Reposting this as well, with a new segment tacked on the end. This is the still in-progress companion tale to First Do No Harm which can be found at http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/89.html and I would recommend reading that first. Updates should be more regular now that I have a laptop. ___________________________ “Jacob,†the BLU Engineer said quietly. The Scout didn’t seem to hear him, and continued his inexpert attempt at doing chest compressions. The boy’s hands were covered in blood from his efforts. The Texan hesitated a moment before putting a gloved hand on the runner’s shoulder. “Jake, listen t’me… he’s gone.†The Scout had been trying hard to not look at his fallen teammate’s face. All the time he had been trying to revive the man his eyes had remained on the blood-soaked lab coat. Jacob’s gaze flicked upwards. His chest compressions stopped… what had been intended as a quick peek was now a fixed stare. The BLU Medic’s head was tilted back and a little to the side, his mouth slightly agape as though he was getting ready to playfully scold Jacob for his sad attempt at life support. The look in the man’s hazel eyes was frighteningly alien, though. The Scout had always marveled at how the doctor could calm or cheer up one of his teammates with a look, as though the man was sharing some private joke, or sending out good vibes with a glance. Now those eyes were glassy, and lifeless, a cruel mockery of the life that the boy had seen in them only moments ago. The two men’s heads snapped up when the RED Soldier came swiftly marching around the corner, his rocket launcher slung over his shoulder and at the ready. Rather than blowing them to bits, however, the man came to a stop and peered at the scene from under the rim of his helmet. “MAGGOTS!†he barked out, causing Jacob to jump a bit. “There are only five minutes of fighting left in the day, and your Medic is sleeping on the job!?†The Scout and Engineer just stared silently, afraid that any sound or movement might send the unstable RED into a killing frenzy. The man leaned over the BLU Medic and gave the body his most intimidating glare. “ON YOUR FEET, YOU COWARDLY KRAUT SCUM!†the Soldier boomed, giving the corpse a stiff kick in the ribs. That was all Jacob could take. The BLU Scout launched himself at the Soldier and struck him with such force that the man was thrown onto his back, and his helmet clattered away. “DOC WEISNER IS /AUSTRIAN/ YOU STUPID /FUCKER/!†the boy screamed, landing on top of the military man and unleashing a flurry of hard blows to his face. The Texan reacted as quickly as he could, grabbing the infuriated Scout by the shoulders and yanking him off of the Soldier before he could do any more damage. The man’s face was bloodied, and contorted into an expression of rage. He rolled quickly onto his chest, and began to prop himself up on his elbows. Before he could stand, however, a polished jack boot came down on his back, pushing him to the ground once more with an undignified “oomph!†Jacob twisted in the Engineer’s strong grasp as he looked up at the RED Medic. The German was struggling to keep the raging military man pinned as he adjusted one of the dials on his medigun. He finally seemed satisfied, and put the barrel of the device next to the man’s face. The doctor gave the trigger lever a slight flick, and a plume of the healing red ethers issued forth just as the Soldier was inhaling so he could continue his screaming tirade. The BLU Scout frowned, watching the faintly glowing mist pull into the Soldier as he breathed in. The man got the most fascinating look on his face, as though he had forgotten what he was about to scream at the two BLUs, and his seemingly traitorous team doctor. A languid smile formed on the military man’s face, and his eyes slid shut as his body visibly went limp while the bell announcing the end of the day’s battle rang. “Uh… thanks Doc,†the Engineer stammered, surprised at the rescue. The Medic didn’t respond, though… his eyes were on Dr. Weisner’s unmoving form. “You gotta fuckin’ help him!†the BLU Scout yelled, half demanding, and half pleading. The boy flinched when the enemy Medic fixed his calm blue-eyed gaze on him. “Zhere is nothing I can do, Herr Scout,†the German said with some modicum of sympathy in his tone, and a haunted look in his eyes. “Ze medigun can heal vounds, but it can’t bring ze dead back to life.†The boy just glared at his response, as though the doctor was lying to him. “I see zat not all of zat blood is his, Herr Scout.†The boy put a hand tightly over his bleeding side and winced. He had nearly forgotten his own wound… “I am...†the Medic paused, and frowned a bit, as though he was having a hard time deciding what to say, “sorry for your loss.†*** The BLU Scout watched silently as Yuri and ‘Colonel’, the team’s Heavy and Soldier, walked down the hallway. The Russian’s huge hand was resting on their ‘prisoner’s’ back, guiding the blindfolded man deeper into the base. The RED Medic’s wrists were also bound behind his back. “What’s that cockfag doin’ here?†Jacob asked with a scowl, trying to keep his voice from squeaking as he held his hand over the wound in his side. “Fight ended over twenty minutes ago ya freakin’ morons.†He saw the Medic open his mouth to speak, but the man was silenced when Colonel clamped a hand over his face. “The Kraut has surrendered to our team, and will be healing our wounded in exchange for his pathetic li-ARGH!†The Soldier suddenly jerked his hand away from the Medic’s face, the German was smiling faintly. Yuri laughed loudly, “Doktor /bite/. Maybe best to let big man handle prisoner, comrade.†Jacob heard the Soldier growl something under his breath about Commies and Nazis. The curious Scout followed the three into the infirmary, noting the congealed blood clinging to the back of the Russian’s heavy vest and bandolier. The boy was certain that at least most of the blood belonged to the BLU Heavy. The infirmary was just as Weisner had left it, sanitized but cluttered. Jacob could see the RED Medic’s disapproving frown when his blindfold was removed. He was relieved, however, when the man said nothing about the disarray of the surgery. Yuri gave the rope around the doctor’s wrist a faint tug before beginning to loosen the bonds. Colonel glared from under his helmet, and sneered. “The Commie and myself will be guarding this room, RED maggot!†The Soldier pumped his shotgun once, loading in a shell. “If you should attempt to play your Nazi games while in our base we will make some new /breathing/ holes in your torso! Then, I will use your skull as a receptacle from which to feed upon my morning Wheaties, HOO-AH!†Jacob twisted his face into a look of disturbed disgust as an unwanted mental image formed. He saw that the doctor, however, did not look intimidated… only irritated. The Soldiers on both teams seemed obsessed with screaming fits and proud tales of ‘Nazi wholesale slaughter.’ It was not a surprise to the Scout, then, that the RED Medic appeared completely used to such outbursts. “I understand if you vish to stay here, but I vill need you to keep quiet und not distract me from mein vork, ja?†Colonel and Yuri nodded their agreement, though Colonel did not seem at all pleased. “Herr Scout,†the doctor said, drawing a frown from the boy. “What do you want, faggot?†Jacob said, now full-on scowling. Seeing the RED Medic in Weisner’s infirmary so soon after the man had died made his stomach churn. “You haf obviously been shot, get on ze table, bitte.†Despite the pain of his wound, Jacob didn’t budge. Instead he suppressed a shudder, and kept his angry expression and growled, “fuck you, man. Yuri’s got grenade chunks stuck in him, heal him first.†It was not so much that Jacob was worried about the Russian… that man could survive getting hit by a truck… he was simply determined to delay going under the knife of the enemy Medic as long as possible. The team Heavy picked up on this immediately. “Scout is baby,†he chuckled, pulling off his bandolier before peeling off his bloody vest and shirt. It was easy to see that, though the huge man’s torso had a generous amount of ‘natural insulation’, there was a bulk of muscles underneath. The Russian’s biceps were as big around as Jacob’s waist, and he had once seen the man turn the RED team’s Sniper into a broken, wailing heap with a single punch. Yuri’s body was flecked with pale old scars, but what really stood out was the half-dried blood along the man’s back and shoulders where the shrapnel from a Demoman’s grenade had gone in. He sat on the steel table, which groaned slightly under his considerable weight. Jacob watched the RED Medic gather up a few supplies, setting them out next to the table. The boy narrowed his eyes when the German picked up a capped syringe and a drug bottle. Yuri pushed the doctor’s gloved hand away. “Not trust doktor with medicine,†the Russian growled. The RED Medic raised an eyebrow. “It is only a local anesthetic. Zis procedure vill be excruciating vithout it…†“I am strong man! Doktor cannot hurt me so easy with tiny knife,†Yuri said, gesturing to the scalpel that the Medic had placed nearby. The German sighed in defeat as he lifted up a water-soaked cloth. Jacob winced as the Medic began to scrub the sticky, dried blood from the man’s back. The Russian clenched his jaw slightly, but didn’t make a sound when fresh blood began to flow as the wounds were fully exposed. The Scout suddenly found other things to look at around the room when the Medic picked up the knife. His eyes wandered around the infirmary, from a stack of papers, to a stethoscope, to the desk. The runner lifted a single picture frame and turned it around to look at the photo it held. The family portrait was one of the few photos that Weisner kept around. Jacob looked at the happy couple and their three young children in the picture, and had to fight back tears. He couldn’t let the others see him crying, he wasn’t some little wuss kid, after all. The Scout mumbled quietly, “fucker went and left us…†*** “I’m fine, honest,†Jacob whined. He was the last wounded member of BLU left. The RED Medic had healed their Pyro and Spy with his medigun, which was all well and good… but the sight of the man pulling hunks of jagged shrapnel from Yuri’s back was something the boy would never forget. The Russian was now back at his post by the door, with Colonel, and the two were staring at their Scout in a fashion that made him most uncomfortable. The doctor, too, was looking at him expectantly. “Do not be stupid, Herr Scout,†the German said, adjusting his glasses. “Zhere is a bullet in your body. If it does not come out I cannot heal you properly, und it may cause complications later.†Jacob chewed on his lip a little before he finally relented, and hopped onto the steel table. The doctor’s gaze followed him as he sat down. “Take off ze shirt,†the RED Medic commanded. Jacob felt dizzy, disoriented by the sudden lack of familiar warm, friendly bedside manner… or maybe it was the blood loss. The boy peeled his shirt off, and dropped the ruined garment to the floor. He yelped when the cold metal stethoscope was pressed to his chest… Weisner had always warmed the instrument in his hand before using it on the boy. The doctor frowned, “breathing is a little labored, und your color is pale… you haf lost a lot of blood. Lay on your good side.†Jacob smirked, “every side is my good side,†he said with a grin, the witty comment seeming to come out automatically. Weisner would have at least humored the boy’s joke with a smile, but the RED Medic just leveled a withering glare at him. The BLU Scout sighed, and lay down on his left side. He frowned when he saw the doctor once again make a grab for the syringe and drug bottle. “Fuck that, man,†Jacob hissed. “You might OD me or somethin’.†The boy puffed out his chest, “if Yuri can take it, so can I.†The German sighed, and traded the bottle and syringe for a fresh, damp cloth. “Zen I expect you to stay /still/ und /quiet/ vhile I vork, Herr Scout.†“Pff… whatever, man,†the boy scoffed, rolling his eyes. He tensed up when he felt the doctor’s free hand on his side, just below the wound. The man’s touch was more firm then Jacob was accustomed to, but it still had a sort of gentleness to it. The runner was somewhat surprised when the damp cloth was placed over the wound, it was pleasantly warm. He actually relaxed a little, so it was a shock when the cloth was suddenly scrubbed against his wound in short, quick strokes. A second later, when the boy was preparing to let out a yelp, the doctor had already finished and tossed the cloth in the sink. “The FUCK was that, man!?†Jacob howled. “Procedures zat are painful are best done as quickly as ze doctor is able, Herr Scout,†the man said as though the fact was painfully obvious. “Zat vay ze patient does not haf to experience such drawn-out… discomfort.†Jacob /had/ been impressed at the speed and precision with which the RED Medic had removed the shrapnel from Yuri’s body. Nonetheless, he was beginning to seriously consider the painkiller as an option, especially when he saw the doctor lift the scalpel. The blade fell out of the boy’s view, and he gave a strangled cry of pain. The German frowned. “I haf not even started, yet, und you are already screaming.†“I bet you get off on making your patients scream, Nazi cur!†the BLU Soldier barked from his post at the door. “The sight of all that blood and pain sets your loins all a-tingle, doesn’t it!?†Jacob could see the Medic tense, and watched the man’s expression go from mildly irritated to utterly cold. A pang of fear went through the boy as he wondered if the enemy Medic would make /him/ pay for Colonel’s harsh words. The man’s chilling look seemed to take some of the fire out of the Soldier. Jacob was just relieved that the doctor’s gaze thawed a little before settling on him again. “Are you certain you do not vant ze shot, Herr Scout?†“Gimme that fuckin’ shot,†the runner blurted out, seizing the opportunity before it was too late. The RED Medic didn’t hesitate to stick the needle into the vial. The Scout was relieved when he saw that the German /did/ seem to carefully measure the dose he pulled out. “Zis whole situation is a ridiculous vaste,†the doctor hissed, setting the needle down and picking up an alcohol-soaked swab. He pressed the cool, damp cotton against a spot of skin near the wound. “Zhere vill be no battles until your team receives a new Medic.†“Builders League United will not be pleased with that kind of insubordination, Kraut!†Colonel growled, a little more meekly than before. Jacob winced when he felt the pinch of the needle sticking into his skin. “To ze contrary, I think zat BLU vill be happy zat zey vill not have to pay to replace your /entire/ team,†the RED Medic asserted. “Are you suggesting that we would /lose/ to you RED maggots!?†“Zat is not at all vhat I vas getting at, Herr Soldier.†The needle pulled away, and Jacob could feel the pain of his wound slowly beginning to dull. “Our companies are both in ze business of veapons development und testing, ja? Vhere vill zey get money to develop new veapons if zey haf to spend it all constantly replacing us?†“Well I… they…†the Soldier stammered, trying to find some kind of flaw in the RED Medic’s logic. “So what!?†he finally huffed. “It is very easy to kill a man, Herr Soldier. Any brute can do zat. Zere are vays to make zis situation much more… challenging.†Jacob watched Colonel’s expression change. The man’s interest was piqued… the German was playing him like a violin, and the Scout wasn’t entirely sure that that was a bad thing. “What are you getting at?†the military man questioned, his eyes narrowed in a mix of threat and curiosity. “Vhat happens vhen a man surrenders in ze heat of battle, Herr Soldier?†“He loses all dignity, and proves that he is a cowardly, spineless dog!†Colonel said with a manic grin on his face. “Surrendering is worse than dying! A man can die with pride and honor, like a true warrior! Surrendering is a coward’s way out of battle!†The Scout heard a clank, and saw that the bullet had been dropped onto the table. He had been so distracted by the conversation that he didn’t even notice its quick removal. The Medic was smiling faintly. “If you are certain zat us REDs are such cowards, my American friend… zen make us surrender to your team in battle. Like you said… vhen you kill us ve die vith pride und honor… you are… /revarding/ our fight against you. Und my team… silly as it is… seems to occasionally be doing ze same to you BLUs… I think it reflects most unfavorably upon both RED und BLU zat zis is allowed to happen.†Jacob almost laughed when he saw the horrified expression that crept onto Colonel’s face. “WE WILL NO LONGER GRATIFY YOU RED LADIES WITH THE HONOR OF DEATH!†the man suddenly roared. “When you are allowed to leave, you will tell your team that we will make them beg for mercy! We will make them /wish/ they were dead, but will /never/ grant them that respect!†The German turned his medigun on the Scout. “Of course, Herr Soldier, if you treat our team so harshly, you can expect only ze same from us…†Though Jacob kept silent, he had never been so grateful for a sneaky RED fucker. *** Jacob shifted nervously from foot to foot as the BLU supply train approached in the distance. The sun had set hours ago, and the single bright light on the front of the engine could be seen from miles away. “Yo, Ray,†the boy muttered, poking the team Engineer in the back of the head. “What is it, boah?†the Texan replied, scratching a bit at the spot where the Scout had poked him. “It’s been six days… y’think our new Medic is on the train?†“That’s what Spah said,†Raymond replied. The Engineer glanced around at the assembled team. Yuri, Pyro, and Bill, their Sniper, were engaged in a game of cards, using a wooden crate as a table. Colonel was standing at attention, peering towards the RED base as though expecting a surprise attack on Saturday. Jacob knew that the Demoman was passed out back at BLU base, but… “Where /is/ tha fuckin’ frog?†the boy scowled. Jacob remembered when he had first arrived at the base. The Frenchman had been waiting with an eerie smile on his face. He had put an arm around the Scout’s shoulder, and began whispering things about the boy’s life to him that nobody should have known. It had been incredibly unsettling, but the rest of the team had assured him that Spy had done that to everyone… it was just his way. “Y’know, I have no idea where Spah’s gotten to.†The Engineer’s puzzled frown turned into a faint smirk. “I bet he’s creepin’ around here somewhere, waitin’ t’try an scare the new guy.†Ray suddenly frowned again. “He ought not to do that, though… that train ride’s a long one. Our new Medic’ll likely be plumb tuckered out.†Jacob glanced about the rail yard. The lights near the train tracks were spaced too far apart, casting shadows at odd angles across the ground. It would be easy enough for their Spy to skulk around without being seen… or the RED Spy that had killed Weisner. The Scout gave a shudder at the thought. He was still reeling from the loss of the laid-back Austrian. The runner wasn’t sure he liked the idea of replacing the man so soon. “Jake,†the Engineer said in a soft tone, as though picking up on the boy’s thoughts. “We all liked Doc Weisner… hell, he even made /Spah/ smile… and in a non-creepy way at that. Our team can’t get along without a Medic though.†“I bet the new guy’s a real asshole,†the boy huffed, crossing his arms and scowling. “Boah, you don’t know that,†the Texan said with the faintest of smiles. “He might be a real nice fella. Jes give the man a chance.†The BLU Scout merely groaned in reply as the supply train pulled into the yard, brakes squealing. Those who were playing cards halted their game and stood up as the behemoth came to a stop. After several tense moments there was a click, and the door to the freight car slid open, showing nothing but blackness within thanks to the poor lighting. The man who had opened the door suddenly stepped down into view. Jacob quickly looked him over, as did the rest of the team. The man was fairly tall (it almost seemed a hiring requirement for Medics), and was wearing a button-down gray overcoat that came to the tops of his polished, knee-high boots. The coat didn’t seem to fit him quite right, and when the Scout looked further up he saw why. The man’s face was gaunt in a way that couldn’t be natural, like he hadn’t been getting quite enough to eat. It made the features of his face stand out more sharply. His blonde hair was fairly disheveled, and seemed just a little too long for him. He also looked like he needed a good shave. It just didn’t suit him for some reason, like his gaunt face. The doctor’s eyes were a different matter, though. They weren’t the icy blue of the RED Medic’s eyes. No, they were a deep sapphire, almost black in the low light. Jacob watched as the man’s eyes flicked from one member of the team to the other. The doctor’s gaze finally landed on the Scout. The boy found it hard to read anything into the look, it ended so quickly. It was Raymond that finally spoke. “Howdy, Doc,†he greeted with a friendly smile. “Guten abend…†the man said tiredly. He seemed almost… disoriented. The black leather gloves he was wearing creaked a little as he tightened his grip on the large military-issue duffel bag he had pulled from the car with him. “Anythin’ we can help ya carry in, Doc?†Ray offered. The blonde shouldered the heavy-looking pack with ease. “Zis is all,†he stated curtly, holding the straps of the bag almost protectively. From the way he acted, it made Jacob wonder if all the doctor had to his name were the clothes on his back and the contents of the bag. The Scout felt a pang of pity for the man. Yuri suddenly looked to the team Engineer. “I can unload supplies with team. Maybe you take new doktor inside? Look tired.†The Medic looked intensely displeased at the Russian’s observations, but said nothing. “Alrighty, then,†Ray said, the encouraging smile still on his face. “Let’s get you inside, Doc. I’ll show ya to yer room, an’ you can get a good rest.†Jacob watched the two men walk off into the darkness towards BLU base. Maybe everything would work out with the new Medic after all. *** The BLU Spy watched from the shadows as the blonde entered the infirmary. The doctor’s expression turned from tired to dismayed when he looked around the room. It was late at night, and though he was obviously tired he set about tidying the place up. Tools, and drugs were sorted and put away in cabinets, arranged almost obsessively. The Medic’s motions were slow, labored almost, but always seemed precise and deliberate. The man stopped cleaning suddenly when he came to a case of syringes. He lifted one of them up, and caressed the glass through the soft leather of his glove. The Spy saw something stir in the man’s eyes momentarily, but it quickly faded. The Frenchman let his cloak fade away, and seemed to appear from thin air a few feet behind the doctor. “Monsieur Fleischer,†he said quietly. The Medic hesitated before turning around, as though it had taken him a moment to notice the voice. “You must be ze team Spy,†the doctor muttered. “Und how…†the man hesitated a moment, “Französisch.†The Spy frowned, “do you have a problem with ze French, Docteur?†The corners of Fleischer’s mouth pulled into a faint and unsettling smile. “Not at all, Herr Spy,†the doctor said with a touch of longing in his voice. “I had many patients from France. Zey had some of ze most lovely, delicate muscle tissues.†The man slid his thumb along the syringe again as he said the words, and his gaze briefly fell to the Frenchman’s thin legs before coming back up to his masked face. The Medic’s tone was almost loving as he said, “und zey gifted me vith some of ze most beautiful screams.†The Spy would have taken out his balisong and stabbed the man right then and there if he hadn’t been expecting such talk. He had been very unhappy when he had viewed the man’s files, and had even contacted Builder’s League United to request the man’s immediate termination from the company. BLU, however, had been insistent that he was harmless to the team. “You look a little /thin/, Docteur,†the Spy hissed. “Did zey not /feed/ you well at ze camp?†Fleischer turned and began to put the syringes away, handling each one with tender care. “Not for ze kind of vork zey had us doing. Und one of ze vardens, a fat Jüdisch hund, started thieving ze rations of all ze prisoners who shared ze Führer’s glorious vision.†The man smiled languidly. “Until one of ze others cut him open like a fish und let his guts spill on ze floor.†The Frenchman scowled. He had not expected the man to be so forthcoming from what he read in his file… or so laid-back. This was most unusual, and he didn’t like surprises. He grabbed the German by the shoulder, and roughly turned him around, so they were facing each other. The doctor’s eyes were half-lidded, and seemed unfocused. “Are you /drunk/, Docteur?†the Spy said accusingly. The man smiled lazily in response. “Nein, Herr Spy. One of ze other prisoners at ze camp crept up behind me vhile I vas at vork in ze quarry, und broke a long vooden splinter off in mein thigh.†He frowned a little, then. “He vas not very happy zat I vas being transferred avay. Ze painkillers zat BLU gave me after zhere doktors removed it are quite nice.†The Spy scoffed. “Zey told me about your surgery, Docteur. Zat was over a week ago. Your pills should be /gone/.†Fleischer smiled slyly, and slipped a hand into one of the pockets of his overcoat. He pulled out a small bottle and shook it so its contents rattled loudly. “I may haf saved a few for a rainy day, liebe.†He put the bottle away when he noticed the Spy’s disapproving glare. “Zey had better be finished off when ze fighting starts, Monsieur Fleischer. And ze rest of ze team doesn’t need to know about your /deeds/ before you came here. Zey will have a difficult enough time adjusting as it is.†The German dismissed the Spy’s warning with a casual wave of his hand. “Ze company said ze same, Herr Spy. I haf every intention of being… discreet… about mein personal history.†The Frenchman thought the man sounded a little nervous… afraid of being sent back to the prison camp, no doubt. “I will be watching you very closely, Monsieur,†the Spy said in a low, threatening tone. “If you do anyzing to endanger zis team, I won’t wait for BLU to send you back to ze prison.†He pulled his balisong free, and placed the tip of the blade against the doctor’s throat. “I will kill you myself.†The Spy activated his cloaking device and vanished with a faint whisper of air. He walked silently out of the infirmary, leaving the broken man alone with his pills and his thoughts. *** Jacob was completing his fifth lap around BLU base when the top of the sun finally crested over the horizon. It was chilly in the early morning, and there was a faint mist hanging low over the still water of the canal in front of the compound. The Scout froze when he heard a splash. The boy walked to the edge of the canal. The water was rippling now, and the mist had been disturbed into a series of swirling eddies. Jacob narrowed his eyes and tried to see past the fog, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand emerged from the water, grasping the edge of the canal near his feet. “OH, FUCK, TENTASPY /IS/ REAL!†the boy screamed. In his frantic attempt to escape he wound up tripping on his own feet, and landing hard on his back. For a moment he could only lie there, gasping for breath and staring up at the brightening sky. Jacob sat bolt upright when he heard a gush of water, and froze once again when he saw a pair of deep blue eyes looking at him through the fog. It was their new Medic. The man had showered and shaved, and even trimmed up his hair, which was now soaked and plastered to his head. He looked a little better, but the gauntness of his face and the dark circles under his eyes still didn’t belong on him. “It’s you,†the Scout said in a relieved tone. “What the hell are /you/ doin’ out here?†The doctor raised an eyebrow, and had a bemused expression on his face, “I vas swimming…†Only the man’s neck, head, and hands could be seen, the rest was obscured by mist and poorly-lit water. “Is zis… a problem?†Jacob ran his fingers through his own short, blonde hair, and shook his head. “I /guess/ not. What the hell are ya doin’ out here so early though? Didn’t you go to bed like… three hours ago or some shit?†“I did…†the man seemed a little confused by the runner’s apparent concern. He also refused to rise any further out of the water. “Isn’t that water like… really fuckin’ cold?†the Scout questioned, finally standing again. “It isn’t so bad,†the doctor said quietly. Jacob could see him shivering faintly, though. He was obviously freezing, and the Scout could see the warm-looking gray overcoat lying nearby. Before he could say anything, though, the man pushed away from the side of the canal, and went back to swimming, obscured again by the roiling fog. Jacob huffed a bit and muttered, “weirdo,†under his breath before starting another lap. When he rounded the corner of the base he heard a splash and stopped. The runner quickly ducked down, and peeked back towards the canal from behind a cluster of empty oil drums. The new Medic had stuck his head out of the water again, and was glancing around cautiously. Jacob frowned… the man had stayed hidden in the water because he was there. Now the runner /had/ to know what the doctor hadn’t wanted him to see. When the man was convinced he was alone once more he pulled himself out of the canal. His back was to Jacob, which was just fine by him… the man wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. The doctor was quite well-muscled, and the Scout would have thought he was in excellent physical condition were it not for the fact that the man barely seemed to have an ounce of fat on him. It made the musculature /too/ well-defined, like a statue that had been carved just a little too deeply. Then there were the scars. Pale lines, some jagged and some smooth, criss-crossed the doctor’s shoulders and back, as well as his arms and legs, and a healing wound on one thigh. Jacob noticed that the lines on the back of the man’s right shoulder seemed to form a pattern, but the overcoat was quickly pulled on before he could see what it was. Jacob realized that he had been holding his breath, and gave a little gasp. The man instantly turned towards the noise, and glanced around. After a moment the doctor relaxed a little, and walked back into the base. *** The BLU Spy sat cloaked in an empty chair in the infirmary. He had been in the surgery for a couple hours now, watching his teammates come in for their company-mandated monthly exams. The Frenchman didn’t trust their new Medic as far as he could kick him, and had decided to observe his bedside manner for anything suspicious. The doctor had behaved himself remarkably well (though he had taken an uncomfortably thorough look at Spy’s musculature), and currently had a stethoscope pressed to the dark skin of Donell’s chest. The Demoman had a drunken smile on his face, and Spy wondered if the Scot was ever sober. “Aye… seems ah’m still breathin’, eh Doc?†“For ze moment, ja,†the German muttered. His tone seemed almost sad… defeated, maybe, like a man with no purpose. The doctor put the stethoscope down, and picked up a syringe and an antiseptic-soaked swab. Donell didn’t seem bothered, it was routine for small blood samples to be taken during team examinations. Fleischer tied a length of surgical tubing around his patient’s bicep before swabbing the crook of the man’s elbow with the alcohol, and picking the syringe back up. The Scot only flinched the slightest bit when the needle slid in. In his drunken haze, the Demoman must not have noticed the change in the doctor’s face… but Spy did. The Medic still seemed lost, but now there was a spark of something hungry in his eyes as the blood flowed into the syringe. It had been the same with every other member of the team. The doctor had been quiet, quick, and professional, but took his time when letting blood as though it was something to be savored. Once the small syringe was full, the needle removed, the little fire in Fleischer’s eyes seemed to die out. He shook the sample a bit, and watched the way the blood sloshed in the glass. The doctor seemed satisfied, in a detached sort of way. “Ze consistency is fine, Herr Demoman,†the German said, placing the sample to the side with the others. “I vill check it under ze microscope for abnormalities vhen I am done vith ze last exam.†“Aye, thanks Doc,†Donell said with a broad grin, pulling his shirt back on. “Ye seem like a swell lad, yer awful quiet though. We need ta get ya good an smeekit… ah mean, til ye have tha whirlypits, an’ ah bet ye’ll be a real bletherer!†The doctor simply raised an eyebrow and said, “you are dismissed.†He had not been chatty with any of the team, even Raymond, who had gone out of his way to try and start casual conversation with the man. The Demoman dismissed the Medic’s curt manner with an indifferent shrug, and half-staggered out of the infirmary, nearly slamming into Jacob as the boy made his way inside. “Watch where you’re goin’, dumbass,†the runner mumbled as he brushed past the Scot, who shot him a dirty look. The Scout quickly hopped up onto the table with an angry scowl on his face. “Alright, let’s get this shit over with,†he said in a bored tone. “You do not seem very happy to be here, Herr Scout,†Fleischer said quietly. “This doctor shit’s fuckin’ creepy,†the boy huffed as the Medic picked up a stethoscope. The German put the ear pieces in, and was about to press the metal disc to Jacob’s chest when he suddenly paused, and took it in his hand instead. He had not warmed the instrument for any of the others on the team. The BLU Spy leaned forward in his chair, and watched as Fleischer finally listened to the boy’s heart. Jacob was uncharacteristically silent, and kept staring at the doctor’s neck, where the tip of a thin scar peeked out from under the man’s shirt and overcoat. Though the German’s eyes remained fixed on his task, he seemed to have noticed his patient’s inquisitive gaze. “Vhat are you looking at, Herr Scout?†“I ain’t lookin’ at nothin’,†the boy answered a little too quickly. Fleischer looked up into the Scout’s dark gray eyes, and touched two fingers of his free hand against the scar on his neck. “Dieser?†“Yeah, so? It ain’t a crime ta look at somethin’.†“Nein, it is not… nor is it bad to be curious. You vere going to ask me how I got dieser scar, veren’t you, Herr Scout?†Fleischer asked in a surprisingly soft tone. Jacob just stared tensely for a moment before giving a slight nod, and gulping loudly. Spy listened intently, wondering what lie the doctor would come up with to preserve the true origin of the scar. “Vhen I vas a jüngling, a little younger zen you, I vould assist my vater in his field vhen it came time to harvest hopfen.†Jacob gave a confused frown. “Hops,†the doctor repeated in English, setting the stethoscope down before looking into the boy’s ears. “You mean like, for beer?†the boy said, his nervousness fading into genuine (albeit boyishly immature) interest in the subject. “Ja, for bier.†Fleischer seemed satisfied with the boy’s ears, and looked briefly at his throat and tongue, though he lingered a bit longer on his eyes. “Back zen ze harvest vas gathered in a cart, und it vas mein job to drive ze horse.†The conversation kept the Scout perfectly distracted as the doctor drew his blood sample. Spy was wondering if the Medic wasn’t distracted as well from the lack of that hungry look in his eyes. The Frenchman continued listening to the German’s friendly reminiscing with rapt attention, though… He loved to know any tidbit about his teammates that he could, and his heart hammered with anticipation for picking out the doctor’s inevitable lie. “Ze horse vas acting a bit sprunghaft one day,†the Medic continued, sloshing the blood inside the syringe before setting it aside. “I didn’t pay it any mind, ve could not afford to stop ze harvest for a skittish animal. Ze horse, as it turns out, had a piece of rock stuck its hoof.†The invisible Spy smiled to himself… the lies were beginning. Fleischer pulled the Scout’s socks off to inspect the runner’s feet. “Ze animal finally had enough, und kicked. A horse’s hooves can be quite sharp, Herr Scout. I suppose I vas lucky zat a cut und a glancing blow vere all I received.†If utter silence on his part hadn’t been necessary, the BLU Spy would have laughed. He knew a knife scar when he saw one. The lie was well-orchestrated, though… so the Frenchman was surprised when he saw a look of skepticism on Jacob’s face. Fleischer didn’t seem to notice, checking the soles of the boy’s feet for damage. The doctor sighed something out in German, and Spy nearly fell out of his chair when he realized what had been said. The Frenchman didn’t like surprises, but this one was most intriguing. The Medic pressed his thumb firmly into the sole of Jacob’s left foot, causing the boy to jerk and yelp in surprise. He only grew tenser as Fleischer began to move his thumb in a slow circle. “You should give your feet more time to relax, junge. Zey must hurt vhen you go to sleep at night, und ze fighting starts morgen…†The Spy watched Jacob squirm… The boy was growing more uncomfortable with every passing second, undoubtedly mistaken as to the nature of the doctor’s affections. When Fleischer started working at the Scout’s other foot, the boy could take no more. He jerked his legs free and kicked the man hard in the shoulder, knocking him back a bit. “Don’t touch me, ya creepy fuckin’ homo-gay!†the runner shouted. He snatched up his shoes and socks, and bolted from the infirmary before the doctor had a chance to protest. Fleischer must have thought he was truly alone in the room, then, because an incredibly hurt expression formed on his face. The team Spy stood up silently, and came to stand a few feet to the side of the doctor. He hesitated before shutting off his cloaking device, pondering how to get more information without revealing how cursedly ignorant he apparently was of the man. Fleischer didn’t notice the Frenchman until he spoke. “Your son’s mozzer must ‘ave been a petit zing compared to you if you zink ze boy looked /anyzing/ like our Scout, Monsieur.†The Frenchman realized too late that his tone may have been a bit too smug, and narrowly avoided the punch that the Medic threw at him. “Skulking Französisch /hund/!†the doctor raged. A string of screamed German curses and very violent promises escaped his lips as he snatched up the metal-frame chair that the Spy had been sitting in. The Frenchman darted from the room just as the chair was heaved at him, and he jumped when it slammed loudly into the infirmary doors. The Spy cloaked once more and walked briskly down the hallway as the Medic continued to yell in his native tongue beyond the double doors. The masked man almost felt bad, but smiled in spite of it… The doctor was a potential treasure trove of secrets, and the Spy would find a way to uncover each and every one.
“Vhere is ze RED team’s Medic?†Fleischer yelled over the sound of Yuri’s minigun, ‘Natascha’. The Russian was following the battlefield’s peculiar agreement, and was aiming for the legs of the opposing team’s Engineer, though it would have been easy enough to pick the man off. “Leetle Spy say RED Doktor is sick und can’t fight,†the team Heavy said, letting his gun spin down as the enemy Engineer ran, limping into his base. Jacob smirked faintly, twirling his pistol in his hand before sliding it into a holster at his waist. “Means you got off easy your first day, Doc,†the boy stated. He had seen their new Medic nearly take the RED Demoman’s hand off with his bonesaw, and silently hoped that the Scot had made it to the infirmary in time to not bleed to death. “Usually we gotta fight til five… looks like we got the whole afternoon off, today,†the Scout grinned. “Not as much fun without RED Doktor,†Yuri muttered. “Other team put up good fight, though, da?†Jacob felt his stomach tie itself into a knot when he saw the darkly curious scowl that crossed Fleischer’s unnaturally lean face. “Vhat on earth vould he be sick vith zat could possibly keep him from doing his /job/?†The Scout jumped when their team Spy appeared behind him. “Fuckin’… don’t /do/ that, creep!†he growled, drawing a low chuckle out of the Frenchman. The Spy pulled something out of his jacket, and tossed it to Fleischer. The German turned the bottle over in his hand, and Jacob spotted the word “Ipecac†on the label. “I may have snuck a little extra ‘seasoning’ into ze docteur’s breakfast,†the masked man said with a smug grin. “Quite a lot, actually, so I believe we will be enjoying a few more easy days, oui?†Jacob thought the new Medic did not look particularly pleased at the fact that the Spy had stolen drugs from the infirmary. The Scout was surprised, however, when Fleischer simply pocketed the bottle and started walking towards the base. “So friendly, zat one,†the Frenchman mused, glancing at Jacob with a smile. “Especially to you,†he added. The Scout glowered angrily at the comment, his awkward encounter with the Medic yesterday rushing to the forefront of his mind. “What’s that supposed to mean, ya fuckin’ frog?†“Do you know what ‘e said to you during your examination yesterday?†the Frenchman said with a grin before taking a drag from a cigarette. Jacob stiffened, not just at the smile, but at the fact that the Spy had been /watching/ his examination. “Somethin’ faggy,†the boy huffed, crossing his arms. “I bet you two’d get on real well.†Jacob grimaced at the thought of having to hear the two ‘enjoy each other’s company’ at night. “’e wasn’t coming onto you, stupid boy,†the BLU Spy said, nostrils flaring as he exhaled two thin streamers of cigarette smoke. “Well, I don’t sprechen ze Deutschbag, fruitcake. What /did/ he say?†The Spy just smiled again, and dropped his cigarette onto the ground before grinding it out under his heel. Jacob could feel his blood pressure going up just looking at that smug grin. “I am not going to tell you, Monsieur Scout. I can see, ‘owever, zat you are now quite curious about ze subject.†/Damn that Spy for being right/, Jacob thought, /and for being so freakin’ pleased with himself about it/. The runner looked up to hurl another insult at the Frenchman, but he was gone. “Fuckin’ snail-eatin’ French creep,†the Scout muttered with a baffled expression on his face. He started back towards the BLU compound, kicking pebbles and spent shell casings along the ground as he did so, and mulling over his thoughts. Soon Jacob was trudging through the maze of corridors inside the base, hoping that Raymond had started supper. The boy’s thoughts of food, however, were suddenly interrupted by soft music, and he was torn between hunger and curiosity. Curiosity won out, and the Scout turned into the base’s central hallway, following the sound. He finally came to a stop and looked up; the music was coming out from beneath the closed, windowless double doors of the infirmary. It was his gnawing curiosity that finally made the boy knock. Jacob waited a long moment, and a sense of relief filled him when there was no reply. He turned to walk back down the hall, and a click came from behind him. There was a grating squeal from that one bad hinge as the infirmary doors were swung open, and the cold, sharp piano melody coming from the record player within washed over the boy like a chill wind. The Scout gave a shiver, even though his back was to the infirmary, he could /feel/ the doctor’s eyes on his back. “If you vish to speak, Herr Scout, come inside, bitte…†*** The infirmary practically gleamed. Every square inch of the steel cabinets and operating table had been cleaned and polished. Even the desk, which had once been cluttered with Weisner’s possessions and paperwork, was tidy. The objects atop it were all squared away, aligned, perfectly in place. To Jacob, however, that just made everything about the room seem /out/ of place. The boy wondered to himself where on earth Fleischer had found the time to do it all. An image flashed through the Scout’s head of the doctor bent over on his hands and knees, scrubbing out the benign little spots and stains that had been left there under the lackadaisical supervision of the previous Medic. The sense of unease that Jacob had been feeling was suddenly pushed away by one of carefully-disguised sympathy. That’s why he was standing here in the infirmary, though, instead of eating dinner with his teammates. He had turned and been surprised by the gloomy look in the doctor’s eyes, and felt sorry for him… not that the boy would ever say it as such. Jacob swallowed back a lump in his throat as he stepped into the infirmary. The doctor must have sensed his discomfort; because he left the doors open a crack, and turned down the volume knob on the record player until the piano piece was barely audible. The leather-covered cushions of the office chair behind the desk creaked when Fleischer sat himself down. “Bitte, have a seat,†the Medic said in a tone that seemed too casual for him, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the desk. The BLU Scout hesitated, uncertain, but his knees buckled under the weight of that blue-eyed gaze, dropping him gracelessly into one of the chairs. Fleischer raised an eyebrow at his unexpected clumsiness, steepleing his fingers as he watched the runner. “You seem very nervous around me, Herr Scout,†the German said with a mix of concern and curiosity in his voice. “Have I done somezhing to offend you?†“I ain’t some fuckin’ fag, Doc,†Jacob said with a scowl. He felt his face heat when he heard his own words, and realized how they must have sounded. The doctor raised an eyebrow, but thankfully remained silent, giving the boy a chance to explain himself. “I mean, yesterday… it’s just… the fuckin’ foot rub and shit… whisperin’ sweet nothings…†he was interrupted when the doctor suddenly erupted into laughter. “H-hey!†the boy stammered, a deep scowl forming on his face. “That ain’t fuckin’ funny, Doc! I told you, I’m not some queerfag!†The Medic used a gloved thumb to wipe a tear from his eye as his laughter subsided. “’Sweet nozzings’, Herr Scout?†he questioned with an amused grin on his face. “Is /zat/ vhat you zhink I vas trying to do?†The runner suddenly felt intensely embarrassed, and even a little guilty, for even having /thought/ the doctor was coming onto him, much less outright accusing him. “Well… sure as hell seemed like it,†he muttered. “Oh, mein Scout,†the doctor mused with a chuckle. “I am sorry… I suppose I am to blame. I must haf slipped back into Deutsche in my reminiscing… of course you vouldn’t understand vhat it vas I said.†Jacob was silent for a moment, until he realized that the doctor was not going to elaborate on his own. “What uh… what the hell /did/ you say, anyway?†Fleischer didn’t answer right away, and the Scout watched his expression change from mild amusement to a sort of pensive loneliness. “Vhat I said, Herr Scout,†the Medic spoke in a carefully quiet tone, like he was forcing his voice not to break, “is… ‘You look so much like mein son’.†A hundred questions blossomed in the boy’s inquisitive young mind, and he ached to ask each and every one of them. Subtlety wasn’t usually his thing… that was the Spy’s specialty, but the Scout couldn’t look at Fleischer’s face and ask the doctor to dive into a subject that seemed painful to him. Jacob settled for replying with a simple, “oh.†The German gave a faint sigh. “You should go eat, Herr Scout…†“I uh… yeah, I guess so.†The boy stood, and scratched at the back of his neck a little as he appraised the doctor’s gaunt face. “You want me to bring you anything? I mean, you’re a little…†Jacob stopped himself, afraid of going too far for once. “Thin,†Fleischer finished the sentence for him in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s ze truth, not a slight, Herr Scout. Let’s just say zat it is not fun to be ze first to discover zat ze sanitation of your town’s water supply has been… compromised. You /can/ lose seven kilos in two days, but I vould not recommend cholera.†Jacob grimaced at the words. “If it is not a bozzer, Herr Scout, I vould appreciate it if you could at least keep ze rest of ze team from eating mein portion vhile I finish some vork here.†The runner finally managed a little smile. “No problem, Doc. And… you can call me ‘Jake’ y’know… I got a name and all.†*** The last of the REDs retreated from the battlefield. It was Wednesday, and the opposing team’s Medic had still not been present for the fighting. Fleischer was terribly disappointed. He had been feeling in true fighting form and hadn’t even been able to test his condition on the other team. For the first time in years his body wasn’t on the brink of cannibalizing its own muscle tissue for sustenance, and the slow, steady flow of energies from the medigun pack on his back made him feel invigorated. The doctor had no idea who had ever thought of such a contraption, but he felt a growing sense of gratitude towards them. The BLU Medic appraised his team as they gathered together on the battlefield. Many of them were bearing deep bruises and Fleischer knew that bullets lay just beneath, covered over with flesh knitted from the energies of the medigun. The Engineer in particular looked to have taken a nasty shot to the stomach. The German could tell by the dark shade of the bruise that he would have to dig very deep to retrieve the bullet, and it was all he could do to keep himself from shuddering in anticipation. Fleischer’s mood suddenly plummeted, though. “Vhere is Jacob?†*** The entire world was spinning. As Jacob walked, it felt as though someone was trying to yank the ground out from under him, causing him to lurch and stumble. Despite the warmth of the day his skin felt oddly chill, except the near-unbearable heat of fresh blood running down the side of his head and face. At the moment he couldn’t remember why he was bleeding, or even where he was. “Medic!†the Scout’s own voice sounded strange to him. He wondered if he had actually managed to yell the plea out loud, or if it was an order from his mind that his body had failed to deliver on. “Medic!†the runner yelled again. His legs felt like jelly, and the ground seemed to leap up at him. He managed to twist in mid-air, and landed on his back so hard that the impact drove the air out of his lungs. Jacob shut his eyes tightly as he gasped for breath. In his young life he had never really contemplated dying. Sure, he used to tell his mother that he would die if he had to eat her cabbage casserole; he had threatened to hold his /breath/ until he died if she made him eat it. This was different, though. He was bleeding out of his head, the world was spinning, and he /couldn’t/ breathe. He tried to yell for the team Medic again, and couldn’t find his voice. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes, and he begged within his own mind for someone, /anyone/, to keep him alive. “Jacob?†The sound of a human voice filled the Scout with a sense of relief. He heard a distant humming sound, and felt a warm, soothing sensation caress across his skin. The boy felt himself being lifted, and wondered if he had risen out of his own body. Was this what dying felt like? It was oddly… peaceful. Jacob opened his eyes just a little, and saw deep blue eyes peering back at him. The boy could barely stand looking at his rescuer with the way the mid-day sun framed the top of the man’s blonde head like some terrible, vision-scorching halo. Maybe it /was/ a halo, and this fearsome angel had come to drag him from the mortal coil. “Do not struggle,†the blurring figure said. “Everyzhing vill be fine.†*** Doctor Fleischer slowly pulled back the plunger on the syringe, drawing the liquid from the bottle into the glass and metal tube. He looked to the team Engineer, lying patiently on his back on the table. Raymond had his head tilted to the side, and was watching the Scout, still unconscious on one of the infirmary’s two small beds. “He gonna be alright, Doc?†the Texan asked. “Ze boy vill be fine. He just needs a little more rest.†The Texan was the last of his teammates needing bullets removed. Fleischer had intentionally saved him for last, something to lift his spirits. The doctor put a latex-gloved hand on Ray’s stomach, right next to that dark purple bruise. The Medic’s touch finally caused the Engineer to look at him. Brown eyes… the man had deep brown eyes. Proof of the muddied, tainted blood of all the mongrel races, the doctor’s uncle had insisted. The very thought of the man made the German tense, and filled him with equal parts hatred and dread. “Ze bullet is very deep, Herr Engineer,†Fleischer said quietly. “I vill need you to hold still vhile I give you ze shot.†The faint smile that formed on the Texan’s face was unexpected. “I’ll do what I can, Doc. Heh… can’t be worse’n when the dern bullet went in.†“Nein,†the doctor mused, “I suppose not.†He could /make/ it worse. It would be so /easy/ to make it worse. The screaming might wake the boy, though, and there was no way of telling if that cursed Spy was lying in the shadows, watching. It also wouldn’t do for the Engineer to alert the team… and it would be equally suspicious if the Texan suddenly disappeared. Fleischer positioned the long needle, and plunged it into his patient’s abdomen. The man drew in a sharp breath, and gritted his teeth, but remained remarkably quiet. The doctor put a pleasant, encouraging smile on his face as he imagined that the Engineer was screaming. “Ze shot vill be ze vorst of it, und it vill be over soon.†Too soon, the German thought as he pressed the plunger down, slowly injecting the contents of the syringe. Once the painkillers had been emptied into his patient’s body, he pulled the long needle out, and set it aside. A little drop of blood welled up at the injection sight. “Shoot, Doc, yer quick,†Ray said with a chuckle. “Years of practice. It vill take a few moments for ze medication to take effect, und zen ve vill get started.†The Engineer nodded his reply, and Fleischer checked over his instruments while he waited. “So… what made ya wanna be a doctor?†Raymond asked. The man was always chatty, trying to get something out of the doctor, it seemed… Fleischer decided he would finally humor the Texan, though. “Mein grandfather vas a doktor, und quite vell-respected. Vhen he retired he came to help mein vater farm hopfen.†The German sighed slightly. “He vould ride on ze harvest cart vith me und tell me stories about his vork.†He smiled fondly, those had been the best years of his young life. “Ze man could repair any injury, it seemed… I vas eager to learn, und so he started to teach me.†The Texan broke into a little grin. “Sounds like ya two were awful close.†The doctor nodded faintly. “Ja. He vas… good to me.†“Did… somethin’ happen…?†the Texan asked. “He und my vater vere killed in a farming accident,†Fleischer stated matter-of-factly. He had been twelve at the time, and he remembered the two men walking behind the cart he was driving. It was heavy, packed full, but the draft horse had no trouble pulling the load. The animal was tireless, and unbelievably strong, but not yet fully used to hauling the weight of the cart. Fleischer had never heard anything that would spook the horse, nor had he seen anything out of place. It must have been something he did, some mistake in his driving. Did he pull the reigns too tight? Hold them too loosely? Did he crack the driving whip one too many times behind the creature? The huge horse had begun to buck and kick wildly. Fleischer had expected it to bolt forward, and so he pulled back on the reigns to restrain the animal. It had unexpectedly followed his command, and backed up with surprising speed. Neither the two men behind the cart nor the boy driving it had had time to react. Fleischer would never forget the sickening crack of the heavy cart rolling over the two men. “Uh… Doc..? Y’alright?†The Texan drawl jarred the Medic back to the present. His patient was looking up at him with a worried expression. No… a pitied expression. Pity was for the weak. “I’m not /veak/!†the doctor hissed, taking up the scalpel. “Doc, I never said…†Raymond tensed up and squeezed his eyes shut as the scalpel was dug into the bruise. He didn’t scream though. The painkiller had clearly taken effect, and the doctor felt horribly let down. The Engineer remained silent as the Medic used the blade to slice through muscle. The man was afraid now… he had been so amiable before, and now he was afraid. Fleischer wasn’t sure whether he felt satisfaction or regret at his patient’s sudden change of attitude. The doctor dropped the scalpel, and replaced it with a pair of long, thin forceps. It took him only a moment to fish the bullet from the wound, and then close it up with a quick burst from the medigun. “Get out,†the German commanded, pointing emphatically towards the infirmary doors. Raymond quickly slid off of the table, his body good as new. The doctor saw him glance to Jacob, still peacefully asleep. Fleischer could tell from the look in the man’s eyes that he was afraid to leave the boy in his care. The doctor let out a long sigh, and forced his breathing to calm, forced his anger to the back of his mind. “Bitte…†he said much more quietly, ashamed at the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. “Leave me be.†“If you say so, Doc…†the Texan said, glancing at the Scout one more time before slipping out of the room. *** “Laborer,†the BLU Spy said to Raymond, who was walking away from the infirmary. The Texan quickly looked up, and frowned slightly at the Frenchman. “Laborer, you look a little out of sorts,†the masked man observed casually. He watched the way the Engineer tensed up, and looked up and down the hall. The Spy knew that the man was checking to see if someone was listening. And, having been cloaked in the infirmary the whole time, the Frenchman also knew why he was ‘out of sorts.’ The Texan stepped close to the Spy, who couldn’t help but smile. The masked man could tell from the look on the Engineer’s face that he wanted to share a secret… he loved hearing secrets, even if he already knew about them. “I’m a little worried about our new Medic,†Raymond said quietly, glancing nervously down the hall towards the infirmary doors. “I know ‘e is a bit thin, Laborer,†the Frenchman stated in a cool, carefully-neutral tone. “’e ‘as started to put weight back on nicely, though. ‘e also seems quite capable on ze battlefield.†The Texan suddenly grabbed the front of the other’s shirt, and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you play dumb with /me/, Spah!†So, the man was serious. “I may try t’be nice, an’ I try t’be respectful, but that don’t mean I’m /stupid/, an’ you know it.†The Spy smiled broadly at the way the Texan kept his voice low, even though he knew the man was angry. “Are you /afraid/ of ze new Docteur, Monsieur Raymond?†“I think /you’re/ afraid of’im, Spah.†It was all the Frenchman could do to not visibly flinch at the accusation. The Engineer’s words had caught him off-guard. It was surprising, but not like a new secret… not pleasant at all. “/Afraid/?†the Spy said incredulously, pushing the other’s hand away from him, and smoothing out his suit. “Nonsense.†“Then why weren’tcha creepin’ around when he came in on th’train?†the Texan questioned. “I ‘ad /better/ zhings to do zat night, Laborer.†True enough; the Frenchman had been looking at the doctor’s papers, wondering what the hell was wrong with BLU for even considering the man for the team. Raymond only leaned closer, and narrowed his eyes again. “Ain’t never had anythin’ /better/ to do when new teammates came on th’train before, Spah. I may not be able t’cloak an sneak around watchin’ people, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on th’Doc. Now, I may be wrong, I really hope I am… but there are all these little things he does.†The man paused and sighed, his expression melting to one of worry. “I jes don’t think he’s right in the head, an’ I don’t mean it as no small thing, neither.†“Is zis some sort of immediate concern, Laborer?†the Frenchman asked, careful to twist his mouth into an expression of annoyance. The Texan’s voice was much softer when he started to speak again. “As haughty as you act, you do seem to care about th’team. At least, I /hope/ it ain’t all some kinda façade…†The man shifted a bit, and got a look on his face as though he felt uncomfortable for what he was about to say. No, the Spy smiled inwardly… not uncomfortable… /guilty/. How delicious. “Jake’s in there right now… an’ I don’t know that I trust th’Doc alone with’im.†Perfect… an excuse to waltz into the infirmary in plain sight. “Will it make you feel better if I go in and /babysit/ ze Docteur, Monsieur?†the Spy said with a crooked smile that caused the Engineer to roll his eyes. “Yeah, actually, it would…†The Frenchman gave a small sigh, and did his best to act aloof. “Very well zen, Laborer.†He turned and walked back towards the infirmary. “Thank you, Spah…†the Engineer said softly. Knowing that his back was safely to the other man, the Frenchman gave a small, genuine smile. He waited until the Texan had left the hallway before opening the infirmary doors, and walking back in, remaining uncloaked and completely visible. Fleischer had pulled a chair up next to the bed where the Scout was lying, still unconscious. The doctor didn’t seem to have noticed the intruder yet. He was leaning over the boy, slowly running the tips of his fingers over Jacob’s short blonde hair. There was an almost dreamlike look in his eyes, as though the man was in another time and place. The Spy quietly closed the infirmary doors before clearing his throat. The little sound caused the doctor to jump out of his chair and whirl around, like a child that had been caught by a parent with his hand in the cookie jar. The Medic’s expression changed from startled to aggravated when he saw the intruder. The German looked like he wanted to scream at the Spy, but instead spoke in a hushed whisper, no doubt a consideration for his sleeping teammate. “Vhat to you vant, Herr Spy?†he practically spit the last word, as though it were distasteful. “I only wanted to talk, Monsieur Fleischer,†the Frenchman said softly. “Is zis...†he paused, glancing to the boy, “a bad time?†For a moment it seemed that Fleischer was caught between wanting to slam his fist into the Spy’s face, and wanting to burst into tears. “Look, Docteur,†the Spy said. “I also wanted to…†he gritted his teeth, “apologize.†It was true, he did feel a /little/ bad for upsetting the doctor before. It usually wasn’t the Frenchman’s way to give sincere apologies, but the German might be more willing to share secrets with someone… friendly. He could see Fleischer relax, if only a little, and the apology took some of the fire out of his piercing blue eyes. “I take it ze Engineer vanted you to come in here?†“Oui,†the Spy replied. “Ze Laborer did want me to check in… and I was already on my way ‘ere,†he lied easily. Fleischer merely grunted in response, retaking his seat next to the infirmary bed. The doctor carefully ensured that the boy was tucked in and kept warm in the chill infirmary. He then adjusted the pillows under the Scout’s head, seeming as attentive as a doting parent. The Spy’s sense of revulsion towards the former Nazi lessened just a little upon seeing the man’s sudden outburst of humanity. He was full of surprises. “I know you vere in here watching, Herr Spy,†the doctor said quietly. “It is nice zat you finally decided to give me ze courtesy of speaking to mein face instead of skulking about like a /nagetier/.†The Frenchman crossed his arms and frowned at the undignified name, but decided to let it go… he wanted to test the waters, and he wanted them to be calm when he did so. “You told ze boy you were kicked by a ‘orse, Monsieur.†He decided to drop in a little bait, hoping for a nibble, and not a vicious bite. “Who cut you?†“One of ze other prisoners at ze camp,†the German said flatly. So far so good. “Why?†“Because he vas ein filthy Jüdisch schwein,†the doctor replied half-heartedly, having gone back to stroking Jacob’s hair. This wasn’t nearly as easy as when the German had been on painkillers… it seemed he would no longer divulge information unbidden. That was alright though; the Spy enjoyed the questioning almost as much as learning the secrets. “And, ‘ow did ‘e manage to overpower someone of your figure, Docteur? Ze man must ‘ave been quite strong.†Fleischer scoffed, his eyes fixed on the Scout’s serene expression. “Ze Jude vasn’t strong. He vas a skulking coward, like you.†The Spy ignored the insult, and waited for the other to continue. “He vaited until he thought I vas sleeping, und tried to cut mein throat. His skill vith a blade vas as lacking as his sense of timing.†“Surely zat isn’t ze only time someone left you with such a permanent parting gift, Monsieur?†Fleischer suddenly tensed up, and stood rigidly. He grabbed the privacy curtain next to the bed and yanked it into place. If the Scout woke, he would not be able to see the rest of the infirmary. The Medic slowly turned to face the Spy, who felt as if the doctor’s now-malignant gaze would bore right through his soul. “Do you vant to see for yourself, Herr Spy?†the German said in a low, dangerous tone. There was the slightest hint of an equally dangerous smile on his face. The Spy shuddered inwardly… his game of baiting and questions had been rapidly turned back on him. Answers were waiting for him, though… and he couldn’t resist. “Oui…†*** A loud crack caused the blonde boy’s head to whip about. His deep blue eyes widened fearfully as he searched for the source of the sound. When the child heard a booming voice, uttering a string of slurred German curses, he dove under his bed. The thumping of boots slowly drew closer, and soon the boy, peeking from under his bed, could see the polished military-issue footwear in the doorway to his room. His eyes slowly moved up, and he remained as quiet as possible. His uncle was in full military dress. The man was short and stocky, and his blonde hair was prematurely thinning. From the uniform and the reek of alcohol, the child could guess that his uncle had been at some military gala, and enjoyed his officer’s share of the free bar. “Nicklaus!†the man yelled sharply. The boy recoiled under the bed until he was backed into the wall. He still had a painful bruise on his arm from a few days before, and wasn’t eager to face his uncle’s wrath again. Thump, thump, thump. The boots knocked against the hardwood floor as the man walked up next to the bed, causing the boy to draw his knees up against his chest, and hug them tight. “Nicklaus Fleischer!†the man shouted. “Get out from under zat bed, you stupid child!†He had been found out… his hiding place was painfully obvious, but he had been desperate, and under the bed was the only thing he could think of. Nicklaus swallowed back a lump in his throat and crawled out from under the bed, careful to avoid his uncle’s icy blue gaze. “Stand up!†the man commanded. Nicklaus was quick to obey; his uncle was not a patient man. The boy stood at attention so well that a general would have been proud, and even then the top of his head only just came to the middle of his uncle’s torso. It made him painfully aware of how small he was, even compared to the stocky man, whose hands were hidden behind his back. “I believe it’s your birthday, isn’t it? How old are you, /boy/?†the elder Fleischer hissed. “J-ja… thirteen, Herr,†the child replied meekly. “Look at me vhen you speak, boy! Show your superiors ze respect zat zey deserve!†Nicklaus slowly looked up, and felt like he would be crushed by the weight of his uncle’s angry gaze. “Ja, Herr.†“Thirteen is it, boy? Und you’ve already killed two men!†The teen began to tremble. Since he had been in his uncle’s care the man had been cold to him… seemed disgusted with him… but the man had never brought up the accident before. The fact that he did so now could only be bad, the boy reasoned. “It vasn’t mein fault!†the boy cried out. “Ze horse vas…†he went silent. His uncle had brought his gloved hands into view, and one of them was gripping a coiled leather whip. It was the one that Nicklaus had always cracked to urge the cart horse forward. He hadn’t seen it in months. “I see you recognize zis, you insolent boy. If you hadn’t let zis /hit/ ze horse, you clumsy fool, mein brother und vater would still be alive!†The boy was sure he hadn’t hit the horse with the whip. Had he? He couldn’t remember… he never had before, and he would never do it on purpose. “You’re a veak, spineless hund, boy.†Nicklaus jumped when a loop of the braided leather was suddenly put around his neck, and pulled tight. The teen’s hands went to his throat, and he clawed at the whip as it was pulled tighter. He had no choice but to walk, being pulled behind the stronger man like a dog on a leash. “If I had ze power, I vould trade your life to bring zem back in an instant. I should get rid of you just for being such a nuisance!†He had never seen his uncle this angry with him before. He had called him names; even hit him on occasion, but never anything like this. Of course, he had never seen the man quite this drunk either, and he had come home already in a bad mood. “Since it is your birthday, Nicklaus, I vill be nice und give you a few gifts, ein for each year you haf been allowed to keep living.†The boy couldn’t stop the tears from coming, now, couldn’t stop himself shaking in terror. He hated this man, and yet some part of him knew that he deserved what he was about to get. “Don’t forget to count to thirteen, boy.†“I count thirteen, Docteur,†the Frenchman muttered, running his gloved fingers over the BLU Medic’s bare back, tracing the pale scars. “Sounds like ze wardens at ze prison camp went easy on you.†“I may haf killed someone vith a pickaxe, Herr Spy, but zat does not mean it vas someone ze vardens liked. It vas usually fifteen lashes, it must haf been my lucky day.†Fleischer wasn’t sure whether or not the Spy had bought his story, but he was fairly certain that the masked man wouldn’t be able to age scars as well as he could identify what made them. “And zis one, monsieur?†he felt one of the Spy’s gloved fingers press against the back of his right shoulder. The doctor was tiring of this game, and pushed the Frenchman’s hands away before pulling his shirt and overcoat back on. “As you can imagine, Herr Spy, ze Jüdisch inmates at ze camp did not care much for me. Zey decided to mark me for mein ‘crimes’. Und just like rats, ze cowards had to form a group before zey got ze ‘courage’ to pin me down und carve it in.†“Did you scream monsieur?†the Frenchman asked with a look of intense curiosity in his eyes. The doctor could appreciate that sort of curiosity… but his stomach was twisting, and his entire body was tense. Remembering his uncle made him feel sick and enraged all at once, and as much as he wanted to explore some of his own dark curiosities with the Spy, it wouldn’t bode well for his relationship with the rest of the team. “Vhy don’t I put you on ze table und start cutting, Herr Spy, und see vhat kind of sounds you make?†Fleischer said coldly, his annoyance clear in his tone. “Point taken, Docteur… I’ll take my leave, then.â€
Jacob opened his eyes a crack, and immediately shut them against the harsh light of the infirmary. The BLU Scout groaned, and turned slightly onto his side. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, and he only just managed to scratch at an itch at the back of his right hand. “Ach!†a voice exclaimed from next to him his left hand was gently but firmly pulled away from his right. “Don’t touch zat, or it might fall out.†“Huh…?†came the boy’s groggy reply as he forced his eyes open again. His vision was blurry, and he had to blink several times before finally focusing on the back of his right hand, and the needle that was taped there. The runner’s eyes went wide, and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears as his heart began to pound. It was as though the German had anticipated what he would do, because the man’s hands were suddenly pinning the boy’s wrists down. Jacob had hated hospitals… always had, and waking up in this state, he couldn’t contain his panic. As hard as the Scout tried he could not free his arms. The sudden realization of just how strong the figure looming over him was made the boy panic worse and he began to thrash and kick his legs uselessly. “Stop, stop! Bitte, Jacob, you are going to hurt yourself!†the older figure pleaded. “It is only saline!†The words didn’t register with the Bostonian. His addled brain only knew that he was being held down to a hospital bed, and there was an IV pumping something into his body, and his body felt /wrong/. “Fuck… fuckin’… lemme /go/!†the boy wailed desperately at the imposing angel that had carried him off. “I ain’t dyin’! Ya can’t take me!†Jacob’s view of the figure’s face wavered with each beat of his throbbing heart, but he could make out those deep, piercing blue eyes with terrifying clarity. The man was moving his mouth, saying something, but the Scout couldn’t hear it through the sound of blood rushing past his ears. After a few moments the runner’s tired body could no longer continue the futile struggle, and his limbs fell limp, the only movement coming from his heaving chest. He could feel the rush of blood through his ears begin to subside. The face of the form standing over him suddenly came into focus, wearing a worried expression. “Jacob,†the German said in a surprisingly soft tone letting the Scout go, “do you know vhere you are?†The runner’s vision began to blur, but quickly came back to focus when the Medic snapped his fingers in front of his face, causing the boy to start. The Medic… the team Medic… the team… BLU team… BLU base… large lights overhead… everything clean… sterile. The disjointed images finally pulled together to form a coherent thought in the Bostonian’s mind. “The… infirmary…?†the Scout murmured. Fleischer gave a sigh of relief, and Jacob could actually see some of the tension leave the doctor’s body. “Sehr gut.†Jacob was about to thank the doctor when he saw the clock on the infirmary wall. “Doc, what day is it?†“Friday, Herr Scout.†“Awww, FUCK!†the boy exclaimed. “I’m missin’ tha battle! So’re you!†He hated missing out on a good fight, especially one he was getting paid for. “Ve are not ‘missing’ anyzhing, Jacob. Our team cannot fight today.†The Scout frowned in puzzlement. “What? Why not?†The German’s features pulled into a bemused smirk. “It seems zat RED team vas not too happy about zhere Medic being poisoned… Zhere Spy apparently snuck into our base before breakfast zis morning und added an extra ingredient to ze food.†The man reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a small, corked vial. Inside was a watery, deep blue fluid. “Th’hell’s that shit?†Jacob huffed, frowning once more. “Copper sulfate,†the doctor replied simply, slipping the glass tube back into his overcoat. “Ze rest of ze team are in zhere rooms, sick.†“How come you ain’t sick?†the boy said in a slightly suspicious tone. “I didn’t eat ze poisoned food, Herr Scout, I vas in here making sure you didn’t die,†Fleischer said matter-of-factly. “Zat /is/ mein job,†the Medic added, giving the runner an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he rose from his chair. Jacob found the gesture oddly comforting, but he certainly wasn’t going to say as much. “Now zat you haf regained consciousness, I can go check on ze rest of ze team.†The Scout couldn’t help but detect a hint of irritation in the older man’s tone, where before there had seemed to be an almost warm affection. Fleischer walked towards the doors, and on his way out uttered the words, “be a gut boy und stay put.†A shiver went through Jacob as the heavy infirmary doors fell shut. He should have thanked the man. The doctor had saved his life, and he hadn’t even said thank you. Sure, it was the Medic’s job to make sure he stayed alive, but he wasn’t paid to be /nice/ about it, and Fleischer didn’t seem like a man who was typically /nice/. “Weird fucker…†the Scout said with a small smile. *** The hulking Russian was reclined in a bed that seemed almost too small for him. He was trembling faintly, eyes half-lidded. Yuri could take a bullet or a bat swing and keep fighting as though nothing had happened; Fleischer had seen him do it. Yet, a little dose of emetic had rendered the man as weak as a kitten. “Do you still feel nauseous?†the blonde asked, watching the other over the top of a clipboard. “Only a leetle, Doktor…†the BLU Heavy said, holding his thumb and forefinger close together to emphasize his point. Fleischer picked up a large glass of water, one of many he had brought with him on the wheeled supply cart, and held it out to the man on the bed. The doctor was no small man, but he felt that his gloved hand suddenly looked dainty when Yuri wrapped his thick fingers around the glass, and took it from him. “Drink zis all,†the Medic stated. “Once you are rehydrated you should feel much better,†his tone was soft and encouraging, and it seemed to put the Russian at ease. “Make sure you drink it slowly, small sips, or you vill get sick again.†“Thank you, Doktor,†Yuri said quietly. The German gave a nod in reply, and left with his cart, heading to the next room down the line. He felt an increasing sense of satisfaction after visiting each patient. These men were battle-hardened and strong, and now they were physically so frail that they were practically bedridden, even if temporarily. Fleischer found it more difficult, but just as gratifying, to control the state of their minds, as well as their bodies. It just took a little thinking, or trial and error, to find what made each man tick. The Soldier had been as irate and insulting as he could manage when the doctor had come into his room. But the German had stood at attention, and glared at the military man. “Herr Soldier, if you do not do as I say, zen you vill continue to veaken,†Fleischer had said in a stern tone. “Zen, vhen you are too veak to resist, I vill take you to mein infirmary, strap you down, und use ein needle to make sure you take your fluids.†Colonel had been remarkably compliant after that. “Donell, vhat are you doing!?†Fleischer had growled upon entering the Demoman’s room. The Scot had his lips wrapped around a bottle of scrumpy, but the doctor had managed to snatch it away before the man could take a swig. The explosives expert had been very disappointed to find that he was only allowed to drink water until he had recovered. He had even tried to throw a punch, nearly toppling off the bed in the process. After some ranting and sobbing, the Scot finally relented. Raymond had not been chatty like before. Fleischer could sense a certain distrust inherent in the man’s polite but unusually quiet demeanor. The doctor simply told him that Jacob had regained consciousness, and was doing fine. The Engineer had seemed comforted by that fact. It had been difficult for the German to hide how insulted he felt, knowing that the man thought he may harm their Scout. The Pyro had given the doctor a wordless thumbs-up when asked how he was faring. He only nodded his masked head in agreement when told to drink the water. It was just as well, Fleischer could never understand a word the creature said through the cumbersome filters it wore on its head. The Medic’s eyes had glanced to the zipper pull at the collar of the chemsuit more than once, but he decided it would be best not to agitate the firebug, given that its flamethrower was leaning against the bed and in easy reach. Bill had been lying miserably on his side. It had taken little effort to coax the Sniper into sitting up and drinking the water he was given. Fleischer had simply faked a little laugh at some off-color joke the rangy man told him, and that had been enough. Now it was the Spy’s turn. As the German made his way towards the Frenchman’s door, pushing the cart ahead of him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit like some sort of room service boy. It wasn’t an image he liked, but it was a small price to pay for a taste of control in this place. As he grabbed the handle of Spy’s door he wondered what sort of state that arrogant, fascinating pest would be in. Fleischer opened the door quietly. The Frenchman was lying on his side, his back to the doctor. Sleeping, probably. “Herr Spy,†the German said softly. There was no response. “Spy, are you avake?†The Frenchman was still… a little too still. Fleischer left the tray, and quickly closed the distance to the bed. Had he made a mistake? Was the dose too high..? The doctor’s feelings of satisfaction were supplanted by fear, and even a little worry. “Spy!?†the Medic said almost pleadingly. He touched a hand to the other’s shoulder, and the Frenchman suddenly rolled onto his back. Before the doctor could react his tie had been seized, and he was bent forward. One of the Spy’s hands was behind Fleischer, and he could feel the sharp, cold edge of a blade against the back of his neck. “Bonjour, Monsieur Fleischer,†the masked man said pleasantly. “Guten tag, Herr Spy,†the Medic replied in a tone of mild annoyance. “Docteur, as you can imagine, I am a man of very discriminating tastes. I ‘ave ‘ad to endure ze awful food ‘ere for months now, but the flavor of your addition was simply more zan I could bear.†As much as he smoked, the Spy was the last member of his team that Fleischer would have expected to taste such a minute change in their food. The Frenchman was also the last person he could play dumb with and win. This turn of events was potentially very dangerous… and interesting. “Sehr gut, Herr Spy,†the German said with a small smile. “Do you plan to kill me for mein terrible indiscretion?†“Oh, non, Docteur. Upset stomachs are ‘ardly life-threatening.†A sly smile crept across the man’s face. “I must admit as well, ze Soldier’s reaction to your orders was quite amusing. For a moment I was almost tempted to let you off ze ‘ook for free. ‘owever, you are going to ‘ave to give me somezhing in return for keeping your nasty little deed a secret. Believe me, too, Docteur; I take as much pride in keeping secrets as I do in finding zem out.†The Spy’s arm was stretched to its limit to get that knife against the doctor’s neck from his position on the bed. He wouldn’t be able to do a lot of damage like that, not before Fleischer had his hands around the Frenchman’s throat and was strangling the life out of him. That was so… crude… though. And the Spy was much more interesting alive… for now… so he decided to play along with the bluff. “Vhat is it zat you vant, Herr Spy?†the doctor questioned as the Frenchman’s free hand moved down his sides, feeling for weapons. The saboteur’s hand came to a stop at Fleischer’s left hip, and he dipped his fingers into that pants pocket. There was a faint jangling of metal that almost made the doctor’s heart stop. The Spy pulled out the contents of the pocket, a fine silver pocket watch on a matching chain. The German forced himself to look at the Spy, and not the precious object that the Frenchman had taken from him “Tell me about your son’s mozzer, Monsieur Fleischer,†the man said quietly. He seemed satisfied that the timepiece he was holding was of no use as a weapon, and placed it back in the doctor’s pocket as he waited for him to answer. “She vas very attractive. Blonde hair, blue eyes, shapely figure,†Fleischer said indifferently. “Did you love ‘er, Docteur?†the Spy asked with what seemed like genuine interest, removing his blade from the back of the Medic’s neck. “Nein,†the German replied simply. “She vas good breeding stock.†The Frenchman looked slightly disappointed, and something else… sad? “Merci, Docteur.†Fleischer gave a curt nod, and left with his supply cart. Once he was out in the hall and the door was shut he finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. His hand quickly went to his pocket, and removed the delicately-etched pocket watch. It came open with a click. He watched the gears turning beneath the clear center of the watch face, and felt reassured by the familiar, reliable ticking. His gaze moved from the face of the watch to the object wedged and fitted to the inside of the timepiece’s cover, and let out a sigh of relief. It was safe. *** Nicklaus watched the silver timepiece spin slowly on the end of the fine chain he was holding. The moonlight reflected off of the polished metal, playing over the fine engravings. “A man needs ein good vatch,†his grandfather would say as he rode on the cart with him, flipping the device open to check the time. “Zat’s how I know you filled zis cart in record time.†The man would often open the watch and tell Nicklaus that he was going to fill the cart too fast at this rate, or playfully chide him that they’d never make it to dinner on time if he kept up that lazy pace. Nicklaus stopped the watch from spinning, and it created a familiar click as he opened it. He leaned back against the old tree, and let out a sigh. Ten minutes late… he was starting to get worried. Where was she? “Guten tag!†the abrupt exclamation made him jump, and for a moment he thought he had forgotten to breathe. The blonde suddenly smiled, though, and turned to look behind him. “Kathrin, zat isn’t fair!†he said to the girl ducking back behind the wide trunk of the tree. “Vhere is your horse?†Nicklaus asked, standing up. “Vithout it I could hear you /sneaking/ up on me.†The girl’s hands suddenly fell over his eyes, blacking out his vision. “I tied it up vith yours at ze fence down ze hill.†She gave a short, melodious laugh that made Nicklaus’s heart flutter in his chest. His vision suddenly returned as she removed her hands from his face, opting to run them down his bare arms. “Gott, whoever gave you zese as a birthday gift?†the dark-haired girl asked, giving his biceps a squeeze. The blonde couldn’t help but laugh. “I haf had zose for avhile, liebe. Zey don’t appear overnight, you know.†They had come fast, though. At age sixteen, a mere year before, he had been endlessly picked on by the Hirsch boys down the road for being so small for his age, and now he was bigger than any of them. “You didn’t have zem when we started seeing each other ein year ago.†Fleischer turned to look at the girl. She was a year older than him, possessing a somewhat plain face framed by long, straight black hair. Under the pale light of the moon her dark brown eyes looked almost as black as her hair. Then she smiled, and he felt his knees go weak. “I’m sorry I’m late. Mein vater vas up late, und I had to sneak past him.†“Oh, so zat is how you snuck up on me so easily. You haf been practicing,†Nicklaus accused with a small laugh. He started to bend towards her, and she met him halfway with a kiss. “Vhen you are done vith medical school, are you still taking me to London, or vill you be too busy vith big doctor zings?†Kathrin asked. The two of them sat, leaning partially against the big oak tree, and partially against each other. “I haven’t even started yet… und I’m never too busy for you, liebe,†the blonde said with a loving smile, “you know zat.†“Oh!†the girl suddenly said, digging through the leather satchel at her side. “I brought you somezhing!†Nicklaus frowned slightly in puzzlement. Kathrin paused, and turned her head to look at him. “You haf to close your eyes,†she sing-singed with a mischievous smile on her face. He did as she said, and couldn’t help but smile as well. “Vhat are you up to, liebe?†“Open your mouth, und you’ll see. Nein peeking!†The blonde laughed softly, and opened his mouth. Something pressed against his tongue… it was soft, and sweet, and a little moist, exactly like… “cake?†He opened his eyes. Sure enough, Kathrin was holding a small square of sheet cake, now with a bite out of it, in front of his face. Nicklaus saw the girl’s expression suddenly change to worry. “Nicklaus, is somezhing wrong?†she asked softly. “Why do you look so sad?†The blonde smiled. “Ach, I’m sorry. I vas just thinking, is all. It’s been a long time since I’ve had cake. Another bite, bitte?†Kathrin obliged, feeding him the small dessert bit by bit until it was gone. Once it was finished, the dark-haired girl looked at her hand, and sighed in dismay. “Now I haf cake all over mein fingers.†Nicklaus gently took her wrist, “let me take care of zat, liebe.†He gave a sly smile, and slowly licked the sweetened crumbs off of her fingers, using his other hand to gently brush a few stray strands of hair from the other’s face. Once he had finished they just sat there for a moment, looking at each other and smiling. “I haf ein more birthday present for you, liebe,†Kathrin said in a low, sultry voice. In the blink of an eye, the blonde’s lover had yanked his shirt off. This was not their first time, but Nicklaus could feel his heart start to race as though it was, it always did. The girl had always been so kind to him, loving, caring, supportive, everything he could not receive at home. Their frequent covert encounters were something he treasured, even if they rarely ended in such ‘excitement’. “Ich liebe dich…†Nicklaus whispered softly. “Docteur, I didn’t know you felt zat way about me.†The BLU Medic’s head snapped up, and he looked to the Spy, sitting in front of the infirmary desk with an irritatingly smug grin on his face. He hadn’t heard the skulking Frenchman come in. The dazed expression that the daydreaming German had had on his face turned into an annoyed scowl. “Vhat do you vant, Herr Spy?†The Frenchman chuckled. “Just zhought I should remind you zat we are fighting ze /whole/ RED team tomorrow, Docteur. No more smooth sailing. I ‘ope you are ready.†*** Fleischer looked down at the RED Soldier. The American was lying on his chest, and there were so many needles sticking out of his back that he looked like a pincushion. It would be easy for the German to finish him off… a few more needles, one quick swipe with his bonesaw… but the strange rules of this battlefield forbade such things. “MEDIC!†the Soldier finally growled out. Perfect. The RED team’s doctor had eluded Fleischer all morning. He would find teammates riddled with dart-like needles, and see recently-injured members of the enemy team suddenly appear from behind a train car or pile of crates unwounded. He had almost seen him at one point, just a flash of white coattails darting around a corner towards the distant pleas from what sounded like the RED Heavy. “MEDIC!†the American roared out again. Fleischer waited just around a corner, in a small, dark alcove of the dimly-lit maintenance shed. Soon he could hear approaching footfalls of the other Medic approaching the building, come to answer the cries of his injured teammate. Sunlight was flooding through the open doorway, creating an illuminated rectangle on the concrete floor with Soldier in the middle, like a framed piece of morbid artwork that he had helped to create. Fleischer’s grip on his bonesaw tightened when a shadow suddenly fell across his canvas. “Goddamn Kraut, what took you so long!?†the Soldier growled. Colonel would often speak much the same to Fleischer, and the BLU Medic briefly wondered if his RED counterpart also had to restrain his desire to forcefully silence such talk. The other doctor walked in, but his head was turned so the BLU Medic couldn’t see his face. Even so, Fleischer couldn’t help but sense a strange sort of… familiarity. He was only a little shorter than the BLU Medic, and not as heavily built, with dark brown hair streaked with a silvery-gray at the temples, and a few stray silver strands scattered elsewhere across his head. Red-gloved fingers wrapped around a handful of the needles in the Soldier’s back, and yanked them out roughly. Fleischer saw the military man tense up, and heard a grunt of pain from him. He couldn’t keep himself from breaking into a satisfied grin. The other Medic, as though sensing this, snickered for him, but was gentler in removing the rest of the needles. A couple seconds under the beam of the RED Medic’s medigun had the Soldier back on his feet, good as new… physically, at least. “Good to go!†Fleischer nearly dropped his weapon at hearing the other speak… the voice… the voice was… he knew it from somewhere… He held his breath to keep himself quiet, and watched as the Soldier flashed a quick salute before running out the door. The RED Medic sighed, and hooked his medigun to his belt before turning to follow after the Soldier. Fleischer lunged, and clamped a gloved hand over the other Medic’s mouth. He gave a muffled cry, and started to reach for his Blutsauger. The man went silent and still, however, when the bonesaw was pressed to the back of his neck. He led the other Medic into the alcove he had waited so patiently in. The blonde had managed to draw blood from every other member of the RED team, and had been eagerly awaiting his chance to introduce himself to their doctor. It was also an opportunity to help his team; the BLUs had been getting pummeled rather badly that day with the enemy Medic back in action. “Guten tag, RED doktor…†Fleischer could see the muscles in the back of the man’s neck tense at hearing his voice. He was afraid… good. The BLU Medic began to press the saw down against the other’s neck. The man got the hint, and lowered himself to his knees under the push of the sharp teeth. A heavy boot on the RED Medic’s back pushed him forward, and forced him to throw his arms out to catch himself. He gave a small grunt as he wound up on all fours. The small smile on Fleischer’s face stretched into a wicked, hungry grin. All of the REDs had reacted differently to meeting him. Some had yelped in pain, others outright screamed (over a few dozen needles, what children), while a couple had stoically bore the discomfort of being injured. He wanted to know how this man would react… and he had a very special greeting planned for him. Fleischer put the barrel of his syringe gun against the back of the RED Medic’s hand with his left hand, as he pulled the bonesaw away with his right. The blade of the weapon was placed across the backs of the man’s boots, just above his heels. It had been a long time since he had made this cut and that always been with a scalpel, with much better lighting. This was going to be messy… The BLU Medic pressed the saw down and pulled his arm back quickly, creating a loud rasping noise as the teeth cut through leather. He didn’t pause before pushing the saw in a strong forward stroke, and this time the teeth bit into flesh, emerging with smears of dark red blood. It was a split-second later that the RED Medic gave a startled yelp of pain and fear. Fleischer smirked, it had always fascinated him the way it seemed to take the human body some span of time to realize it had been damaged, and to react to the danger. This man reacted quickly, though, and the BLU Medic could feel him tensing. Another pull of the blade sawed into the tough tissue of the Achilles tendons and drew another, much louder scream from the other doctor. The man’s right leg gave a faint twitch, and the top of the corresponding foot slammed flat against the floor. The left soon followed. Fleischer pulled the saw away, allowing blood to trickle freely from the ragged cuts through the leather boots. The RED Medic was visibly trembling, and his breathing was shaky. “Fick… Verpiss dich!†Something about that voice was incredibly grating… Fleischer just couldn’t put his finger on it. He moved the syringe gun away; he wanted to see the look on the man’s face. He gripped the doctor by one of the straps of his medigun harness and gave a hard yank, pulling him off-balance and turning him on his back. The RED Medic instantly lifted his head to face him. Ice… the feeling was like ice, as were those familiar, cold, pale blue eyes. Despite the tears, they bored angrily into him over a pair of round-rimmed glasses… and as with bodily injury it took the two men a second to react, to realize who it was that they were seeing. Fleischer could feel himself tense, feel a sense of hatred and anger fill him utterly. He could see what must have been something similar from the other Medic, because the man’s cold blue gaze suddenly seemed to burn so intensely that the blonde feared he would combust under it. No words were passed between the two, none needed to be. The RED Medic’s hand shot for his own bonesaw, but Fleischer was quicker, and stronger. He seized both of Engel’s wrists, and tightened his grip until the weapon was dropped. The blonde used his grip to yank the other man to his feet. The RED Medic flinched and cried out in pain as weight was suddenly put on legs that were no longer able to support it. The man tilted his head back as though to cry out again, but suddenly slammed it forward into the taller doctor’s chest. The attack caught Fleischer off guard, and sent him tumbling backward, dragging Engel with him. The BLU Medic quickly rolled so he was on top of the other man, and turned him over, using his considerable weight to keep Engel’s front pinned to the floor. In this position, the other doctor simply couldn’t reach back and grab him… Fleischer placed a boot on the RED Medic’s medigun pack as he stood himself up, keeping the other man down. The blonde took a moment to get his breathing under control. As he reached for his syringe gun, however, he saw a small, glowing red dot shoot across the ground, into the building. It came to a stop high on his stomach, directly below the bottom of his sternum. For a moment everything was black. Fleischer didn’t feel himself fall, but when his vision returned he was looking up at the rough tin ceiling of the maintenance shed, bent awkwardly over the medigun pack between him and the floor. Another brief flash of black, and there was blue sky overhead, and two worried faces, Donell directly overhead, and Yuri down by his feet. A blink in time later and he was lying on his back again. He was lying flat, though, and managed to surmise that his medigun pack must have been removed. There were bright lights overhead. “If I knew ‘ow to properly use ze medigun, boy, I would.†“But, you’re a Spy! I thought you fuckin’ frogs knew all about kinda shit!†“Spies aren’t given medigun training… that’s not our job. Fortunately, Docteur Weisner left us an emergency alternative.†“You mean… oh shit, man… Bill almost bit his fuckin’ tongue off when he…†“Docteur Weisner did not ‘ave a choice, boy, and neither do we.†Fleischer could feel something being forced into his mouth, and between his back teeth. He tried to lift his arms, but felt resistance at his wrists. When he tried to move his legs nothing happened at all. A cold sense of terror began to creep through him. He could see the BLU Spy, just from the corner of his eye, walking up next to the table, holding something. It was a syringe, filled with something that glowed a bright blue. The needle was moved out of sight, and he felt a distant sting in his neck. Lighting… it was like lightning, scorching through his veins. That harsh blue glow ate at the edges of his vision until it completely consumed his sight, and he could feel it spread rapidly through the rest of him. Pain shot through his stomach, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the path that the sniper’s bullet had taken through him. The doctor could feel every torn and damaged cell in his guts as though it were on fire, could feel the splintered and shattered bone around his roughly severed spinal cord. The racing tempo of Fleischer’s heart made him fear more and more with every beat that the organ would rupture. The agony was unbearable, rampaging through his body, beyond his control. He tried desperately to calm his breathing, or stop the horrible ringing in his ears, or the violent twitching of his muscles, or the tears streaming hotly down his face. He couldn’t do it. He had no control over his body, over anything. No control. It wasn’t his decision. “It’s not your decision, boy,†his uncle growled. “Zat frauline is ein mongrel, und I vill not haf you bringing such shame on ze family! I haf informed her vater about your little ‘meetings’, und he vas not pleased, either!†The man was red-faced with anger, nearly screaming at the top of his lungs. He dug his fingers into Nicklaus’s chin, and forced him into eye contact. The teen had to look down to do that, now. “You vill not be seeing zat schwein again! Not now, not /ever/! Do you understand me?†When the teen didn’t answer, the man’s fingers tightened painfully. “I said ‘do you understand me’, /boy/!?†Nicklaus didn’t even think to resist. What was the point? The man was in control, and Nicklaus would do as he pleased, or there would be consequences. “Ja, Herr…†he said in a miserable, defeated tone. “I understand…†*** Sofia was everything a proper German man would lust after in a woman. She had a delicate face framed in a cascade of wavy, wheat-golden hair, and bright blue eyes. The shape of her body was perfection… healthy and curvaceous. The woman was absolutely beautiful. Nicklaus hated her. He had hated her since the moment he had looked into her lustful, greedy eyes and his feelings had only compounded since then. The woman’s “ich liebe dichâ€s came too easily and too frequently to be genuine, and Nicklaus knew why. She was married to a man she considered handsome, who was well on his way to becoming a doctor, and heir to a lucrative farm when his wealthy military uncle passed away. “She is ein hure!†Nicklaus had once declared to his uncle. The man had laughed at the statement. “Do you not want her? Are you ein tunte, /boy/?†the older man had replied with a mocking sneer. Nicklaus had felt his face flush with the indignity of such an accusation, and he was directed to go to his room where Sofia was waiting for him, and ‘prove’ he wasn’t ‘a deviant.’ Now he was lying as far towards the edge of the bed as he possibly could without falling off, sweaty and exhausted with his back turned to the woman. Nicklaus had once thought about pretending the woman was Kathrin when they were together… The very notion of associating the girl he had loved with this covetous whore so disgusted him that he had swiftly dismissed it. “Vas it gut for you too?†he heard the woman purr from behind him. Nicklaus remained still, and didn’t answer; hoping she would think he had simply rolled over and fallen asleep… he was certainly tired enough to. It worked. Sofia gave a satisfied-sounding sigh, and didn’t touch or speak to him, undoubtedly silently reveling in the gold mine she had found. Nicklaus simply shut his eyes, and quietly clung to the last remaining vestiges of control he had over his life, wondering how long it would be before they too were torn away. *** Jacob saw it… some little moment where the doctor’s eyes had glazed over and rolled back ever-so-slightly. It had been the same way when Bill had been injected with energies distilled from the medigun, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Every muscle in the man’s body seemed to be tensed, so much so that his back was trying to arch up off of the exam table. The Scout briefly wondered if it was possible for a human body to break itself in half from exertion. Only seconds had passed since the injection had been given, but it seemed like hours had dragged on. The German’s chest was heaving, sending deep, panicked breaths rushing past the leather strap clamped tightly between his teeth. The worn leather restraints at his wrists and ankles creaked under the strain that was being put on them, and, for once, the Bostonian wondered if they would hold. He finally tore his gaze away from the sight, and looked to the Spy, a strange picture of calm in the midst of the drama unfolding. “How the fuck can ya be like that, ya fuckin’ frog?†Jacob nearly screamed. “Geez, man, I don’t remember Bill doin’…†“Shut up, boy,†the Frenchman interrupted, giving a faint nod towards the struggling form on the table. “It’s working.†Fascination overtook terror, and the Scout looked back towards the table. Fleischer’s eyes shone faintly with a smoldering blue glow from the energies flowing through his body. By now, however, most of those energies had gathered at edges of his wound, lending the bullet hole a much sharper light than his eyes. The boy jumped a little when the team Spy touched his shoulder. “It might be a good idea to ‘ave ze Sniper ‘ere when ‘e wakes. Go fetch ze filthy jar man,†the Frenchman commanded. Jacob bolted from the room without a moment’s pause, worried about what might happen while he was gone, and relieved that he couldn’t watch anymore. As the boy was sprinting towards the Sniper’s roost he couldn’t shake an ominous feeling starting in the pit of his stomach, and sending shivers up his spine… *** “Stuff gives ya the weirdest dreams, mate†Bill said as he looked down at the exam table. Fleischer was still unconscious, but the convulsions had mostly subsided. “What kinda dreams?†the Scout questioned. He had tried to keep his eyes on the Sniper, but his gaze continually wandering to their Medic’s right leg, which kept giving occasional jerks and twitches. “S’hard to explain, really,†the Aussie said with a frown, scratching a bit at the short red hair on the back of his neck. “Good gravy, did I shake around like that when Doc Weisner gave me tha stuff?†Jacob gave a little shudder, recalling a day before RED and BLU’s ‘agreement’ when the Sniper had had his side blown open by one of the enemy Demoman’s grenades. The look on Weisner’s face when he saw the wound had been one of abject horror. Since the Scout had been right there, Weisner had ‘recruited’ him to help hold the sharpshooter down while he administered the emergency treatment. The Bostonian had never seen a medigun pack opened before, never seen all of the wires, hoses, ports, metal tubing, and components he couldn’t put a name to. He had also never thought that the healing energies emitted from the medigun could be a liquid, like the eerily-glowing stuff that Weisner had drawn from one of the small ports with a syringe. “Ze RED Medic showed me how to do it,†the doctor had said later. “Oi!†Bill delivered a light smack to the top of the Scout’s head. “Ya hear me? Did I twitch like that?†The look on the rangy man’s face was a mixture of fascination and worry, much like the expression Jacob felt he himself must be wearing. “Fuck yeah, ya did,†the runner finally answered, rubbing his head where the Sniper had hit him, and shooting the man a dirty look. “Started mumblin’ weird shit about ‘bilbies’… whatevah tha hell those are…†The two looked away from each other, and to the figure on the table. “Doc hasn’t said a word,†Jacob muttered. The runner couldn’t help but think that the doctor almost looked like another person. The German’s face was streaked from tears, and his expression seemed to convey a sense of desperate terror. The Scout bit his lower lip slightly, both at the doctor’s expression and the way the man’s right leg suddenly pulled at the ankle restraint again, causing his knee to bend up off the table a little. “Geez, man, quit doin’ that shit…†Jacob said quietly. He placed a hand just under the doctor’s knee, and managed to push his leg back down with some effort. “Wake the fuck up, man,†the Scout whispered, not even trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “You better not fuckin’ leave us too, ya weird fucker.â€
Nicklaus paused before the front door of his own home, and tried to find and smooth out all of the wrinkles and creases that the long drive here had put in his black, calf-length leather overcoat. He also took the time to brush away a faint dusting of snow that had gathered on his shoulders between the car and the front steps. A blanket of the white stuff covered the dormant hills of the hop farm practically glowing in the dark night. These trips home had been rare since he had joined the ranks of the Reich… a weekend here, a holiday there. Being stationed as a surgeon at the military hospital in Berlin had been a blessing and a curse. Nicklaus was respected in Berlin, praised for his hard work in aiding his wounded countrymen. At times it would warm him inside to think that perhaps his grandfather would be proud of what he was doing… but those feelings quickly chilled when Nicklaus remembered why the man was gone. Fortunately, his work left little time to think such things. His work also kept him away from his uncle, and Sofia… but it also kept him away from other things, things he’d rather be near… Nicklaus gripped the doorknob, which chilled his fingers even through the leather of a glove, and turned it before slowly, quietly pushing the door open. His attempt at a stealthy entry, however, was quickly disrupted. “PAPI!†the boy came barreling around the corner as quickly as his legs would carry him, and nearly slammed into Nicklaus, throwing his arms around the man’s waist. “Mutter said you veren’t coming, but I told her you vould! I knew you vould come for Weihnachten!†The boy gave a small yelp that turned quickly into a laugh when he was suddenly scooped up in his father’s arms and lifted so that the two were chest-to-chest, with the youth’s chin resting on one broad shoulder. Strong as Nicklaus was, it was easy to lift the child… the boy was a featherweight, like he had been at that age. At least he wasn’t quite as short as his father had been. Nicklaus glanced out into the living room where the tree had been placed. The little candles adorning its evergreen branches lit up enough of the darkened space that he could clearly see the old grandfather clock in the corner. It wasn’t quite midnight. “Looks like I made it ein little before Weihnachten, even,†Nicklaus said in a hushed voice, not wanting to wake the others if they were asleep upstairs. “Goodness, you haf gotten so tall since I saw you last, you must surely be at least zehnjährig by now!†The boy giggled at his father’s words. “Zehn!? Vater, I am siebenjährig! You know zhat. You sent me ein card, remember?†Nicklaus remembered. He had deeply wanted to be home for the boy’s seventh birthday, but a Resistance bombing at a train station in Berlin meant he had been stuck in surgery for what seemed like days. Sending a card seemed a pitiful substitute for actually being there. “Sieban? Only sieban, und so tall?†The boy laughed again when he was carried to the living room, and placed on the worn, cushioned chair near the tree. His father crouched in front of him, so the two would be at eye level. Under the soft glow of the candles and a crackling fireplace, Nicklaus looked at his son. The boy had inherited the Fleischer family’s fine blonde hair. Where the child’s gray-green eyes came from, Nicklaus didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. There was something that didn’t belong though, under the boy’s left eye… a bruise. “Papi, was ist los?†“Lukas,†the doctor started, gently placing a gloved thumb next to the bruise. “How did you get zis?†The boy suddenly looked nervous, and started to shift his position a bit. “I vas playing outside und tripped.†The boy was lying to him. /Lying/. Nicklaus was all-too-familiar with that sort of bruise, and the last place he ever wanted to see one was on his son. Lukas relaxed when his father smiled again. “I brought you somezhing for Weihnachten.†The boy’s face lit up, then. “You got me ein present!?†“Ja, I did,†Nicklaus said with a soft laugh. “It is in ze auto, wrapped up on ze seat. You vill haf to put dein coat on und go get it, und zen vait for me zhere, because ve ah going on ein trip.†The boy was excited now, and was about to say something when his father softly pressed a finger to the child’s lips. “You vill haf to be quiet, zhough.†Lukas nodded vigorously in response, and gave his father a quick hug before throwing on his coat and rushing out the door. Nicklaus went upstairs, wishing that his jack boots didn’t click quite so loudly on the hardwood floors. He came to a stop in front of his bedroom door, and didn’t hesitate before opening it. The lights were on, and Sofia was sitting up in bed with a book open. She was as beautiful as ever in a soft nightgown, and Nicklaus could still care less. His skin crawled when she looked up at him with those lusty eyes. “Vhat happened to mein son’s face?†“Ze boy did somezhing stupid und your uncle got upset,†she shrugged, as though what she had said was of no consequence. “Oh my… I like zat new coat… it really shows off zhose big shoulders of yours.†Sofia carefully marked her page and shut the book, setting it aside. Her smile was practically predatory as she looked her husband up and down. It was the only look she ever gave him, other than indifference. The doctor stepped into the room and shut the door, marching over to the bed in a few short strides. The woman smiled at the action. “Und so eager, for once.†She didn’t care… she didn’t care about the boy. Lukas was her ticket to the gold mine, and Nicklaus knew the woman viewed /him/ as little more than occasional entertainment, her strong, handsome toy. He flashed his wife a sly smile. “It’s been a long time since I vas able to come home und enjoy your company, liebe… Vhy don’t you lie back und shut your eyes… get comfortable… und ve vill get started, ja?†Sofia’s smile broadened at his apparent enthusiasm, and she leaned back into one of the pillows, letting her eyes slide shut. Nicklaus slid onto the bed without bothering to take his boots off, and straddled the woman’s waist so his leather overcoat draped over her legs. “Vhy do mein eyes have to be shut, Herr? Do you haf ein surprise?†she asked with a small laugh. The doctor lifted a pillow from the bed and turned it over once in his hand, inspecting it. “Ja… I haf ein surprise for you,†he said sweetly, “filzhy zicke /hure/.†The last words were clearly unexpected, because Sofia’s eyes flew open just before the pillow was forced over her face. A startled scream from the woman was effectively muffled. Her hands flew to her husband’s wrists and tried to claw them away. The woman’s nails simply couldn’t bite into the leather of the sleeves or gloves, and her assailant’s hands didn’t budge. A surge of adrenaline caused blood to pound loudly through the doctor’s ears as the woman began to buck and thrash beneath him; a futile attempt to throw off his heavy frame. Nicklaus could scarcely believe that this pathetic creature had aided in taking over his life. She couldn’t do anything now, though, not even save her own life. After what seemed an eternity, Sofia’s thrashing and muffled cries grew weaker and stopped. Nicklaus looked down at his hands, still pressing the pillow tightly to the woman’s face, and realized that he was shaking from the adrenaline still coursing through his body. He took a few moments to calm his breathing before he slid off of the bed, away from the now-lifeless body, and stood up. “Guten nacht,†the doctor muttered before stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind. He only entered Lukas’s room for a moment to gather some of his son’s things into a hiking pack before going back downstairs. Nicklaus placed the bag by the front door and started towards the kitchen in a marching step so his boots would make as much noise as possible. When he reached the kitchen his uncle, standing near the table, looked infuriated. The older man’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat before him on the table. Nicklaus walked into the room, and stopped right next to his uncle, standing at full attention. “Ze boy vas perfect vhen he vas born,†the man growled. “Perfect! Und zhen his eyes turned /gray/!†“All children ah born vhiz blue eyes,†Nicklaus stated. His voice was calm, but his gloved hands had clenched into fists at his sides. “Eye color is hardly ein child’s fault.†The elder Fleischer stood up suddenly to glare angrily up at his nephew, knocking his chair over in the process. “It’s /YOUR/ fault!†the man roared. “Sofia is perfect… she’s /perfect/! Ze defect must be in /YOU/!†he jabbed a finger into the younger’s chest to emphasize his point. Nicklaus stood mutely as the hand poking him suddenly grabbed a fistful of the leather of his coat. “Und vhere did you get zis coat!?†the man continued to fume, going red in the face. “Zese coats ah for /officers/, not frontline-dodging cowards zat hide in ze safety of hospitals und play doctor. Take it off!†Nicklaus watched as the man’s hand released his coat. He hated the way his uncle was looking at him, how he had always looked at him; as an irritation… an inconvenience… a shame. He knew that his uncle must have looked at Lukas the same way, and it sickened him. “Ja, I suppose I haf been playing doctor,†Nicklaus said quietly, starting to unbutton his coat from the top. In his mind’s eye he could see the older man ranting and yelling at Lukas, could see that merciless fist connect with flesh, hear the boy crying out in startled pain. The last of the buttons was finally undone, but Nicklaus’s hands remained on his coat, keeping it held shut. “I must haf been gut at playing doctor, Herr.†“You vhere never gut at /anyzhing/, except getting in ze vay und making zis family look bad! Vhat makes you zhink you ah gut at somezhing!?†The man wasn’t just older than him… he was smaller… out of shape… Nicklaus moved his hands and allowed his coat to fall open. As the black leather parted it revealed a dark gray, pristine new uniform, adorned with the pins and embroidery of the Totenkopfverbände. The look of surprise that crossed his uncle’s face was glorious. “I vas promoted… /Herr/. I am being transferred to ein camp of mein choosing.†Nicklaus grabbed his uncle by the shoulder of his shirt before he could react and yanked him down, slamming his face into the table. He released the dazed man and let him tumble to the floor, feeling a small bit of satisfaction when he noticed a fresh bloodstain in the wood next to the whiskey bottle. The younger Fleischer gripped one of his Uncle’s ankles in one hand, and swept up the glass alcohol container in the other. He found he had to expend surprisingly little effort in dragging his long-time ‘caretaker’ towards the living room. Once he was there, he dropped the man so he was lying on his back. Nicklaus took one of the long, cast-iron pokers from the hearth and placed it so it the sharp end was lying in the fireplace, well in the flames. He then turned the whiskey bottle over, letting its contents spill onto and soak the man beneath him. He couldn’t help bit wrinkle his nose a bit at the smell of the stuff. “Alcohol is ein terrible vice, mein dear Gunar…†the use of his uncle’s first name caused the still-reeling man to narrow his unfocused eyes. “It makes people lose control und do zings zat ah stupid, like hitting mein junge because his eyes ah gray.†Nicklaus shook the bottle a few times, making sure every last drop had emptied out, careful to get none on himself. “Did you hear about zat vashed-up Colonel who died in his brother’s home?†Nicklaus questioned as he wrapped his hand around the leather grip on the poker and pulled it out of the fire. The end was red-hot, and he held it over his uncle’s face. Seeing the terror in Gunar’s eyes filled the younger man with an ever-deeper sense of satisfaction. “Ze poor, stupid wretch vas drunk on holiday und stumbling around ze house,†he pressed the heated top of the poker lightly against Gunar’s cheek. The contact with skin made a quiet hiss, and the man cried out loudly. Nicklaus quickly lifted the metal point, leaving an angry black mark behind. “Gunar…†“Zat is /Herr Fleischer/, you miserable wretch!†“Nein, nein, nein,†Nicklaus said softly, lightly tapping the heated point of the poker against his uncle’s face with each word, causing the man to squirm weakly. “Now you ah ‘Gunar’, und I am ‘Herr Fleischer’.†He moved the tip of the poker so it hovered just above the other man’s eyes. “Understood?†Gunar gave a hard swallow and a slight nod in reply. “Sehr gut. Now, as I vas saying, ze drunkard vas stumbling around zhe house und had ein little accident.†Nicklaus suddenly lifted the heavy iron poker above his head, and swung it down in a vicious arc. The implement struck his uncle’s right knee with a wet, resounding crack, and the man screamed so loudly that it hurt his nephew’s ears. Nicklaus turned the sharpened iron pole over in his hands, inspecting it. “So crude, don’t you zhink? I hate to be so crass, but zis is such short notice, ja?†He lifted the poker again, and slammed it down on the man’s other knee. “Yet, it seems so fitting for you,†he remarked once Gunar finished screaming. “Now, stay right here… you seem to haf spilled dein drink…†The younger Fleischer ignored the sobbing, screamed curses that followed after him as he went back to the kitchen and opened the liquor cabinet. He grabbed every bottle that he could, until his arms were full of the vile things, before returning to the living room where his uncle was futilely attempting to move from his spot on the floor. “You enjoy it so much, Gunar, I zhought you vould like ein final drink.†The doctor ignored his uncle’s protests as, one by one, he opened the bottles and poured their contents over the man. Once the man beneath him was thoroughly soaked, the younger Fleischer began dumping the drinks out elsewhere; trailing along the floorboards, the furniture, and dangerously close to the fireplace. The entire place reeked of alcohol by the time Nicklaus walked towards the front door, clutching the last bottle in his hand. He stopped and turned, glancing at his uncle before looking at the label on the container. A mocking smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Your favorite,†Nicklaus quipped. “Advice from someone ‘playing doctor’, Gunar… too much can kill you.†He cocked his arm back before slinging it forward and releasing the container. The bottle crashed into the fireplace, releasing its contents. The flames consumed the whiskey with a loud roar. The burst of fuel caused the fire to tumble and roll out over the hearth, where it quickly caught the trail of alcohol that Nicklaus had left. The doctor turned and collected the bag at the front door as the fire reached the man in the living room. He ignored the panicked screams, the pleas for help muffled by the crackling roar of flames, and walked outside, shutting the door behind. Nicklaus walked through the snow towards the car, where he could see his son curled up asleep in the back seat. As the snow crunched under his boots his old life burned behind him. And, as though triggered by that realization, the fire burst forth, taking on a strange blue glow as it licked at his heals, roared up to surround him without burning. He gripped the blue fire in his hands, and the conflagration roared and writhed about him. The power he felt racing through him was intoxicating, a promise of safety, of revenge. He pulled and yanked at the shifting blue energies until they were subdued… They were just a tool… he was in control now. *** The BLU Spy watched silently as Fleischer turned onto his side. The action caused the somewhat rickety recovery bed to creak faintly under the doctor’s weight. “Monsieur William,†the Frenchman said softly, not wanting to wake the Medic. The Sniper, nearly asleep on a chair near the desk, quickly lifted his head as though startled by the sound of another’s voice. It was understandable, the room had been nearly silent for some time now, and yet the masked man couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. “Wot?†the rangy man questioned, very obviously stifling a yawn. “After Docteur Weisner gave you zis treatment, ‘ow did you feel when you woke up?†The Australian went quiet, frowning thoughtfully for a moment before giving a little hum. “Bloody awful… that’s how,†the sharpshooter grumbled. “Like I’d been drinkin’ fer days an’ just woke up with tha worst hangover ya ever heard of.†The Frenchman gave a faint nod. There was no telling what Fleischer would be like when he woke up, exactly how he would react to the treatment… but the Spy at least wanted some idea of what to expect. He tapped his foot on the floor impatiently and reached into his suit jacket, retrieving his cigarette case. When he opened it his heart nearly stopped… empty. The masked man gave a heavy sigh before closing the case and slipping it back into his jacket. He knew he had been low on cigarettes, but he had not anticipated running out of them quite so fast, and the supply train wouldn’t be coming again for two weeks! The BLU Spy wasn’t sure he could make it that long without nicotine… not without disemboweling someone. A sharp gasp snapped the Frenchman’s attention to the recovery bed and (thankfully) away from his lack of cigarettes. He looked just in time to see Fleischer’s deep blue eyes open. For a moment the blonde looked exactly as the Spy expected him to… exhausted and shaken. The doctor’s gaze darted around, probably taking stock of where he was and the fact that, yes, he was, in fact, alive… that’s when the change came. Since Fleischer had arrived the Spy had seen something the man had been trying to hide deep in his blue eyes… a sense of being lost… perhaps futility, defeat. The Frenchman could practically see that veil burn, consumed in a look of blazing determination. Despite the fact that the doctor was physically shaken, drained, and perhaps a little ill, his gaze made it clear that he was prepared to take on the world. A sense of terrible unease began forming in the pit of the BLU Spy’s stomach, and he prayed that it was just the nicotine cravings setting in… *** The sharpened metal scissors made short work of the BLU Spy’s pinstriped suit jacket. The waistcoat and white dress shirt were sliced open next, and carelessly tossed aside… there was no time to waste folding things up with the condition the Frenchman was in… but he still hated to see a perfectly good suit go to waste. He had heard that little detonator beep, and taken a dive behind a pile of steel drums just as the RED sticky bombs had exploded. The Spy had thought he had been incredibly lucky… why, he had seemed to escape the blast entirely! Then he had looked down… There had been ragged holes of varying sizes in his suit, mostly along his stomach, and the cloth was rapidly being soaked with blood. Fleischer had used his medigun on him to heal the wounds, but the pain in the Spy’s gut had returned the instant that he tried to move. “Die shrapnel is still inside,†the Medic had explained. Ah, yes… that made sense… Having jagged hunks of metal imbedded in one’s soft tissues didn’t typically do great things for one’s health. “It vill haff to come out immediately.†And so, the BLU Spy had been forced to entrust himself into the tender mercies of Dr. Nicklaus Fleischer, formerly of the Totenkopfverbände. The Frenchman had been rather reticent about being strapped to the metal operating table… In all fairness, though, he had been squirming in agony, and he suspected it was rather difficult to perform surgery on a patient that wouldn’t hold still. At least the doctor had been kind enough to give him an injection of painkillers. The shrapnel was deep, though, and local anesthetic was only meant to penetrate so far… it had only dulled the agony. He watched silently as the German dragged over a hooked, wheeled pole, and hung an IV bag from it. The Spy wished that his vision wasn’t so hazy, so that he could see the label on the drug bag. “Docteur…†the Frenchman said more weakly than he intended to, “eef I may be so bold… what eez zhat?†The blonde almost tenderly pulled off his patient’s gloves, and set them aside before saying, “anesthesia, Herr Spy.†“Oh,†the Frenchman replied. “Of course…†No, the idea of being conscious during such an invasive procedure did not appeal to him at all. He gritted his teeth slightly as he felt the pinch of the IV needle being pierced into the back of his right hand, and taped into place. The Spy didn’t like his position at all… He had been so careful not to get seriously injured, not to wind up under Fleischer’s knife. He tried to remind himself that the German had been behaving rather well, especially since he had received his lifesaving medigun injection a week before. The Frenchman deeply hoped that the Medic’s change in behavior was a good thing… but, it was his job to be suspicious… and he couldn’t help but wonder if the man was up to something. “Merde… I feel…†the Spy’s words trailed off. What did he feel? It was strange… a sort of light, pleasant buzzing that seemed to run through every nerve. He felt light, like he would gently float away if he didn’t have the leather restraints holding him to the operating table. There was some part of him that tried to fight that feeling, but it was quickly buried, like a man fighting against quicksand only to be sucked under. “Feel vhat, Herr Spy?†Oh, what a lovely voice… The Frenchman had to see where that voice was coming from, and when he tilted his head up slightly he felt a little startled to see Fleischer bent over him with a scalpel in hand. He had nearly forgotten the Medic was even there. Yes, Fleischer did have a nice voice… but for some reason, the Spy couldn’t recall why he hadn’t enjoyed it before. The masked man gave a lazy smile, and kept his gaze fixed on the doctor. The man had a pristine what surgical mask on, and the way the bright lights shone on him from behind gave him the strangest sort of glowing ‘aura’ in the Frenchman’s fuzzy, swimming vision. The question the Medic had asked him was forgotten… The Spy felt something strange as Fleischer sank the scalpel into the deep (and rather large) bruise on his abdomen. Was it pain..? He knew it was //supposed// to be pain… but the sensation was so strange and distant… and, really, what reason did he have to even worry about it at all? “Does zhis hurt, Herr Spy?†the voice spoke again. It seemed to echo in an ethereal manner, though… and with the surgical mask, Fleischer’s lips couldn’t be seen moving… was it even coming from him? “Non… eet doesn’t ‘urt,†the Spy said languidly. The world tilted slightly as his head lolled a little to one side. “Ees zhat you talking, Docteur..?†The scalpel was set aside on a tray with a faint ‘tink’, followed by a quiet metallic scuffling as the doctor took up a pair of long forceps. The Frenchman tilted his head up again, and watched as the blonde used the gloved fingers of his left hand to pry open the wound he had made only a moment ago with that gleaming steel blade. “Ja, Herr, zhat is me talking…†that calm, soothing voice finally responded, sending a strange tingle up the spine of the man lying on the table. “Docteur…†the Spy paused as he watched the ends of the forceps disappear into his own body… my, that felt… //strange//... “Are you //operating// on me, Docteur..?†the Frenchman asked in a lazy, curious tone. Fleischer gave a quiet, amused-sounding chuckle. “Ja, Herr…†he affirmed. “I had to remove zhis, you see?†The ends of the forceps came back into the Spy’s view, gripping a jagged piece of sticky bomb shrapnel nearly five inches in length. “You see?†“Oh, oui,†the Frenchman replied. There was another metallic clinking sound as the hunk of metal was dropped into a metal tray full of antiseptic, along with the forceps. He watched as Fleischer unclipped his medigun from his belt, and pointed it at the incision. The blue glow that trailed from the barrel of the device was so lovely… it almost seemed to pulse, like a living thing. The edges of the wound pulled against one another, as if by some invisible force, and the skin quickly grew back together. In no time at all the incision was gone, and that distant feeling of ‘maybe pain’ went with it. “Feel better, Herr Spy?†that wonderful voice spoke again. “Oui… merci, Docteur…†the Spy said, and he couldn’t help but smile faintly as he did so. He just felt so wonderfully relaxed… not a care in the world. “You know, Herr Spy,†Fleischer started again. He removed his surgical mask as he spoke, so the Spy could at last see that yes, his lips were moving and yes, the voice was definitely his. “I zhink ve should talk.†Those words suddenly caused a feeling of nervous caution to drag itself into the Frenchman’s mind. He saw a brief flash of images, and recognized them as the intelligence he had gathered on the doctor prior to the man’s arrival… ‘University of Heidelberg’, ‘top of class’, ‘recruited: military surgeon, Charité Hospital, Berlin’, ‘promoted to Obersturmführer’. Wait… //promoted//? Why had he been promoted so abruptly… and so //much//? The Spy tried to concentrate harder, and the flashes kept coming… ‘military depot’, ‘Berlin’, ‘Resistance bombing’, ‘soldiers failed to interrogate’, ‘suspects moved to Charité’. That’s right… Fleischer had succeeded where the soldiers and other doctors had failed… Were the suspects drugged, like he was, now? “Every man has ein vice, Herr Spy…†That voice snapped the Frenchman out of his train of thought, and he felt his anxiety melt away again, forgotten. His eyes focused on the doctor again… the man looked so calm… why should //he// be nervous? “Oui, Docteur… I suppose zhat ees right…†“Vhat is dein vice, Herr Spy?†the Medic asked calmly. “Is it cigarettes? I haff noticed zhat you haff not been smoking lately, Herr… ah you out off cigarettes?†Oh, that voice was heavenly… hypnotic, even. The Frenchman wanted to hear it some more… “Oui, Docteur, I am out of cigarettes.†This sounded like a game… it sounded fun! “Zhat ees not my vice, zhough,†the man on the table sing-songed. The doctor laughed faintly, and smiled. “Zhat is nicht dein vice, Herr? Vhat is it, zhen?†The Spy grinned slightly, “secrets, Docteur.†He saw the doctor raise an eyebrow at his reply… and then the blonde’s smile broadened just a little. He seemed happy… maybe that meant he would talk some more. “Oh, I like secrets, Herr Spy,†Fleischer said in a very pleased tone. “You know, zhere is so much I do nicht know about mein own team… perhaps you could help me out, ja?†It WAS a game! How delightful! “Oh, Docteur, I can’t just tell you my secrets for //nozzhing// now, can I?†The Medic looked displeased for a moment… and the Spy worried that he might not speak again, might not let him hear that wonderful voice. He sighed in relief when the blonde said, “and what do you want in return, Herr?†“I love secrets, Monsieur…†the Spy said, his smile returning. “Eef you tell me yours, I weel tell you mine. A fair trade, oui?†Fleischer’s smile returned then, too, and he calmly said, “zhat is fair, Herr Spy. Vhat is it zhat you vish to know..?†A question came rushing into the Frenchman’s mind… one he had been wanting to ask since that day that Jacob went running out of the infirmary. He took a slow, deep breath, relishing the moment... “Docteur… what was your son’s name?†*** “Lukas?†he wasn’t in his bedroom. “Lukas?†he wasn’t in the kitchen. “Lukas!?†he wasn’t in the master bedroom. The house wasn’t that big… there were only so many places the boy could be hiding… and Nicklaus was starting to panic. What if he was hurt? What if he had left the house and gotten lost in the city? “Luka-…†he was cut off when he felt something run into him from the side, and a pair of arms wrapping around his waist. Nicklaus looked down, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw gray eyes peering up at him from a beaming young face. “Papi, you’re back!†the boy said as he raised his arms up to the man towering over him. Nicklaus obliged him, reaching down and picking him up, to hug him against his chest. “Lukas, you scared me!†the doctor said as he held his son close. “Where were you? It’s late, you should be in bed!†The boy’s expression faltered a little, “I’m sorry, papi… someone kept knocking on the door.†Nicklaus felt his heart start to race, “did you answer it?†The boy shook his head, and Nicklaus felt his pulse start to calm again, a sense of relief washed through him. “Good… good boy,†the doctor said before pressing a small kiss to his son’s forehead. It had been two weeks since the estate had burned down. The considerable inheritance that Nicklaus had received had allowed him to quickly purchase the townhouse near the edge of the small city where the camp he would soon be working at was located. Gunar Fleischer, in dying, had finally imparted a worthwhile gift upon his nephew; one month of ‘grief leave’. The letter had come only two days after the fire, along with obituaries and a funeral with three empty caskets. The event had made headlines in papers around his home state of Bavaria… “Fleischer Family Perishes in House Fire; 1 Survivor, Nicklaus Fleischer, was Away on Military Duty.†Given that Gunar Fleischer had been a Colonel, an official military inquiry had been undertaken. The man’s known penchant for drinking, and the large number of broken liquor bottles near his burnt remains (and the fireplace) had made it more than easy for investigators to dismiss the whole ugly incident as a tragic accident, though the ‘cause’ of the accident was kept from the public in order to help the military to save face. “Did they say anything, or just knock?†the doctor asked as he ran the fingers of his free hand through the boy’s hair. “I heard them talking outside the door,†Lukas said in an almost curious tone. “They said they were going to try back again later.†As if on cue, there was a heavy knock on the front door. Nicklaus ran his fingers through the boy’s hair and set him down. “It’s late,†he stated with a faint sigh, “and you know the drill for visitors… Go up to your room, I’ll be up to tuck you in as soon as they’re gone, alright?†“Okay,†Lukas said with a nod. He hugged the doctor around the waist before running up the stairs, and shortly after his bedroom door could be heard closing… good. “I’m coming!†Nicklaus yelled in response to a second, more insistent knock as he walked towards the front door. He had only walked into the house fifteen minutes ago… had they been watching the place or something? That was a troublesome thought, indeed… The curtains were always closed, and the doors and windows locked… but what if they had seen the boy? The doctor’s heart started to race all over again, and he had to force his breathing to calm as he unlocked the two heavy deadbolts on the front door… maybe it was nothing… He opened the door, revealing a single man (who looked slightly startled, as though he hadn’t expected to see Nicklaus)… Lukas had said there was more than one… perhaps the other, or others, had given up and decided to go home… to stay in out of the snow? He was a young man, surely not much older than twenty, Nicklaus thought to himself. He didn’t wear the uniform of an infantryman, though… no, his neatly-pressed clothing and the leather-bound binder under his arm looked more like they belonged in one of the Reich’s many administrative organizations. After a few awkward seconds of staring, the youth finally found his voice. “Obersturmführer Nicklaus Fleischer?†he questioned. “Yes,†the doctor replied. “Can I help you?†“I’m Thomas Rothstein,†the young man stated with a polite smile, and a quick salute, “I’m here on behalf of Lebensborn.†Nicklaus’s sighed internally at hearing the statement. He could guess easily enough why a representative from the ‘Font of Life’ would be visiting his home. He opened the door a little wider, and stepped to the side before saying, “won’t you come in please? If we are going to speak I’m sure we’d both be more comfortable inside than standing in a drafty, open doorway.†The young man seemed a little surprised at the offer. “Yes, of course… thank you, sir.†He stepped inside and bent over to remove his boots before placing them next to his host’s. He paused for just an instant to take a second glance at the two pairs of boots, and the noticeable size difference. The doctor walked calmly towards the fireplace, and sank into a cushioned leather chair before gesturing to a nearby couch. “Why don’t you have a seat by the fire while we talk?†he suggested, “it’s terribly cold outside.†Thomas hesitated a moment before nodding, and having a seat on the couch, turned to face his host. Fleischer could see his eyes fall briefly on a copy of Mein Kampf lying on a small table between the two of them. The doctor had only bought the book because every patriotic German had a copy somewhere visible in their house. It had been purely out of curiosity that he had read through it, once, and he looked upon it as a piece of garbage he was forced to keep in his home for the sake of guests, the insane, unfounded ramblings of a bitter, self-absorbed lunatic. He could scarcely believe that the author was the man whose policies he was forced to pander to. He had told Lukas he was never to open or read from it. The young man, seeing that the book was well-worn (Fleischer had spent an afternoon opening and shutting it between chores around the house, ensuring it appeared so), looked back up to the doctor. “Sir, I’m sure, being a man of your standing, you are aware of Lebensborn and what we do?†The blonde was well aware of the organization and what their base goal was… but he was deeply curious to hear what sort of spin his guest would put on it. “I heard some about your organization at the Charité,†Fleischer stated. “The hospital had dealings with Lebensborn, mostly women enrolled in the program giving birth to their children, there,†a little bait… “Well, one of our primary goals is to encourage the growth of the Aryan population by offering health care services to women and their children enrolled in the program, as well as offering places for suitable male and female candidates to meet.†Hook, line, and sinker. As far as the doctor was concerned the Reich’s whole concept of an ‘Aryan master race’ was rife with idiocy. He had given up wondering months ago where their research was coming from, and if it was being done by people with actual medical degrees. “I’m here,†the young man continued, “because you are a perfect candidate for Lebensborn, and we were hoping we might be able to help you.†“’Help me’?†Nicklaus questioned, raising one eyebrow. “Please, do elaborate…†“Well, after the fire,†Thomas began, with a careful caution to his voice that was all too obvious to his host, “we thought it might help to have some kind of… companionship. That’s something Lebensborn can offer, if you wish. We have plenty of female candidates who would love to meet someone like you.†“Someone like me?†the blonde repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly. He didn’t like where this was going. “Well, big, strong Aryan fellow like yourself… a doctor nonetheless, undoubtedly intelligent, musically talented,†the young man gestured to the grand piano in the corner. The doctor had been using it to teach his son to play. Thomas continued speaking, and Nicklaus did his best to pretend to be flattered at all of the ‘praise’. To him, though, it sounded like a dog owner listing all of the qualities he wanted in his breeding stock… ‘the paws are nice and strong, the withers are perfectly defined, and the snout has a lovely shape.’ His patience with his guest was beginning to wear thin, but acting insulted at such an ‘honor’ would elicit suspicion… “I do not wish to enroll at this time,†the blonde said, simply. He held up his hand to silence the younger man as he started to protest. “I’ll take the forms and keep it under consideration. I want you to fill out your parts on them, though, so you get proper credit when I’m ready to send them in.†The young man’s expression went from distraught to ecstatic. He never even questioned why his host didn’t want to simply enroll right then… perfect. The two chatted quietly as Thomas filled out a few of the lines… To Fleischer those few minutes felt like an eternity, and he had to hold back a sigh of relief when the partially-filled forms were handed to him. The motion, on his guest’s part, was cautious, as though he was afraid of offending his potential ‘client’. Nicklaus led the younger man to the door, patiently waited for him to put his boots and coat back on, and saw him off with wishes that he stay warm in the winter weather. As soon as the door was closed he quickly clicked the locks back into place. He started back across the living room, and a flick of his wrist sent the forms sailing into the fireplace. The doctor watched for a moment as the paper blackened and crumpled in on itself, making absolutely sure that it was destroyed, before he finished crossing the room and started up the stairs. He walked down the hall a short way before quietly opening the door to the room he had set up for Lukas. In the dim light of a lamp he could see the boy lying in bed. “Lukas…?†Nicklaus said softly, in a near whisper. He walked over to the bed when there was no response… the boy had already fallen asleep. The doctor just watched his son for awhile, watched his chest rise and fall under the covers. He hoped the war would be over soon… He hated keeping the boy locked up in the house, like a prisoner in a gilded cage. He wanted him to make friends, and play outside in the sun, and have a life with some sort of normalcy… He carefully tucked the child in, and bent forward to place a light kiss to his forehead. “Good night, Lukas…†“’Lukas’?†the BLU Spy repeated the boy’s name in an almost lazy tone, his eyes hazed over from the anesthesia. “Fair ees fair, Docteur… let me tell you about our Sniper…†*** The Sniper… “So… what’s it do, Doc?†The Sniper soaked up every word like a sponge. “It vill act like die medigun ‘fluid’ treatment you und I haff bozh received, zhough to a lesser degree. It vill nicht render unconsciousness, or loss off control.†No… no, quite the opposite… It would give control… it would give control to him. “An’ tha’ means..?†the Aussie questioned, eyeing the doctor with an expression of interest, and what seemed to be a sort of carefully-contained awe. “Die body systems vill be permeated by it,†the blonde continued. “It vill increase die resilience off dein cells to damage, und dull, to an extent, sensations off pain.†“Cool!†the sharpshooter said with a toothy grin, his eyes fixed on the device in the Medic’s hands. It was Fleischer’s medigun… or… it had been, at least. He had altered the ‘gun’ of the device considerably. The doctor couldn’t help but notice the almost hungry look in William’s eyes… He had seen it before when he was working at the Charité, and even in some of the other doctors’ test subjects at the camp. It was the barely-concealed desperation of an addict, searching to feel that initial high again. More importantly to the Medic, however, it was the look of a willing, even an eager, guinea pig. “Ah you sure you vant to try zhis, Herr Villiam?†the blonde asked with the tone of a concerned doctor consulting a patient… he didn’t want his own excitement to show through, and scare his test subject away. He could make the man compliant, of course, but this way was easier, and somehow more satisfying. “Loik you said, Doc, ain’t gonna be as intense as tha’ shot, roight? None a’ tha’ jittery shakin’ an’ freakin’ out shite, oi?†“Nein, it should nicht…†the Medic replied. “Und, if it stahts to do zhat, zhen I can simply shut it off, ja?†The Aussie didn’t hesitate in the slightest before nodding his consent. How very differently that injection must have affected him mentally, that he was so fervent about the test. Fleischer double-checked that the steel double-doors of the infirmary were locked while the Sniper stripped away his vest and shirt, baring the lanky frame of his torso. “Oi, Doc,†the rangy man said, “why I gotta ‘ave me shirt off, again?†“For die electrocardiogram, Herr,†the blonde explained as he placed the machine in question on a wheeled cart, and brought it over to the exam table where the Sniper was sitting. William watched with what looked like a mixture of boredom and mild curiosity as the leads were carefully affixed to his chest. When the Medic turned the device on he could see that the sharpshooter’s heart rate was already somewhat elevated, causing the stylus to steadily, but quickly, leap and jerk along the graph paper. “You don’t seem very relaxed…†Fleischer noted out loud, finding it difficult to keep himself from smiling. He could feel his own heart beating a little faster in anticipation, and took a few subtle, calming breaths to get it back under control. “Well, shite, would you be?†the Aussie quipped with a little chuckle. “Fair enough,†the Medic replied. “Now, in order to insure zhat die healing capabilities off die device haff nicht been neutralized by die modifications, I vill haff to make ein small incision somewhere.†The EKG stylus jumped faster, but only for a second. “Any preference as to die location, Herr?†William paused, but only for a moment, before holding out his left arm, and exposing the callused palm of his hand. He gave a soft hiss as medicinal alcohol was applied to his palm. It likely felt frigid in the already-cool air of the infirmary. The stylus on the EKG started quickening again when Fleischer snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and picked up a scalpel, carefully pulling the protective cap away from the business end. The Medic placed his left hand beneath the Sniper’s, to hold it steady, as he brought the scalpel down with his right. The stylus leapt on the graph paper once again as the sharpened blade was quickly drawn across the sharpshooter’s palm, opening a shallow cut. The action was so swift that it took a moment for blood to well to the surface of the incised skin. The EKG slowed back down, again, and William suddenly seemed more relaxed… relieved, perhaps? “Oh…†he muttered, scratching slightly at the back of his neck with his right hand. “Tha’ wasn’t so bad, I s’pose.†“Vell, off course, Herr,†Fleischer stated, keeping a calm, professional air about him. “You haff to use dein hands, I did nicht vant to do any serious damage to zhem, in case zhis does nicht heal you properly.†The Aussie nodded. “Tha’ makes sense,†he said as the doctor peeled his gloves off, and tossed them into a trash bin. As the German slipped his medipack on and buckled the harness into place over his uniform he could barely contain himself. He lifted up the altered medigun, and flipped a small switch on the bottom. He could feel the instant that the device came to life, feel it start to warm against his skin, feel the hum of its energy against his gripping hands, and against his back where the pack was pressed to him. The pack and the ‘gun’ felt different from one another now… The pack was the same as before, a gentle, soothing, rejuvenating hum. As Fleischer pushed the trigger lever forward he could acutely feel the packs healing energies flow… he had been much more in-tune with them somehow since the life-saving injection he had received several days before, and he could only wonder at the mechanisms at work there. The altered medigun hummed louder as those energies entered it through the connecting hose. The blonde could feel it crackle and buzz as the healing ethers were touched and changed by the modifications he had made to the device, and a gold-white glow shone through the vent-slots he had added. Only a split-second after he had pushed the lever forward, what had felt like an eternity, glowing blue energy burst from the barrel, and wended its way to the Sniper, forming a beam. Little yellow sparks flew from the barrel as well, and swirled and flickered around the central beam. The shallow incision on the Sniper’s hand closed almost instantaneously, the edges of the cut stitching themselves flawlessly back together. The only evidence that a cut had ever been there was the thin line of blood over the man’s palm. Fleischer watched as the stylus on the EKG machine began to swing rapidly, the Sniper’s heart rate escalating. The muscles of his exposed arms and torso twitched faintly and tensed, and he gripped his fingers tightly against the edges of the table he was sitting on. Beneath William’s fairly jovial and friendly nature, the German had always seen a faint gleam of something… a sort of feral aggression… Now, that gleam erupted into a full, manic blaze. “How ah you feeling, Herr?†the blonde asked. “Bloody brilliant…†the sharpshooter replied, his lips curling back into an almost wicked smirk. Just the response that Fleischer had wanted to hear… “I vant you to do somezhing for me,†the Medic said as he released the trigger lever, cutting off the beam. The reaction from William was immediate. He grimaced and gave a jerk, as though a rug had been yanked out from under him. His eyes went from aggressive to pleading as he looked up at his teammate, his gaze darting between the doctor and his altered medigun. “S’that RED Medic, ‘Engel’, innit?†the rangy man asked, slowly starting to calm. At the same time, Fleischer felt himself tense up a little upon hearing his adversary’s name. He touched his hand to the trigger lever again, and noted the hopeful look in the Sniper’s eyes. The doctor decided to oblige him, pushing the lever forward, and reconnecting that beam. “You really ‘ate him, don’ ya?†the sharpshooter inquired, that wicked grin returning. “Wot ya got against ‘im?†Lukas? Oh God, where’s Lukas? I left him right here… He’s gone… Where is he!? No… Fleischer’s heart raced in earnest, now. Even his usually-careful control couldn’t keep his fingers from trembling against the device he was holding, and he couldn’t stop a burning hatred from showing in his eyes. “He destroyed everyzhing zhat mattered to me,†the blonde said in a low, dangerous tone. “I am going to repay die favor.†He only just heard a faint whispering of air… the sound of a Spy’s cloaking device shutting off, come from directly behind him.
Hauptsturmführer Dr. Markus S. Engel… Chief Medical Officer of the labor camp. He was known by two other names, as well. Those that knew of his distaste for the likes of Josef Mengele jokingly called him ‘Todesengel’, harkening from the nickname of the head doctor of Auschwitz. There was another, more fitting name that some called him, however; ‘Die Kinderarzt’… ‘The Pediatrician’… though no one dared to say it to his face. Fleischer knew something of the man’s fame, or infamy, rather, but seeing him at the camp almost every day for three months was eerie. The blonde never would have imagined that a single human being could possibly be so unsettling to be around. He especially hated these inspections of his work, though he was always courteous and professional to his superior officer. The younger doctor stood at attention just inside the doorway to the lab he was assigned as the Hauptsturmführer slid the tip of a finger down the length of one of the supply cabinets. He raised his hand, then, clad in a black leather glove, and narrowed his eyes as he inspected for dust. When he found none, he lowered his arm again, and looked at his inspectee. “The stellar cleanliness of your infirmary is impressive,†Engel stated in a flat, neutral tone that seemed to negate what otherwise would have been a compliment. His eyes looked up, and met Fleischer’s. Fleischer hated looking the man in the eyes… he couldn’t think of a single person in the camp that didn’t feel the same way. They were a pale, icy blue… the color one would expect a glacier might be. The man’s countenance was equally as cold. Looking in those eyes was like looking in a frosty glass mirror… one couldn’t see to the other side, to any sort of emotion, and, some argued, soul. The evidence for a lack of soul, as well as the source of the man’s nickname, could be seen at any time in Die Kinderarzt’s own infirmary. The camp’s chief medical officer specialized in designing and improving life support machinery, and much of his research revolved around it. It wasn’t the goal of his research that was sinister or unsettling; the military and citizenry alike could make use of such equipment. It was the man’s test subjects that so unnerved Fleischer: children. The Hauptsturmführer used children in his research almost exclusively, saying simply that it was an age group that was seldom tested by others, one that needed more scientific data collected. Some of them simply seemed to vanish shortly after he selected them from the lines, but the fate of the rest that fell under his tender mercies was evident in his lab. Of the many youngsters he took, a few handfuls of them became test subjects. Fleischer could remember the first time he ‘toured’ Engel’s lab, to see the work that he had been doing. He had been intrigued by the life-support aspect… it was an area of medicine where a lot of good could be done. He had not known, however, about the nature of the doctor’s test subjects until he walked through the door with several other officers. The long room had been brightly-lit, a central open walkway with a row of hospital beds on either side. The blonde had expected to see patients in the room… he had seen many of the other doctors treat their patients rather poorly, and so he would have been prepared for that, as well… but not for the fact that they were all children. They all lay still, many of them looking as though they were sleeping despite the tubes and wires permeating their bodies, and the soft beeping of the equipment. Others, however, had their eyes open… It was like looking at living dolls, things that had human features and characteristics, things that seemed almost eerily lifelike. Their chests had risen and fallen with the steady force of the ventilators, and occasionally their eyes would track movements… but that was all. They were dead, glassy, hollow, utterly lacking in any spark of any thought, or comprehension, or soul. The blonde had felt a sort of restrained sense of shock, and horror, and had seen that the other officers with him were the same. Engel, however, had shown, had appeared to feel, nothing. “Having any sort of consciousness is unnecessary for these tests,†the Hauptsturmführer had explained in an emotionless, matter-of-fact tone. “In fact, it can complicate matters.†So the patients were anesthetized… and a lobotomy was performed to destroy the frontal brain, anything that had to do with personality, memory, emotion, leaving behind an empty shell… a living corpse. Perhaps it was some sort of sick mercy, that they wouldn’t be aware of the condition they were in… Fleischer had sworn to himself he would never do such a thing, especially to a defenseless child… he had been mistaken. “How is your project going?†Engel questioned, snapping Fleischer back to the present. A project handed to him by the Reich, the policies he was forced to pander to. “The data looks promising.†“The dye has proven to be very effective, the procedure has an eighty-seven percent efficacy rate,†not safe enough… and so very pointless… “I’d like to see the dye,†the Hauptsturmführer said, an order disguised as a request. The blonde nodded, and strode over to a small, but heavy safe bolted to one of the room’s supply counters. He had come to work a few weeks ago to find the lock on the door broken, and one of the other camp doctors pulling his work out of the cabinets. The fact that a lower-ranking doctor had been willing to break into his superior’s lab to steal his work and try to take credit for it was further evidence to the blonde of how important this project was to the Reich, pointless as it was. A few careful turns of the dial unlocked the safe, and Fleischer opened it before removing a flat steel box. He handled the object with care, and opened the lid almost gingerly, revealing its strapped-in contents; three glass vials filled with a watery, deep blue liquid, and ten syringes with special made, hair-thin needles, all neatly aligned. Engel reached out and plucked up one of the vials, sloshing the liquid inside a little to check its consistency. He seemed satisfied, placing the object back in its container. “I’d like you to explain the procedure to me,†he stated. From the way he said it, it was hard to tell whether he had any interest at all, or if he was just going through the motions of keeping track of what all his camp doctors were doing. Fleischer had to steady his breathing before he started to speak… “I select a patient with eyes that are of an… undesirable color.†He was perfect, and then his eyes turned gray! If you don’t fix him, then you will find yourself having to replace him! I killed you… you can’t hurt him anymore! Can’t I..? Oh, God… no, please… “The patient is rendered unconscious with a short-acting general anesthesia.†One Oxymorphone tablet, dissolved into a glass of water while he’s not looking… “Dissociative anesthesia is maintained through an IV. Acetylcholine drops to each eye constrict the pupils to fully expose the irises.†Gray-green… -I- think they’re beautiful… because they’re yours… “Ten to fifteen small, evenly-spaced injections of dye are made to the irises, first one, and then the other.†It’s to protect you… “Excess colorant is flushed away with saline, and the patient’s eyes are covered during the three to seven days it takes for the dye to be incorporated into cells of the irises.†“You said the dye has an eighty-seven percent rate of effectiveness?†Engel questioned. “How many times have you performed this procedure?†“Fifty-three, Herr.†Fifty-four… “What of the patients from failed procedures?†“It’s mostly from post-operative reaction to the dye,†the blonde said matter-of-factly. Why couldn’t the man just look at the notes he had been keeping, instead of drilling him like this..? “Most so far have readily taken up the dye, but some show rejection mostly in the form of apparently permanent blindness and severe post-operative pain, but there have been two deaths as well.†Die Kinderarzt showed no emotion, as always. “What do you do with patients that survived failed procedures? Do you discard them?†“Yes, after an additional five days for data collection purposes,†an overdose of sedatives, quick, and painless. “Don’t,†the Hauptsturmführer rebutted as his inspectee carefully put the supplies away. “I need more test patients. Since they are of no further use to you, I will be taking the patients from failed procedures off of your hands from here on in.†Fleischer felt his throat tighten, felt his heart start to hammer so loudly that he feared for sure the other man… if he was really human at all… could hear it. That cold, inscrutable gaze revealed nothing, though. It just bored into him, waiting for a response, not that it mattered with the blonde’s rank being one lower. “Of course, Herr,†he finally replied in a calm, even tone. He couldn’t elicit suspicion, “as you said, they are of no further use to me.†“Very good,†Engel said as he tugged lightly on his leather gloves, first one, then the other, so the fingertips fit snugly. “That will be all, then… carry on.†The blonde watched silently as his superior turned and left. When the door was shut, when he was alone again, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding… but it did nothing to relax him. His body felt like a coiled spring, and it took a great force of will to calmly leave the room, and not go sprinting down the hall. It was even more difficult to not scramble for his keys, to unlock his office calmly. Once inside, once the door was shut and locked again, his hands began to tremble slightly… he had to force them to still. Fleischer quickly walked past his desk and to the door that led to the living quarters he rarely used, but for when his work kept him overnight. He unlocked the door and hesitated a moment before placing his hand on the lever, and turning it. He reached for the light switch, but stopped when he saw the shape lying in his bed, and gave a sigh of relief. The blonde quietly shut the door, and locked it behind. He crossed the distance between himself and the bed with light steps, so his jack boots wouldn’t click on the hardwood floor. It was with great care that he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting disturb the small figure lying there. “Papi..?†the boy said tiredly, lifting his head from the pillow slightly. “I’m right here,†the doctor replied softly, taking up one of the child’s hands in his own, and bringing it up to his cheek. He ran his other hand carefully through the boy’s pale hair before shifting his position so his son was resting across his lap. Lukas was practically limp in his arms, only half-awake. Nicklaus hated seeing him like this… He had tried taking him off of the painkillers several times in the last week, though, and the boy had been in agony once they had worn off. “Are you comfortable?†he asked quietly. “Yes…†the boy replied. His father leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, carefully avoiding the bandages that covered his eyes. What sort of madness…? What had possessed him to...? How could he have…? “I love you,†he said quietly, only just managing to choke back tears. “I know,†Lukas replied with a tired smile. “I know what you’re up to, Docteur!†the BLU Spy snapped, holding a gloved hand over his bleeding nose. William had reacted so quickly upon seeing the man uncloak… and while Fleischer was not happy about the man’s use of his EKG as a blunt instrument, he couldn’t complain with the results. One treatment and the Aussie was already so eager to be of assistance. “Zhat is vhat you said last time, Herr Spy…†the Medic noted. The Frenchman stood slowly as his team’s Sniper held his own revolver to the back of his head. “’Last time’..?†the masked man questioned, his eyes narrowing as the blonde punched the needle of a syringe into a drug vial, making sure that he could see its contents being carefully withdrawn. “Nein, I don’t suspect you vould remember ‘last time’… Or die time before zhat… or die time before zhat.†He could see sweat starting to bead on the Frenchman’s brow; see a spark of fear appear in the man’s eyes before he pushed it back down again, trying to appear haughty and indifferent… that would change soon enough. “You ah really quite die conversationalist, zhough… highly entertaining to speak vhiz,†Fleischer continued. “I must say, I haff truly appreciated dein assistance over die last several days.†The look of rage that crossed the Spy’s face then was so intense it could have cut steel… but its edge was dulled by fear. He jumped slightly as the Sniper curled his arm around, and placed his hand on his balaclava-covered forehead. William started to pull the Frenchman’s head back, but the man tensed… a quick, painful press to the temple from the barrel of the revolver quickly shifted any sort of resistance to the seething look in the Spy’s eyes. “You ah so upset, Herr…†the Medic stated as he stepped forward, still brandishing the syringe. “Don’t vorry… like our ozzher conversations, zhis too vill soon be forgotten…†*** The BLU Spy groaned faintly as he awoke. His head was pounding, and he couldn’t seem to force his eyes open… so he simply lay there. It was several moments before his eyelids stopped feeling like lead… before he finally pried them open. His vision was blurry, hazy, and slow to clear. When everything cleared he found himself focused in on a field of blue… his silk sheets. His sheets..? When did he go to bed? Oh… well, the faint, lingering taste of alcohol in his mouth might have explained why he didn’t remember… The Frenchman sat up with another groan, and nearly fell right back over again when his vision began to swim. His head was spinning most unpleasantly, and he scowled slightly when he noticed the bottle of Pinot Noir setting on his night stand, and an excellent vintage, at that... his favorite year. He liked just a small sip some nights to help him sleep, but, given his current state he had clearly over-indulged... The thought was somewhat paradoxical, he mused, as he lifted the half-empty bottle in a gloved hand to look at it. The situation over the past few weeks (especially the last few days) with the new Medic would give anyone want for a little escape... but... he knew better... He had to keep his faculties about him, be alert at all times... The dynamic of the team was changing, his teammates themselves were changing... he was changing... The Spy's heart started to race along with his thoughts. How many times in the last few days had he woken up like this, with a convenient excuse for lost memories lying on his night stand, and lingering on his tongue? He gave a hard swallow, and the faint thunk of the glass bottle being placed back on the wooden top of the nightstand resonated far more ominously than it should have. That one terrifying question, however, remained, echoing long after any real, audible sound had subsided- “How much haff you forgotten, Herr Spy?†The Frenchman jumped slightly, and gasped... and immediately cursed himself for doing so, even if it was reflexive. He sat up straighter, and whipped his head around (too fast, too fast...) to face the source of the voice. Fleischer sat on a chair near the bed... He looked almost casual, fingers interlaced, resting in his lap. In the dim light of the room, illuminated only by a small bedside lamp, the man's dark blue eyes looked almost black. It was the faint smile that tugged at the corners of the doctor's mouth, however, that made the Spy's blood run cold... He wasn't sure how he managed to do it so quickly, given how out of sorts he was, but the Spy managed to free his Ambassador from the weapon harness under his suit jacket, and point it at the doctor, right between his eyes. He tried not to show how very unsettled he was by the fact that the Medic didn't flinch... didn't even blink... like he had been expecting it. “Secrets, Herr Spy?†the blonde questioned, his tone eerily calm for a man with a gun pointed at his head. “Zhat's why you won't pull die trigger...†The Frenchman pulled back the hammer on the big revolver, and watched as the cylinder rotated, putting a bullet one finger-twitch away from going through his teammate's skull. His heart raced as he waited for some sign of fear, some sign of uncertainty in the Medic's expression... but none ever came. He had to resist the urge to shudder when he finally conceded that the man had called his bluff... that he was right... The Ambassador suddenly felt ten times heavier in his leather-gloved hand, and the Spy found his finger easing off the trigger... found his arm lowering back to his side as he tried to keep his face unreadable for the sake of the blonde. How many times had this happened? How many blank spots were there in his memory? What things had transpired that he had lost? There were so many things now that Fleischer knew... that he didn't... that he had forgotten. “What do I 'ave to do to get you to tell me what I missed, Docteur?†the Spy questioned, his voice carefully controlled, trying to sound calm. The Medic smiled in earnest then, and it did nothing to put the Frenchman at ease. “You ah going to help me get die RED Medic... I haff plans for him.†Ah yes... Herr Engel... It was after the blonde's first encounter with the man that everything had started going downhill. The Spy knew, from the records he had managed to dig up, that the two Medics used to work together at some camp in Germany. He couldn't help but wonder what the RED doctor had done to elicit such an obsessive, hateful madness from Fleischer... *** The meeting seemed to drone on forever. Representatives from Lebensborn were always long-winded and wordy… As far as Fleischer was concerned they had a lot to talk about, but nothing of value to say. Their goals were absurd… their agenda lacked even the tiniest iota of real scientific basis. They sang their tune to the beat that their mad Fuhrer had set… but they were so totally absorbed into and accepting of it, like puppets dancing on strings. Worst of all, they kept pointing him out to the other doctors present (of which Engel was not one… it was simply accepted that the Chief Medical Officer was too busy for such meetings as this), gushing over what a fine specimen he was. It didn’t make him feel uplifted or proud, so much as like a dog in a show ring. In the interest of not making himself suspicious, however, he humbly thanked them for each ‘compliment’, and gently urged them to get to the point… The blonde couldn’t simply get up and leave the meeting because attention kept being drawn to him… and the meeting had dragged on… far longer than it should have. He kept stealing glances at his pocket watch, silently opening it under the table. He checked his watch once again when they were finally dismissed, and his blood ran cold. Three hours. The meeting was supposed to be half an hour and it had dragged out to three… Lukas… Fleischer had to keep himself from leaping from his seat; he stood up calmly, like everyone else did, and grabbed his leather greatcoat from the back of the chair, slipping it on. He grabbed his umbrella as he walked out. A summer storm was moving through that day… the air was unusually cool for the time of year, and it only made the doctor feel a chill from without, as well as within. The blonde walked at a brisk pace over the concrete pathways meant for the camp’s staff. The rain that poured down was a dirty gray, almost black color, having fallen through the cloud of ashes produced by the camp’s unique, open pit-style furnaces. He could see the column of smoke rising from the other side of the camp. The blonde closed his umbrella and quickly shook the water off as he entered the building that the medical labs were housed in, and started towards his office. There were others in the hallway, and it took a great deal of willpower to not run for the door. He almost cursed out loud when one of the doctor’s assistants stopped him. Yes, there was a typhus outbreak in one of the prisoner bunk houses… no, it hadn’t spread to the medical labs… yes, precautions were being taken… of course cadavers were being burned for health and safety reasons. At last, Fleischer freed himself from the conversation, and unlocked his office door. Once he was inside, he froze. It was quiet… utterly silent. He had been late back from another meeting a week before, and he could hear his son sobbing in agony clear from the hallway… It had been awful… not just for the fact that the boy was in such pain, but the fear that someone would hear him… that he would be discovered… He was even later in returning, this time. Perhaps it was quiet because the child had finally passed out from the pain. What kind of father am I..? he thought darkly to himself as he unlocked the door to his quarters. Opening the door suddenly seemed so much louder… as though the hinges had corroded in the three hours he had been gone. He nearly winced at the creaking sound they made. If the boy WAS asleep, he didn’t want to wake him without having his medication ready. Lukas’s medication… his pain medication… in the bottle… on the nightstand next to the bed… the empty bed… The sound of the door closing behind the blonde seemed louder than a gunshot. His leather-gloved fingers slackened, simply letting the black umbrella fall to the hardwood floor. “Junge..?†he said softly, his voice wavering. His heart was racing as he ran over to the bed… Empty… It was empty… Had something scared the boy out of bed? Caused him to hide under it? Fleischer leaned over to look, pulling the covers out of the way… no… no, nothing there. He wasn’t under the bed. “Lukas?†He wasn’t hiding in the closet. “Lukas!?†He wasn’t in the bathroom. “Lukas!?†Fleischer stopped, chest heaving, and looked down at the floor. The lights in the room faintly glistened off of something wet on the wood… a faint boot print near the bed, a few sizes smaller than his own. Someone had been in his quarters… someone must have heard the boy… someone with keys to the whole building, someone higher-ranking… Die Kinderarzt. The blonde ran back out through the door, through his office, and down the hall. He came to a halt outside of the room where Engel kept his subjects, and peered through the window… There were patient charts hanging from the foot of each bed… but the beds were empty. Fleischer continued down the hall, and didn’t even stop when his cap flew off his head. He didn’t even notice as one of the doctor’s assistants picked it up, and tried to call out to him. He threw the door open and rushed outside. The doctor stood there in the pouring rain for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes darting about, hoping for some sign… His gaze finally turned downward. There were wheel tracks in the mud, made by one of the camp’s large carts… there was something lying between the fresh tracks. He leaned over and scooped it up… A bandage... The blonde gripped the discarded object tightly, and looked up to see where the cart tracks lead. ’Typhus outbreak’. ’Spread’. ’Precautions’. …’burned’… He took off running, following the path that the cart had taken. His boots squelched in the mud as he ran. His legs were screaming, lungs burning from exertion when he reached the midpoint of the camp, but he kept going. Officers and guards on the walkways stared at the sight of an Obersturmführer in uniform running through the mud like a lowly prisoner, but he kept going. The ash-stained rain was running down his face, and stinging at his eyes… but he kept going. Fleischer knew he was gaining when he saw the cart tracks becoming sharper… clearer… the rain hadn’t had time to wash them away. A few minutes later, what seemed like an eternity, the doctor saw the cart… in the clearing for the furnaces, backed up to one of the pits. He came skidding to the halt at the other side of the pit, and as the cart was tipped back, everything seemed to move in slow motion. The little bodies slid and tumbled from the back of the large wooden cart. Some of their eyes were open slightly… glassy, dead, staring at nothing… Knowing their origin made it difficult to discern whether they were physically alive or dead… A shock of blonde hair riveted the doctor’s attention. He followed it to a pair of eyes that were hazed over a pale blue color… blind. Fleischer wanted to reach out and grab him… to catch him… to save him. His arms remained at his sides, though, as though they had lead weights attached to them… there was far more than distance between himself and Lukas, now. The boy’s hair began to singe as he was still falling. When he did hit the pile of charred bones and partially-burned corpses at the bottom of the pit, the impact jarred his body so hard it made his father flinch. After that, the doctor could only stare in mute horror. The boy’s expression seemed oddly serene as his pale blonde hair was consumed in the fire. Vulnerable, bare skin reddened… and then blackened… Flesh began to split and peel and the blood that oozed to the surface began to boil and sizzle in the burning heat of the pit. His face was soon unrecognizable, and even the shapes of his fingers couldn’t be distinguished. Fleischer gasped sharply when he felt someone touch his sleeve… he hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath… and he hadn’t realized that the rain was no longer falling him… that an umbrella had been placed over his head. “Obersturmführer?†It was one of the guards, holding the umbrella, and looking at him cautiously. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the furnaces, Herr, the safety railings only do so much.†The words barely registered… they were just a dull, pointless drone. The doctor didn’t give the man a second glance. He simply walked out from under the umbrella, back into the rain, onto one of the concrete paths. Perhaps he was crying… he wasn’t sure, the way his face was wet from the downpour, and undoubtedly streaked with the ashes that dirtied it. The feeling of his hair plastered to his head would usually have been a very annoying one… but he didn’t notice. His uniform was terribly out of order… soaking wet, his boots and the tails of his greatcoat streaked with mud… he didn’t care. The mud-soiled bandage dangled from his leather-gloved grip as he walked back towards his quarters, and the world passed him by in a blur. *** A staccato beat of ragged gasps matched the rapid rising and falling of the chest. A weak soprano cry was pulled out as the scalpel began to cut down the mid-line of the abdomen. As the blade pressed deeper, split through more layers of flesh to expose the visceral cavity, that cry reached a crescendo, an agonized, satisfying scream. The sounds of screams during vivisections had become strangely therapeutic… Fleischer found himself imagining that it was Die Kinderarzt strapped to his operating table, that it was <i>he</i> who was begging for mercy, and then for death, under the edge of his blade. It was a mixed blessing, though… It was difficult for his mind to vividly, realistically depict an image of Herr Engel’s cold, soulless, stoic face twisted into an expression of anguish. Prisoner after prisoner had fallen under his blade, an extensional arm of the Reich’s will as a matter of necessity… of expedience… but his mind could never make that imagined picture any clearer. That was alright… because, at long last, Fleischer didn’t have to imagine, anymore… The RED Medic’s injuries had needed to be treated, of course… The bullet fired from William’s sniper rifle had punched through the man’s chest, and he had been bleeding quite badly. The beam from the BLU doctor’s Medigun sealed up the wound nicely, leaving no trace that Engel had ever been injured (aside from the hole through his uniform, and the way the cloth was soaked with blood). Engel’s own Medigun had been removed and set aside… His lab coat, gloves, tie, and undershirt soon joined it… they would only get in the way. It was only after the RED Medic was strapped down securely, after the intravenous line of ketamine had been inserted into his forearm (an act which the BLU Medic savored) that Fleischer finally relaxed a little. The blonde looked over his ‘patient’ with a sense of clinical, analytical curiosity… He couldn’t help but admire, from a doctor’s standpoint, the fact that his former superior managed to be in good physical shape even as he neared his fifties… it was no wonder RED had hired him. When the RED Medic’s eyes opened just a little, Fleischer had to remind himself to breathe. Those pale blue eyes sent the same chill through the blonde that they always did, and for a moment he feared that the man… that his tormentor… would somehow will the restraints loose… that he would rise up and strike him down, punish him for daring to defy him. No… no, <i>he</i> was in control now… Engel wasn’t going anywhere… the man’s life was in his hands, and soon the lives of his team would be as well... He would take <i>everything</i> from the man… just as he had done to him. When the BLU Medic noticed the blood on his counterpart’s chest, however, that brief burst of fear swiftly transformed into heated rage. The bullet had been close… dangerously close… to killing the older doctor outright. The Sniper had been given very specific instructions to cripple Engel so that the Spy could retrieve him… A shot to one of his legs or even through the gut would have sufficed! “Stupid Snipah!†the blonde practically hissed, narrowing his eyes at the sharpshooter, standing on the other side of the infirmary, guarding the exit. “Ve ah lucky zhat you did nicht <i>kill</i> him vhiz zhat shot! You ah fortunate I vhas in ein forgiving mood, ozzhervise I vould not have felt too inclined to heal dein arm..!†The sharpshooter opened his mouth, perhaps to protest… The words died on his lips, though, and he backed away a little, almost like a dog with its tail between its legs after a reprimand from its master. Of course… the man wouldn’t bite the hand that fed him, so to speak… Fleischer leaned over slightly to get a better look at his former superior. The man had terrified him for a good part of his life… He had insidiously crept into his darkest nightmares, the ones that would cause him to wake with a start (and maybe a short, sharp scream), in a cold sweat, and reach out for his son only to find that he was alone. It was a feeling that had pervaded his life ever since- that profound sense of being alone. It didn’t matter where he was… whether he was physically alone or not… He could have been at the townhouse by himself, or at a meeting, or at a military gala, surrounded by others. It was when he was surrounded by others, in fact, that he felt most alone… seeing husbands with their wives… seeing parents with their children… seeing young lovers on his daily drive through the city square… Every waking moment served as a reminder of what he had lost and could never get back… of what had been <i>taken</i>. The BLU Medic leaned a little closer, to look at the eyes of his adversary… They were glossed over, half-lidded… The drug that had rendered Engel compliant for the operation, that would strip his memories of these events, thawed the man’s frigid gaze considerably. That usual wintry soullessness was gone, replaced with the dull semi-consciousness of twilight sleep. To Fleischer that, not the RED doctor’s inability to move, to resist, was the ultimate sign of the man’s helplessness, his vulnerability, and his <i>own</i> newfound control… “I vish you knew how much I have vanted zhis, Herr Engel…†the blonde murmured, “to have you on mein table aftah all zhe trouble you caused for me at ze camp…†He had <i>burned</i> for proper vengeance through much of his military career after his son’s life had been taken… That fire had died down considerably during his decade in the gulag, replaced by the bare needs of survival, of retaining some scrap of humanity… and now it was reignited, and prepared, finally, to consume that which had sparked it… “Vhat vas it ze prisoners called you? Ah… ‘Todesengel’ I believe it vas.†‘Angel of Death’... “You vill be ‘Todesengel’ again, Herr Engel… but zhis time it vill be dein teammates zhat you escort to zhe grave.†The BLU Medic tried, and failed, to keep a vicious, almost predatory grin from twisting his features… “Doc…†came an almost timid voice from the corner of the room. “Are ya sure it’s a good idea t’ be tellin’ him all that?†Fleischer turned briefly to reply to Ray with a subtle glare… enough to let the man know he wasn’t pleased with the interruption. Of all of the members of the team, the Engineer and the Spy had been the two most difficult to manipulate… The Spy had been dealt with in a different manner, however, and after enough careful, furtive doses of the energy from his modified Medigun (and a few subtle alterations to the Texan’s diet) he, too, had fallen into line… The BLU Medic, still felt that burning inside of him, though… that barely-contained rage, and the interruption was enough to make his careful control waver momentarily. “Zat is vat the drug is for, dummkopf,†he snapped. “His mind vill not file memories avay as it should, he vill not even remember zhat stupid Snipah shooting him. I do not need you distracting me… keep quiet until you ah needed!†The Texan went silent. That… that hadn’t been professional at all… and the doctor’s on loss of control, brief and slight though it was, frightened him slightly… He took a few subtle, calming breaths to relax himself a little before reaching up over the operating table and turning on the surgical lights with a ‘click’. With his workspace illuminated, the blonde carefully plucked a sharpened, sterilized scalpel from the tray of equipment that he had set up. “Ve ah going to have so much fun, Herr Engel…†Fleischer said in an almost reassuring tone, admiring the way the light flashed off of the cold, sharpened edge of the scalpel as he lowered the instrument to hover just above the skin of the older doctor’s upper abdomen. He made a quick, shallow scratch in the skin, and when there was no response from his ‘patient’, no jerk, no gasp, he knew everything was ready. The first incision was shallow; a thin, straight, precise line through the dermis down the center line of the abdomen, from below the ribcage to just above the navel. Satisfied with his ‘guideline’, the BLU Medic brought the scalpel down again and repeated the incision… The blade went deeper this time, so sharp and smooth that its edge almost seemed to glide through the thin layer of subcutaneous fat as well as the muscles beneath it. The blonde wanted to take the time to do some ‘exploring’… to gauge the condition and overall health of his ‘patient’, most notably the organs in his abdominal cavity, since it was neatly sliced open. With the technology that the Medigun represented, he could have sliced or pried open every body cavity… examined almost every organ… alive, and functioning, and whole… without the procedure resulting in the death of his ‘patient’… He wanted to do it so badly… he also wanted to hear Engel scream… scream in agony and terror, to beg for mercy, and then, his voice broken and weak from the pain, to beg for death… The very idea made the younger doctor’s heart race, and he had to remind himself to breathe. The plan was much bigger, much more thorough than that, though, and he couldn’t keep the RED Medic captive for too long or all his efforts would have been wasted. A metallic ‘clink’ resounded through the infirmary, cutting sharply through the silence, as Fleischer placed the bloodied scalpel on the table. “Give it to me, Herr Engineer,†he said, managing to keep most of the excitement out of his voice as he held out an open hand, palm-up, expectantly. He heard the faint clumping of the Texan’s boots on the tile floor as the man crossed the distance to the operating table, and gave a satisfied nod when the desired object was placed in his grasp. The device looked a great deal like one of the standard ‘pipe bomb’ grenades used by the Demomen on the field, albeit reduced to about a third of its original size. The outside surface of it was smooth, the seams flawlessly sanded down. The thin metal casing was strong enough to protect its explosive payload… and slight enough to allow an electronic signal to pass through to the internal receiver. “Your team all depend on you, Engel,†the BLU Medic stated matter-of-factly. “Und it vill be zheir undoing… Zhey vill all come gathering around dein feet to be healed , to haff zheir vounds looked aftah… right into die blast radius…†It was going to be an absolute <i>bloodbath</i>… It was going to be absolutely <i>beautiful</i>… *** The RED base had separate shower stalls. Oh, the changing room was hardly private, but each shower head had its own separate little comfort zone. Fleischer would have been green with envy if he knew, and that thought made the BLU Spy smirk to himself in silent amusement. ‘Privacy’, however, meant little to a Spy- especially one that was cloaked. For example, the RED team’s Medic seemed completely oblivious to the Frenchman’s presence as he continued to shave in front of one of the mirrors with naught but a towel around his waist. For the moment, the BLU could really only wait, and watch, and hope that this plan worked- this insane and pointless plan. The headset that the Spy was wearing (handed off to him from his team’s Scout, via the doctor) was awkward, to say the least. It was bulky, and the padding around the one earpiece was starting to make him sweat a little. His suit and balaclava, to the contrary, breathed nicely and were fairing surprisingly well in the humid sauna that was the RED shower room. If he managed to put the ‘mission’ out of his mind long enough the Frenchman could actually start to rather enjoy his current position. It wasn’t the Medic’s state of dress (or lack thereof) that interested him so much as the fact that the man had no idea he was there. Human beings were fascinating creatures, and no matter how social they claimed to be, <i>everyone</i> was, in reality, a chameleon. The RED doctor, for example… always impossible to read, his pale blue eyes equally frigid in both color and content, terrified much of the BLU team. Nobody, however, seemed as afraid of him as Fleischer. Oh, the blonde hated him, yes, and he would face him down fiercely on the battlefield, but when Engel was mentioned after-hours the look in the man’s eyes suggested to the Frenchman a sort of mental cowering or cringe. If only Fleischer could see the man now… To the BLU Spy moments like this were special, and almost supernatural in a way. In the perceived privacy of a seemingly-empty room, even the most battle-hardened of mercenaries were stripped bare of the cloaks they wove around themselves to be viewed by the people around them. The Frenchman could only witness it through the mirror’s reflection as Engel started to shave, but the man’s usually-frigid gaze had thawed just the slightest bit. It was a change that would seem minute or nigh-imperceptible to most- but to him, it was like seeing life breathed back into a creature that had been frozen from the inside out over a long, harsh winter. To the BLU’s great surprise, not only did the doctor have a bit of an expression on his face, a small <i>smile</i> nonetheless (albeit barely visible), but he even began to <i>hum</i>. The Spy narrowed his eyes just a little bit, and then widened them equally slightly in surprise. Not only was the Medic humming, but the tune actually sounded slightly familiar. The melody reminded him of the scratchy love tunes that could be heard filtering through the open windows of the homes in Nantes. Where on earth would a former Nazi have picked up such a tune? The Frenchman narrowed his eyes again in concentration. He could see, in his mind’s eye, the RED doctor’s personnel file. The Administrator would have been furious if she knew he had taken a peek at such ‘secured’ information. Then again, given all of the redactions on the page, perhaps she <i>expected</i> someone to look at the papers, at some point, but that was neither here nor there. The Frenchman could practically see the neat typing, what of it wasn’t blacked out at least. The doctor was a member of the party, yes- a Captain, at that. Had he been stationed in France, as part of the occupying force? No. No, more of the typed words formed a visual in his mind, as he recalled more of what he had seen on the file. The doctor had been stationed in his own homeland of Germany, at a camp no less. Perhaps, in that case, he had heard one of the prisoners singing. And then, the doctor <i>sang</i>. “Descendre sur mon cœur, mon précieux papillon…†It was soft, faint, nigh imperceptible, but to the Spy it was loud and clear and even <i>startling</i>. It was startling enough, in fact, that the Frenchman found it hard to remain still, especially as he watched the subtle changes in the Medic’s expression via the mirror. They were slight, barely there, but the Spy saw them, and knew they were rare and fascinating if not important, and the only way to decipher them would be to get a closer look. It was far too late that he realized his mistake. The BLU jerked back as the Medic whirled around, and the doctor’s hand only just managed to fist the cloth at the front of his suit, causing just a bare outline of his cloaked body to flicker into view for an instant. In another instant the Spy had been jerked forward and spun around so his back was slammed into the tile wall, causing his cloak to fail, and him to give a rather a rather indignant ‘oof!’ The Spy’s mind raced in the split second after he hit the wall. He had been exposed in the heart of enemy territory, and, thanks to his own actions on behalf of Fleischer’s plans, the entirety of the rest of RED team was on its way (with two occupying the shower stalls, already). He knew his chances of getting out of the base with his life had just dropped from ‘uncomfortable’ to ‘all but impossible.’ He feared he would not survive to have his memories restored- to know just his much of the last several days had slipped from his mind in a drug-induced haze. He would die, and Fleischer would continue to relentlessly pursue his desperate, deranged attempts on Engel’s life, even if it meant the destruction of <i>both</i> teams… …unless the Spy could leave Fleischer with no goal to aim for. Without Engel in his sights, without the target of his terrified hatred in reach, perhaps the blonde Medic would return to the listless, lost, ghost of a man he had been when he first arrived at Well- return to something that could be reasoned with. He had one chance. The BLU’s hand practically lunged for his balisong, safely secured within the easy reach of a weapon harness beneath his suit jacket. Before his hand could dive into his jacket, however, the Spy felt a sharp pull on the front of his clothes, where Engel was grabbed. Of course- the doctor was no doubt terrified for his life, as well, and it was amazing what a surge of adrenaline could do, despite the look of apparent, stoic calm on the RED’s face. The Spy’s own face, courtesy of a downward yank on his jacket, soon slammed into the sink, and he was not certain whether the loud crack he heard was the sound of the porcelain or his nose breaking on impact. Either way, his entire world went black and started spinning quite unpleasantly and when his senses finally returned he realized that his hands were bound behind his back- courtesy, no doubt, of his own necktie which seemed to be missing from its proper place. The Frenchman’s heart raced in his chest, and his head throbbed painfully to the beat it set. He tried to ignore the strong taste of blood as he twisted his wrists, testing his bonds and feeling quite dismayed when he discovered that the doctor had made his knots quite secure- he expected no less. The Spy did his best to plaster a grin on his face despite the nigh-overwhelming sensation of despair he felt welling up within him. He had a shot- he had a shot, and had taken it, and had <i>failed</i>. “Bonjour again, Docteur…†the BLU greeted, still smiling, and his jaw aching with every syllable. There was still a chance that Fleischer’s goal ultimately could be prevented from coming to fruition if only the Spy could stall the plans that had been set in motion, just for a day. If only he had a little more time…
Here is the new segment, finally. I apologize for the messed-up formatting in the reposted parts- I had it formatted for posting on DeviantART and forgot to change my carrots back to brackets. __________ Time. It seemed so inconsistent in this place- sometimes so fast that it was a wonder what had happened to the hours, and sometimes so slow that it felt like it didn’t move forward at all. The doctor hated that inconsistency. Worse, however, was the fact that he could not attribute these stretches and compressions of time to any particular activity, or time of day. Fleischer had quickly discovered that one of the only constants was the relationship between work and survival. Though the doctor was a big man, he was generally also one of relative subtlety and self-control. There were amazing subtleties, he had quickly discovered, in the ways a person could swing a hammer or pickaxe- subtleties that made all the difference between leaving the quarry exhausted and a little achy, or unbearably sore and ready to drop. Subtleties made all the difference between a safe downward swing and one that could pull and tear muscles. An injured man was one that couldn’t work- a man that couldn’t work was one that soon died. There was a harsh cycle; if you didn’t meet your quota, you didn’t get full rations; if you didn’t get full rations, you didn’t have the energy to meet your quota, and your rations were reduced even more. Those who were starving, or even those who were simply hungry (everyone was hungry, there- even the guards at times, the doctor was convinced) would sometimes- would often- steal bread right out of the mouths of their fellow inmates if they could manage it. Those strong enough or even just desperate enough weren’t above brutalizing others to steal their food, or even any scrap of cloth off of their back, like savage animals. Over the years, Fleischer had seen many men arrive at Stalingrad; prisoners of war, political dissidents, and Soviet citizens who claimed (perhaps entirely truthfully) that they had committed no wrong, and were simply unlucky. There were a number, of course, of real criminals as well- murderers, thieves, rapists- people who deserved to be there… like him. The Obersturmführer did not try to plead his innocence when the Soviets had raided the camp. He had not been in uniform when he was found, but he was in the camp, and undoubtedly German, and Aryan to boot- that was the only ‘admission of guilt’ the soldiers had needed. The traits that made the doctor desired- even prized- in his home country were, here, despised; they were a symbol of all that the Reich had aspired to achieve- the Reich that had betrayed and brutalized the Soviet Union and its people. It was no surprise to Fleischer, then, that he was not initially well-received in Stalingrad by anyone. The only people that greeted his arrival with any sort of warmth or even neutrality were a few of his countrymen that had survived the trip, and the gulag’s quartermaster- a jaded, middle-aged man who took any personal possessions from the new arrivals ‘to be returned upon their release.’ Fleischer had, for a brief second, entertained the idea of trying to hide his grandfather’s pocket watch. It was a plan that couldn’t possibly work, he knew. The watch and its contents were of incredible sentimental value to him- but bullets were cheap, and that was something all of the guards undoubtedly had plenty of. He stole one last glance at the watch- at the fine engravings in the silver, and delicate chain, and, lastly, at the inside of it where he had tucked away something else. The blonde snapped the watch carefully shut, and tried not to appear as despondent as he really felt as he handed it to the quartermaster. The doctor was quite certain that it would have been less painful to cut his own hand off and offer it up to the man. The guards had escorted the line of prisoners, next, to the camp barbers. It was like an assembly line, the doctor thought- personal affects dropped off, clothing stripped and tossed in a pile, in to see the ‘barbers’ for a full-body shave, shower, receive uniforms, go to assigned bunkhouse. The shave was degrading- but the shower was terrifying. The only thing keeping the former Obersturmführer from focusing on the uncomfortable fact that he was sharing space with twenty or thirty other naked men, apart from the overall gravity of his situation, was the fear that at any moment Zyklon pellets would come raining into the room. It would have been a bitter, deserved irony- clamoring for an exit along with the other new arrivals, pounding and clawing at the locked doors like a terrified animal until his body was too robbed of oxygen to move any longer and collapsed, foaming at the mouth, and bleeding from the ears. But, the poison never came. Perhaps it was a remaining shred of dignity, or just a desperate desire for some sort of comforting, familiar habit that caused Fleischer to keep his usual calm, professional expression as he filed into the bunkhouse with some of the other new arrivals. Given the look of some of the men that already occupied that cramped space, he feared that they could see right through his façade and to the silent, quaking terror just below. He tried not to look at any of the wiry, tattooed figures playing cards in the corner, or any of the worn, weathered faces staring at him as he found his assigned bunk. It was little more than a cot, really, with another bunk on one side, and a small sort of night stand on the other. The young man sitting in the bed next to his glanced at him with a small chuckle, muttered something in Russian, and shook his head before going back to writing in what looked like a journal. The doctor, for his part, wound up sitting on the hard mattress of his bunk, leaning against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. He tried to tell himself that it was just to try and keep warm in the poorly-heated bunkhouse, but it wasn’t the chill air that had him shivering- that had his eyes darting around the room from person to person and group to group. His gaze finally settled on the young man sitting next to him, again. He couldn’t have been much older than his mid-twenties, but his face was just a little too gaunt to be healthy- a clear sign of starvation. He didn’t seem to have any of the tattoos that adorned many of the other prisoners, though, and the German wasn’t certain whether that was good or bad. For all he knew about navigating the social rules and hierarchy of this place, he might as well have been abandoned on an alien planet- he supposed he would be stuck learning simply by observation. Wiry and a little underweight though the younger man was, he had plenty of fire in his eyes as he snapped his head up to look at his observer in irritation. Fleischer quickly looked away, directing his gaze back to the threadbare sheets on his bunk with a quiet apology, though he didn’t really expect the man to understand a word of what he said. It was a force of habit, something of a comforting distraction, that caused that caused the doctor to raise a hand to run his fingers back through his hair- it was disconcerting to feel scalp and stubble, instead. “Keeps the lice down.†Fleischer’s head snapped up and he looked to the side at the young man with the journal. His accent was atrocious, but he had spoken German- unless the doctor was imagining things, and that in and of itself was not a promising sign. He was stunned enough that he couldn’t really even put together the words, ‘I know.’ “Winter will be here soon,†the younger man added, “little bastards will really start biting, then. Haven’t had any typhus outbreaks yet, though, so I suppose you’ll mostly just have to worry about filling your quota. Shouldn’t be a problem for a big guy like you, unless those shoulders are just for show.†The doctor remained silent. Honestly, he was more than a little overwhelmed, and terrified, and just trying to get his head put back together and wrapped around his situation. One of the guards had explained to them in broken German that they would be assigned a quota, and meeting that quota would mean full rations. He was startled from his thinking by a loud bang and an angry shout from across the room where the tattooed men were playing cards. The volume of their voices quickly escalated, and it wasn’t long before two of them had come to blows. “You have to keep an eye on that bunch,†the doctor’s ‘bunkmate’ said, successfully drawing his attention away from the brawl- for the most part. “They’re thieves, murderers, rapists- but so very full of pride for their motherland,†he added, making a sweeping gesture at the propaganda posters that all but covered many of the walls and even the ceiling in places. The doctor had the feeling those posters wouldn’t change much in his twenty-five year sentence- if he lived to see it through. “And you aren’t..?†Fleischer asked, his voice a little more shaky than he would have liked. The young man chuckled a little. “Aren’t what? A criminal, or full of pride for the motherland?†He shook his head a little. “Let’s just say I’m here because after two years in the Red Army I said some things I shouldn’t have said in regards to the motherland and her glorious leader.†“Said some things..?†“Well, more like read a book I wasn’t supposed to,†the young man replied with a shrug, picking a little at his bed sheets. Fleischer couldn’t say he was terribly surprised that the Soviets were stuck dealing with their own ‘Gestapo’. It was a very uncomfortable topic of conversation that needed to be changed for the sake of both of them. “Your German is very good…†the doctor said, suddenly finding the conversation a lot more comforting than concentrating on the angry yelling from across the room- it was civil, and subdued, and human. “You’re not the first German to come through here,†the other man stated, a small smile forming on his face, “but you are the first one not to tell me my accent’s horrible. Name’s Fedor.†Fleischer looked to the hand the man offered him and quickly noticed that his pinky finger was entirely gone, along with the last joint of the ring finger. The scarring left behind was reminiscent of frostbite, and the doctor couldn’t help but wring his own hands a little at the thought of losing any of his digits or limbs, let alone to the elements. To top it off, he had never particularly liked shaking hands- but he had forced himself to simply get used to ‘helpings’ of it, and this was the only person at the camp so far that had bothered trying to address him like another human being. “Nicklaus…†he said as he carefully gripped the Russian’s mutilated hand and shook. “You just stick with me, then, Nicklaus,†Fedor said with a nod. “You’re big and quiet, and that’ll scare the hell out of the thugs a lot more than I’ve been able to. I may not be a tank, like you, but I know my way around the place. Hell, with my help you might make it through your first winter, and if you do that, you’ll probably live to say goodbye to this shithole.†Fedor did know his way around, too. Fleischer knew well enough how to handle a sledgehammer- splitting rock wasn’t so terribly different from splitting firewood. He had soon taught his bunkmate (and anyone else willing to listen, really) how to position his feet on the ground and his hands on the handle, how to make a downward swing that didn’t strain the back and shoulders quite so hard. The doctor’s build and quiet demeanor kept the more violent inmates away, and, by proximity, kept them away from Fedor as well. The Russian proved to be an expert guide to the groups in the camp- who was safe, who to stay away from, which guards were good-humored and which of them were likely to shoot you for stepping out of line because they were in a particularly foul mood that day. ‘Stepping out of line’ was a very literal thing to avoid at the camp. The doctor always tried to ensure that he was standing next to Fedor as they went to work in the morning. The inmates always walked in a column- five abreast, and surrounded by armed guards and dogs. Fedor was always able to translate what the guards shouted, but Nicklaus quickly came to know the phrase, ‘a step to the left or the right is considered an escape attempt, and will be met with deadly force,’ by heart. It wasn’t a month in that he saw one of the Germans that had arrived with him, one of the old camp guards, stumble over a rock buried in the snow. He had staggered, and run a few steps to the side as he attempted to regain his balance- and one of the guards made good on their threats. Everything fell into a routine- wake up, march to the quarry, split stones until sunset, march back from the quarry, wait in line for rations, try to think of something to do with what little free time you had, and then go to bed. Sleeping was not an easy task, though. The doctor always met his work quota and always received full rations- but it was only just enough. A ladle full of thin soup and a lump of bread wasn’t enough calories to make up for those burned doing the hard work in the quarry- not even for a man of average size, but the occasional (blessed, blessed) bowl of thicker stew managed to just make up for it- for the most part. It was enough to keep the German going, but not enough to keep his body from having to slowly burn up almost all of what reserves of fat he had. Fedor, on the other hand, did not fare so well. The doctor’s companion had a number of tricks to get a full ration- writing down unclaimed pieces of split stone as part of his quota, for instance. It didn’t give the man enough food all the time, though. During Fleischer’s fourth winter at Stalingrad he had to all but carry his companion back to the bunkhouse at the end of each day, and after hours of dangerous and difficult labor, he could barely shoulder even that weight. It was on their way back from the quarry, not far from the barracks, that they passed the camp cemetery. It was little more than a small plot where inmates who were claimed by starvation or the elements were buried. Fleischer, on more than one occasion, had been ordered at the end of a long day in the quarry to carry a corpse back and dig a hole in the frozen earth of the plot to bury it. Signs adorned the cemetery, and when the doctor had first arrived, his companion told him that they read, ‘The Graveyard of the Lazy.’ Now he feared that Fedor would soon wind up there, himself, and that he would ultimately be the one to bury his friend. The Soviet refused Fleischer’s every attempt to share even the smallest piece of bread or spoonful of soup with him. “You worked for that,†the younger man said tiredly, staring at his own half-ration of soup. “Hell, I’ve been half-cheating…†Fedor had on occasion talked about the possible consequences of writing down ‘unclaimed’ stone as part of his own quota- the possibility that he was stealing someone else’s work- someone else’s food. “There’s not enough leftover stone lying around at the end of the day this winter to get me a full ration, and you’re one of the only people I’ve seen able to actually meet their quota.†He shook his head and let out a long, shaky sigh, before a faint smile finally crept onto his face. “Don’t you worry about me, though, Nicklaus, you know I’m a crafty bastard- I’ll think of something.†Fleischer wasn’t so sure, but he did his best to force a smile for the Russian’s sake. “Just don’t get yourself in trouble, bitte, or you’ll just wind up dead, anyway.†“You always were a ball of sunshine,†Fedor said with a faint laugh. “Hey, stop rubbing your damn head.†The Russian tiredly batted his friend’s arm down, and shook his head with a sigh. “Four years and you’re still not used to a shaved head?†The doctor just looked down at the floor a little sheepishly. No- he hadn’t gotten used to feeling bare scalp under his fingertips, and he hoped he never did; he feared the day that having a shaved head crossed the line from alien to familiar. He had never complained, though- especially not out loud. Hadn’t he and his countrymen done the exact same to the prisoners at their own camps? Besides, it was better, he supposed than suffering the crawling, biting vermin and the diseases they could pass. The German feared that Fedor, in his weakened state, might succumb to such a disease if hunger or the elements didn’t claim him, first. He didn’t, though. If anything, Fleischer saw him quickly becoming healthier over the following months. Fedor suddenly began receiving extra rations despite working no more than usual- rations which he insisted his companion take at least a small part of. “After that big fight you were in, I figure you could use a boost,†the Soviet insisted, pouring some of the thick stew from his bowl in with the doctor’s soup. ‘That big fight’ still had the German riding on pins and needles, and he curled his arm a little more tightly around his bowl as his bunkmate reached for it. He muttered an apology when he realized what he was doing, and then thanked Fedor as he added a few chunks of meat from his own bowl. That little bit of thick stew was something the doctor wanted to savor- but after what had happened, and knowing what could become of one’s food if they waited too long to eat it, he all but devoured what he had been given and didn’t release the dented tin bowl from his grip until it had been licked clean. Only a few moments before, another inmate, one of the tattooed thugs had managed to swipe the doctor’s helping of bread right out of his hands. The man hadn’t been that thin- not thin enough to steal from someone so much bigger out of desperation- unless one of his ‘friends’ had put him up to it. Either way, he had managed to devour half of the stolen bread, and had not been inclined to acquiesce to his victim’s attempt to reclaim his ration. In fact, he had managed to strike the German squarely in the face. A second later, after his vision had cleared, Fleischer had returned the favor. He had never started a fight at the camp, or at the quarry- starting fights was just another step to becoming less of a human and more of a desperate animal, to say nothing of the energy it spent that he couldn’t afford to lose. He could afford to spend that energy, however, more than he could afford to lose his rations to a petty thief trying to impress his friends. In the end it was the thug’s ‘friends’ that finally dragged his unconscious body away from the place on the hard floor where Fleischer had let it drop. “You sure your nose isn’t broken?†Fedor questioned as the doctor wiped a little blood from above his upper lip. The German lightly touched the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Positive. It’s not that hard to get a nose to bleed,†not with how cold and dry it had been that winter- his fifth winter. It was hard to believe so much time had passed, and, at times, even harder to believe that he had managed to stay alive for so long. There had been plenty of nights, though, where he had thought about simply… giving up- nights where he was particularly hungry, or cold, or simply exhausted. It was impossible to keep himself from thinking about his situation very often, but there had been several days when it felt as though the entire gravity of it all simply collapsed atop him. In the end he always decided that he couldn’t simply give up, and it was always a decision born of fear. Fedor had become particularly disliked among the less savory of the camp’s residents, and the doctor’s mere presence offered him protection- he feared what would happen to the man if he simply allowed himself to die. Fleischer’s nightly prayers had long-since turned to silent pleas for forgiveness that he knew he could never deserve. He longed to see his son, but feared what would ultimately become of him when he too left the mortal coil. There were nights where he would see Lukas- where the boy was so real that he swore he could reach out and take his hand. His son would look up at him and smile, and ask to be held, and Fleischer could feel his heart soar, feel a swelling of happiness, and relief, and comfort, and then he would reach out and touch the boy’s arm- and he would scream. The doctor’s fingers left angry red marks on the boy’s skin- marks that started to blister, and blacken. Lukas sobbed in terror and pain, and begged for his father to help him- to comfort him. Fleischer didn’t even think before wrapping his arms around his son and drawing him close. The child’s skin grew suddenly and unbearably hot under his touch, and a scream of agony was drowned out by the sudden roar of cloth and flesh catching flame. In the split-second it took for Fleischer to be overwhelmed by a sense of panicked horror there was nothing left but ashes. Even those were swiftly stolen by the faintest breath of the scorching breeze, a burning wind that soon began to blister the doctor’s own skin. The sensation of his flesh searing was torture beyond measure- and it still could not compare to the unbearable, all-consuming feeling of loss. Blackened, peeled skin cracked and fell away as he lifted his head, but all he could see was shadow. The doctor’s sole illumination was provided by the fire that was blazing over and through his own body- an impossibly slow, inexorable torment. Nobody came to his rescue- not usually. This time, however, a voice called from somewhere in the distance. It was faint, but growing louder, gathering substance. “Doc!†The Medic snapped awake when he felt someone touch his shoulder, and he found himself unthinkingly, reflexively, desperately clinging to his team’s Scout as tears streamed down his face. Jacob, for once, was rendered speechless.
I once again apologize for how long this took and how short it is, and make no promises as to when the next update will be. ------------------- It was unlike the Scout to be unable to find words to say. Hell, when he couldn’t think of words to say he didn’t think, he just spoke. It was like his mouth wouldn’t work, though- like his brain had sort of short-circuited, and, damn, it sort of felt nice having the Medic there- sort of safe, even. Hell, his own dad had never hugged him- wherever that asshole was. Still, he wasn’t some little kid, and this was getting really awkward, and the words, ‘get offa’ me, fag,’ were about to escape him, but- jeez, was the guy seriously crying? “Uh… Doc?†there were the words, quiet and concerned enough that they even seemed to startle the runner. “You okay?†The Medic tensed up a little at hearing his voice and pulled back looking like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was sure as hell a lot different than the guy usually was- determined, and professional, and somehow inhumanly fearless- not to mention crazy. “My apologies,†the doctor said, clearing his throat and wiping the tears from his eyes in a manner that suggested he was trying (and, for the most part, failing) to be discreet about it; ‘oh, I just had something in my eye,’ no doubt. It was an excuse that Jacob was plenty familiar with, thanks to the efforts of his father- a man who had led the Scout to believe that men were incapable of shedding tears. “Look, whatever…†Jacob murmured, at once trying to sound a little sympathetic without- well- sounding like some kind of wuss or something. The pitch and volume of his voice, however, quickly rose as he remembered why, exactly, he had come to the infirmary to see the man in the first place. “Colonel and Bill are fuckin’ dead,†the Scout all but stammered out. He had never been particularly fond of either of the men- the Soldier was a certified raving nutjob, and the Sniper wasn’t much better, along with being unsettling in a more subtle way than the American. Still- they were his teammates, and, if nothing else, they were added protection from RED, when need be. This information seemed to rather rapidly snap the Medic out of his dazed state with a sharp, “vhat?†The fire was back in his eyes in a flash as he looked at the runner, and, really, the look alone could have commanded answers. “They. Are. Dead,†Jacob repeated. “Yuri found’em in that hallway overlookin’ the train yard, and sent me to come tell you.†It certainly hadn’t been a pretty sight- Colonel’s throat had been slashed clean open, and the Aussie’s head had been caved in. A kukri and an entrenching tool, both spattered and streaked with fresh blood, had been lying on the floor as a testament to the violent struggle that must have claimed both men’s lives. The Scout wasn’t terribly surprised that the two had killed each other; William followed Fleischer’s orders eagerly, and at times he had reminded the runner of his old neighbor’s dog, Killer. Killer always had a vicious gleam in his eye, but he was safe enough to let loose because his master had him well-trained. Jacob had seen his neighbor loose the dog on some poor bastard who had tried to break into his car and the man barely had a face left when the beast was done. Colonel, on the other hand, was a mad dog- the type that seems subdued and in control, and perfectly safe until some kid goes to pet it and gets their hand bitten off without warning. It probably didn’t help, Jacob reasoned, that the Soldier had thought for the longest time that he was the one running the place. Apparently Fleischer hadn’t had the man as cowed as everyone had thought. It was Fleischer, however, that had the Scout puzzled. He could compare William and Colonel to dogs, sure, but to do so with the doctor seemed undignified somehow- or just too simple. The guy was just hard to figure out- less like a dog, and more like one of the vipers that Marlin Perkins would haul out on Zoo Parade. He’d go on and on about how mysterious and reclusive they were and they tended to leave people alone, but, by God you’d better not piss them off, or so help you. Yeah- that’s what the Doc was like. He’d minded his own business at first, really- kept to himself, and just did his job. The man had caught the sight of prey in that RED Medic, though. No- no, the RED Medic was no mouse. The Scout could only imagine, then, that the man had done something to piss Fleischer off, so help him. What it was that the guy had done, though, Jacob couldn’t guess, and he was afraid to ask- he’d rather not put himself in front of the fangs, especially given the venom that the doctor had already displayed. “What are you gonna do?†the runner asked, somewhat bewildered, really. “Three of our teammates are dead, and-†“Ze Spy isn’t dead,†the German suddenly and sharply insisted, sounding, really, as though he was trying to convince himself, more than anyone. Jacob didn’t buy it, though. Their Spy had left, and not returned- there had been no ‘kaboom’ from RED base, and the smoke from the other team’s burning trash pile smelled- smelled weird. It was very unpleasant, really, that the closest smell the Scout could think of was that of a barbeque- but this was wrong, somehow. That smell somehow seemed to dampen the blow of Jacob knowing that the Spy had left the base with his best headset, and he wasn’t getting it back. “Well, he ain’t here, neither, Doc,†the runner said with a sigh. “So, now what?†“Tomorrow,†Fleischer said surprisingly calm, surprisingly quiet, and seeming to look off into the distance. When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Jacob finally dared to ask, “’tomorrow’ what?†“I vill tell you vhat ve ah doing, tomorrow!†the Medic snapped back far faster than the runner had expected, causing the young man to recoil a little The look that the Scout got in response to his action was- was apologetic? And, the doctor’s tone was a great deal calmer, and gentler (though perhaps even more unsettling) as he repeated, “I vill tell you vhat ve ah doing, tomorrow.†The German sighed softly. “It’s getting late. Go to bed, bitte, Herr.†If anyone needed some real sleep, it was the Medic. Jacob had seen him up at all hours of the night- had seen lights on in the infirmary, or just seen the man quietly walking the halls, like he was looking for something that he had given up on finding. “Everyzhing vill be fine.â€
Crap, why can't you let me stay content on hating Fleischer? Why do you have to make me second guess myself and feel all sorry for him? It's terrible because this is all probably a huge misunderstanding on Fleischer's part and yet he's so insistent that Engel is to blame, that the man would probably never accept the truth should it ever be bothered to be explained to him.
Yay, an update! These characters have been some of the most memorable versions of Medic I've ever read, and I look forward to seeing how the story pans out from this side.
Hey, an update that didn't make me cry! Poor Spy, he was just trying to help...sorta. Please continue.
>>8 You're at least partially on the right track. >>9 >>10 Thanks, you guys. I've been working hard on this for a long time, and it's nice to know some folks are still reading despite my lacklusted updating record. __________________________________________ “Everything will be fine.†That’s what Fedor had said. It was thanks to Fedor that Nicklaus had spent the last couple of years as one of the camp’s doctors. The Russian had rather suddenly become a little friendlier with some of the guards, and not long after, Fleischer had found himself working in the infirmary on recommendation. The fact that one of the camp doctors had recently died of typhus probably helped to move things along, as well. It had very quickly become very apparent that the German was probably the most medically experienced person in the camp, and that was a matter of fact- not of pride. His first act as appointed doctor was to give the infirmary a very thorough cleaning (and wonder, all the while, how more of its patients managed to not die of infection). The facilities were imperfect, to say the least, but it was practically a life of luxury compared to working in the quarry; the rations were larger, and time spent doing hard labor was drastically cut. Fleischer was beginning to feel cautiously optimistic that he might actually survive his prison sentence- though he couldn’t imagine what, if anything, awaited him outside. Then there was Fedor. If Nicklaus was working in the infirmary through the day, then he couldn’t possibly keep a watch on the younger man while he worked in the quarry- and, the Russian had started to gain more and more attention from inmates of far more ill repute than him. It was suspicious, to say the least- the way Fedor’s rations had suddenly gone up- the way the guards seemed to slacken their treatment of him- the way the less scrupulous inmates had gradually come to despise the man (some very openly). The German began to wonder if his friend was doing a little work on the side. Those inmates were slowly becoming bolder, and Nicklaus wasn’t sure how much longer his presence in lieu of the watchful eyes of armed guards would serve as adequate protection, and he had finally confronted the younger man about it. “Everything will be fine,†Fedor had said. Nicklaus, lying on one of the cots in the camp infirmary, tried to hold onto those words. The words helped distract from the pain- from the sharp throbbing in the back of his right shoulder, and the ache that seemed to pulse through his entire body. His head hurt terribly, and his ears were still ringing from the surprise blow that had knocked him to the cold tile floor in the showers- he wondered if he should be grateful or disappointed that he hadn’t been knocked unconscious. The German hadn’t bothered to look down at himself, but he was absolutely certain his body was riddled with bruises under the thin sheets. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t want to bother to look, so much as the doctor wasn’t sure he could stomach looking at himself. He felt plenty sick, as it was- and as though a lifetime in the showers (the last place he wanted to think about, let alone go to at the moment) wouldn’t allow him to scrub the crawling sensation of filth away. It had been hours, and he could still feel their hands on him and hear the echoes of their voices- the angry shouts and near animalistic sounds they had made. At times Fleischer’s eyes snapped open just so he could reassure himself that the only people in the room were other doctors and patients. The infirmary was one of the warmest buildings in the camp- but, the German had scarcely ever felt so cold in all his life. He pulled his blankets tighter around himself, trying to hold in warmth; he didn’t dare ask for more- not with other patients in greater need of them than him, especially those suffering from hypothermia and frostbite (and there were many this time of year). Some part of the doctor’s mind thought bitterly that he should feel fortunate; he had all of his digits and limbs, and he was alive. Fedor hadn’t been so lucky. “He was attacked in the mess hall,†one of the other doctors had told him, just an hour before. Attacked by six men- the same six that had attacked him in the showers, but the guards had only gotten a good look at four of them. It was little consolation that those four had promptly been dragged out into the snow, and been forced to dig their own graves before being shot by the guards. It didn’t change the fact that Fedor had been stabbed to death. It was probably the same knife- the same knife that had carved the lines into the back of Fleischer’s right shoulder. When he closed his eyes he could still see that knife- he could picture it clearly, because the man who was holding it had taken great pains to make sure that the German could see it- to know what his fate would be if he tried to fight back, and then to watch his own blood staining the cold water from the showers as it dripped from the blade. He pulled the sheets even tighter around himself at the mere thought, wishing, really, that he could simply make himself disappear. That would have been preferable to constantly feeling- to constantly knowing that everyone was looking at him, and everyone could somehow tell exactly what had happened. There was no way anyone could possibly miss such a failure, both to protect himself and to protect Fedor It seemed to the doctor as though one of the most powerful things keeping him from just giving up was fear- a fear of what should await him when he died. Yet, the longer he lived, the more failures he accumulated that would, ultimately, lead him straight into the fate that undoubtedly awaited him beyond the mortal coil. He had failed his father and grandfather. He had failed his son. He had failed Fedor. He had failed himself. He would not fail his team- he could not fail his team. BLU team was the last and only thing that the Medic had left, and he was not going to let that be destroyed, as well. He would do whatever it took, no matter the cost- no price was too high to remove RED from the picture. Fleischer had killed the men who murdered Fedor- had ensured that the two who escaped the firing squad had soon joined their comrades, and he would do the same to Engel. The other doctor and his puppet RED team would be destroyed utterly, and Die Kinderarzt would cease to be a threat to anyone, and nothing would stop the BLU Medic in his task. He could not fail again.
This is it, folks. The last chapter. The finale. There will be a short epilogue after this, but that's all. After a (very) long time, Comorbidity is, for all intents and purposes, complete. Sorry it took so long, and hope it was worth the read. _______ Everything had failed. Everything had fallen apart. Fleischer was sure that he could only attribute the fact that he was on his feet at all to a surge of adrenaline. He was still limping, though- still trailing blood, and how could he not be? The bullet that had gone into his right leg had left the fabric of his jodhpurs soaked in dark crimson. Given the rate at which red dots and streaks were being formed on the floor (and, despite the efforts of his Medipack) the doctor assumed that the bullet had, in all likelihood, at least grazed his femoral artery. He had barely felt it when the projectile had struck him; the sensation had seemed almost distant, as though dulled by the shock of what he had just witnessed- Die Kinderarzt sheathed in glowing red. Fleischer had seen his counterpart on RED use the Medigun’s übercharge before, and he had used it, himself. The effects of the charge were best seen with proper timing, and the timing that Engel had displayed couldn’t have been worse- or more perfect. The RED Medic’s team had been gathered around him- had been clustered together so nicely that there was no way the ensuing blast could have possibly not killed them all. There had been no blast, though. Fleischer had drawn the remote, and pushed the button and then- and then the RED doctor’s charge had been deployed. It had been shock more than fear that had sent the blond Medic back towards BLU base. The run had been a blur, and he couldn’t really remember any of it, as though he was in a daze- as though his mind was capable of doing nothing except vividly playing that moment of failure over and over again. It was with a startling suddenness that he found himself in the infirmary- and, he wasn’t alone. A splotchy trail of blood was already present in the room, marring the otherwise pristine tiles on the floor, and leading directly to the infirmary’s bathroom door- which was, oddly enough, closed. The Medic gave a hard swallow, and hesitated only a moment before reaching out and pulling the door open. A startled yelp came from within the small room, and the doctor quickly found a pistol pointed at his chest. He was startled enough by the sudden movement and sound that he nearly jumped back (and would, he was quite sure, have fallen over were it not for the energies from his Medipack slowing his bleeding). “Doc..?†the Scout said, hesitating a moment before lowering the pistol a little. It was impossible, really, for the German to miss the way the young man’s hands were shaking, and the fresh blood staining his fingers- and his shirt. The boy’s posture didn’t exactly give Fleischer any confidence in his condition, either- slumped back against the wall, with his free hand over his stomach. The doctor began to lift his Medigun, but the relative silence of the infirmary was broken by the sound of boots echoing down the hall, and given the loud, metallic click that accompanied each footfall, it could only be one person. Fleischer looked quickly back to the Scout, and equally quickly began to unlatch the buckles that held his Medipack and gear in place. All the while, he kept trying to shake an image that was forming in his mind- an image of the Scout with his eyes half-lidded and blank, staring, doll-like at nothing. It was an image that just made the doctor’s heart race faster, finally overtaking the tempo of the boots marching down the hall. It was only for the Jacob’s sake that the German managed to force a somewhat calm expression onto his face as he handed the runner his Medipack, and harness, and all of the gear attached. The boy opened his mouth to object, but Fleischer didn’t give him the chance. “Hold ze pack against yourself,†he said, giving a hard swallow as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the object inside. Nicklaus had never would have imagined he would see the pocket watch, again; then again, for a time, he never imagined he would have found the will to stand up and [i]walk, again. He couldn’t quite stop tears from welling in his eyes as he slid his thumb over the finely-engraved surface of the metal. “Was too nice to sell,†the quartermaster said in broken German as he offered the doctor a weak, somewhat guilty smile. “Keep very good time.â€[/i] Fleischer wasn’t sure the Scout, in his surprise, even noticed as he stuffed the small metal object into his hand. “Stay here,†German said, “keep quiet. Undahstand?†The runner looked up and nodded in reply. The doctor, in response, promptly shut the door, and had to struggle to cross the distance to the infirmary’s main doors. It was only after he fumbled with the lock, and got the cursed thing latched that the footfalls in the hallway came to a stop- right outside the door. The BLU Medic’s heart nearly joined them. He practically threw himself to the side, pressing his back against the wall next to the doors, and trying to ignore the sharp pains that shot from his injured leg as a result. The doctor quickly- quietly- leaned over and pulled his only remaining weapon from his boot: the dead BLU Soldier’s combat knife. Fleischer jumped just a little and found himself holding his breath as the doors were rammed open with a loud bang. He could just catch a small glint of metal- the infirmary’s flimsy lock skittering across the floor. It was, perhaps predictable, Engel that took a step into the room. He didn’t seem to have noticed his BLU counterpart, yet, still pressed flat to the wall. The blond did not, however, want to give the man the time to focus on the trail of blood leading to the closed bathroom door. He lunged forward, and made a hard swing with the knife, and the older doctor only just noticed in time to dart away. Fleischer had the man’s attention- now he had to keep it. “Landesverräter!†he screamed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his still-bleeding leg as he continued to advance, swinging the combat knife at his adversary as he did so. The swings were shamefully easy, it seemed, for Engel to dodge, especially with the way that the blond almost stumbled on his injured leg with each step forward. The RED evaded every blow, remaining out of reach, and persisting and, like some kind of nightmare, inescapable. “/I wish I could go back, Herr!/†Fleischer all but spat in his native tongue. “/I would have waited for you to show up at the furnaces and pushed your Jewish whore in, myself, to see the expression on your face!â€/ -to see any expression on the man’s face other than that blank, cold, unreadable, inhuman stare. It was a small mercy that Lukas had not been able to see that man’s terrible eyes before he was murdered… A small mercy that the suffering his own father had caused him was ended…. Fleischer’s grip on the knife was already considerably loosened by the time the RED Medic pulled a familiar-looking P38 out, and fired. It was the sensation of the bullet going into the younger man’s good knee that ultimately made him lose his hold on the weapon, completely, and fall to the cold tile floor. He clamped a hand over his injured knee, gritting his teeth in pain as Engel gave the dropped knife a kick, sending it well out of reach. The blond could only smile bitterly up at his RED counterpart- at the man who had kept the most horrible of his failures from dragging on any longer- a man who now had pain and what even seemed to be fear showing in his eyes. It was a sight that Fleischer had a hard time believing was real. “/What’s the matter, you bastard? Did I strike a nerve?/†the BLU Medic questioned, his voice shaking slightly as that bitter smile twitched just a little wider. Engel’s only response was a weak cough- one that left blood spattered on his lips. It seemed the man wasn’t so untouchable, after all. “/You’ve fallen into bad shape, old man,/†Fleischer said, falling silent very quickly as the heel of Engel’s boot came down on the back of his right hand, pinning it to the floor. Why wouldn’t the man say something- say anything!? Why wouldn’t his former superior tell him that he hated him for what he’d done, or that he was eager to kill him, or that he was a monster, and a failure!? He was waiting for Engel’s piercing stare to return- to look right through him, and for the man to tell him that he had deserved every ounce of suffering in his life- that he had brought everything on himself, and forced others to suffer in the process. “/Going to torture me, Markus?/†Fleischer questioned. It would only have been fair- would have been some small retribution. There was no reply, though- the RED Medic just made a small choking sound, and raised his pistol to point it at his rival’s chest. Say something, dammit! Please! “Nein?†the blond said through gritted teeth, his voice far more shaky and unnerved than he would have liked it, and his heart pounding in his chest. “/After all this time, you are just going to shoot me, like a tender-hearted little fraulein./†It was better than he deserved… It was, perhaps, a small act of mercy. Desperate for some sort of response- terrified of his inevitable fate and desperate for some way to stall it- Fleischer started to speak, again. The sound of the RED Medic’s pistol firing, however, was so loud that it seemed to drown out not only his words, but his thoughts. The feeling of the blond falling back to the floor seemed distant, and the room had taken on an oddly muted appearance. It was almost sort of beautiful, really- the subtle colors, and the way the light shone off of the metal fixtures in the infirmary. The tile didn’t even seem to feel so cold, anymore. There was a sensation of lifting- of floating. It was sort of bizarre, really. Fleischer had seen plenty of planes, both before and during the war. He had never been on one before, though. After a decade in Stalingrad, he never would have dreamed he would fly anywhere, let alone to London. He was supposed to meet BLU personnel there- to be taken to a medical facility for a physical before he began his training and employment. The doctor had no idea how the League had found him, and he didn’t feel like questioning it. They had offered him a ticket out of the gulag- they had offered him room, and even rather generous wages. They had told him the pay was high to reflect the expertise required for his position, and because the job was dangerous. They told him he might die. Remaining at the gulag, however, would have meant certain death. Fleischer had seen to it personally that the two of Fedor’s murderers that had escaped the firing squad had met their end working in the quarry. Accidents happened, after all. The doctor, however, had gained a great deal of additional infamy from some of the other inmates, and the weather was particularly harsh. Rations were running low, even amongst the medical staff, and guards, and if the other inmates didn’t kill him, starvation or the elements would. The simple fact was that if he remained, he was going to die, and that was a certainty. That was, Fleischer felt, one of the few certainties in his life. He was unsure of where BLU was going to assign him, and he wouldn’t know any of the people on his team when he got there- wherever ‘there’ was. ‘There’, however, was not Stalingrad, and that was what mattered. The doctor quietly pulled out his pocket watch, and hesitated a moment. He ran his thumb over its engraved surface which the quartermaster at the camp had, remarkably, kept polished to a shine. The watch was opened with a quiet click to reveal the hands on its face ticking in perfect time. Tucked under hinged cover- right where Fleischer had left it- was a photo. It was faded with age, and creased and worn around the folds that had been made to fit it into the watch, but Lukas’s face remained clear, and smiling, exactly as the doctor remembered it- exactly as the doctor wanted to remember it. That smile was infectious, and the German soon realized that one had formed on his own face- even if it was tired, and somewhat distant. He continued looking at the photo for- for, he didn’t know how long, before finally closing the watch again, and tucking it into his pocket to look out through the cabin window. It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear, and the sun was out and shimmering over the surface of the ocean, and the thrumming of the engines was actually sort of soothing. Fleischer, despite this, had a difficult time not worrying at least a little over what he was going to do. Perhaps it was simply difficult to digest the fact that he had been given a new lease on life- to understand why, of all people, he had been given a second chance. In truth, the doctor felt a little lost- but hopeful, and how could he not? After all… he was on a journey to a better life.
...damnit, I think my heart is now permanently broken. That last line in particular was like being kicked in the chest. In a really great way. This and First Do No Harm are just so amazing. You manage to make me feel sorrow and pity for men who have done truly horrific things and yet are both convinced the other is a Complete Monster. I await the epilogue eagerly. Never stop breaking hearts.
This is just so sad and symmetrical; I love it. What #13 said.
Am I terrible for being more concerned about Blue Scout locked in the bathroom and hearing all this? Given that the doctors are speaking German, he's probably going to assume that Engel killed a man he considers friend in cold blood. The cycle of hate and misunderstanding will probably never end. The entirety of the two stories were heartbreaking. I await the epilogue with anticipation.
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Yeah I hope at LEAST Blu Scout is ok. Poor kid. In FDNH, didn't they say they had to replace the whole Blu Team? Maybe some just got to go home?
Thanks so much for the comments. I'm still (and always) thrilled to know people have been reading, and I'm hoping to start a shorter story about my RED team's Engineer. As for >>17 All will be answered in the epilogue =)
The End ____________ EPILOGUE The road was bumpy- everything in the truck seemed to bounce and shake just a little whenever a wheel met a pothole. Well- everything except for the watch. It remained hanging at the end of its taut chain, almost seeming to hover. It was a pretty watch, yeah- but it managed to be almost hypnotic when the sunlight played over its engraved silver surface. Jacob had found himself looking at it a lot. “Thinkin’about him, again?†the other man in the truck said as he turned them down a slightly less bumpy dirt road. “What do you think, hardhat?†the younger man replied, his tone unusually subdued. “I think,†Raymond started, stealing a quick glance at the former Scout before returning his attention to the road, “a penny for yer thoughts.†Jacob smirked just a little at that- a small, somewhat devious half-smile; it was all he could manage at the moment. “Make it a quarter, and you’ve got a deal.†A faint grumble from the former Engineer prompted further ‘bargaining’ from the younger man. “C’mon hardhat, don’t tell me you can’t afford it with that big retirement bonus BLU gave ya.†The Texan returned a small, indulgent chuckle along with a half-smile of his own, before reaching into his pocket. A quarter was soon fished out, and flipped to Jacob, who quickly deposited it in his own pocket. “Alright, let’s hear it.†The younger man, despite his earlier apparent eagerness, hesitated a moment before speaking. “Doc was, uh…†he paused- a rare moment where he decided to truly think before he spoke. “Doc was… crazy, wasn’t he..?†“Boy, I believe that would be putting it lightly,†Raymond stated. “No, I know,†Jacob said, somewhat flustered as he realized the stupid wording of his own question. “I mean… how the hell does someone like that turn into- into him?†Life wasn’t like a comic book, after all, where you could always tell right away who the bad guys were, and they were bad ‘just because’. ‘Just because’ wasn’t good enough. “What do you mean ‘someone like that’..?†Raymond questioned, seeming genuinely puzzled. That didn’t surprise the former Scout, really- the Texan was just a curious kind of guy, and it was no wonder he was so smart- no wonder he wanted answers. Jacob, however, was a little reluctant to give that answer, and it felt as though they had gone miles down the road before he finally offered the engraved silver pocket watch to his former teammate. It was a good thing they weren’t going very fast, and it was a good thing they were way out in the country with no traffic around, because the Texan hit the brakes and brought the truck to a dead stop in the middle of the road when he opened the cover of the watch. Yeah- the Scout’s reaction had been something like that, too. He would never forget the moment that watch was first placed in his hands- or at least the moment he was pretty sure the watch was placed into his hands. The boy had been a little distracted at the time and rightfully so, he reasoned. Who wouldn’t have been distracted with their team getting bulldozed, and a fucking bullet in their guts? Oh, had it hurt, too. The Scout had been hurt before in battle, and Fleischer had even saved him from dying that one time (probably more than that one time, though that was pretty damn close). He was certain that he was boned that time, though. He was panicked, and terrified, and huddled up in the infirmary bathroom, waiting to get found and killed by RED. He had felt like a baby for hiding, but he had just seen the RED Sniper put a bullet in Yuri’s head. Donell had been set on, and as it turns out, scrumpy and gunpowder burn pretty damn well. The man had managed to take a dive into the canal- and hadn’t come back up out of the water. The Scout had always considered himself fast, and tough, and nobody could beat him, right? His confidence had wavered considerably, however, when faced with the entire RED team. He was tough, but he was only one guy, and he was bleeding all over the place. Jacob imagined it was the blood loss (and, he hated to admit, his own terror) that suddenly had the infirmary feeling so much colder than usual, and the sound of boots thumping on the tile outside of the bathroom really didn’t make him feel much better. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t seem to hold his pistol steady, no matter how hard he tried. It was Fleischer that opened the door, though. He had an expression on his face that was rare for the man- he looked terrified, too. That quickly changed, though. The moment the man had seen him, his expression had grown serious, and calm, like he knew just what to do and everything was going to be okay. Jacob had the feeling that look was all for his benefit, though. He had seen the look on the doctor’s face- he was scared. He managed to keep his voice low, and calm, and even tried to reassure the runner. The Scout was barely able to make out the words over the sound of his own heart pounding, but they managed to instill just a little comfort. Then, the German took his Medipack off, and Jacob tried to tell him that he was hurt, too, but the man didn’t give him the chance. The pack was just placed in his hands, along with something else, and then the man was out and the door was closed, and he was in the dark, again. It wasn’t long before he realized that he was clutching the Medipack tight, and he wasn’t sure whether the warmth of the device was being produced by it, or was retained from being pressed to the doctor’s back. Either way, it was helping; the pain in his gut was starting to fade, and the air didn’t feel so damned chill against his skin, anymore. That didn’t stop him from getting goosebumps, however, when he heard the infirmary door slam open. He could soon hear shouting in German, and the sound of two sets of boots on the tile floor. The Scout knew that Fleischer didn’t carry a pistol, but he heard the sound of one being fired- and then everything became very quiet. Everything, that is, except for the sound of his own racing heart. He was quite sure that whoever was outside- whoever had survived the gunshot- could hear it. His fears were only slightly allayed, however, when he heard the voice of another RED outside. Then again, that meant that there was another RED outside, and it was their Scout- that prick- of all people. To make matters worse, the runner’s voice was soon joined by that of the enemy Spy. Their Scout sounded panicked, and their Spy, as always, sounded calm, collected, and cold, and Jacob jumped just a little when he heard the click of the Frenchman’s knife being opened. “What’re you gonna do with that?†the RED Scout questioned, his voice drenched with panic and terror. “You’re gonna kill him!?†“He is already dying, imbecile,†the Spy stated. “Can’t you see ‘ow ‘e is suffering? A man stabbed in ze ‘eart doesn’t live for more than a second.†There was a long pause, and the Frenchman’s voice seemed chillingly neutral as he said, “this will all be over soon, and you’ll feel much better.†Jacob knew well enough after what had happened to Weisner that the RED Spy was a silent killer- but he still imagined he could hear the sound of the man’s knife sinking into flesh, bringing an abrupt end to a line of loud, ragged breaths. He heard the Frenchman send his team’s Scout off- heard the runner’s footsteps as he left the infirmary- and then promptly heard another set of footsteps, much more calm and steady, approach his own hiding place. This was it, then. The Scout had nowhere to run to, and he’d dropped his pistol somewhere in the dark when he’d taken hold of Fleischer’s Medipack. He had only just thought to grope around for the weapon when the door was very suddenly kicked open, causing him to jump and flooding the room with light. The Spy, quite to the contrary, already had his own gun drawn, and was pointing the revolver straight at Jacob’s head as though he had known exactly where the runner was going to be. The BLU did still a glance of something behind the Spy, however- Fleischer’s unmoving form, lying on the tile in a dark crimson pool. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and just prayed that the Spy would just kill him quickly. There was no ‘bang’, though- there wasn’t a gunshot at all and Jacob finally- warily- opened his eyes to see that not only had the Frenchman holstered his gun, but he was calmly lighting a cigarette. The boy found his eyes wandering back to the infirmary, and to where Fleischer’s body was lying, but his attention was quickly snapped back to the RED. “Can you stand, boy?†the man questioned before taking a drag from his cigarette, as though he was just having a casual conversation. Everything about him spoke confidence, from his posture to the way he almost lazily exhaled the smoke from his little indulgence. It took a moment for the Scout to even realize what had been said, and then to try and think of an answer. Several moments must have passed since the Medipack had first been handed to him, because the sharp, throbbing pain of his gunshot wound had been reduced to a dull ache. He felt a little light-headed, still, but he did finally give a small, tense nod in reply. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he did manage to stand- even under the weight of the Frenchman’s gaze. “We ‘ave your Engineer,†the Spy stated, raising his hand to silence Jacob before he could protest. “Before you ask, oui, ‘e is alive, and ‘e is not injured. Ze remainder of your team, I’m afraid, could not be reasoned with.†The Scout said nothing in return, only glancing to his team’s Medic, lying unmoving on the floor. It was depressing to think that that was the most relaxed he had ever seen the man, and if he could manage to ignore all of the blood he could almost imagine that maybe he was just asleep. “You think we did the right thing, hardhat?†Jacob finally asked as the Texan handed the watch back to him. The object was carefully closed, and quickly placed back in the young man’s pocket. “Seemed like the only right thing to do,†the former Engineer finally replied, putting his foot back on the pedal to continue down the road. “I never did see him get any mail when the supply trains came in,†the man continued, “don’t reckon there was any family to send a body to.†Jacob almost inquired about the man’s son- about the little kid smiling in that picture while his dad led the big black horse he was sitting on by its halter. Hell, Fleischer was even smiling in that photo- looked awake, and alive, and happy. “What the fuck happened?†the former Scout finally asked. Raymond just shook his head in reply, like he didn’t rightly know. “Couldn’t tell ya, Jake,†he said, “but you better watch that mouth’a yours around my little girl.†The runner sighed in response, perhaps a little more dramatically than necessary, but did give in with a nod. He was grateful, after all- the man’s family was taking him in. He wouldn’t have known what the hell to do with himself, otherwise, because he sure had nobody to go back to- and apparently neither had the doctor. No family had claimed the man’s body, and there had been nothing resembling a will in the Medic’s room, or the infirmary- not that the League necessarily would have honored any special requests. It had still seemed a little irreverent for a body bag buried out in the wilderness behind the League’s base complex to serve as the man’s final resting place. It was flat, and empty out there, and the only company kept by the stone-covered grave was an unmarked wooden cross that Raymond had fashioned- and Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if the man had only done so to put his mind at ease. “Thanks again, hardhat,†the runner finally said, his voice unusually quiet- and unusually serious. That was just because he really meant it, though. He had a lot to thank the man for, in truth; the cross, the company, the reassurance, and taking him in. Hell, it would almost be like having a family- a real family- and Jacob couldn’t help but finally give a little smile at that. He knew it would take a little time, yet, but… …but, things were going to be alright.
Aww that was sweet. It made my day, thanks Bad Medicine!
And so ends the story of 2 Medics, who weren't really all that different. Both suffered tremendous losses, and yet turned out so differently. An amazing story, and I was so glad to have read it to it's conclusion. Is it terrible of me to want a story to continue on with the former BLU Scout and Engineer? Like Jacob struggling to integrate himself back into a "normal" life and him getting to know Raymond's family? Becoming the "big brother" figure for Raymond's little girl?
I cried. Congrats. It was a beautiful read, and I thank you for the experience.
Bad Medicine? *bows* Magnificent work.