You and Misha were shovelling the pavements outside the RED base. At first, Heavy and the others didn't want you to be working in the snow, where it is obviously cold and nearing January, but you had refused, as you wanted to prove to the men that a girl can do hard work as well as any man could. Also, you thought to yourself as you looked over at Misha from your little pile of snow, I want to show that I can work beside Papa.

The large man noticed you stopped and picked his head up from the pavement he had just freed from the snow, the last bit of white sitting on his shovel. It was funny how big Misha was to you, and that, instead of using any normal garden tool, you had to borrow Soldier's own shovel to scoop away the cold snow that blanketed the ground.

Heavy blinked and smiled at you, which you returned eagerly. Before he turned his attention away from you, you quickly scooped up a large pile of snow with your shovel, to prove how strong you are, however, it went wrong. The pile you scooped was rather large, and the weight of it caused you to topple back into the larger pile you had created with a squeal, causing snow to spread back over the pavement you had almost completed.

You heard a faint clank and thumps heading your way as you struggled to sit up and rid yourself of the snow around your small body. You were kicking your legs franticly when the white blocking your vision gave way to Misha's concerned face.

"Vozlyublennaya (sweetheart), are you okay?" He carefully lifted you from your little cocoon and placed you on your feet, steadying you as you wobbled slightly. He then began to brush you off, being mindful of his strength.

"Yeah, Papa, I'm okay," you replied, casting your eyes to the side as his raised to yours with a questioning gaze.

"What were you doing, (name)? Could have hurt self." Your cheeks blew up in a pout.

"No I wasn't! I'm fine!" You crossed your arms and stomped on the snow with a foot to prove your point. All it did was cause Misha to frown.

"What is matter with you, Malen'kiy?" You kept your eyes to the side, refusing to look at the father-figure in front of you. You heard him sigh before a colossal hand moved into your view and turned your head back to his. There was no fighting that sort of strength. "(Name)?"

You puffed out a breath, a huff of steam leaving your mouth as you sighed in defeat. "Well, I – " You were stopped when Heavy's hand moved back into your vision, this time going up to your forehead. You didn't know what he was doing until a sudden sting was felt where his hand was and you flinched. "Ow!" Your hand flew up to try and soothe the onslaught of pain, but he grabbed your tiny hand.

"Nyet, leetle one," he said, as he placed your arm back to your side. He then picked you up in his arms and started to carry you off, leaving the work unfinished. "Come."

You frowned lightly, but it stung, so you opted to tilt your head to one side. "Why? What's wrong?" Heavy looked down at you, his focus on whatever was on your forehead, before turning back to the front.

"You have cut on head. We go to Doktor." You blinked and looked up to your forehead. You couldn't see the cut, but you tried anyway. After a minute long trek through the thick snow that would have been up to your thighs if you were walking, you and Misha made it back to base. You had done quite a lot of work today, maybe that's why you had fallen over, because your arms were tired.

Once the two of you had entered the building, you immediately breathed a sigh of relief. You hadn't realised how cold it was outside until you entered the warm base, and that you had been shivering slightly. Misha walked a bit more into the building before reaching the rec room, where there was a nice fire heating up the large room, courtesy of Pyro, who was in front of the fireplace underneath Scout, who was determined to not share the warmth with the firebug and hog it all to himself. Demo and Soldier were sitting on the couch, with some of Demo's best Scrumpy poured into glasses, filling their stomachs with a burning heat.

The sounds of cracks and sizzles meant that Engie was cooking dinner for everyone, and was most likely bacon and steak with little greens on the side. It was disappointing to the men that there wasn't a lot of imagination put into the meals, but there was only so much they could do with the weekly shopping trips and limited money to feed nine and a half people. Everyone got only a necessary amount of food on their plates to last them the day, although (name) was given slightly larger portions due to her being a growing child.

Sniper was sitting backwards on a dining chair, elbows resting on the backrest and polishing Sharpie, his Bushwacka. His Trophy Belt was resting on the floor, propped up against the leg of the chair, and his sunglasses reflected the glow of the fire from the top of his head. Spy, on the other hand, was leaning comfortably against the wooden wall next to the fireplace, smoking his spicy cigarette, and humming a soft French lullaby that he had sung to you a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep. A snicker heard from Sniper and a mumbled curse from Spy in his direction indicated that he must have heard the little incident outside of the Frenchman's room.

In front of the fireplace sat Medic, who looked relaxed in the comfy chair he had occupied. His legs were crossed over at the knee, and he was cooing to Archimedes, who had resided upon the doctor's hand, his head tucked in his fluffy chest. Before you had arrived to the base, Medic only cared for his doves, Archimedes in particular, and even after you had joined the mercenary family, the bloody dove was still number one, but you were a very close second.

Heavy stopped in the opening of the room, his thumping footsteps coming to a halt. Scout and Sniper looked up at the intrusion, but while Scout shrugged and turned back to the fire, Sniper kept his gaze on you, halting in his polishing, his eyes narrowing to your forehead. You noticed and gave him a small wave, to which he smiled softly.

The bear of a man holding you gave a grunt, causing some of the other men to turn their gaze onto the two of you, but not the man he wanted. So instead, he said, "Doktor," which did catch the attention of said man.

Medic looked over to his friend who, in turn, looked down to you. The doctor instantly saw the wound and stood up from the chair, allowing his precious dove to fly to his shoulder, and moved towards you.

"Mädchen," he began, his hand, free from his signature red sterile gloves, reaching out and gently moving the hair from the cut. "Vhat happened?"

You looked up at him through your lashes and then off to the side. "…I fell." Medic frowned and cast his gaze up at Heavy, silently asking for his side of the story.

"Malen'kiy fell in snow, hit head with shovel," the large man explained shortly. Oh, you thought, that's how it happened. An almost inaudible snort was heard by no one but Spy and Pyro, who elbowed the culprit scoldingly. The doctor frowned further, closely inspecting your head, carefully prodding around the wound. Each poke hurt, but you didn't want to show the guys you were weak, so you clenched your jaw tightly.

Medic hummed lightly and stopped the prodding, earning him a silent sigh of relief from you. "You must have hit your head quite hard, Liebchen, for it to bruise to this severity." By this time, all of the mercenaries had turned their focus onto you, which caused your cheeks to glow softly. With a small gesture, Heavy allowed the doctor to take you into his arms, holding you firmly against his hip with his forearm underneath your legs, and moved back over to his chair by the fire, to get a better look at your bruise. He sat down and placed you on his lap sideways. He asked Demo for his Scrumpy, which the Scotsman did with much hesitation, poured some onto his handkerchief, and dabbed at your wound.

You squeaked in pain and clenched your eyes shut, forcing your eyes not to tear. You knew he was doing it for a reason, but it still hurt! You faintly heard Spy start to hum the lullaby again, and it soothed you some. After a minute, Medic finally finished cleaning your cut and pulled out a small bandage he always carries in his pants pocket for emergencies such as this, and carefully placed it over the cut and most of the bruise.

The caring doctor patted you on the knee but kept you on his lap. It was now interrogation time. "Now, Liebchen, how did you fall over?" When you didn't answer, he gave some suggestions. "Did you slip?" When you shook your head, he patiently asked again. "What happened?" Now here comes the embarrassing part.

"…I picked up too much snow… it felt heavy… and I fell over." He hummed thoughtfully.

"Why did you pick up that much snow? You must have known it would have been heavy for you." Your bottom lip jutted out as you played with your fingers.

"I wanted to prove…" He tilted his head questioningly.

"Prove what?"

"I wanted to prove that I could be as strong as Papa." Another snort was heard, by the fireplace, and, once again, Pyro elbowed the culprit.

Medic had a soft smile etched across his face as he stared down at you.

"Liebchen, you know that not even any of us could be as strong as Heavy, so what made you think you could?" He didn't mean it in a rude or demeaning way, he was curious by what may have caused you to think you had to prove yourself. A snicker sounded.

You shrugged. "I was told that girls are weak, and that I wouldn't be able to work by any of your sides, especially Papa's, so I wanted to prove him wrong. But I guess he was right…" You trailed off, saddened. The snicker very quickly turned into an uncertain gulp that could be heard throughout the room.

Medic's eyes narrowed. He had a very good idea who that person may have been to put such downgrading thoughts into the precious girl's head. But to be certain… "And who was this 'he'?" You blinked uncertainly.

"…Danny." And just like that, Scout was suddenly nowhere to be seen. The only evidence of his presence was a grumbling Pyro and a shoeprint on the firebug's back left in the Bostonian's haste. A few of the men chuckled at the scene, some hiccupped, and Medic shook his head, grumbling under his breath: "Werde ich später zu dem Jungen zu sprechen…"

Heavy, who had been standing next to the doctor the entire time, moved around the man and hauled you into his arms, chortling.

"Vozlyublennaya, no need to prove nothing! You may not be strong like Misha, but strong in you," he exclaimed, pointing to your chest, tickling you slightly and causing you to giggle, "inside!"

You don't need to be muscly, or tall, or a man to prove that you are strong. If you have the will to push aside demeaning insults and downgrading comments to prove that they are not true and that you can work equally as hard with those superior to you, then you may not be strong physically, but your will is stronger than your body can ever be.

Translations:

Russian:

Papa = Daddy

Vozlyublennaya = Sweetheart

Malen'kiy = Little One

Nyet = No

German:

Mädchen = Girl

Liebchen = Sweetheart

Werde ich später zu dem Jungen zu sprechen = I will have to talk to that boy later