1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2011-09-24 16:48

It began as most unusual things do: in an equally unusual place. This one fell into the unfortunate paradox of being bizarre only to outsiders and people who weren’t used to seeing seven grown men and one chubby thing stuffed into a flame resistant mass of rubber crowding around an operating table, each of them taking turns hovering over the shoulder of a man who was, all things considered, taking this like a champ. When you had both of your hands stuffed firmly into a person’s open chest cavity, you could only either be patient; the last thing he wanted was for one of his fingers to slip and accidentally wedge itself into a heart valve.

“It’s simple,” Sniper was saying. “A monkey could do it.” He allowed himself to pause for a moment, looking genuinely perplexed. “…Come to think of it, why can’t we get a monkey to do it? ‘s not like it’d be hard to fudge.”

Engineer shook his head, downcast. “It’s gotta be filmed. ‘sides, she’d notice. There’s no way she’d mistake a monkey for the Doc.”

“I zink you give her too much credit,” Spy remarked as he flicked some ashes of his cigarette onto the torso that was unfolded beneath him. What he received in return was a tiny little hiss from its owner.

“Still gotta be worth a shot –“

“THERE ARE NO SHOTS,” Soldier barked. He smashed a fist onto an area of the operating table that wasn’t completely soaked in gristle. “EITHER HE DOES IT OR HE DOESN’T DO IT, WHICH IS TO SAY THAT HE *MUST DO IT.*”

“*Mmph!*”

A ripple of affirmative – but guilty – agreement whispered through the little group. Squelching bloody muscle between his knuckles, Medic shook his head and sighed. *Ach du lieber*… It never ended with these fools. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he was more of a babysitter these days than a respected scientist, but what he hadn’t counted on was for his *esteemed* employer to use his team’s idiocy against them. Was there some sort of running joke being spread around the higher ups that he wasn’t aware of?

“I don’t think…” He began slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the expectant group behind him. “…Zhat I have any time today. The birds need fed, zhere’s a new shipment of komodo dragon spleens coming in today, und…” He squeezed down onto a stringy ball of dark red tissue that was once a clump of arteries, causing another cry from the man beneath him. Even with the medigun’s healing aura feeding life into him, the BLU Spy was already so deeply past death’s door that an actual flatline would have been a blessing at this point. His face was a mask of agony, his eyes narrowed furiously up at Medic, dry lips quivering so badly that, once or twice, his teeth sank into them hard enough to draw droplets of blood.

“- I still have three more hours of leisure time before I need to get started.” Medic looked down at the BLU Spy, cooing softly, the words already forming on his lips before his mind was even aware that he was speaking. “Isn’t zhat right, mein –“

All he heard was a grunt and then a sound reminiscent of a brick hitting a large ball of meat (an apt comparison, he supposed) as Heavy shoved his way to the front of the group and slammed his curled fist down on the BLU Spy’s head, obliterating half of his face and crushing his skull. Slowly, Medic tilted his head upwards as if to say, *excuse you*?

“Fun time ends now, Doktor,” Heavy spoke severely as if he was a parent out to punish a misbehaving child. “Is now time for eggs.”

The look passed between the two was a withering one, the tension so thick that, for a while, no one wanted to speak, and then Medic was sighing again and finally slipping his hands out of the BLU Spy’s ribcage.

“Alright,” He said. With no gloves to throw away, he’d need to find his way to the nearest sink which he did just then. “Get zem ready.”

A few members of the RED team cheered – namely Scout and Pyro – while others like Sniper and Engineer remained wary, but in time they all began to leave. After washing his hands, Medic did too.

As he turned the light off and shut the door to the operating room behind him, a whistle of air escaped the BLU Spy’s smashed mouth, his lips struggling to form a grimace. Peace at last.

--

It actually was a pretty simple affair: twenty-four eggs in one sitting, fifteen minutes to devour them all. All hardboiled with as much salt and pepper as Medic wanted along with any other condiments, but the idea of sullying such a noble food with a wasteland of sodium made him blanch in disgust. Besides, taking the time out to salt and pepper each egg would only count against him in the long run. He wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.

The Administrator was kind enough to allow them to unshell the eggs before beginning. Medic stared at them, each in neat lines across the table, their white jelly-like surfaces shining dully as the overhead lights in the kitchen hummed. God only knew how long they’d been sitting out in the artificially stimulated heat, baking silently as the team ran around like headless chickens, only less interesting to watch. Most of them were finished with the preparations and now sat around, Sniper with his hat in his hands, Spy staring off into the distance as he rolled his nearly spent cigarette between his fingers, and Demoman staring thoughtfully at his bottle of Scrumpy. Soldier was standing guard by the door, stiff as a board, and Scout cheerfully fiddled with the 8 millimeter camera in his hands and droned on and on for what felt like hours. Not even having Heavy and Pyro by his side was a comfort; right now all Medic wished was for the ability to literally shut his brain off so that he’d have an easier time not thinking about everything waiting for him while he frittered about up here.

“- isn’t that cool? I’ve always wanted to be a director, y’know.”

Archimedes, Hipparchus, Plato and Aristotle needed food, the poor babies. And considering that he didn’t have enough time to clean up, he was already dreading what he’d come back to when this silly affair was over. Didn’t help that Archimedes was *molting* either…

“Ma’ always said I had it in me for show business. Said I look just like a little Montgomery Clift.”

…Did he leave the fridge door open? *Gott in himmel*, what if Archimedes trapped himself inside again?!

“Hey, you think we could make a bunch of copies when we’re done? I could give one to my mom!”

A snort came from the other side of the room as Demoman tilted his bottle, swishing the liquid within.

“You expecting a son of the bleedin’ year award? If I had a son and he gave me this, he wouldn’t even have an arse by the time I was done with ‘im – just a stump o’ one, if he’s lucky.”

Scout sneered and, while balancing the camera in one hand, gestured obscenely to the other man. “Yeah, well, who said a butt’s important? You can take my ass, pally, but you know what I’ll still have? *My good looks*.”

“Are we *really* having zhis discussion?” Spy deadpanned, still playing with his cigarette. Demoman, meanwhile, looked like nothing in this world would have made him happier aside from springing to his feet and working that snot-nosed little punk over – an endeavor Medic heartily supported and would have been happy to assist with if he actually had the means to do so. The moment he entered the kitchen where the rules were explained to him by Engineer, Heavy confiscated the Ubersaw that, as a rule of thumb, always hung at Medic’s belt. Always. This was to ensure that nothing was left up to chance, and upon hearing those oddly *grim* implications, Medic couldn’t help but laugh. They honestly expected him to kill them over this. This was important enough to warrant legitimate murder over.

It was for that reason that Medic’s faith in his teammates plummeted downwards in that instant and, for the first time in a while, he couldn’t help but feel smug; not just confident-smug, but Scout levels of smug. It was ridiculous, but this felt so surreal, so ridiculous, that he couldn’t help but feel lightheaded. He sat at the head of the table with Heavy behind him, the bigger, stronger man’s mammoth hands resting on Medic’s shoulders, no doubt a ploy to be comforting. Pyro sat similarly close to him, alternating glances between the three of them and Scout, who was still arguing with Demoman. Heavy be damned, but Medic was tempted to run just to get away from that idiot boy’s loud mouth when, at long last, Engineer came back from the control room. He trotted into the kitchen, looking and sounding like he’d just got done running a mile, hardhat in his hands.

“Just got done talkin’ to her,” He announced to the room of suddenly attentive people. “She said the fifteen minute time limit still has to remain, but if he eats them all in ten? We get to have an extra weekend off and the month’s supply of Moon Pies.”

A chorus of *all right!*’s and other cheers rang out; even Scout looked lost in the moment , which Medic was thankful for. Still, he had to wonder: was this really worth it? A weekend off, sure, but pastries? Really?

“So as long as the Doc is quick about it, we’re lookin’ at a great mini vacation.” A tiny little smile worked its way across Engineer’s lips. “With enough Moon Pies to build our own fort with.”

Soldier’s immediate reply came from across the room. “NEGATIVE. SUCH A FORT WOULD NEED TO BE SANCTIONED AND AUTHORIZED BY THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT AND/OR RED. OF COURSE I WOULDN’T EXPECT *YOU* TO KNOW A THING ABOUT LOYALTY TO YOUR COUNTRY, YOU MAPLE SYRUP GUZZLING DEFEATIST.”

“Moon Pies…” Sniper chuckled and clicked his tongue. “Haven’t had one o’ those for *ages*. And a whole ‘nother weekend to ourselves –“ A low whistle. “All the stuff I could fit into it. All –“

“-All the jars I could fill with my piss,” Scout interrupted in a horrifically mangled attempt at an Australian accent. Before another argument could begin, Engineer quickly raised his good hand to quiet the gang.

“If it’s okay with you,” He spoke directly to Medic, and kindly at that. “Doc.”

Silence. All eyes were on the doctor until, barely a minute before Engineer was going to repeat himself, Medic glanced up with a smirk on his face.

“I have zhe eggs in zhe bag.”

The resulting cheer was louder than the last.

--

[9 minutes and 14 seconds. 22 eggs remain.]

It turned out to be a good thing that he opted out of salting the eggs; already only after only two, he was getting thirsty and had to send Pyro to the sink to get him some water. Heavy wouldn’t do it. For some reason, Heavy was insistent on remaining behind him, and whenever Medic would ask why, the Russian would simply shake his head and tell him to go back to eating. Clearly he was waiting for something, but Medic didn’t have any time to speculate what that something might be. When Pyro came back with the glass, Medic threw his head back and guzzled it all down in less than ten seconds. For the first time in ages, he felt confident, even youthful. This was his show and audience, and when he succeeded, he could enjoy his ten seconds of fame without embarrassment or consequence.

Plus, the faster he finished with this, the less he’d have to worry about Archimedes and his brothers pining after their papa. So in a way, he was doing this for them, too.

The eggs had been out for too long. That wasn’t to say that they were rotten, but there was something off about them. They tasted warm and even a little filmy, but he was sure that was just his imagination. Eggs didn’t go bad that quickly, so any sourness he perceived was clearly just his imagination. He chewed and swallowed in large gulps, then sent Pyro back to fetch more water. Right before she returned and he had taken his second bite of his third egg, Medic frowned. Chewed a little more, and felt the frown deepen.

“Doktor?” Heavy’s voice snapped him out of his haze. “What is wrong?”

He honestly had to think before answering. After swallowing, he finally said, “Nothing at all. But I just get zhe feeling zhat I…oh.”

And it dawned on him, so much that he couldn’t help but slap one hand to his forehead.

“- *Oh!* Verdammt… How silly of me. I forgot to take mein medicine.”

Despite the success of the mass heart transplant, there were a few setbacks. Palpitations were increasingly common as was high blood pressure, but it would phase itself out eventually the sooner their bodies got used to the drastic new organs and if they remained in excellent physical condition. For the eldest member of the team, however, extra measures had to be taken and so Medic resigned himself to the pills – one In the morning, one with every meal, and one before bed – knowing full well that it wouldn’t be permanent . He hadn’t been on them for no more than two weeks, though, and occasionally he slipped up. No huge deal, right?

He reached down at his pocket. Heavy’s eyes narrowed; before Medic could bring the bottle up to his face, the other man slapped at his hand, knocking the pill bottle out of it where it clattered onto the floor, rattling as it rolled.

“Heavy!” Medic yelled, making a move to stand up only to be shoved back down. “Vat are you doing?!”

“Against rules,” Came the thickly accented response. It was solemn, but not unkind. “Must only eat eggs, nothing else.”

“But I *need* zhese,” He protested, realizing too little too late that arguing with Heavy was no less productive than getting into a screaming match with a wall. Pursing his lips, he shot his head in the direction of the others. “Herr Engineer! Tell him!”

An awkward moment of silence persisted before the answer came, slowly.

“Well… He does have a point, Doc,” Engineer said, adjusting his hardhat in a manner that was either befitting of one who is either very nervous or very embarrassed. “Water’s one story, but somethin’ like pills are a different matter altogether. It’s better if ya just get it over with quickly.”

“They’re just eggs, for God’s sake,” Sniper added helpfully. “It’s not like you’re eating twenty-four sausages; at that point you should be worried.”

Medic opened his mouth, ready to snap that of *course* it was important, if it wasn’t why would he be so upset, but just as he was about to speak, Pyro’s rubber clad hand squeezed his arm. He looked over to see her shaking her head empathetically.

“Hudda hud,” She said, sagely.

*Nnnngh.*

“A little less talking and more eating,“ Spy said impatiently as he tucked his pocket watch back into his vest pocket. “We *are* on the clock, you know.”

The words seemed to shrivel up and die in his throat. Defeated, Medic slumped back into his seat, casting a mistrustful look at the pill bottle. Just this one time wouldn’t hurt. Hell, they were right:

They were just *eggs*.

--

[6 minutes and 48 seconds. 14 eggs remain.]

There were points where, after you reached a certain even horizon of pain, you brain sort of shut off. While most sensations became dulled and one’s perception of the world grew slow, muddled and fuzzy, another more astute sense of awareness turned on. It was the kind that always seemed to appear moments before death, right when your life flashed before your eyes.

This was that kind of awareness. Fortunately, Medic’s life – such as it was – didn’t come flying back at him. If there was one thing he could be thankful about, it was that.

But he did finally realize why they took his Ubersaw away. And why Heavy wouldn’t leave his side.

“DOKTOR! Calm yourself!” He roared, trying to wrestle the fork out of the smaller man’s grip. Medic held it clenched in his fist, except instead of aimed at one of the remaining eggs, it was inches away from being buried into Heavy’s collarbone. His eyes were wild and watery, partly due to the effort to keep Heavy from crushing his wrist but mostly because of the heartburn. It was absolute and drowned out everything – his team’s protests, Heavy’s grunting, the horrific noises his stomach was making, and the migraine that kept mounting and mounting until he could barely hear anything at all.

“ – I told you! *I’m not taking anuzzah bite!*” The doctor screeched, pounding on the table with one fist and sending one of the eggs rolling off the side. Pyro raced to catch it; Heavy only seemed more infuriated by it.

“If Doktor is going to act like little BLU baby, I will treat him like BLU baby!”

And with that, he twisted Medic’s wrist hard enough to cause him to shriek, the fork dropping to the ground with the pill bottle. Just as he made a move to wrap his gigantic arms around the other’s back, Medic whipped his head back where it connected with Heavy’s mouth, eliciting a gasp and causing him to momentarily stumble back. While uncharacteristic of the veteran soldier, it was an ugly mistake that would have cost him his life on the battlefield – a dirty trick that struck an immeasurable blow to his pride. Here, however, it gave Medic the precious two seconds he needed to bolt up from his chair and sprint to the door.

Behind him, the rest of RED began to panic. Fortunately, in his egg-addled haze, he didn’t count on Soldier to hold his post –

“*YOU GET YOUR TEUTONIC TUSH BACK IN THAT CHAIR!*”

- Or for him to be so good at holding a man that was almost a head taller than him in a headlock. Medic yelled out, then gasped, that felt the ten eggs he’d eaten bubble up from his stomach, causing him to belch and turn a sickly green. Soldier whipped him around and threw him onto the ground, eliciting *another* yelp. The world was spinning and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. (un)Fortunately for him, hands came from all directions to pull him back him, but instead of bringing him to anything resembling safety, all they did was throw him back at Heavy. A very displeased, unhappy Heavy who wasted no time in slamming the doctor back into his seat, hard enough to make his teeth rattle and other pre-puke burps to emit from him.

“Less than six minutes left!” Spy announced from somewhere very far away. Why, he sounded like he was underwater. Or maybe in space… It was very difficult to tell the difference between the two right now.

“We’re so close!” Something that sounded like Demoman mating with a cow burbled up from the chaos. “You got half of ‘em down, lad! Keep going!”

“…Hey, is he even listening?” From his place behind the camera, Scout sounded puzzled. Then legitimately freaked. “Uh oh.”

Medic wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, but his lips were pursing…then clamping down. He made a few choked noises and something in his throat heaved.

“That ain’t good…” Engineer mumbled. “If he starts tossin’ his cookies, we’ll lose. He’s gotta eat ‘em all and *hold them*. Hey, big guy?”

“Da?”

“You know wh – oh *Christ!*”

Medic began to heave harder and opened his mouth. For one split second, there was a pale flash of yellow intermixed with something pinkish…and then it was gone, held back when Heavy immediately threw one hand over his mouth and the other on top of Medic’s head. With the one on his head, he tilted the doctor’s head back; with the other, he kept his mouth firmly shut, much to the immediately distress and bewilderment of the smaller man. Medic’s eyes widened in alarm and he uttered a wet, garbled gasp behind Heavy’s hand that died down within a few seconds.

According to Spy, little over five minutes and forty eight seconds remained. Once Medic stopped convulsing, Heavy hesitantly removed his hand from his mouth, concern breaking through his hardened expression. Just when it seemed as if he stopped, the doctor’s eyes widened and his nose twitched – the first warning sign before he snorted wetly, as if he was about to sneeze.

“Merde…” Spy muttered, shaking his head in grimy revulsion. Medic seized and quivered like he was trying to hold in the sneeze of a century, helped only by Heavy who now had to do some serious shifting in place, throwing his hand back onto Medic’s mouth and using the fingers of the other to pinch his nose shut. Medic’s eyes watered and his face reddened, the muscles in his throat working to keep the gastric acid down. He shivered for another ten seconds and then finally stilled, not moving even after Heavy took his hands off him again, this time even more reluctant.

Pieces of regurgitated egg clinging to his lip and mucus-y bits of yolk hanging from his nose, Medic began to chuckle. He was laughing as soon as Heavy reached for an egg with the intent of hand-feeding it to him, the long, sobbing laugh of a man whose psyche has been stripped down to its core. After another split second before the doctor began to eat with tears streaming down his face, Scout whistled.

“*Man*, is this good TV or what?”

--

[3 minutes and 10 seconds. 7 eggs remain.]

It was two minutes after Pyro had rushed off back to her locker in the respawn room that everyone started getting worried. Two more times Medic had attempted to vomit, and each time had been intercepted by Heavy. At this point, after sobbing between bites and even begging for a compromise once infuriated ranting had ceased being effective, he had resigned himself to silence. That suited the rest of RED team just fine; it was difficult to handle the guilt without the added bonus of threats to surgically sew each and every one of them together by their rectums.

“Just think of it,” Demoman began, gesticulating animatedly at Medic. “All of those Moon Pies! Best to come out of America, no questions asked.” Ignoring the downright frightening look Soldier gave him, he continued: “My mum can’t stand ‘em. Bought her an entire factory’s supply fer her birthday, and wha’ does she say? She grabs her cane an’ –“

Medic giggled to himself, a tittering, clucking noise that made him sound not unlike his precious birds. Demoman’s mouth closed with a snap and he was left frozen with his hand in mid-gesture.

“…I don’t think he wants to hear about it, mate,” Sniper mumbled lowly.

The awkward silence returned. Every once in a while, Medic would laugh, then cough, then sniff wetly like his nose was running, then giggle again.

“Three minutes left,” Spy announced disgustedly.

At this, Heavy sighed. Medic may have been his teammate, but he was his friend first and foremost, and it absolutely killed him to see such a respected, dignified man reduced to a sniveling baby with egg stuck to his face. He wasn’t sure that the doctor would try to make a run for it if he moved again, but he took that chance just so he could adjust his angle to look at Medic square in the face.

“Doktor.”

“Warum... Warum passiert das, Herr…?”

He had been like this for the past several minutes, only this time he seemed to firmly stuck with his native tongue. Still, Heavy wasn’t discouraged. All he did was place his hands on Medic’s shoulders in the manner Pyro did – comfortingly – and then pat him on the head.

“Doktor,” Heavy started, trying to sound soothing. “Give me control of body, Doktor. Relax. We will eat eggs together.”

“T-Töte…mich…” Medic whined. Although his body did go limp the moment Heavy placed his hand on his jaw, gently opening his mouth, and used the other free one to reach for an egg. Medic began to tremble all over, even going stiff for one horrible second as the egg went into his mouth, but fortunately, he didn’t have to chew – Heavy’s hand took care of that. He didn’t need to do much now that Heavy was making him eat; he didn’t even have to keep his eyes open, but any attempts at relaxing were shot the moment heavy footsteps broke the silence, marking Pyro’s return.

“*Hudda!*” She stood triumphant in the doorway, looking from one ashen face to the next, then jogged over to Medic. In her hands was a beanie with a little toy propeller on top – one of her favorites. She made a few more indistinct, bubbly noises before gingerly placing the hat on Medic’s head, giving him a hopeful, expectant look behind the eyeholes of her mask.

“Mmph~!”

Medic looked up at her. She tilted her gasmasked head and reached out to give the propeller a light tap, causing it to spin jauntily. Hats were always such a good motivational tool, weren’t they? Maybe he thought so, too!

He replied by screaming into her face.


--
[20 seconds left. 2 eggs remain.]

“Oh, baby! This is it!”

“- Nineteen seconds! Eighteen!”

“Not even two left! Come on, lad!”

“Now’s your time to shine, Doc!”

It may have been more accurate to say that it was Heavy’s time to shine – he was the one doing all the work by this point, Medic resigning himself to laying against the bigger man’s arms. The two of them worked like a machine with Heavy working Medic’s jaw mechanically and Medic…not giving much resistance. His glasses had rolled off in the process, landing on the now very cluttered floor, but he didn’t seem to mind very much. That was good; would’ve wasted more precious time.

“- Fifteen! Fourteen! Thirteen!”

No use eating them one at a time, so he just stuffed the last two into Medic’s mouth and began to work it up and down. It looked oddly enough like a puppeteer working a marionette.

“We’re gonna win! *We’re gonna win!*”

“DON’T START CELEBRATING UNTIL THE BATTLE’S OVER, LADIES.”

“- Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Once the egg was mashed into a nice yellow pulp, Heavy tilted Medic’s head back and…nothing. The eggs weren’t going down! Curiously, he peered into the doctor’s mouth, expecting a blockage of some sort. Shoving a tentative finger inside, he began to push the food down into the dark hole that was his throat.”

“- Six! *Five!*”

How fortunate that Medic was being so cooperative. Heavy felt himself smiling, honored and elated to be friends with such a selfless man, and started shoving the food down deeper until, at long last and by the time Spy finished was counting down the final three seconds, he felt nothing more but cold, wet muscle and saliva.

“*TIME!*”

“Holy FUCK, we did it!” Scout hooted. The rest of the team began laughing and carrying on, some of them taking off their respective hats to clap each other on the backs with them. Heavy breathed a sigh of relief and grinned vibrantly, happy that it was over. That it was finally over and Medic had been the bigger man, choosing not to run but instead to stay and fight. What more could a friend ask for?

“Doktor did it,” Heavy said, clapping him on the back. “Doktor, we’ve won!”

He laughed, patting the other man again. Medic didn’t say anything; what he did do was fall face-first onto the table, his skull thudding dully against the wooden surface. A string of yellow egg yolk intermixed with saliva trailed down the corner of his mouth. Somehow, the beanie managed to stay on.

“…Doktor?” All eyes were on Heavy now as he reached out with one finger to poke Medic’s shoulder. He did it again when Medic didn’t respond; and again; and one more time.

“…Maybe he’s just passed out’,” Scout suggested helpfully right before Heavy’s next tap – this one so forceful it could easily pass for a shove – caused RED team’s doctor to fall out of his chair and slide onto the ground, his nose snapping like a twig the moment his head hit the cold, hard floor, the plastic beanie propeller spinning all the while.

Seemed like a pretty accurate assessment.

--

Medic wouldn’t get any work done that day. In fact, he wouldn’t get any work done for the rest of the week and possibly even the weekend depending on how long it took for the respawn system to be repaired. Not that there was anything wrong with it to begin with, but sometimes – much like how it slipped his own mind to take his heart medication before eating twenty-four eggs – these things slip our minds. Engineer took it particularly hard; he was the informed of the routine maintenance that would be going down until the end of the week and, either due to simple negligence or the naïve assumption that the RED team’s doctor wouldn’t end up choking on his own vomit, simply didn’t mention it beforehand.

“Mmph…Mmh, hudda hud,” Pyro had said later that day by way of consolation. Awkward as it was, she was right – Medic wouldn’t want them to be sad. This was their victory and they had a right to enjoy it. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

A minor problem did crop up the day after Scout had sent the Administrator a copy of the footage they recorded, though: having immensely enjoyed the spectacle (*”Egg-celent work!”*), it was decided that personal congratulations were in order for the man who had eaten twenty-four eggs…and lived.

Or so she thought.

“ – Oh, I get that a lot,” Miss Pauling said offhandedly as Scout led her through 2Fort. Her clipboard and several papers, among them various intelligence documents for next week’s assignments, shifted in her hand as she walked, trying to stay as far away from the teen as possible.

“Yeah, well, so do I,” He huffed, flexing a scrawny arm while he forced a laughably humble look on his face. “Not every day you’re told that you’ve got a nice butt. Well, for *me* it is. Some of the guys here? You better believe they’re jealous of me.”

“Mmh. I’ll bet.” She swiped a keycard through an electronic lock that led to the team’s barracks.

“In a totally manly way, I mean. Like, with actual murder.”

“Hm.”

It took several more minutes of walking and putting up with Scout’s jabbering before she made it to the laboratory RED’s Medic kept. The smell of bird seed, antiseptic, and something that smelled very faintly of rotting fruit hung in the air, but it didn’t deter her in the least. A small smile planted itself on her face; a genuine one. She wasn’t on familiar terms with the Medic here, but what experiences she had had with him were positive ones. Pushing the doors to the operating room open, she was greeted to the equally familiar sight of the Engineer, Demoman, and Heavy flanking the Medic, who was sitting in a steel chair next to a desk crowded with papers and important looking medical charts. Each of them had wide, friendly smiles.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” She said pleasantly. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Each of them except the Medic shook their heads. The more Miss Pauling looked at the latter, the more her smile seemed to drop. Outwardly, there was nothing bizarre about his appearance save for the gaudy bright yellow sunglasses he was wearing – the very same ones that Mann Co. gave out for their RED/BLU sponsored summer promotion – and his stiff posture with one hand in his lap and the other one on his desk. That and the fact that he wouldn’t stop smiling.

“Doktor is very happy tiny assistant came to visit,” Heavy said, then looked down at Medic. “Isn’t that right, Doktor?”

No response save for a very mechanical looking nod. Miss Pauling blinked (was it just her imagination or was that Engineer holding doing something very funny with his hands?) and returned the nod.

“W-Well, I’m glad! And so is the Administrator. She was very impressed with your bravado, as was the entire RED corporation. They expect this kind of bravery and – and commitment to duty in all of their employees, no matter how miniscule.”

Fumbling over her clipboard, she shyly extended one well-manicured hand out to the Medic. He didn’t take it, causing her to frown lightly, which in turn made the Demoman elbow the Engineer discreetly. If she had taken that exact opportunity to squint, she might have noticed two things: number one, that the tape holding Medic’s lips in place wasn’t transparent enough to be completely invisible, and number two, Engineer wasn’t nearly as good with puppetry as he thought he was; it took him a good minute of fumbling with the very thin, clear wire wrapped around Medic’s wrist, but eventually he was able to make it work and have it fall into Miss Pauling’s hand, uncomfortably shaking it.

This was going to be a very, very, VERY long week.