Think First Personally, the RED Medic was of the opinion that their team's Scout possessed all the mental sophistication of a particularly impulsive chipmunk – and yet, for all of the simplicity that description implied, Medic was also certain that he would never fully understand the young man. Chipmunks at least had self-preservation instincts. From what he'd seen, Scout did not. No one who wanted to live to see another day would challenge a man carrying a minigun when they themselves were holding nothing but a bat. Sane people did not charge rocket launcher-wielding soldiers. (And it didn't matter that Medic himself wasn't an authority on sanity: some acts were clear lunacy.) Beyond the habits that baffled Medic, the Scout had also acquired a few that personally irritated him. He always found the time to shout for a medic when he was hurt and yet he only rarely found the time to stick around for the healing he'd requested. Perhaps the shouting was simply instinctual, like a struck dog yelping. In any case, Medic had quickly learned that it was never worth chasing him down: by the time he caught up to the Scout he had invariably found another means of patching himself up, and by the time Medic made it back to where he'd left the bulk of the RED team they had usually met with an unfortunate and explosive fate. On the rare occasions he did bother to stick around, Scout routinely attempted to circle in front of him at precisely the moment Medic was turning around to lock on with the medi gun. The usual result was an inefficient, two-person impression of a dog chasing its own tail. To say that the Scout was a waste of his time was an entirely accurate summary of the situation, as far as Medic was concerned. Even these shortcomings, however, could have been forgiven if only Scout hadn't begun to find ways to annoy him during his off hours as well. Medic did not appreciate being the butt of anyone's jokes, and the icy glare he now directed at the young man standing before him would have made Heavy nostalgic for the winters of his homeland. “What is this?†he asked, eyeing the green and brown bundle that Scout was trying to offload on him. “They're flowers, doc. For your office. Figured it could use a little colour,†Scout said. Scout held out his “bouquet.†It was a collection of thin and scraggly-looking little pink-tipped branches covered in multiple tiny leaves. Realistically, they looked more like something one would offer to a horse than gift to a friend. Once again, Medic refused to take them, keeping his hands tucked safely away behind his back. “Those are weeds, Scout. They grow all over the base.†No matter how often Pyro sets them ablaze in the course of his 'gardening', Medic thought to himself. Undeterred by his negativity, Scout shrugged off the correction. “So they're wildflowers. Weeds ain't got little pink petals on the end. You got a vase or something around here?†The Scout started to look around his office and for an instant Medic regretted not carrying his bonesaw at all times. He had spent the day being shot at, burned, backstabbed at least twice, and to top it all off he felt a headache coming on. Having his carefully-organized office rifled through was not his idea of a good way to end the day, and he would cheerfully lop off one of the Scout's arms before he'd let him ransack the place. So, as loathe as he was to encourage him, he opted to distract Scout. “No – but there is a beaker on my desk. Put them there.†For the first time that month Scout obeyed without comment. As soon as the man pulled back his hand, Medic put out his own and swept both the beaker and its contents into the trash he kept by the desk. Disappointingly, the action wasn't followed by the sound of glass shattering, but at least the weeds were where they belonged. He looked back at the Scout with an expression of utter disinterest and hoped that would be enough to send him on his way. “Was that all?†Medic asked. “Uh. Yeah, that's all.†Scout glanced between Medic and the garbage can, for a moment looking as though he were going to reach in and put the contents back on the edge of his desk, but Medic's expression did its job. He turned and left without another word, and Medic finally sank into his chair. He wasn't sure what had prompted that confusing bout of generosity, but at least it was over. --- As it turned out, it was not over. The next day Medic found the beaker and a new collection of weeds on his desk, with the addition of a little water to sustain them. It also looked as though Scout had made a considerable effort to pick the more presentable wildflowers this time. Wasted effort, in Medic's estimation: it only meant he had to walk to the sink and pour out the liquid contents of the beaker before tossing both it and the newest batch of flowery twigs into the garbage. This time, he made sure that the beaker broke. When Scout noticed the makeshift vase had disappeared from his desk yet again, instead of taking the hint as it was intended – that Medic was nobody's punchline and wanted no part of this nonsense – Scout seemed to interpret Medic's actions to mean it would take something more than flowers to lull him into complacency. Every few days, Medic began to find little gifts tucked away with his personal items. A “#1 Medic†mug appeared on his desk. It, too, found a home in the garbage – primarily because he didn't trust Scout not to have spit in it first or done something equally childish with it that would have had him snickering whenever Medic took a sip, but also because he was confident in his superiority over BLU's doctor and didn't need a mug to announce it for him. Who, after all, had first mastered and deployed the ubercharge? One day he found a box of chocolates tucked away with his things in the locker room. These he also disposed of, because he made it a personal policy not to eat anything that had come in contact with the blood-spattered equipment that he stashed in the locker. The meals that began appearing on his desk when he worked late into the night ended up in the trash as well. As much as he doubted that Scout knew enough about sedatives to use them properly, Medic had used that trick on others too often to trust unattended food. As he filled out a requisition for a larger garbage bin, it occurred to Medic that Scout might actually be so hardheaded that he'd never give up without a good reason. He would perhaps have to speak with him – or simply kill him and bury him out back, which was rapidly becoming the more appealing option. --- The opportunity came sooner than he expected. At the end of the month, while he was working on some inane report about the deleterious effects of repeated reanimation on the human body – a report that RED administration had requested, but which would surely be stamped and fed to RED's bank of shredders before being read – Scout popped into his office. Without knocking, as was his custom, of course. “Yo, doc. You got a minute?†“If you are dying, I suppose I could spare one,†Medic said without looking up. Scout seemed to consider this an invitation to slouch into the chair set across from his desk. Medic held in a sigh. Apparently he planned to stay for more than a minute. “So I was listening to the guys earlier – and this is just what they're sayin', just so we're clear – anyway, is it true you and Heavy are-†At that point, Medic stopped listening. His pen slipped, an ugly black mark scarring the page he was working on. Oh, that rumor again. He wasn't sure who had started it. Sometimes he suspected its origins lay in the Demoman's drunken ramblings, and at others he wondered if it wasn't simply Spy being the bastard he was known for. However it had started, he wasn't deaf to the whisperings of his teammates. He set down his pen with a deliberate click against the top of his desk. “Scout, do you know how many bones are in the human hand?†Medic interrupted him with such a degree of mock cheer that it really should have set off at least a few warning bells in Scout's head, but Scout merely blinked. It was just about the last question he'd expected to hear. Medic was, well, the medic. What was Scout supposed to know about skeletons? “- uh. Five?†he said, glancing at his hand. Scout had five fingers, so he knew there had to be at least one bone in each of those. Did they attach to something inside his palm? “No, wait. Six.†From the expression on Medic's face when Scout looked back up, he got the impression that neither of those were the right answer. “If you don't leave my office immediately, I will cut your hand open and pull them out one by one so you can count them. Get out.†“But I-†Remembering all the times he'd wished he'd had his trusty bonesaw within easy reach, Medic had done one better and had begun stashing his syringe gun in his lower desk drawer. He reached for it. As soon as Scout saw the gun cresting over the edge of the desk, he was on his feet and headed for the door. By the time Medic was able to get a proper grip on it Scout had made his getaway. The young man was at least clever enough to recognize the deadly look that meant Medic had reached and surpassed the limits of his patience for the day. He'd give him credit for that much. Instead of putting the syringe gun away, Medic settled it on top of his desk, just in case Scout was not smart enough to stay away. --- Medic thought that, finally, that would be the end of it. Surely direct threats of bodily harm were enough to ruin whatever joke Scout had planned? He was wrong. Perhaps facing repeated, gruesome deaths on a daily basis had dulled Scout's self-preservation instincts to the point of non-existence. After all, what did it matter if your doctor killed you and cut you up into little pieces if you'd be whole and alive again within the hour? With increasing frequency, unwanted gifts continued to appear in his office, his locker, his sleeping quarters – anywhere that Medic frequented, he was sure to find a special little something from Scout that he neither needed nor wanted. Sometimes there was even a bow and a colourful little card. Medic wasn't entirely sure if this was a further attempt to win his favour or simply a desperate bid to apologize, but either way the new, extra large garbage can was coming in handy. He was considering whether or not it would be wise to request Pyro's assistance with disposal one evening when someone knocked on his door. “What now?†he called out. If he had to put up with any more idiocy in the immediate future... The door to his office opened about a foot, and Heavy poked his head inside. “It is only me, doctor,†he said. Heavy slid a hand into the room and waved a chessboard at him. “If you are busy, I come back another time.†Medic relaxed immediately. Apart from the repellant effect the two of them had on the rest of the RED team when they were engaged in a game of chess, Heavy was an intelligent and pleasant companion; one who understood him well. Their friendship had grown from working as a close team in the field. It was easy to trust those who had saved your life, and whose life you had saved in turn. When Medic wanted peace and quiet or someone who would simply nod and listen to his irritable ranting, he sought out the Heavy. “I am not sure if I have enough focus for a game today, my friend, but please – come in,†Medic said, waving him towards a chair. Instead of sitting down, Heavy walked over and stood in front of Medic, peering at something over his shoulder. Medic turned and followed his gaze to the overstuffed garbage can by his desk. “Ah. That. I seem to have a very insistent benefactor.†“Is Scout? I see him put hands in your locker sometimes when he thinks no one is looking, and I wonder what he is doing.†“Yes. So far, it is nothing worse than poor choice in gifts. I believe he is trying to apologize for offending me,†Medic said, frustrated. The easiest way to apologize would be to leave him alone. “More than usual?†Medic couldn't quite muster a laugh in response. “He tried to ask me if you and I were sleeping together,†Medic clarified. He expected to see Heavy angry and frowning when he turned back to face him, but instead his friend looked confused. Thoughtful, even. “Scout also asked Heavy this question today.†The response surprised Medic. He hadn't thought Scout would be foolish enough to involve Heavy in his little prank, as well. If it was dangerous to anger one of his teammates it was downright suicidal to anger two of them at once. “Oh? And what did you tell him?†“First, I tell him it is secret, so he must come closer,†Heavy said. He leaned in, and Medic followed along with the reenactment, leaning forward. “Scout comes closer. And then – POW!†Heavy uppercut the air next to him, and as quickly as Medic had leaned in he took a step back. He had no fear that the man would ever intentionally punch him but fists the size of Heavy's deserved their own bubble of personal space. Heavy laughed. “Just like that, he is on floor, sleeping like baby. When he wakes up I tell him we are just friends. You are not too disappointed, I hope.†Heavy said, and settled a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “I admit, Medic is handsome man. Maybe, if you were redhead... maybe, maybe.†This time Medic managed a real laugh. He swatted Heavy's hand away. “Enough, enough, before someone overhears.†Seeing his friend cheered up seemed to satisfy Heavy, and he half-turned to go. Then he turned back. The thoughtful expression was back on his face. “Doctor?†“Yes?†“I know it is not my business, but we are good friends, so I hope you will not mind. I think Scout has crush on you.†Medic shot him a look over the rim of his glasses, one that said if you keep saying such things, of course everyone will think of you as a great big dunce. The Russian couldn't possibly be falling for the act. “You mean Scout is playing a prank on me,†he said. “Also possible. But Scout is not so good at keeping jokes secret: usually he says 'watch this,' or makes ugly snort-laugh like very skinny pig. He does not do these things. He leaves you gifts; he asks you if there is other man in your life. I think, maybe, he likes you.†“I doubt it, but I appreciate your perspective, Heavy. Goodnight,†Medic said. It wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss in depth at this hour – if ever – and he trusted Heavy to recognize that fact. Heavy nodded at him. “Goodnight, doctor.†As Heavy left, shutting the door behind himself, Medic heard the fluttering of wings from above. It sounded as though his dove had grown tired of his spot on top of the ceiling light and wanted to keep his master company. He held up a hand, and as he'd expected, Archimedes flew down and accepted the new perch. Medic laid his free hand on the bird and stroked it, gently straightening out a few unruly and bloodstained feathers on his favourite dove. “What do you think, Archimedes?†The dove rocked back, making himself tall and puffing up his neck, then bobbed his head as he let out an emphatic coo. “Oh, there there, boy. You'll always be the most handsome man in my life.†He shifted his hand to rub gently at the bird's neck, but Archimedes ignored the gesture in favour of continuing his display. Medic's smile faltered as he was reminded of the other obstinate suitor in his life. Scout shared Archimedes' dimwitted look at times but didn't manage to be quite as endearing when he wore it as the dove did. For that matter, Medic wasn't certain that “suitor†described Scout in the first place. Scout wasn't a romantic. He was loud, convinced of his own superiority in every way, and loved baseball more than he loved any single human being with the possible exception of his mother. He did seem earnest when they spoke, but one could say the same thing about Spy. Scout wasn't as clever or as treacherous as Spy was, but this was one area of his life that Medic didn't like leaving to chance. Medic sighed. He might not have to discuss it with anyone else, but he realized then that he would at least have to think about it. An intelligent mind could never be satisfied with the answer “I don't know.†Maybe the whole affair would seem simpler in the morning. --- A full night's rest had not brought Medic the clarity he'd hoped it would. The curiosity was at the back of his mind as he went through his morning ritual, as he suited up for battle, and even as he followed Heavy to the front lines. It was a terrible distraction, and he found himself observing the Scout more often than his job required him to. The first thing he noticed when he truly paid attention to the other man was that Scout was not as stupid as he'd thought he was. He wasn't a college graduate and he probably never would be, but he had practical knowledge in abundance. Those point blank charges Medic had always seen as suicidal were carefully calculated risks: Scout only approached enemies who were looking the other way, and he was never foolish enough to get within range of the BLU Pyro's flamethrower. He knew how to time his jumps to clear obstacles, and how fast he needed to run to make it across any given gap in the terrain. The second thing he noticed was that Scout was not as self-obsessed as he'd thought he was, either. Scout protected him. Medic preferred to believe that this was a recent development, because he had difficulty believing that he wouldn't have noticed it earlier otherwise. He certainly noticed when the men he used as human shields did it, but of course, as their source of near-instant healing and occasional invulnerability it was in their best interest to keep him alive. Scout received fewer direct, tangible benefits from Medic's continued survival, but he made the same effort to look out for him. More than once, he turned at the sound of a scattergun blast and was met with the sight of the BLU Spy's dead body at his heels. Sometimes, Scout intercepted rockets the opposing team's Soldier had aimed at Medic. He'd always assumed the Scout-flavoured gore showers were a matter of inattention or clumsiness. If they were strategic... By the end of the week, he'd begun to severely doubt his initial assessment of Scout's intentions. There could be no distraction on the battlefield without the inevitable consequences, however. Apart from the internal conflict it sparked, his inattention towards his heal target was deadly. Late in the week, he turned away from observing Scout only to watch Heavy explode into a fine mist in front of him. Blinking behind blood-spattered glasses, Medic realized he was now face to face with the BLU Soldier and about a second away from a messy death that mirrored the Heavy's. There was a railing on his immediate left. The drop to the courtyard below wasn't enough to be lethal, but it was too far to be safe. Given the choice between a pointless death and serious bodily injury, however, Medic chose the latter. He dashed to the left, used a short crate as a stepping stone, and hopped the railing. The impact was excruciating. He landed in a crouch, something in his right ankle crunching in a way he refused to think about because he knew the human body entirely too well to be comfortable with any part of his anatomy making that sound. Medic pushed himself back to his feet. Standing was more of a balancing act than usual when his right side refused to bear any significant weight, but he managed it. Gingerly, he began hobbling towards the nearest cover. Behind him, someone grunted. Medic glanced back: it was the enemy Soldier again. He cursed himself. Of course, anyone who considered rockets aimed at his feet a legitimate form of transportation wouldn't shy away from a little fall. He should have counted on the BLU Soldier being as much of a pain-tolerant maniac as their own. He dropped his medi gun and drew his second-to-last line of defence, the syringe gun. It proved to be unnecessary, however. The RED Scout had decided to follow their example, bat at the ready, and managed to land directly on top of the enemy. The BLU Soldier let out an undignified huff as he went down. Then Scout swung his bat, and the only noise Medic heard was a crunch much louder than the one his ankle had made. He swung a few more times, until the bat acquired a slick red sheen, and then he hopped clear of the dead Soldier. Scout jogged over to him, apparently uninjured. Medic made a mental note to aim for the nearest body the next time he had to take a long fall. “C'mon, doc, don't just stand there – get in the shack. Nobody ever looks in there,†Scout said. He snagged a handful of one of Medic's sleeves and tried to drag him in the right direction. Medic resisted. “Gently. We are not all as young and as accustomed to jumping from high places as you are, Scout,†Medic ground out. “Huh?†Medic rolled his eyes, then pointed at his foot before taking another pitiful hop-step towards the shack. Scout seemed to understand, then. He expected an irritated comment about fragile old bones from the younger man, but without another word Scout slipped under one of Medic's arms and helped him get out of sight before any other BLUs noticed them and decided to follow. Once inside the little beaten-up wood shack, Medic leaned his back against the far wall and slid to the ground. His foot protested even that small motion and he winced. It would heal at an abnormally fast rate, thanks to the equipment he carried, but it would still take time. He didn't expect that Scout would be keen to babysit him until he could walk at a reasonable pace again. Indeed, Scout was already looking between Medic's foot and the medi gun still attached to his backpack, his expression growing increasingly puzzled. “And you're not just using that to heal yourself because...?†he finally said, pointing at the medi gun. “Because I cannot. It is a shortcoming of the design: I can heal others, and I myself will heal slowly, but I cannot turn the medi gun on myself.†“Okay, then how about you pass it over and I heal you?†“Firstly, I do not trust you not to break it. Secondly, I do not trust our employer not to have installed some kind of kill switch if anyone other than myself attempts to use it. I'm sure you've noticed RED sets very particular standards.†“Oh,†Scout said, and Medic hummed. Exactly. With another person nearby to watch the door, Medic allowed himself to close his eyes. He got approximately twenty seconds of peace before the Scout interrupted his thoughts again. “You ever thought about asking Engie to take a look at it? He's a smart guy. Maybe he could fix it so you could heal yourself, too.†“I – ah...†Medic closed his mouth and blinked. It had never occurred to him to do so, but it was an excellent suggestion. If his mind alone could conceive of a way of making a man temporarily immortal, what could both his mind and the Engineer's together create? “Perhaps I will. I did not realize you held the Engineer in such high regard.†Scout shrugged. “Like I said, he's a smart guy. You, too. Ma never had the money to send me or my brothers to college, but I don't think I'd be real good with books anyway. Unless you wanted me to beat a guy to death with one. Got any idea how long it'll be before you can walk again?†Medic dared to flex his foot. The sharp pain had receded to a dull ache, but he could tell it would be worse if he tried to put weight on it. “Three minutes, perhaps. Five if you expect me to run.†“That ain't so bad. I'm gonna make sure nobody's waiting outside to nail us with a shotgun or something; I'll be right back.†Medic settled his syringe gun on his lap and nodded, but Scout was out the door before waiting for an answer. He didn't mind waiting. It was how he spent most of his day, anyway, and at least at the moment he wasn't also being shot at. The other man was true to his word. A minute and a half later Scout was back, panting and looking a little wild-eyed even as he dropped back onto the ground next to him. Although Scout had made it back in time and intact, Medic was not reassured. Scout was young but he wasn't unfamiliar with violence and he wasn't one to show fear without good reason. “We got a little problem. While we were waitin' for your leg to heal up, BLU was making a push,†he said. “And?†Medic asked, although he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew exactly what was waiting for them. “And now there's a sentry and nine BLUs between us and the rest of the team.†Medic cursed. The RED Engineer was smart, and so was his BLU counterpart: he knew how to pick a choke point. Chances were that there would be no alternate path that would let them avoid the BLU team. Mumbling another curse under his breath, Medic dragged himself to his feet. “Well, I suppose we may as well get this over with then,†he said. Before he could take so much as a single step, Scout shot a hand out and dragged him back down by the edge of his lab coat. “Whoa, whoa! Ain't we gonna come up with some kinda strategy first?†“What do you know about strategy?†Medic snapped at him, less because he thought Scout wouldn't know the meaning of the word and more because being dragged onto his ass had hurt. “Enough to know you're better at it than Soldier,†Scout said. Medic could only snort: flattery was more effective when one set the bar a little higher than “smarter than Soldier.†A houseplant was probably smarter than Soldier. “I don't think we can take out the entire BLU team alone, Scout, no matter what strategy we employ.†“Okay, well, how about - how far along is that uber of yours?†Automatically, Medic glanced down at the gauge. “Ninety-five percent.†“There we go. Ten seconds here to top 'er off, another thirty to get behind BLU, and bam – problem solved.“ Medic hummed, considering the suggestion. In the category of Plans Scout Came Up With, it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. No one had come to hunt them down yet. That meant that BLU didn't know where they were, and probably wouldn't be expecting them to come from behind. The element of surprise might be enough to let them rejoin the rest of RED team. “I suppose... if we can get close enough, it might last long enough for us to run past them,†he said. As soon as he finished talking, Scout punched him in the shoulder. Medic responded to the gesture with a curse and a frown but Scout was already frowning back at him. “What, did you wake up on the pussy side of the bed this morning or something? You hit the uber, I take out the sentry, the rest of the team moves in and wipes up the leftovers. If I leave 'em any, I mean.†“Scout.†“Yeah?†“You have never been ubercharged. Do you even know what to do?†“Well – I mean,†he said, and there was that pause that Medic had come to recognize meant that Scout didn't know the answer to the question and was scrambling to assemble one from the errant thoughts in his head, “I head for the sentry and-†“No. You let me go first.†Medic's tone was harsh: his best get on the table voice. Despite this, Scout seemed flabbergasted by the idea and opened up his mouth to argue with him. “Why the crap would-†“So that the sentry will target me instead of you. It is easier to aim when you are not being shot at, yes? Of course, if you cannot do it before the charge wears off, I will be killed instantly.†He hoped the look he gave Scout successfully conveyed an unspoken and then your next physical will be particularly humiliating. Either it hadn't, or Scout didn't want to look like a coward. He straightened up and puffed out his chest ever so slightly; Medic silently noted how the posture reminded him of Archimedes. “I can do it,†Scout said. “You will only have eight seconds,†Medic reminded him. “Doc, I can do it.†Medic sighed. When Scout got an idea in his head, he was difficult to dissuade. He doubted he would be able to convince him to try something else any more than he had been able to convince him to stop leaving him presents – and anyway, if they could pull it off, RED would have an exceptional chance to decimate the BLU team. Medic lifted the medi gun and locked on to Scout. Ninety-five, ninety-six... “Very well. Let us review precisely what you are to do. Remember, eight seconds is not a lot of time: do not waste it reloading. If you run out of ammunition, hit it with your bat...†--- The rest of the battle was something of a blur to Medic. His role was to support the first-line combatants, and more often than not he found himself crouching behind large rocks and other sturdy obstacles for the majority of the day. He wasn't used to being in the thick of things without the protection of an ubercharge, and even then his role was usually just to follow someone else while they mowed down the opposition. Today, though – today he'd gotten a rare opportunity to really get his hands dirty. He was covered head to toe in blood, organ chunks that not even he could identify without a microscope, and little bits of blue fabric. His boots squelched every time he took a step forward and this lab coat would probably never be clean again. It felt wonderful. They'd won, and spectacularly so. Looking just as messy and just as pleased with himself, Scout bounced along beside him as RED headed back to base for the evening. Medic glanced over and smiled. So that's why Spy calls him bunny, he thought. Scout caught the look and smiled back, misinterpreting its meaning. “Doc, man, I have never seen the BLU Engie look more confused. That was frickin' beautiful.†“You mean when I severed a major artery with the ubersaw? I assure you – it was more fun than it looked like,†Medic said, and his smile became a ferocious grin. Days like this were the reason he'd gone into medicine in the first place. “You did an excellent job on the sentry. I admit, I didn't think you would manage it.†“Told you I could do it.†“Yes, yes, I remember. Regardless. Don't expect this will be a regular occurrence from now on. We still need someone to beat Soldiers over the head.†“You can count on me, doc. I got your back.†“Apparently so,†Medic agreed. The comment earned Medic a grin that was halfway between proud and downright goofy. If it hadn't been coming from Scout, he might even have called it a little bit shy. “Hey, listen,†Scout said. “Whenever you're done getting cleaned up, you mind if I stop by your office? There was, uh, something I've been meaning to ask you.†“I don't see why not.†“Great. See you later.†With that said, Scout bounded off ahead of the group. For a moment, Medic wondered what exactly he'd just agreed to. --- Sitting at his desk later that night, Medic regretted agreeing to meet with Scout instead of going straight to bed. The extra running he'd done had taken its toll on his back and his neck was just as bad. Had someone filled his backpack with lead today? He was certain it hadn't always felt so heavy. Scout's off hours timing was as terrible as usual. He managed to walk into the room right as Medic made a particularly pained and unattractive expression. “Uh, you okay? Foot giving you trouble again?†Scout said, and came over to his desk. Medic waved him off. “No, it is long since healed. My neck is sore. The medi gun and backpack are heavier than your little messenger bag, you know.†“You want a massage? All the ladies love it,†Scout said with a grin, and wiggled his fingers in the air. Medic rolled his eyes. He doubted the authenticity of these supposed rave reviews, and anyway he was not terribly interested in what the ladies thought. “And what do the men say?†Medic asked. “Er. 'No' so far, but I'm hoping he'll say 'yes' eventually.†Indeed, Scout looked hopeful, like an animal begging for a treat – or perhaps a teammate begging for an ubercharge. Medic shook his head, but he was smiling. He loosened his tie, pulled it off, and then pulled his collar back just enough to give the other man better access to his neck. “Just this once then. And we will hope that you are as good as you claim to be, yes?†Scout didn't answer, which was a surprise in and of itself. Then there were a few seconds of hesitation before he circled around behind Medic's desk. Once there, he hesitated again, longer this time. Long enough that Medic was just about to tell him to get on with it or get out when thin fingers and bare palms came to rest along each side of his neck. Medic shivered. He was surprised that Scout had had the forethought to remove the wrappings from his hands. So that was what had taken him so long. Perhaps he'd thought to heat them up a bit as well, because Scout's fingers were pleasantly warm against his skin. He obviously lacked any formal training or real knowledge of the underlying musculature, but his hands were strong and moved with confidence once he'd gotten over the initial jitters. Beyond those qualities, Medic had to admit that he had quite simply begun to enjoy the attention. “So, doc, I was thinking-†“No you weren't,†Medic interrupted, but his tone was light and teasing. It was difficult to be cranky when he was being spoiled. Scout lifted a hand and flicked one of his ears. “Yeah, yeah, you're a real comedian. Don't quit your day job. You wanna do dinner some time?†It was Medic's turn to hesitate. Dinner meant food prepared by Scout. It also meant at least a half hour of conversation with Scout. Despite knowing he should logically consider these points downsides, Medic found that they didn't put him off as they once would have. Instead he was intrigued. Scout's hands had gone still by the time he answered. He could feel the tension in his fingers. “I think I would,†Medic finally said. “Sweet.†Scout relaxed. “Though, uh, if we're doing dinner...†Ah, and there it was: the horny teenager rearing its head, despite Scout's twenty-something years of age. Medic had expected this at some point, but he was not so deprived that he gave it out that easily. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Scout. I believe it's traditional to wait until the third date.†“I was gonna ask if you preferred chicken or beef, but I like that you're thinking ahead, doc.†Oh. Perhaps Scout was not the only one who didn't always think things through before he spoke. Medic glanced over his shoulder, and was of course greeted by Scout's best shit-eating grin. He reached back and made a half-hearted effort to smack him. Scout dodged it with ease, and ducked forward to plant a quick kiss on Medic's temple. Medic couldn't find it in himself to try and smack him for that. “So how many dates before I can get a real kiss?†Scout asked. “Bring red wine and you have a deal.†------ Prompt: Scout tries to be romantic, Medic has no idea what’s going on. If art: I’d like to see Scout try one of the classics (bouquet of flowers/candlelit dinner/ballroom dancing, etc.) and fail at it because he’s only ever seen it done in movies. If writing: Bonus points if Medic eventually realises that Scout isn’t playing some stupid prank on him and lets himself be seduced.