Chapter Text
Clink.
Clink.
Medic shook his head as his vision blurred. Picking up his forceps, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Clink. Another piece of shrapnel was removed from the Demoman’s back and placed in the metal bowl on the table.
Clink.
They won. Today. Maybe they would lose tomorrow. He was too tired to care. Clink. It didn’t really matter, did it? After every battle he would remove shrapnel from whoever made it back to base without respawn, and then do the paperwork. Whether they won or lost didn’t change anything. He sighed as he thought about the onerous task ahead.
Clink.
The Demoman lifted his head slightly, taking care not to move his body. Having your back cut open and under a low healing beam while the Medic fished around in your torso had an amazing sobering effect. “What’s wrong? Is everythin’ ok, doc?” he asked.
Medic blinked, lifted a particularly uncooperative piece of intestine, and plucked the piece of metal out. Clink.
“Ja, nozhing is wrong. I am merely focused on my vork.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that. “Ah.”
Medic compared the x-ray he took earlier to the number of metal pieces in the bowl. Satisfied, he cranked up the power on the Medigun. Blue healing beams knitted organs and muscle, and the Medic leaned into them just a little. He could sleep when his work was done, so for now this would have to do. Completely healed, the Demoman stretched and stood up.
“Thanks, doc! I owe ya one,” Demoman said.
Medic waved his hand, sitting back. “Nein, don’t mention it. Is zere anyvun else outside?”
The Demoman poked his head out of the operating room, to the rows of chairs placed outside the door. “Nah, ye’re good,” he called back. “I’ll be headin’ oot then. Will we be seein’ ye at tha’ celebration?”
Medic rubbed the blood off of his hands, then scrubbed at his face. “Nein, I have papervork to do. I vill see you tomorrow.”
The Demoman seemed eager to leave and didn’t try too hard to convince him. “Alright. Take it easy, doc.”
Medic waved him off and stood up, wincing at his sore muscles as he did so. He sprayed down his tools and surfaces with some isopropyl alcohol and walked to the other end of the operating room to where his office was. He glanced longingly at the small cot tucked into the corner, and then forced himself to turn to his desk. The pile of paperwork loomed ominously.
He sat down and pulled the first file towards him, glancing at the clock. 7:24. If he got all of this done, he might have time to grab something to eat before he slept for a few hours.
It was 11:19 when someone hammered on the medical bay door outside, jolting Medic awake. He peeled his face off of a piece of paper and looked down at what he wrote.
...the arm from radial to distal phalanx was found later on the roof, with thumb missing. Thumb located inside Scout’s lower intestine after battle and removed.
The hammering continued. “Yo, Doc! Ya in there, Doc?”
Medic adjusted his glasses and eased himself upright, stiff muscles protesting as he walked out of the office. He grimaced at the operating room door, then glanced down and grinned evilly. When the door opened, Scout was greeted by the sight of Medic holding up a large syringe.
Scout backed up quickly. “Whoa, woah, hey! Not cool!”
“Ja? You vant somezhing?” Medic asked, advancing.
“For you tah stop pointin’ that in my face! Jeez!” Scout yelped. “Oh, and ah, Heavy’s lookin’ for ya.”
“Scout!” a voice bellowed from down the hall. Medic pocketed the syringe and poked his head out to see Heavy marching down the corridor. Scout took one look at the advancing figure and sprinted down the hall.
“See ya later, doc! Gotta run!” Scout called over shoulder.
Heavy approached, frowning. “Did Scout wake you? I break his arm if he did.”
Medic moved his glasses and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Don’t harm ze Scout, it vill only make more vork for me. I vill deal vith him later. Vhat do you need?”
Heavy looked concerned. “Did you eat, Doktor?" He shoved a sandvich into Medic’s hands as he asked.
Medic was surprised and looked down at wrapped sandvich in his hands. “I- uh, danke, mein freund.” He leaned into the door frame.
Heavy put a hand under Medic’s chin and lifted it gently. “Is Doktor ok?”
Medic laughed weakly. “I zink zat right now, I vould sell my soul to get a proper night’s rest.”
“Then go. Do not worry about paperwork. We have weekend for that,” Heavy said.
Medic started to protest, and it turned into a yawn. “Alright, alright, I am going,” he waved Heavy back. “I vill see you tomorrow, danke.”
Thinking back from the vantage point of hindsight a few weeks later, Medic decided that this was perhaps not the best choice of words.