PART XXIII “That is unnecessary,†the doctor sniffed. “He is my patient. I will not harm him.†Sniper released him, sitting up and swinging one foot to the floor. “What’re you up to, then?†“It is part of the therapy. Usually we get this far on our own, but you have been an able assistant. Are you ready, Junge?†“Ja,†answered Scout. Sniper reflected that German was a poor choice of tongues for romance, but perhaps that wasn’t what was happening, here. Medic insinuated himself between the lad and the gunman, pressing against both. He smelled of soap, mostly, but with a body heat that, even through his lab coat, betrayed his excitement. It was shocking--the doctor was very pointedly aloof, his smile was welcoming but never weak or hungry. Sniper found himself studying the arch profile, the perfectly-combed hair with its tiny, dashing curl. What must it be like, to inspire something as primitive as lust in a man so impossible to read? He envied the scout, just a little. To be so warm and livid that even this stolid man of science wanted you, it must be exhilarating. And a little part of him thrilled, at the closeness of the usually distant physician. The obvious arousal, the slight dampness of his brow, and his thigh laid next to Sniper’s on the couch. “Would you kindly hold him still?†Sniper swallowed. “How so?†“Just there. Yes. Make sure he does not slip; this is delicate work.†Medic guided Sniper’s hands to Scout’s lap. The gunman crouched on the floor beside the sofa, and Medic leaned over his subject. The scalpel dipped slowly, alighted on the straining black satin of the panties. It was a slow incision, controlled, even as Medic’s breaths came rougher and shorter. The satin gaped after the passing of the blade, and the pinkess underneath was so bright that it burned in its black mouth, throbbing like a tongue. The young man barely dared to breathe, and the doctor did not stop until he had reached the deep crux of the legs. “Let him go.†The flesh escaped quickly, as if being exhaled, and Scout arched in the cool air. Medic smiled at his handiwork, his eyes a little over-wide. He leaned down to Sniper and cupped a hand conspiratorially around his ear. “This is very good for him. I believe he is working out some issues having to do with his father; perhaps his mother too, why not. This is very powerful symbolism; we are making great progress.†“Symbolic of what?†Medic sat back up, grinning. “I have no idea!†The doctor whipped the dress from Scout’s head, tossing it aside, and carried the young man bodily off the couch, heading straight to the operating room with his happy burden. Sniper watched dumbly, unsure of what was going on. The door swung shut behind them, and Sniper heard a gentle metallic thump, squeaking, the clatter of instruments. He was about to excuse himself in confusion, when the Medic swatted the door open and called him into the dark interior. There was Scout, arrayed in state on the stainless steel operating table. Sniper had always wondered why there were stirrups on that thing, but they seemed simply utilitarian, now. “Herr Scharfshutze, I will try to stay out of your way. But as you and the boy are already intimate...†he indicated the patient, who smiled and bit his lower lip. Sniper’s skin chilled in the cool air of the operating room, and he could not bring himself to simply approach the table. The young man was very pale on the brushed steel, catching bouncelights from the reflective surface as he moved, his eyeshadow very dark. Under the single bright light in the windowless room, the table took on the character of an altar, and its smiling subject, a sacrificial virgin. Medic’s face dropped away into shadow, his spectacles glinting. Sniper heard him turn to a fresh page in his notepad. “What am I supposed to be doing in here?†“Whatever comes naturally, please.â€