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No. 2461
You guys are in luck! Here's Part Three!
Although, I feel like I may be pushing some boundaries in this one, like trying to figure out where the line between /fanfic/ and /afanfic/ is. There was some... experimentation involved.
I don't know. Judge for yourselves.
______________________________________________________________
Heavy walked into his room, having eaten his fill at the dinner table, and sat down on the tiny bed. It creaked and sagged under his immense weight, though Heavy didn’t much care or notice. He was too busy thinking.
When he was at RED headquarters, originally being briefed on his new job requirements, the mention of wanting to stay close to a Medic stuck with him. He had asked the man in that tiny office if he knew anything about the Medic on their team, and the man simply said that the Medic was a German gentleman. Heavy was a bit uneasy about the prospect of being saddled alongside an enemy of the USSR, but he was quickly reminded that there were three Americans, a Frenchman, an Australian, a Scotsman, and a mysterious masked man on his team as well. Out of all of them, the one who might be most likely to be a fellow Communist had to be the German, assuming he was on the eastern side of the wall. That didn’t turn out to be the case, sadly.
However, it hardly mattered when he finally got off the train and saw the Medic for himself. They had all been in separate cars, and finally looking at the other teammates for the first time was a bit jarring until he saw the doctor. Right away he could tell that this man was the Medic. He looked to be a man of science; strong jaw, dark hair graying at the temples, small, round spectacles on the bridge of a Roman nose… he seemed far too immaculate for this dusty, sun-scorched place. Heavy decided that, this being the man he was going to end up working with on the battlefield, he should probably introduce himself.
It didn’t go very well. The man was cold to him from the get-go, looking over Heavy with what might have been disgust. He tried to be as friendly as possible, hoping he could reach over whatever barrier this man had set up around himself. It didn’t seem to be working. Normally, Heavy would leave well enough alone, but there was /something/ about this man he couldn’t figure out. There was an air of mystery about him, almost, and despite better judgment, Heavy kept after him. Part of it was curiosity, he supposed, but another part was that the doctor was… pretty? No, not pretty. /Handsome/ was the right word.
Heavy felt a nervous, sinking feeling deep in his gut just from the thought alone. Pursuing those kinds of thoughts get men arrested and sent to Siberia, to the gulags. That’s why he had married. To make matters worse, his wife seemed to pick up on this. He had loved her, he really did, but she /knew/, and she left him. Having a woman to share his bed with was better than having no one at all, but he had no choice. He suppressed those feelings for as long as he could, and looking upon that stupid, pretty Medic undid all of it. He hoped and prayed the doctor didn’t pick up on it. Heavy thought that when they first arrived, the doctor was checking out Scout’s ass, but that could have just been him projecting.
He lay back on the bed as it groaned underneath him. It was so hot here. He had never been to a place this hot and dry in his entire life; he had been convinced that such a place only existed in photographs. He wasn’t wearing his vest at the moment, and peeled off his t-shirt from his barrel chest. His skin cooled from being exposed to the air. It felt good to get that shirt off, sticky with the days sweat as it was. Tomorrow, they wouldn’t be fighting, but they would start up the day afterwards. It might not be a bad idea, Heavy thought, to relieve some built-up stress.
It didn’t take him long to get completely undressed, and his body was responding quickly to his own touch. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deliberately, conjuring up images of the doctor in his head. In his mind, the German was kinder, smiling with a cat-like satisfaction as his hands trailed over Heavy’s chest, and he looked up at him over those round little glasses, his eyes no longer cold and distant, but warm, intense and focused. The doctor now wanted Heavy as bad as Heavy wanted him, and that feeling of wanting, of /needing/, swelled with every stroke. He tried to conjure up the way the doctor smelled after that long day of fighting, the sound of his voice, what his body was shaped like under that uniform… it was still fresh in his mind. As the pressure built up he became more desperate in his movements, picturing the doctor on top of him before finally erupting with a quiet, suppressed groan.
He laid still for a few moments, catching his breath and feeling the afterglow burn up like fog under a steadily climbing sun. When he opened his eyes, he was alone, lying in bed completely naked and sticky. There were tissues in the room somewhere, but he didn’t get up right away. Instead of feeling relieved, he was overwhelmed by a creeping melancholy. Medic wasn’t there, curling up next to him with his body head pressing under Heavy’s arm. No, he was on his back, having just fantasized about a man who he had only just met yesterday.
He was going to have to use the showers alone tonight.
______________________________________________________________
Today was an off day for both of the opposing bases, and Medic decided that physical examinations of the team members was in order. While it was true that the members of RED team already had physicals before their arrival at the base, Medic wanted an opportunity to know what he was dealing with, so to speak. His announcement of this at breakfast that morning got him a few puzzled glances, but no one questioned him, and this was perfectly acceptable to the doctor. He would be expecting them to arrive one-by-one at regular intervals throughout the day.
The first to arrive for his examination was the Scout. As lithe and nubile as he was, any attraction Medic might have had to him was killed whenever the boy opened his mouth.
“You know we already /had/ our physicals before we came here, don’cha, Doc?” Scout asked. He had been surprisingly quiet up until now, and he was sitting on top of the examination table, stripped down to his skivvies.
“I am aware of zat, Herr Scout, but I prefer to have zis for my own personal records,” Medic replied in a very slow and deliberate manner, wrapping the cuff of a sphygmomanometer around the young man’s arm.
“Yeah, whatever,” Scout said dismissively. He was quiet for a moment as Medic pumped the bulb on the device and inflated the cuff. “So, what’s your deal, anyway?” He finally asked after a few moments in thought.
“My ‘deal?’” Medic asked.
“Yeah, man, why are you all fuckin’ snobby an’ shit, like you’re too good for th’ rest of us?” Scout asked. “Yesterday, every time I called for you, you acted like a jerk an’ you either ran off or came over when Heavy yelled at you, like I wasn’t worth th’ trouble.”
“You /weren’t/.” Medic said flatly, letting the device deflate. “Your job is to go in und get ze intel. Unless you ah carrying it, I hardly see vhy you should waste my time on ze glassjaw vhen I could be healing my own meatshield.”
“‘Glassjaw?’” Scout asked. “Is that what you think I am? You sayin’ I’m a wuss?”
Medic unwrapped the cuff around Scout’s bicep and smirked. “How old are you again, /boy/?”
“I’m twenty friggin’ years old!” Scout exclaimed. “An’ stop callin’ me ‘boy,’ you fuckin’ Nazi faggot.”
The doctor bristled a bit at the insult. “You have not exactly inspired a lot of respect from me, young man.” The doctor said, picking up his clipboard and scribbling down Scout’s blood pressure. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
“Yeah, well, your /job/ is to friggin’ heal people.”
“Mein /job/, Herr Scout, is to help ze team capture ze enemy intelligence,” Medic said, his irritation showing through as he dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball onto the crook of Scout’s arm. “It’s not like you vould not respawn, anyvay.”
“Jeez, you’re a dick, you know that?” Scout said, retracting his arm from Medic’s grip and sneering. The doctor yanked Scout’s arm back and quickly tied a surgical tube around his bicep.
“Und you ah annoying,” Medic retorted, plucking up a syringe from a metal tray beside him. “Now, hold still. I’m going to need ein blood sample.”
“Wait, whoa, what?” Scout suddenly became very visibly nervous. “That thing’s fuckin’ huge. You could fuckin’ gore somebody with that.”
The grin that broke out slowly over the doctors face was enough to make Scout shudder. “You are not fond of needles, zen. Am I correct, Scout?”
“N-no, of course not, don’t be stupid,” Scout said. “Just, you know, most of ‘em aren’t like fuckin’ harpoons.”
“Zis vill only take a second,” Medic said, grabbing the young man’s arm harshly. “Just try not to zink about it, und it vill be ovah quickly, ja?” He tapped the vein he was searching for, and took his sweet time before penetrate the soft, trembling flesh with the tip of the needle. Scout was looking away and gritting his teeth, and the doctor pulled out the plunger at an almost leisurely pace, humming to himself as he did so. The glass tube gradually filled with dark red blood, and Medic found himself taking much more than he could possibly need.
“I think that’s enough, Doc,” Scout said weakly.
“So it vould seem,” Medic said, still smiling as he removed the needle, letting the hole bleed a little bit before he placed a square of gaze on top, and bandaged over it. “Zank you for your cooperation, Scout. Zat is all I need from you today.”
“Yeah, whatever, freak,” Scout said, jumping off the examination table and grabbing his clothes. “I’ll bet ya got off on it.”
“Oh, you have /no/ idea,” Medic said softly under his breath.
______________________________________________________________
“Let me just say right off the bat that I don’t trust you.”
“Is zat right, Herr Soldat?” Medic asked.
“/Soldier/. Call me ‘Soldier,’ goddammit. This is America, we speak /American/ here!” Soldier was crossing his arms over his bare chest, sitting on the examination table. As Medic has requested, he was stripped down to his briefs, but still wore his dog tags and his helmet. The doctor couldn’t help but think the man looked comical as he sat with his chest thrust out and back arched, trying to look imposing when he was completely at Medic’s mercy.
“English,” Medic said.
“I beg your pardon?” Soldier asked gruffly.
“/English/, dummkopf!” Medic repeated. “Zere is no such language as ‘American.’ Ve ah speaking English.”
“Oh, /sure/,” Soldier said, “that’s just what they /want/ you to think.”
“Of course,” Medic said indifferently. He pulled the stethoscope that was looped over his shoulders and put the buds into his ears, and placed the disc over Soldier’s chest. It had a very strong, steady beat. Physically, Soldier seemed to be in very good health for a man his age. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his mental state.
“You like the sound of that, Doc?” Soldier asked. “You’re not gonna find anybody else on this team in as good of shape as this man right here.”
“I’m sure,” Medic said, moving the bell up Soldier’s chest. The man’s body was well-sculpted and battle-scarred, and Medic couldn’t help but admire it. He couldn’t let his gaze linger too long, however. It was hard to predict exactly how this man acted. Insanity had a way of doing that to people.
“Like I was saying, /Doctor/, I don’t trust you,” Soldier repeated, waiting for a response from Medic.
“Und I should care /vhy/?” the doctor asked.
“Because you’re a goddamned Kraut, is why,” Soldier huffed. “You’re the enemy. We licked you in the War, and if you cross me I’ll rip out your guts and jump rope with them!”
“It vas Russia zat really defeated ze Nazi forces, Herr Soldier,” Medic reminded him, bringing out his blood pressure meter. “Perhaps, if I were Japanese, zat threat might carry a bit more veight.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” Soldier grumbled as the doctor wrapped the inflatable cuff around his arm.
“Vell, considering zat you vere not actually in ze Var, you may remembah zings differently zen ze rest of us,” Medic said. “Hold still, bitte.”
Soldier was completely silent as Medic read his blood pressure. As soon as the cuff came off, however, he could no longer contain himself. “It’s not my fault the War ended before I could get over there.” Soldier said. “Besides, there were still Nazis over there. I know there were.”
“Of course zere vere,” Medic said in a very patronizing tone. “I’m sure you vere vell received ovah zere, vhat viz you cracking open innocent people’s skulls und vhatnot.”
“You’re certainly one to talk,” Soldier said simply.
Medic’s sardonic smirk faded into a very stern, stoic expression. During the rest of Soldier’s examination, he was totally silent, and it was now Soldier’s turn to watch over the proceedings with a smug grin. By the time Soldier got dressed and left, Medic’s mood had turned completely sour, and not even drawing blood from the man had gained him any satisfaction.
Next time Soldier needed healing in battle, the doctor was going to go out of his way to ignore him.
______________________________________________________________
“Please, Herr Pyro, take off ze suit und ze mask.”
“Nurrr.”
“How am I supposed to examine you if I cannot see you undah zere? Off viz it!”
“Nuhh-urrhh. Urrr durrn gurrt drssshed furr nurrburrdeh.”
Medic sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb. “You ah being difficult. I am your doctor. I need to examine you.”
“Urrm scurrred.” Pyro said simply, covering his head with his gloved hands. “Urrh duuurn lurrk purrpurrl suuurrn murr feesh.”
“Stop being childish,” Medic said, arms akimbo, looking down at the man sitting on his examination table. “You ah a full grown man, ah you not?”
“Yurrsh,” Pyro admitted sheepishly.
“Zen take off ze suit. NOW.”
“NURRVEER!” Pyro shouted, leaping off the examination table with a surprising amount of agility. Medic tried to grab a hold of the man, but found him slipping through his fingers. He stumbled over and found himself tripping over his own rolling tray, spilling his supplies onto the floor where the landed with a loud, metallic clatter. Pyro had fled out of the infirmary door, which was now swinging ajar.
“GET BACK HERE!” Medic shouted after him. “YOU COME BACK RIGHT ZIS INSTANCE YOU… YOU…” He found himself suddenly inarticulate, and turned to picking up his instruments off of the floor, grumbling to himself in German, where he had no shortage of insults for the fire starter.
______________________________________________________________
“Me wot now?”
“Your eye, Herr Demoman. How did you lose it?”
“It donnit’ say in me records?” Demoman asked with concern.
“It simply says ‘Accident,’” Medic said, glancing over Demoman’s file.
“Well, there’s a story t’ that,” Demoman said. “D’ye wan’ t’ ‘ear it?”
“Sure, why not,” Medic said with a sigh. He figured he would end up hearing it eventually, anyway.
“Well, I was jes’ a wee lad of abou’ six years,” Demoman started, “an’ I lived along th’ Loch Ness, wi’ me folks. See, if ye were growin’ up aroun’ there, ye’d ‘ear th’ stories abou’ th’ monster in th’ lake.”
“Ze Loch Ness monster,” Medic said, his eyes half-lidded.
“Aye.”
“Isn’t zat a hoax?”
“IT’S NOT A HOAX, YE BLOODEH FOUR-EYED BASTARD!” Demoman said, the words practically exploding from him. “Ye say that again, I’ll skin ye alive an’ wear ye as a hat!”
“How crude,” Medic replied, recovering from Demoman’s outburst. He adjusted his glasses nonchalantly. “Continue, bitte.”
“Fine,” Demoman said, slipping back into his storytelling voice, leaning forward with a glint in his remaining eye. “So, I was jes’ a wee lad at th’ time, an’ I dinnit’ care fer beasties. Far as I was concerned, th’ monster needed to be dealt with. An’ well, me father ‘ad gotten rich from a minin’ operation a’ some sort. I think it was coal.”
“You /zink/ it vas coal?”
“Ach, I donnae even remember. I ‘anded o’er th’ business a long time ago. But tha’s not wot this story is aboot. Me father, ‘e ‘ad a knowledge o’ explosives, an’ I picked up some things. Dad always said I was a bright boy for me age.”
“I’m sure you were,” Medic said sarcastically.
“So, anyway, I was set on blowin’ th’ beastie t’ kingdom come. I set up th’ charges an’ th’ bombs all aroun’ th’ lake. I hadn’t really done any calculations at th’ time, an’ I were only six, so I really wasn’t sure of ‘ow exactly t’ go aboot it. But, anyway, I had th’ whole thing set up, an’ unfortunately, bein’ six, I knew I couldn’t get th’ bombs wet, so I placed ‘em along th’ edge o’ th’ lake. It made sense at th’ time, y'see. So, I got th’ whole thing set up, an’ I set aff th’ charges, an’ KABLOOIE!” He gestured wildly with his arms, trying to simulate the force of the explosion. “Before I know it, I got a bit a’ shrapnel in me eye, an’ I’m rollin’ aroun’ on th’ ground, screamin’ in agony!”
“Serves you right,” Medic said. “Zat vas stupid of you.”
“Oh, aye, trust me, I learned tha’ right quick,” Demoman said glumly. “Turns out me mum an’ me dad were walkin’ along th’ edge o’ th’ Loch when I detonated th’ bombs.” He looked down at the floor, with a haunted look on his face. “I was only /six/, fer Christ’s sake. Six years old, an’ I killed me own parents. I dinnit’ ‘ave any other family, least not in Scotland, anyway, an’ nobodeh else wanted anythin’ t’ do with me. I spent th’ rest o’ me childhood in an orphanage. Soon as I turned 18, they booted me out an’ wished me th’ best a’ luck. So, I sold off th’ family business, an’ got inta demolition, an’ next thing ye know, I’m signin’ up fer RED an’ ‘ere I am.”
“Interesting zat you decided to get into explosives, considering zat zey killed your parents und took your eye,” Medic observed dryly.
“It’s wot I knew best,” Demoman said with a shrug. “Ye wanna see where me eye used to be?”
Medic suddenly leaned forward with interest as the Scotsman lifted up his eyepatch, revealing his empty left eye socket. To his delight, Demoman pulled the lids open so that Medic could better see inside. It was completely hollow, and the doctor was fascinated by it.
“May I get a light?” Medic asked.
Demoman laughed. “Oh, aye, sure, knock yerself out. Most folks r’ a bit sickened by it, really, start boakin’, but I dinnit’ wannae go aroun’ wi’ a glass eye. It donnae look right, ye know?”
The doctor was now looking around his desk for his pen light, then returned, leaning over the Scotsman and prying his eyelids open, and shining the light inside. He could see the bone and muscles and tissue inside, and took delight in being able to see the man’s sinuses up close.
“Ye enjoyin’ yerself, lad?” Demoman asked, flashing a pearly white grin.
“Very much, danke,” Medic said, smiling.
“Ye know wot? Yer not so bad,” Demoman said. “I thought ye were a right prick when I first saw ye, but ye donnae seem like a bad man. Jes’ like I was wrong aboot Engie. Nicest bastard I e’er met, I swear it.”
Medic’s smile faded, and his demeanor turned icy again as he turned off the pen light. “Ve should move onto ze rest of ze examination,” he said flatly.
“Suit yerself,” Demoman said with a shrug.
______________________________________________________________
As soon as Heavy walked into the infirmary, Medic felt himself tensing up a bit. Each of the men on RED team were enemies of the Reich (assuming Pyro was not from a country that was part of the axis powers), but it was the Russian that made the Medic most uncomfortable. The fact that he seemed to be fond of following the doctor around outside of battle and sitting beside him at dinner certainly didn’t help matters.
“Hello, Doktor,” Heavy said with a nod. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m fine,” Medic said, not even looking up at the man from his clipboard. “Strip down to ze unterpants und step on ze scale, bitte.”
Heavy did so obediently as soon as the doctor turned his back towards him. One he was down to his boxers, he walked over next to the scale against the wall. “Am ready, Doktor.”
Medic turned around and glanced over the now almost-naked Russian. Seeing him like this, Medic realized just how much of his body was pure muscle, with layers of fat that probably served him well in the cold, Russian winters. A barrel chest, trunk-like arms, wide shoulders… the doctor felt as though he were only just now noticing the monstrous but fascinating proportions of this man.
“Doktor?”
“Ja, coming,” Medic said, marching over to the scale. “Vell, go on. Step on it.”
“Da, Doktor,” Heavy said with a nod, stepping on the scale, as it gave an odd, metallic creak under his weight.
Medic took his pen in his hand and nudged the weights on the scale until the weights were perfectly balanced. He peered over the rims of his glasses. “159.1 kilos,” He said aloud.
Heavy chuckled. “I lost some veight.”
The doctor didn’t respond, and merely extended the height rod up, bending it on its hinge so that it rested on top of the Russian’s head. “204 centimeters.”
“Zey already measured me before I got here, Doktor,” Heavy said.
“I know zat,” Medic said. “Hop on ze examination table, bitte.”
Heavy stepped off the scale and pulled himself onto the table, causing the table to rattle and creak underneath him. Medic flipped through the Russian’s files, looking for anything particularly noteworthy.
“It says here you vere a boxer before you signed up for RED,” Medic said, raising an eyebrow.
“Da,” Heavy said. “Vas good at it. Not vhy I came here, though.”
“Oh?” Medic asked, removing a tongue depressor from a box off of his tray.
“RED vas interested in Sasha,” Heavy said proudly. “I built her myself.”
“Sasha?” Medic asked.
“Da, my gun,” Heavy answered. “Is my, how you say, ‘pride and joy?’”
“How interesting,” Medic said. “Open your mouzh und say ‘ah.’”
Heavy opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting out a long “ah” as Medic pressed the tongue depressor down and peered down Heavy’s throat. The size of the man’s mouth was enormous, almost cavernous. His teeth seemed to be well taken care of considering his background. Medic found himself slipping the stick of wood further back into Heavy’s throat, and noted curiously how the man didn’t seem to gag. He removed the depressor from Heavy’s mouth and tossed it into a nearby, metallic wastebasket.
“Everything all right, Doktor?” Heavy asked.
“Fine, zank you,” Medic said. He picked up his clipboard and scribbled down some notes, and Heavy leaned forward and tried to peer over his shoulder. Medic shielded the clipboard from the Russians view defensively, hugging it to his chest and casting a rather annoyed glare at the man.
“Sorry,” Heavy mumbled apologetically.
“I’m sure you ah,” Medic said, putting the clip board down. He wanted to get the formalities out of the way as quickly as possibly before he was able to get to the drawing of blood, though he had a feeling that getting it from Heavy would not nearly be as satisfying as it was from Scout. He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck, place the tubes into his ears before placing the disc onto Heavy’s chest. “Take a deep breazh for me, bitte.”
Heavy complied, his massive chest swelling and relaxing. Medic could hear the man’s giant, steady heart thumping through his chest; it was perhaps far more impressive than Soldier’s. It seemed to flutter a bit at Medic’s touch, though it was probably due to the cold metal touching bare skin. Medic returned to his clipboard and wrote down his results.
“Vhere are you from, in Germany?” Heavy asked.
“Stuttgart,” Medic answered, pulling out the sphygmomanometer from on top of his tray and wrapping the cuff around Heavy’s arm. He could barely get it all the way around.
“Oh,” Heavy said as Medic inflated the cuff. He watched as the doctor took his reading and deflated it again, unwrapping the cuff and jotting down even more notes.
“You do not like people much, do you, Doktor?”
Medic paused, surprised by this observation at first, but then found himself amused by it. Heavy had made an earlier remark on their first day at the base, but the massive bear of a man was apparently far more perceptive than he would have previously thought. “Vhat makes you say zat?” he asked, plucking up the surgical tube and stretching it out.
“You are alvays vanting to be by yourself,” Heavy said. “You don’t like to help anybody. Is not good vay to vork in team, Doktor.”
“Is zat so?” Medic asked. He was not in the mood to be lectured by this half-witted ape of a man.
“Da, is so,” Heavy said as Medic tied the tube around his arm. “I feel sorry for you.”
Medic was very visibly jarred by this statement. “You vhat?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“You must be lonely man,” Heavy said, sounding a bit more cautious now. “I vould not vant to be lonely.”
The doctor was scowling at Heavy now, swiftly picking up a cotton ball and dousing it with alcohol, his movements giving away his irritation. He yanked forward on Heavy’s arm as he swabbed at his arm. “So vhat?” He asked. “I prefer to be alone. Do you have a /problem/ viz zat?”
“Nyet,” Heavy replied. “I just tink you need friend, is all.”
“A /friend/,” Medic said, eyes narrowed as he picked up a fresh syringe. “Und I suppose you zink zat /you/ could be my /friend/ zen, is zat it?”
Heavy nodded silently, looking more than a little hopeful.
“I don’t need to make any friends here,” Medic hissed. “I’m just here to do mein /job/, not socialize viz a bunch of mentally defective /degenerates/.” With that, he stuck the needle into Heavy’s arm, quickly drawing a very generous amount of blood. Heavy winced a bit and a satisfied smirk broke onto Medic’s face. “Und I certainly do not to need to make friends viz a stupid, clumsy brute like /you/.” He retracted the needle, careful not to break it off in the man’s skin, however tempting that may have been. “Ah ve clear, Herr Heavy?”
“Da,” Heavy said, scowling back at the doctor. “You are sadder leetle man then I tought.”
“Zink vhat you vant,” Medic said, putting down the needle and crossing his arms. “Now, get out.”
Heavy hopped off the Examination table with a grunt, picking up his clothes off of the chair he has placed them on, and getting dressed quickly. Once dressed, he stomped off to the door, but stopped short of it. “You are terrible liar, Doktor.” He said. “You tink you are scary and mean, but I know better. I saw vhat you did for Pyro. If you vere evil man, you vould have had him fired.”
“Ah you quite finished?” Medic asked.
“Da,” Heavy said. “You just remember this tomorrow, vhen ve fight again.” And with that, Heavy left, slamming the door behind him.
Medic grumbled to himself as he wrote some very insulting observations about the team’s Heavy for his files. There was another knock at the door.
“Vhat do you vant?” Medic shouted.
“S’ me, Doc,” Engineer said, peering inside. “I’m, uh, here for my examination.”
“It’s been rescheduled.” Medic said. “Come back Vednesday.”
“But, Doc-”
“I said, 'Leave!'” Medic snarled. “Und tell Sniper und Spy not to come here, eizzah.”
Engineer recoiled a bit from the outburst. “Uh, sure, Doc, whatever you say,” he said simply, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Medic waited a few moments after the Engineer had left, listening in the hallway for any approaching footsteps. He then scooted his chair cover to his desk, and took off his glasses with a shaky hand, before letting his head fall into his crossed arms with a heavy sigh.
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