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Sniper awoke slowly, his senses dazed and hazy from anesthesia. He was still semi unconscious, deliriously reveling in the conversation he’d just had with his parents in his sleep. In fact he could still feel the phantom warmth of his mother’s palm against his cheek. However, as he became more conscious the feeling did not fade and what he thought was the touch of his mother felt much more rubbery than what was normal.
Sniper peeled his eyes open only to be met with the blazing glow of overhead operating lights. He blinked his eyes rapidly in an attempt to make the adjustment less painful. Once he was acclimated enough to open his eyes fully he noticed he was missing his glasses. Both the lack of tint over his vision and the blur of his nearsightedness giving it away.
He turned his head to the side to get his bearings and avoid the gaze of the searing operation light, hearing the crinkle of exam table paper beneath him as he did. To his surprise Medic was right beside the operating table. One of his gloved hands propped up his head and the other rested against Sniper’s cheek, which would explain the strange rubbery sensation. Medic’s thumb occasionally traced the ridge of the scar that spanned from the tip of Sniper’s nose to the high of his cheekbone that he’d received from Spy several years ago.
Sniper wasn’t surprised at the act of affection. Medic had a habit of becoming clingy towards any of his patients after particularly intense surgeries.
Right, surgery, that’s why he was laying on a cold table, shirtless with the light of a small sun staring him down. He’d been feeling ill all week and finally caved and paid a visit to the doctor when the pain kept him from sleeping.
Sniper decided he was ready to start getting up, stretching himself out and shaking the sleep from his limbs. Medic startled slightly at the sudden movement, seemingly having fallen asleep during his post surgery doting.
“Ach, Herr Snipah you are finally avake, zat is good,” Medic mumbled as he tried to wrestle the exhaustion out of himself, rubbing his eyes and righting his glasses.
“Man, wotever yah did Doc it worked like a charm, oi feel great.” Sniper said as he stretched his arms over his head and straightened his numb legs.
“Vell, I’m glad for zat. You had several severe complications viz your transplanted organs. It explains vhy you vere feeling undah ze wezah zis veek.” Medic explained as he briefly looked over Sniper’s medical chart. “Zis is vhy you need to allow me to do moah frequent check ins, you flatlined dreimal during your operation today,” Medic chided.
Sniper didn’t feel any alarm at the news. He’d grown far too desensitized to life threatening complications in his health that Medic had always been there to fix.
“Huh, guess that’s why I dreamt a me parents.” Sniper commented.
All of the team had vastly different preferences when it came to anesthesia and surgery. On one hand Some simply didn’t trust Medic to do as he pleased with their insides without supervision like Spy and Engi. Some enjoyed the surgery process and opted to stay awake like Heavy and Pyro.
On the other hand Scout and Soldier were far too squeamish or volatile to stay awake. And Demo could sleep through any surgery, no anesthesia required. But in Sniper’s case being operated on by Medic’s hand was like skirting the line between life and death and sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d dream of visiting with his parents in a vast field of clouds while he was under.
“Vell, I’m glad you vere having a pleasant time,” Medic said sarcastically while rolling his eyes. “Vhile you vere having a family reunion I vas fighting to keep your blood from being on my hands for a second time.” Medic said grimly, turning away from Sniper and pacing over to his desk.
“Awh, come now, mate,” Sniper started as he sat up on the operating table, “you know oi forgave yah for that a long toime ago, roight?”
He stared sympathetically at Medic while the man’s back was turned, fiddling with something at his desk. Just as Sniper opened his mouth to try and pry a confirmation out of Medic he was met with a face full of his own clothes.
“Ja, Ja, I know,” Medic said as he walked back over to Sniper’s side, giggling a little as he watched Sniper try to claw his way out of the bundle of clothes on his head.
“Good,” Sniper replied once he finally freed himself from his linen prison, hair significantly more ruffled for his troubles. Medic slid Sniper’s sunglasses back onto his face for him, bringing his view back into crisp clarity, before sitting down beside him on the operating table. “Thanks, mate.”
Sniper began wrestling his clothes back on. He started with his white undershirt, but as soon as it was back on he could instantly feel an incessant itch spread across his chest. He was well accustomed to scratching the ever loving shit out of his autopsy scars so he hadn’t thought twice about digging his blunt nails into the flesh of his flat chest.
“Ach! Stop zat! You vill open your stitches,” Medic scolded, smacking Sniper’s hand away from the recently stitched wound on his chest.
“Oh, roight. Sorry Doc, force a habit,” Sniper said sheepishly, opting to scratch the back of his neck instead of the fresh wound.
“I svare all of you dummkopfs aah so reckless vhen it comes to letting your vounds heal.” Medic said grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. “You especially, your resurrection vounds vould have healed perfectly if you had just listened to me, but instead you go und zhrow yourself out of ze first vindow you could find.” Medic recounted with a disapproving shake of his head.
“Ay, you should be thankin’ me for that,” Sniper bit back in playful defensiveness as he slid his red work shirt over his head, “cause unless you had another cool 3 bill’ laying around we’d have a permanently dead Spy on our hands.”
“Ja, I suppose you are right. Still, it vould’ve been nice to know you vould just rip all zat hard vork open right avay before I spent hours meticulously stitching you back togezzah.” Medic replied as he got up from the operating table and strolled over to one of his supply cabinets, rifling through it. He came back to Sniper’s side with a canister in hand.
At the sight Sniper scrunched his nose in distaste, “gaahhh, not that crap.” He raised his shirt despite his scowl knowing from experience that Medic wouldn’t let him off the hook no matter how much complaining he did.
“Goodness, I nevah vould’ve guessed a seasoned killah like yourself vould be such a drama queen.” Medic teased with a snicker as he scooped a decent amount of salve from the canister with his gloved hand. He ducked down and smeared the balm across Sniper’s scared chest, covering both old and new wounds. Sniper growled with revulsion when the cold paste made contact with his skin.
“Really, if you’d just follov your prescription you vouldn’t have to go around scratching yourself like a flea ridden vild dog.” Medic huffed.
“Maybe if it wasn’t so bloody uncomfortable oi would! Besoides, it reeks! Whenever oi use it every bloody animal within a koilometer a me bolts before oi can even get them in my soights!” Sniper rebuked, shoving his shirt down before Medic could apply any more of the ointment. He huffed, but conceded, capping the canister and turned to place it back in the cabinet.
“Ja, I suppose you vould be ze capital auzhority on stinking, vouldn’t you,” Medic said with a not at all subtle look over his shoulder at Sniper.
Sniper gaped at his audacity, “well, sorry not all of us can smell loike pretty, pretty princesses, loike you, yah bloody wanker!”
“Ja, I know, it is a tragedy, truly.” Medic said through giggles. He paced back to Sniper’s side and pulled him into an embrace. Sniper grumbled at the affection but soon relinquished his sulking in favor of soaking up Medic’s warmth.
He startled a little when the cold metal of Medic’s stethoscope pressed against the flesh of his back, beneath his shirt. He grumbled at the sensation but still drew in deep breaths every time Medic moved the stethoscope as he’d grown so accustomed to doing. He was half tempted to yell into the damned thing to get back at Medic for his snide comment, but decided that pulling away from his warm chest was too much of a sacrifice, especially since Medic always kept his operating theatre damn near freezing.
“It seems zat you are stable, Herr Snipah,” Medic said cheerfully as he pulled the stethoscope from under Sniper’s shirt and slung it around his neck. “Now, as Herr soldat vould say “hit ze shovahs!” Doctor’s ordahs.” Medic said gleefully before handing Sniper a note written out on one of his prescription forms, simply reading: You smell. It’s chronic.
Medic couldn’t hold in his barks of laughter as Sniper furiously balled up the note and hurled it at the doctor with it bouncing harmlessly off his spit curl.
“Oi’m gonna get you for that, yah bloody mongrel!!” Sniper hollered lunging at the German, Medic narrowly avoiding his grasp with a yelp that quickly devolved into giggles. “Get over here, bloody fruit shop owner!!” Sniper growled, unable to keep a smile out of his voice or off his face.
Medic turned tail and booked it out of the infirmary, laughing maniacally the whole way. Sniper quickly reared around and pursued him out of the double medical doors, shaking his fist in faux fury after him. leaving only Medic’s flock of doves, startled by the sudden commotion, alone in the operating theatre.