Chapter Text
At first it was an accident.
You see, during the war, when Soldier would be sitting inside being treated for battle wounds, it was always a pretty nurse patching him up. Women young and old with their hair long pulled back professionally behind stark-white caps. Their accented voices ranging from transatlantic to Midwestern or southern. Patriotic and willing to serve their country any way they can.
When addressing such a nice lady, Soldier would always throw in a "thank you," as a show of appreciation. Being ever the charmer, if he thought he had even the slightest chance with her, he'd add a "sweetheart," or a "cupcake," and hope they'd remember him for it. Though that wasn't always the case, as a quick, simple "sweetheart," would do when her name would slip from his mind.
It was a habit, nothing else to it.
Working for Mann Co., the RED team was just men, one of each class.
At base, everyone ignored each other until necessary. Most conversations were out on the field, in the midst of the sounds of gunfire and their other teammates shouting. Plans were made up on the spot, out in the open, in plain language where the enemy team could intercept and work against it without a problem. Completely disorganized.
And Soldier's old habit of calling his medical saviors "sweetheart," lay dormant in the years between the end of the war and the start of his new job, just under the surface. Out of sight, out of mind. Like the old magazines you stash away instead of throwing out when you're done with them.
However during a move or a particularly deep clean, you'll get around to those magazines eventually.
Maybe not a perfect metaphor, but an accurate one to compare to the day out on the battlefield when a "Thank's for the aid, sweetheart," slipped out as Medic fired the healing beam at him. Medic was certainly not one of those pretty nurses, but that didn't make his appreciation any less valid. Naturally, Medic was a bit put off by being called something so unprofessional, but didn't know how to respond otherwise.
Soldier simply shrugged it off with a "Sorry, force of habit," before the doctor could say anything in return, rocket jumping away quickly to diffuse the situation. Who could argue with that?
'There's nothing habitual about calling another man "sweetheart"!' Soldier thought to himself a little while after as he soared above a ruthless Sentry gun. He shook his head as he hit the ground, deciding to just ignore it for now. No sense in making a big deal about it. And hey, recalling the puzzled look Medic gave him made Soldier chuckle a bit.
He'd have to work on breaking this ridiculous habit.