent to search the fridge for some of the beer the doctor vaguely remembered putting in there several days earlier, while he sorted through the pile of sheet music. Eventually Heavy returned with a spare chair and two bottles of Blue Streak, which Medic opened on Sigmund’s teeth. “Do you always keep beer next to kidneys?†Heavy asked with a grin. Medic feigned exasperation behind the bottle of beer. “Vhy must people alvays complain about vhere I keep sings? Ve shall see who is complaining vhen somevun needs a new kidney, hmm? Now, zis next vun is from a small village in Cornvall in south-vest England...†The words first appeared in Heavy’s head as Medic took up his violin again, although they were vague and unsure. As the doctor continued to blaze his way through his substantial collection of folk music, the words took shape. They had become more insistent when Medic had to pause in the middle of one of the promised Hungarian dances to find his book on music theory, muttering about idiots putting turns in-between notes, instead of on the note like a civilised person. By the time the words had solidified into sentences, Medic had found a trio of reels even more fiendish than the previous pair and was attacking them ferociously, eyes glinting maniacally behind his glasses as he pushed the pace faster and faster. Grin splitting his face and sweat shining on his forehead, he looked magnificent. He finished the piece in one last flurry, panting slightly, and Heavy couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed Medic’s hand, still holding the bow, and pulled him down to kneel on the floor, now at eye-level. “Doktor,†he said, and was surprised at the hoarseness in his own voice. “I have found words.†Medic put the violin down, very carefully, and laid the bow next to it with equal care. Only then did he put his other hand on Heavy’s. “Tell me.†Heavy’s pulse roared in his ears. He had never considered himself a coward – he faced danger every day, had stared down the barrels of more guns than he cared to count – but right now, in a lab deep in a fortified base with the doctor’s hands in his, he felt more terrified than he ever had on any battlefield. “Doktor,†he said again, and he couldn’t imagine how Medic could possibly hear him over the hammering of his heart. He took a deep breath, but all that did was make him feel light-headed on top of everything else. All the while, Medic stared up at him with wide, beseeching eyes. “Tell me,†he repeated. “I t’ink we do dis part already,†Heavy rasped, and Medic chuckled. A little reassured, Heavy took his courage in both hands. “It is... it is like Ubercharge,†he started. “When we fight – when you use charge – I am bulletproof. Nothing can hurt me. I can do anything. Except... except it is all the time. Because of you, Doktor. You make me invincible.†A bashful smile slid over Medic’s face, then vanished abruptly as he frowned. “If I say vhat I vant to say, vhat I need so say... somesing terrible vill happen. Ze universe is acting out some dreadful vendetta against me.†“Now, Doktor, is not fair. I tell feelings, you must do also, da?†Heavy chuckled. “What is worst that coul-mmph-mrrph!†The rest of the sentence was smothered as Medic clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare!†he hissed, eyes alight. “I have been trying all day to tell you zat I love you, zat I need you like I need breazing, and I von’t have you spoiling zat now!†He stopped, gasping for air, and Heavy could almost see the cogs turning as his brain raced to catch up with what his mouth had just said. “Oh. ...oh, Scheisse.†And Heavy couldn’t stop himself from bursting into laughter, with Medic kneeling there looking embarrassed and confused and angry all at the same time. The doctor glowered, but though he put serious effort into keeping a straight face, Heavy’s mirth was infectious, and it wasn’t long before the icy facade dissolved into hysterical giggles. Once they were both laughing it was scarcely any effort at all for Heavy to slip his arms under Medic’s and hoist him onto his lap. There was a tremendous feeling of... of right-ness about the way Medic relaxed in his embrace, the way his arms slid around Heavy’s shoulders as he snorted inelegantly into his collarbone. It had been a long time since Heavy had actually, properly held someone – or, at least, someone who didn’t have six rotary barrels and a battery. It was almost a surprise how warm another body could be. “Zis is ridiculous,†Medic said eventually, once he managed to regain control of his breathing. “We are ridiculous!†“A little,†agreed Heavy with a smirk. “But is good thing, I t’ink. Is more fun dat way.†“But ever so stressful. Let me try zis again.†Medic sat back and took Heavy’s head in his hands. “I love you, Heavy. It defies reason and logic but I do. And I must know, please. I cannot live viz myself if I don’t know.†Heavy had spent many long hours plumbing the depths of his dictionary, and had been unimpressed with so much of what he had found there. ‘Love’ was a terrible word, as short and perfunctory and dismissive as it was. There was no way that one single, brief syllable could hope to contain even a fraction of what he was feeling, and he’d searched desperately for a better option. Naturally, Russian would be his first choice, but Medic understood so little that, even though he might guess the meaning, the emotion would be lost completely. He’d considered confessing in German, not least because ‘Liebe’ was a vast improvement on ‘love’, but as soon as he thought that he’d realised that, whatever he said, he would pronounce it all wrong and that was a disaster waiting to happen. English had too many words – that was the problem – all subtly different in meaning and connotation. He’d been about to give up when, right at the bottom on the pile of books, he’d found a thesaurus. And there it was, right in the definition. It must have been Latin originally, probably via French. It was short, it was accurate and it rolled off the tongue as well as any Russian endearment. It was perfect. Ever so gently, he pulled Medic forward until their foreheads were touching and met the doctor’s eyes over his glasses. “I adore you, Doktor.†“Vell, sank God for zat!†said Medic with relief, and kissed him fiercely. Or possibly, Heavy reflected as he wound his fingers into Medic’s hair, the actual words weren’t that important after all. ----- “Vell, zat vas fun,†said Medic breathlessly, some time later. “I sink zere could be some interesting research potential here.†“Should repeat experiment,†Heavy mumbled sleepily. “For better results.†“Good plan. Perhaps I should start writing zis down...†=============== BONUS: A very nice recording of "Betsy Bell and Mary Gray", featuring Peter Knight doing terrible things to his fiddle. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPjqQ_61CkM
If I smile any harder, my head's gonna split in half. I squee'd so loud when I saw that this had been updated. Captcha: Influenza...please god that's not foreshadowing...
“Vell, zat vas fun,†said Medic breathlessly, some time later. “I sink zere could be some interesting research potential here.†Not only is that hilarious, I completely plan on saying it next time I get someone into bed.
>>57 Next time on Wacky Things Happening To Medic: Medic gets the 'flu, Heavy attempts to fill in for the Doc. Hijinks ensue. (I might actually write that...) >>58 Marty thinks I'm funny?! Oh gosh, I'm all a-flutter. I think we would all like to be updated as to how that turns out!
>>59 You realize that we're going to hold you to this, now. Captcha: Symptoms
Hey! Anon from the request thread here, and I'm digging this hivemind going on, especially with someone who wrote this. It's great. Seconding good Anon #60 for sure. Captcha: shiptrs may (may what?)
And finally, a very quick epilogue. Thanks to everyone who has read and commented, it's been a pleasure to write for you. Hopefully, we'll meet again soon. I have great plans, oh yes. TTFN. ======= “...and I was just walkin’ through the base, as ye do,†Demo grumbled at breakfast the next day. “and I swear tae God I heard someone playin’ ‘Th’ Bonny Black Hare’! At midnight! Did me head in, it did.†“Reckon you’re hearing things, mate,†said Sniper authoritatively over his fried egg, ignoring the face Demo pulled at him. “As much as I ‘ate to agree wiz ze filzy bushman, ‘e is right,†said Spy, and looked straight at Medic. The doctor, usually organised and punctual in the mornings, had arrived to breakfast late, looking very slightly dishevelled but grinning madly, and had promptly helped himself to at least twice as much as he normally ate. The fact that Heavy had arrived exactly five minutes later had not escaped Spy’s notice either, nor had the interesting bruise just peeking from under the collar of Medic’s shirt that Spy was positive had not been there the previous evening. “You are clearly mistaken. I was about ze base until well past midnight and I ‘eard no music.†Across the table, Medic caught his eye and nodded quickly. Spy stood, fingers reaching automatically for his cigarette case. “I am glad you took my advice, Docteur. Gentlemen, I shall see you later.†“What’s Spooky mean by that?†Sniper asked when Spy had left. “What advice?†“Oh, it vas nozzing much,†said Medic, waving a hand dismissively. “Just some vise vords I should have heeded a long time ago.†“Oh,†said Sniper, obviously hoping for something more interesting. Then Soldier returned from his morning run, trailing Scout like a duckling, and began his customary pre-battle berating of the troops, complete with shouting and menacing wielding of a riding crop. As expected, this annoyed Demo, nursing his permanent hang-over, into shouting back. As the table descended into the usual morning brawl, Heavy’s hand found Medic’s under the table. And despite everything, the world kept turning, just as it always had. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. DAS ENDE
Awwww. What a lovely ending! Captcha: Stable Even captcha agrees!
Now this is what a romantic comedy is supposed to look like! I don't even want to ask for a sequel or a prequel because this just seems so perfect to stand on its own. Not that you couldn't continue writing stories, however... WINK WINK.