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No. 4330
Part 15 is now here, after that horrifying detour that was "With Apologies to Harlan Ellison." And by "lovely" I mean absolutely horrifying. Hopefully this will help you recover.
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There was a weird sort of tension in the air around RED base that evening that hung around like a thick fog. That prevailing awkwardness permeated the atmosphere, inhibiting casual conversation, crippling any and all thoughts aside from dwelling on the bombshell that had been dropped on them all that day. Understandably, Medic and Heavy were not in the showers with everyone else. They hadn’t joined the rest of the team for dinner, either. Heavy was sent out to the kitchen to grab plates for him and the doctor, and he gave the Soldier a Look before he left. Later that night, the sound of Medic playing Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 5 in A could be heard again, after a lengthy absence of private concerts for his lover. After it was over, not ten minutes later much different sounds came from the Infirmary. Whether this was because the doctor felt that it was no longer necessary to silence himself and simply did not bother, or if he was being loud as a deliberate act to rub it in Soldier’s face, opinions in the matter would vary. Demoman, who slept in the closest room to the infirmary, was already questioning if defending the two of them had been such a wise idea after all, as he proceeded to carry out his nightly ritual of drinking until he eventually passed out.
Engineer, too, had been agonizing over whether or not he had made the right choice. Though it was true he had 11 PhDs, none of them were in psychology, and he found himself at a loss to assess whether or not the behavior of his teammates was a cause for concern. Any mental instability in the team’s doctor seemed to have little to do with him fancying men and more to do with him fancying pain, specifically dishing it out at the slightest whim. And Heavy, for as loud and frightening as he was on the battlefield, seemed to be one of the more well-adjusted members of the team, though that wasn’t really saying much. But Engineer had been raised believe that love was meant to be between a man and a woman. Simple as that. It wasn’t really a religious conviction either, at least not in his conscious mind. He never was too religious a man, even though his grandmother tried her best to imprint her beliefs on him when he was a boy. He was simply a man of science and logic, and though he believed that God existed, he focused more on trying to be amiable and getting along with people, rather than trying to take to heart the words of an archaic tome written thousands of years ago by people who thought the world was flat and the sun revolved around the earth. Even though he had defended Heavy and Medic’s affair that day, and it seemed to be the most logical choice to leave them be, he was still doubting himself.
He was sitting at his desk as he was thinking this, with a pen in one hand and several blank sheets of paper in front of him. Had he been back home in Texas, he probably would have discussed the matter with his wife. She would know what to do in a situation like this. She was always better with people than he was, and she had helped him come out of his shell in college and become more sociable. He owed her so much, really, and he felt lost without her there, always ready to lend him an ear, give whatever was on his mind some careful thought, and dispense her unfalteringly sound advice. But would she be able to advise him on this? He never had to come to her with anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure if this would violate the privacy of the two men in question, although judging from the faint, distant sounds coming from down the hall, privacy didn’t appear to be on the forefront of their minds. He looked back down at the virgin sheet in front of him, as he tapped his pen on his draft table, and tried his best to filter out the doctor’s groans from his ears.
Irene would listen to him, he thought. She would know what to do. He already had an idea of what she would say, but he needed to see it, to spill out his tumultuous thoughts to her and have her assure him that he did the right thing.
After much deliberation, he finally put his pen to the paper, and started to write.
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Soldier was outside, alone, jogging around the RED base under the light of the steadily rising sun. He always saved the laps for last, after many one-armed push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks. Occasionally, Scout would join him for these early morning runs and remind Soldier of just how much older he was getting. Scout would wait for him and jog in place, looking at his watch as he checked his pulse and yelled at Soldier about how slow he was. The boy wasn’t with him this morning, and that was fine with Soldier. His shovel and a sack of potatoes he was using as stand-ins for actual company had started talking back to him, and he needed some time alone to himself. Their constant bickering was getting on his nerves.
Once satisfied by his morning workout, he walked back into the barn and deep into the RED base. He could smell the scent of sausage and eggs and toast from the kitchen, and his stomach growled in anticipation. When he arrived there, he saw Pyro by the stove, prodding sizzling eggs on the skillet with his spatula, humming to himself.
“‘MORNING, PRIVATE!” Soldier bellowed, causing Pyro to jolt, nearly flipping an egg out of the pan and onto the floor.
“Duurrn durr thuurrt!” Pyro whined. “Urrr skurrrd murr.”
“‘Scared you?’ Private, you should be /used/ to that by now,” Soldier said, marching over to inspect the eggs currently sizzling in the pan. “Don’t you have any bacon or anything?”
Pyro turned to Soldier and simply stared at him, tilting his head to the side slightly. Soldier could only guess what Pyro’s expression underneath the mask looked like, but he didn’t have time to question Pyro further when he heard the pantry door open.
“I could have sworn zat ve had anuzzah sack of potatoes in zere, I don’t know vhat happened to-” Medic was backing out of the pantry, and had stopped talking all together when he laid eyes on Soldier. His jaw clenched shut and his eyes narrowed, and Soldier reacted in kind. He was completely silent as he walked over towards Pyro without taking his eyes off of Soldier, looking like some dangerous animal defending his territory. Soldier sneered back at him, and found himself side-stepping away from the man. Pyro looked back and forth between them nervously, moving over to the side to check on the sausage.
“Sleep well?” Soldier asked, his voice tinged with vitriol.
“Fine, zank you,” Medic said icily.
“Is that so?” Soldier asked. “Because, from what I heard, it didn’t sound like you were doing much sleeping last night.”
“Oh, did ve keep you up?” Medic asked with mock innocence. “I’m so sorry, how zhoughtless of us.”
“You disgust me,” Soldier sneered.
“Ze feeling is more zen mutual,” Medic said. “Don’t you have somezing you should be doing? Like yelling to yourself viz ze door closed?”
The evil eye that Soldier was giving Medic right now was so intense, that Pyro half expected the doctor to turn to stone. Medic seemed more amused by this than anything, regarding Soldier with a smirk. They stood that way, staring each other down, assessing the others weaknesses. All Soldier could think of was beating Medic’s smug face in with his Shovel, over and over again, until it resembled raw hamburger meat. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and he could see Medic’s lips curl back to reveal his teeth, looking like a shark that smelled blood in the water. It made him sick to his stomach.
Soldier turned on his heel and stomped off angrily. He wasn’t hungry any more. His mind was buzzing with rage and humiliation and it felt like a nest of angry hornets. As he marched down the hallway towards his room, he stopped to notice Heavy carrying a trunk from out of his room. Soldier stopped in his tracks, and Heavy noticed him, looking up momentarily before turning his head in seeming indifference, opening the door to the Infirmary with a push of his shoulder and trudging inside.
This had gone too far. Soldier felt powerless, like a neutered dog muzzled and caged, without any way of biting back at the injustice of it all. He made his way into the War Room, his sanctuary, the only place of light in a cave full of madness, stupidity, and sin. There, he saw Shovel and Colonel Taters, waiting for him, ready to lend him an ear. Though, he couldn’t say that he liked the Colonel’s attitude. That would have to be dealt with later.
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“Ha! Check!”
Medic smiled, looking up from the chessboard and smiling. “You have gotten bettah at zis, meine Liebe.”
“Heh, tank you, Doktor,” Heavy chuckled.
“Don’t get too cocky, mein Heavy,” Medic said. He moved his knight and took another one of Heavy’s pawns. “See?”
“You are too good at this game,” Heavy sighed.
“I have been playing much longah zen you have,” said Medic. “You vill get bettah.”
Heavy sighed. “Is hard.”
“It’s supposed to be. If it vere easy, it vould not be much of a challenge, now vould it?” Medic reached his hand over onto Heavy’s and gave it a reassuring pat. “You’re doing fine.”
“‘Evenin’, boyos!” Demoman said, walking into the rec room. “’Ow are th’ two o’ ye doan’, eh?”
“Demoman!” Heavy looked up from his game, face lighting up like a light bulb. “Is good to see you! Doktor and I vere just playing chess!”
“Oh, aye?” Demoman said, looking over the board. “I kin play a decent game. Beat Spy by a baw hair th’ one time I played ‘im. Bastard was pretty riled ‘bout that.”
“Really?” Medic asked, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps ve should play sometime zen.”
“Ah, s’not really my type a’ game. I weren’t even really tryin’. Just pissin’ aboot,” Demoman said with a shrug, going around the couch and kneeling onto the seat, crossing his arms over the back. “I’m bored out a’ me skull, though. Kin I watch?”
“I don’t see vhy not,” Medic said, and turned back to the game. “Your move, Heavy.”
“Oh, sorry,” Heavy said, turning back to the board, staring intently as he pondered his next move. He put a lot of thought into each move, often making a false grab for a piece before retracting his hand and shaking his head.
“Christ, Heavy, ye move slower ‘n a pissed turtle,” Demoman observed. “Make a move already!”
“Don’t rush him, you vill only cause him stress,” Medic said.
“Ye know, I never fig’gered ye fer th’ patient type ‘fore I saw ye wi’ Heavy ‘ere,” Demoman said.
Medic tried not to smile too hard. “I suppose I have learned to make an exception.” As he said this, Heavy finally picked up a rook and moved it, only for Medic to capture it without even putting much through into it. “You ah not here to just vatch us play ah you?”
“I jes’ wanted tae make sure you were farein’ okay,” Demoman admitted. “Ye know, af’er yesterday.”
“We’re fine,” Medic said. “Zank you for your concern.”
“And tank you for kind words, Demoman,” Heavy added. “You are good man.”
“I woul’nt go tha’ far,” Demoman said with a chuckle. “Like I said, we’re all freaks out ‘ere. Not a one a’ us is totally normal, ye know? We’d ‘ave tae be a wee bit off tae take this job in th’ first place.”
“I resent being called a freak,” Medic said. “I’m not some sort of circus sideshow attraction, zank you very much.”
“I’m usin’ a very broad definition a’ ‘freak,’ ‘ere,” Demoman said. “An’ no, yer not some bearded lady or a mumblin’ midget or ‘alf a set a’ Siamese twins, but tha’s beside th’ point. Yer diff’rent. I know how tha’ is, since I been livin’ me whole life bein’ different. Almost me whole life I grew up not seein’ anybody outside a’ me own parents th’ looked like me, an’ I already tol’ you tha’ story.”
“Vhat story is that?” Heavy asked.
“Demoman accidentally killed his own parents as a child trying to blow up ze Loch Ness Monster,” Medic explained.
“Oh.” Heavy glanced down briefly at his chessboard. “Vhat is Loch Ness Monster?”
“It’s like Sniper’s drop bears,” Medic said. “It’s ein made up creature zat’s supposed to scare tourists.”
“IT’S NOT BLOODY MADE UP, YE BASTARD!” Demoman exploded. “Nessie’s /real/, an’ she’s a great, giant sea monster left o’er from th’ prehistoric ages an’ livin’ in th’ Loch Ness, waitin’, ready tae eat any daft choob who goes out alone a’ night an’ wanders too close tae th’ water’s edge!”
“How big is monster?” Heavy asked.
“Fah too big to actually live in ze tiny body of vater zat it’s supposed to live in,” Medic said dismissively. “Can ve not get into zis nonsense?”
“Fine,” Demoman grumbled. “Don’ b’lieve meh. But when yer proven wrong, I’ll be there tae say I told ye so.” His eye wandered down to the chess board. “Ye might wan’ tae move yer queen, Heavy. Medic’s closin’ in on ye.”
Heavy looked down at the board and his eyebrows arched in realization. Laughing, he moved his queen away from Medic’s encroaching rook, and chuckled.
“Don’t help him!” Medic groaned. “He’s nevah going to learn how to play if you’re looking ovah shoulder. Zat’s cheating.”
“Jes’ tryin’ tae lend a hand,” Demoman said with a shrug.
“I do not mind,” said Heavy. “You have been very helpful for me and Doktor.”
“Think nothin’ o’ it,” Demoman said. “Us freaks, we got t’ stick together. Soldier’ll come aroun’, if he knows what’s good fer ‘im. Donnae worry too much.”
“I’m sure zat ze two of us vill be able to handle ze Soldier on our own, zank you.” Medic made his next move without any real thought to it.
“Jes’ sayin’,” Demoman said. “Ye know, th’ two a’ ye are lucky. Ye’ got each other, an’ tha’s more ‘n I ever had. Bein’ poofs out here’s prolly better ‘n th’ rest a’ us. We donnae have any lasses around. Naught but th’ nood books Sniper got up wi’ ‘im.”
Medic found the side of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “Danke, Herr Demoman,” he said. “It’s nice to know zat you’re trying to undahstand.”
“I’m tryin’,” Demoman said. “Th’ two a ye’ ever need anythin’, ye let me know. Jes’ doan come knockin’ on me door if I’m sufferin’ from… ah, wot’s th’ word ye use in Germany? Katzenjammer?”
“Vhere did you pick zat up?” Medic asked.
“Some bloody comic strip or somethin’,” Demoman said, getting up from the couch. “I’ll leave th’ two a ye be. Gonna see if there’s anybody else aboot. Good luck beatin’ that wily bastard, Heavy.”
“I vill be needing it,” Heavy said.
“Ye’ll beat ‘im yet,” Demoman said encouragingly. “He’d better let ye win at least once. Dead rude of ‘im not to.” He was halfway through the door before he peered back in. “Th’ two a’ ye take care now.” And he slipped back into the hallway.
As Heavy scooted his queen to the side, Medic found himself re-evaluating his first impressions of the Demoman. Out of all his teammates, the Demoman had perhaps been the most supportive of them. The only Negro on the team had been the most understanding and least prejudiced, and now saw a kinship with them. He felt a little sick, having previously looked down on the man, not only because of his constant inebriation and the violent moods swings he was prone too, but also his descent. He remembered being disgusted by the man’s dark, muddy skin, his scent, the structure of his face… and now he felt guilty about it. Perhaps, he thought, the Reich had been wrong about the inferior races. Perhaps they were not inferior at all. After all, he had already bedded and was now intimately involved with an enemy of the Axis, a Russian. Before he could ponder what else he could have been wrong about, he heard someone calling for him.
“Doktor?”
“Ja?” Medic lifted his head, and noticed Heavy was looking at him expectantly.
“Is your move, Doktor,” Heavy said.
“Ah, of course,” Medic said. “Must have drifted off for a moment.” He captured Heavy’s queen with his bishop, and watched as Heavy’s face fell.
“You are no going to let me vin, are you, Doktor?” Heavy asked dejectedly.
Medic chuckled. “Nein, mein Kushchelbär… you have to earn zat.”
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The battlefield was really the only place Soldier felt at home, and the fire of war flowed through his veins and lit up every nerve in his system. They had lost their last bout against BLU, but that wasn’t going to happen again. This time, Soldier would be even more on the offensive than usual. Without telling anybody else on his team, he decided to go straight for the intelligence himself.
This caused some confusion on both sides, as Soldier would rocket jump ahead of Scout, charging into the line of BLU Engineer’s sentry more than once. Scout was not terribly pleased with this turn of events, hollering at Soldier to do his own damn job, only to have Soldier yell back orders to the young man that could barely be heard over wall-rattling explosions and constant gunfire. Purely by chance, Medic was trailing their Pyro, and had built up an Übercharge. Soldier was close by when Medic triggered it, and Pyro unleashed a torrent of flame upon the BLU Engineer and his sentry. Soldier took the opportunity to saddle the intel on his back and make a mad dash out.
However, he was quickly beginning to realize why they usually left this job to Scout and Spy. He was not a very fast man, and he was made slower by the briefcase on his back. On top of that, he only had so many rockets to fire, and the time it took to reload was precious. He ran to the sewers, where he would have a better chance of not being so easily spotted. He had to breathe through his mouth, treading carefully, trying to splash as little as possible. He swam across the moat between the two opposing fortresses, and could hear the usual sounds of war over his head. Nobody appeared to have seen him. Good. He managed to make it all the way to the other side. He was in his own base. Not much longer before he could win this thing.
He went up the stairs into the base, blinders on, focused on one thing and one thing only, and that was delivering the intel. By the time he smelled the cigarette smoke, it was too late. He whirled around to meet the BLU Spy, and before he could react, he heard several firing noises, and the Spy fell forward, his blade barely missing Soldier. Spy landed face down on the stairs, and his back was covered in needles, making him look like some absurd porcupine. Stepping up from behind the Spy was Medic, lowering his syringe gun looking very annoyed.
Soldier tried to hide his surprise. “What’re you doing down here?”
“Covering your back, Dummkopf,” Medic answered. “Somebody has to make sure zat you get ze Intelligence.”
Soldier grumbled, and Medic cast his Medigun onto the Soldier. The two of them made their way upstairs, and came across the BLU Scout, with their own intelligence. Soldier promptly blew up the young man with his rocket launcher, showering the both of them in a rain of blood and human tissue. Medic cackled at the sight.
Finally, they were closing in on the intel room. They made their way past Demoman, who was laying a few sticky bombs on the doorframe, and finally, to the intel room, where Engineer stood behind his level 3 sentry, and Soldier yanked the briefcase off of his back and slammed it down triumphantly, letting out a loud “HA!”
“VICTORY!” The Announcer exclaimed.
“HOO-HA!” Soldier shouted, arms akimbo and chest thrust out, looking like a proud rooster. “How about that?”
“Vell done,” Medic said. “Zhough, I zink perhaps next time you plan to do somezing as foolhardy as, say, changing ze agreed upon plan at ze last minute, you should at least let us know in advance.”
“They would have seen that coming,” Soldier said. “Besides, we /won/, so I don’t see why you’ve got your panties in a twist all over it.”
“Hey now,” Engineer said, coming out from behind his sentry. “You two were jes’ workin’ together to help us win, an’ yer fightin’ already?”
“I vas just commenting on Soldier’s razzer gung-ho attitude towards ze battle today, it’s not mein fault he took it /personally/.” Medic cast a glare in Soldier’s direction.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Soldier said. “Besides, I didn’t need /your/ help. I could have handled that Spy on my own.”
“I’m sure,” Medic said. “You’re velcome.” With that, he marched out, leaving Soldier and Engineer alone in the intel room.
Engineer sighed, and pulled out his PDA, destroying his sentry. Destroying his work always made him a little melancholy. He looked over at Soldier and frowned. Soldier, naturally, just got defensive.
“What?” he asked. “What’d I do now?”
“Ya didn’t even thank ‘im,” Engineer said glumly.
“Why should I?” Soldier asked. “He was just doing it so that he could make me feel stupid.”
“He was doin’ it because we’re a team an’ we gotta work together,” Engineer said simply.
“I am NOT thanking a Nazi or a queer for ANYTHING, thank you very much!” Soldier said, crossing his arms defiantly. “Nor am I going to take the advice of somebody who sympathizes with them.”
“Would you listen t’ yerself?” Engineer asked, picking up his toolbox. He walked closer to Soldier, and balanced his toolbox on his thigh as he lifted up his goggles. “He’s a member of our /team/, an’ it don’t matter what he was in the past or what he is now. A team needs t’ work together, an’ he realizes that. You don’t. An’ that’s prolly why you were never accepted into th’ army.”
“How do you know about that?” Soldier asked. His voice was low and raspy, and Engineer has to suppress a shudder.
“Ain’t none a’ yer business,” Engineer said. “An' I ain’t told nobody else. But Doc knows. An’ I know. An’ if yer fixin’ t’ keep that a secret, I’d recommend that you treat him with a lot more respect.”
“You’re blackmailing me then, eh?” Soldier asked.
“Not blackmailin’ you,” Engineer said. “I ain’t gonna tell either way. But I can’t say th’ same fer th’ Doc. So… jes’ try t’ be a little more understanding, all right? ‘Cause I don’t want to be a part a’ any unnecessary drama.”
Soldier grumbled, and averted his eyes. “So what do you want me to do then?”
“Thank him, an’ apologize,” Engineer said. “Trust me on this. It’ll make things go smoother for ev’rybody.” And with that, Engineer took his leave, lugging his gigantic toolbox in his arms, leaving Soldier alone.
The door to the intel room would be locking soon. Soldier tilted his helmet down further over his eyes, and trudged out, staring at the floor and dragging his feet behind him. Damn the Medic, and damn the Engineer, too. He hated being humiliated like this. Medic’s ties to the Nazi party were so obvious he might as well have had a giant neon sign over his head that said “NAZI” in bright red letters and giant, flashing arrow pointing to him. And for him to be gay on top of that? Disgusting.
He thought about this, as his teammates saw him and gave him congratulatory pats on the back, as he was in the showers, as he ate his dinner and finally when he retreated to the War Room. Shovel and the Colonel were there, waiting for him.
/Congratulations, Soldier!/ Shovel said. /You did well today./
“Tell that to Medic,” Soldier grumbled. “Can you believe that son of a bitch had the /nerve/ to tell me that my actions, the ones that /helped us win today/, were foolhardy?”
/Well, you didn’t tell anybody what you were doing,/ said Colonel Taters. /You were extremely lucky. Think about how badly the day could have gone./
“Luck had nothing to do with it!” Soldier barked. “The hell would you know, anyway? Shovel was there with me, but you sure as hell weren’t.”
/Word gets around,/ Taters said. /I got ears, you know./
/No you don’t,/ said Shovel. /If you had ears, you’d be a sack of corn. You just have eyes./
/I find that remark racist,/ huffed the sack of potatoes.
“Shut up, Colonel!” Soldier barked.
/No, you shut up!/ the Colonel shouted back. /Medic helped you today, didn’t he? He helped you even though you have been extremely unpleasant to him, and what thanks does he get? You insult him./
“You should have heard how he talked me!” Soldier said. “That elitist, snot-nosed, cock-sucking /maggot/ talked /down/ to me!”
/Can you blame him? He thinks you’re crazy./ Taters said. /And why shouldn’t he? I mean, look who you're talking to. I’m a sack of potatoes. Shovel’s a shovel./
“Entrenching tool,” Soldier corrected.
/Whatever,/ said the Colonel. /What I’m trying to say is, you’re a sick boy. You’ve had a lot of bad thing happen to you that screwed you up pretty bad. Maybe if you talked to him about it, he could help./
“I am /not/ talking to him about that,” Soldier grumbled. "Besides, I am convinced that he is not a real doctor at all, let alone a psychiatrist. And I hate psychiatrists."
/Oh come on, Soldier,/ the Colonel pleaded. /You can’t keep all those bad things that happened to you bottled up forever… what happened to your father, what your mother did to you… what your brother did to you…/
“DON’T YOU MENTION THAT BASTARD IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN!” Soldier roared, lifting up Colonel Taters to eye level and shaking him, spilling most of him onto the floor.
/There there, Soldier,/ Shovel cooed. /Don’t mind him. The Colonel cares about you, but he’s just… misguided, is all./
“Misguided, my foot,” Soldier growled. “He knows what he did.”
/I’m sorry, Soldier. I spoke out of turn,/ said Colonel Taters. /Just apologize to Medic, already. I don’t care if you don’t like him. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be making enemies in a place like this./
“He’s my enemy by default,” Soldier said.
/Just pretend to get along with him, then,/ Colonel Taters said. /You’ll thank me later./
/Yes,/ said Shovel. /Lull him into a false sense of security. Make him think he’s safe. Excellent idea, Colonel./
/That is not what I meant at all!/ said the Colonel, horrified.
“Colonel, I was wrong about you,” Soldier said, putting him down and picking up the potatoes on the floor, stuffing them back inside his sack quickly. “You’re a wily son of a bitch. I like that.”
/You’re not listening to me!/ Taters spat. /Damn you, Shovel!/
Shovel just giggled.
/Listen, Soldier, that’s not what I meant, now let’s just… hey!/ Soldier had walked out on him, and was already marching to the infirmary.
Soldier swung the infirmary door open, startling Medic, who was sitting at his desk, going over his files while listening to one of his records. Upon looking up at the intruder, the doctor’s mood instantly soured.
“Come to insult me some more?” he asked.
“Not this time,” Soldier said, suddenly feeling very, very awkward. He was not good at this. “I… uh… I wanted to let you know that your quick disposal of the enemy Spy earlier, and your decision to heal me as I had the intelligence… well… it did help us achieve our victory today.” He shifted uncomfortably as Medic looked over him, scrutinizing him.
“Ah you zanking me, Herr Soldier?” Medic asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course not!” Soldier barked. “I still do not like you. At all. Not one itty, bitty bit. I hate you and everything you stand for. But you played a crucial role today and… uh… I wanted to say… good job.” He gave Medic a stiff salute. “Keep that up.” And he marched back out into the hallway.
It took Medic a moment to process what just happened, as the experience was almost completely alien. But then he found a pleasant smile creeping over his face, and he returned to his papers, humming along with “In the Hall of the Mountain King.”
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