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His last candle was flickering low. Wax dripped down its melted remains. His room, full of filled glass bottles and unfinished research, was barely lit by the faint light. Some fool had done something—a missile, a nuclear meltdown, a mishap with robots, or Scout had knocked something over again. The power had been out for hours.
His white coat was soaked with blood. No power, no showers afterwards, and no fresh change of clothes waiting for him. At least he didn't have to worry about the chill of winter, not like in Germany.
His glasses had fallen down his nose. The lenses were a mess of smudges--Scout had run into him, earlier. That boy was always running somewhere. The papers at his desk had been splattered with blood. A careless mistake. Medic tried to make out the words, contracts and red tape from their esteemed employers.
Finally, with a sigh of disgust, Medic set them aside. If they wanted this paperwork done, then they should've fixed the power.
His doves let out several coos, like a welcome greeting. Medic looked back, his face streaked with exhaustion. Heavy looked like a creature from myths and fairy tales in the doorway. Medic turned his chair to get a better view. Broad shoulders, massive arms, thick, powerful fingers, and a splatter of blood across his chest. Had it been in revenge, he wondered? Medic certainly hoped so. He relaxed at the sound of Heavy's deep voice, at his imposing, yet at times even gentle presence. He was a man who could rip someone apart with his bare hands, and yet could nestle a bird so comfortably within his hands.
"Long day?" Heavy said.
"Extremely," Medic said.
"Your shoulders are all tense," he said.
"My team is full of idiots, and my employers are not much better," Medic said. He smiled wryly at Heavy's understanding nod.
"Doktor, for once, let me take care of you," Heavy said.
The doves stirred in the rafters above as Heavy moved closer.
Medic let out a soft groan. The feel of Heavy's strong hands made the knots slowly dissipate. The stress of the day, the mishaps of his teammates, all was forgotten. With Heavy's large hands on him, how could he ever remain unhappy?
Before Heavy, he'd rarely indulged in something like this. A touch neither vicious or deeply sexual. His guards, his masks all let down.
"Your day?" Heavy said. His voice was a low, perfect growl. Medic had always loved the timbre, the depth and focus of him.
"Awful. But it's getting better now."
Heavy cupped his neck, and began to work the delicate muscles there. Medic's mind, as always, filled in the blanks. Trapezius, Splenius Cervicis, Levator Scapulae.
The incompetence, the teammates who thought teamwork meant leaving the healer alone to be canon fodder, all of it couldn't withstand Heavy's touch. None of it mattered at the heat of his skin, the roughness of his calloused hands.
Medic let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, that's much better."
"If anyone angers you, if anyone harms you, tell me; I'll kill them," Heavy said in a low, steely whisper. He cupped Medic's face. "Remember this always."
Medic rested his cheek against Heavy's calloused palms. "I offer the same to you," he said.
To men like them, it was the closest thing to an endearment, an I love you as they came.