A Snapping Sound
Rap. Rap. Rap.
"Grgggng..."
Rap rap rap rap.
Medic stirred perfunctorily. "It's for you."
Rap rap rapraprap thump.
"Is never for me."
"It is now. It has to happen zometime."
Thump thump thump thump slam. "Doc!"
"I told you," said Heavy, rather too satisfied with himself.
"...Well, one day zey will have an emergency about... literature or punching, and I vill laugh and laugh..."
Heavy just chuckled. "Get up."
Medic slowly wrested himself from under the covers, contemplating kicking his bedmate in the knees. His better instincts overruled this plan, however, so he settled by glaring at the fuzzy blue-on-black blob he assumed was Heavy whilst fumbling for his glasses and something to put on the upper half of his body.
He flicked on the light. The urgent noises from the other side of the door grew and multiplied as his lover regarded him with the unique sense of superiority gained from knowing one will soon have all the covers. Faced with this double whammy of team obligation and unnecessary smugness, he had no choice but to stalk peevishly towards the latest crisis.
The crisis turned out to be Sniper. Specifically, a rather disheveled, distressed, obviously hastily dressed Sniper bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, hand raised in mid-knock, hair falling over his eyes.
"Vhat?" said Medic, steeling himself for something idiotic.
The lanky man opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, turning vaguely red.
"Vhat?" repeated Medic, now absolutely certain it was something idiotic.
Silence.
"If you don't tell me what it is this instant, I vill-"
"It's Spy!"
Silence again. Sniper didn't seem to be willing to offer any more information.
"Vaht, is he in labor?" the older man offered in frustration.
"Wot? No! 'E's uh, 'e's uh, well..." Sniper coughed, and his voice shifted to both a lower and a quieter register, "'is dick broke."
"Vaht." It was barely a question.
"There was this snapping sound, an'..."
Medic kicked himself in the back of the shin. It hurt. He sighed, allowing his last vain hope that this was all a very stupid stress-induced dream to sail out with the carbon dioxide. "How did it break?"
"...'Ow d'ya bloody well think it broke?" Sniper sounded well and truly angry, a state he only reached by being embarrassed beyond belief.
The answer was obvious, even to the groggy. "Sex."
"..." Silence, in this case, indicated assent, coupled as it was with the even deeper shade of red that appeared to be in a race to get from Sniper's nose to his ears.
"How-no, never mind. Vhy? It's-" a quick glance at the wall clock- "three forty-eight in the morning!"
Sniper made a mumbly noise, one of his regular repertoire ever since Spy had snuck, connived, flirted, and finally just invited himself into being his lover, that for those in the know (which Medic was) summed up all that was the espionage expert and his strange and unique effect on the world, but was probably initially just a corrupted form of "that wanker." It was, all told, really all that needed to be said.
The two mercenaries took a brief moment to ponder all the decisions they had made in their respective lives and how they led them to this moment, standing half-in and half-out of a tiny bedroom in a ramshackle base in the middle of a desert, discussing sex accidents. Heavy's mingun snores started up again and jerked them out of their reverie, and there was nothing else for it but to sigh again and prepare to venture out into the night.
Medic turned to the supply closet. "I'm going to need my gloves."
If he hadn't been occupied with silently cursing everything even tangentially related to the situation, Medic might have noticed how silly their two-man procession looked: the Sniper-shaped ball of nervous and embarrassed energy leading the way, still blushing, confident strides replaced with slightly clumsy half-running, half-scuffing steps, shirt undone and fists clenching and unclenching; the doctor stumping along behind in pajama pants and one of Heavy's T-shirts, feet hastily jammed into boots, Medigun on his shoulder, hair mussed, a sour expression peering out from behind crooked glasses. As it is, he was so engrossed in being irritated that he paid basically no attention to where he was going, and as such nearly smacked straight into the camper van.
Sniper noticed neither the near-miss nor the subsequent German profanity as he tentatively rapped on the van door. "Spy?"
The subsequent stream of French, English, German, Spanish, Acadian, Russian, and possibly Afrikaans profanity was significantly easier to notice.
Impressively, Sniper was undeterred. "Spy, I'm opening the door now. I brought the doc."
Inside the van, a visibly miserable Spy lay sprawled out on the bed (or as much as one could sprawl on a foldout futon in an RV), taking great care to not even breathe in the general direction of the injury. As his visitors crammed themselves into his bedside, he gave quite possibly the most-long suffering look the human face was capable of and tried in vain to stifle a whimpered curse.
Sniper was beside him a split-second after the pathetic vocalization left Spy's mouth, awkwardly attempting to comfort his lover, which mainly took the form of holding his hand and tripping over his words to such an extent that they had a traffic jam somewhere below his tonsils.
Their teammate, in no mood to deal with any of this, removed the blanket with a sharp jerk, ignoring both the Frenchman's indignant, pained howl and the Australian's subsequent death glare. "All, right, let's get zis over with."
Spy had a perverted joke for nearly every situation, and later he would curse himself for dropping the ball, as it were, in this instance, but in this moment he could only watch and wince as Medic slowly and deliberately straightened out the problem with the to-business attitude befitting the large subset (larger than Spy doubtless thought it was) of homosexual men who had no interest in Spy's penis. Sniper shifted fretfully, obviously feeling helpless. Nobody said a word, apart from a few whispered French swears, until Medic rocked back on his heels and stood up. "All right. Sniper, hold zat steady in zat position."
"Wot?" This eventuality had evidently not occurred to him.
"Hold it steady, just how I'm holding it."
"Er..."
Medic could feel his frustration physically press against the inside of his skull. "If nobody holds it, it vill heal improperly. I can't hold it-the Medigun takes two hands. And Spy is in no condition to hold anything right now, let alone his injured genitalia. I had assumed zat you had no problem with touching it. Vas I wrong?"
"...No."
"Zen hold. It. Steady."
Sniper gave a look that said that he was internally giving thanks for his trademark steady hands and gingerly took hold, watching in nervous silence as the Medigun came to life and worked its obscure magic. No sooner did the beam die down then Sniper withdrew his hand, using the other to fling the blanket in an attempt to allow Spy some modesty, an action that all present silently compared to turning the alarms on after the Scout had already made off with the intel.
The oldest of their number clapped his hands once with finality. "Zat should do it. Let me know if you discover any...anomalies or difficulties in function." The pair nodded assent.
Medic continued. "I zink ve have learned two things from this, gentlemen. Firstly, don't do vatever that was that caused this, or at the very least, don't do it in the middle of the night. And lastly, Spy's penis is apparently four percent of an ubercharge. Good night."
On this, he exited, which was probably just as well, because there was very little that even a man as witty as Spy could think of to say to that.
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Disclaimer: Team Fortress 2 and all characters and trademarks therefrom is (c) Valve, which I am not.