AN: Hey everyone! As I mentioned in my previous work, this is the longer fanfic (which will be multiple chapters in length) that follows the events of my oneshot, "That Was Definitely Not Medicine". I recommend reading it first, but I'm sure it's possible to understand the vast majority of this without it. (As of comic #6, this isn't as close to canon as I was hoping it'd be. Sorry about that!) Without further ado, please enjoy!

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico. Tuesday, March 27th, 1973.

Soldier awoke with a start as a loud bang rumbled through the building, causing items inside to rattle on the shelves. He turned over and shook his fiance's shoulder briskly. "Zhanna, get up! That's an order! This is not a drill!"

She sat up right away. "What was noise?"

"I don't know." Not even pausing to put on a pair of pants over his boxers, leapt to his feet, grabbed the shotgun he kept beside his bed, and cocked it.

"I'm coming," she said, taking a pistol in her metal left hand. The mechanical replacement Engineer had crafted for her had been suiting her well since the loss of her hand; she had grown to be quite comfortable with using it as well. It had been about half a year since she lost the appendage, and it had hardly stopped her from being the feisty soldier her fiance knew her to be. At the time of the injury, Zhanna continued to fight when she only had the still-bleeding stump at the end of her forearm and, to Soldier, that unbreakable resolve made her the sexiest woman on Earth.

For a short while, she would insist her missing hand was a flaw, while Soldier would always respond by telling her she was strong, ravishing, and a damned good soldier. She seemed to like this, as she would always utter an endearing term of beratement, which was closely followed by a kiss. Zhanna, when given the choice between having her hand reattached or having a metal replacement, opted for the mechanical one; the metal just hit harder than flesh ever could, and the advantage it brought was a worthwhile gain. She later had to dissuade Soldier from amputating both his hands for metal ones. Engineer made it clear that he had no intentions of crafting replacements for him if he did.

Since their escape from Gray Gravel Co. Base, Zhanna had become the newest addition to the team. Heavy voiced his protest at first, insisting his sister would have been best to leave for that stinky barn she and Soldier had talked about getting to avoid further harm. He even argued that it would have been safer than their home in Siberia had been. Naturally, she refused to leave, preferring to stay with Soldier in the heart of battle instead. She said the barn could wait until they were finished with the war. At first, Heavy also wasn't overly thrilled about her involvement with the crazed patriot, but he soon saw how happy they were together. The way he treated Zhanna greatly changed his opinion of the man; he treated her well in his own bizarre, often abrasive, way. They were happy together, and that's all that mattered in the end. Zhanna was hardly a young girl either and, as much as she loved her brother, didn't rely on his approval; she made that much quite clear when she opted for the mechanical hand replacement. Heavy then backed off and over the months since the team had reunited, Zhanna quickly found her place among the nine other mercenaries, fitting in as if she had been there since the Gravel War. She got on well with just about everyone, much like her brother.

Zhanna, wearing only a short nightgown, ran to the door to catch up with Soldier.

"Ready, son?"

She nodded.

Throwing the door open and running out, Soldier screamed, "Charge!"

Zhanna hurried after him, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

A minute later, Scout sped into the hall in pyjamas and running shoes, his shotgun in his hands and his baseball bat nearby. Sticking out of the nightshirt pocket was a can of Bonk! Atomic Punch. It was almost surprising to see that it was still unopened. The young man's light brown hair was messy and his eyes were tired, as if he had to forcibly drag himself out of bed.

"Scout, it's much too early for junk food!" Soldier scolded.

"Yeah yeah, later, pal. A little busy right now," Scout replied, his apparent exhaustion not serving to impact his speed. He still rushed by as if he'd been fully energized by his usual excessive caffeine intake, even though his speech and appearance said otherwise.

Not long after him, Demoman stumbled into the hall. "Wha's goin' on?" he slurred, practically hanging from the doorframe. His eye was squinted, the dim light in the hall seeming to aggravate the hangover he likely had. Even at the ungodly hour, he had managed to grab his bottle of scrumpy, yet not a proper outfit.

"No idea," Zhanna said.

"Get your gun and fight, sissy!"

"Right now?"

"Yes!" barked Soldier. "That is an order!"

Demoman groaned but did as he was told, stumbling back into his room to prepare himself to fight.

At that moment, Spy, fully dressed in his suit and balaclava, wordlessly came into the hall already half cloaked. He went entirely invisible a second later, presumably going in the same direction Scout had.

Right afterward, Pyro came forward in their flame-retardant suit and mask. They already had their flamethrower in hand and were skipping down the hall like a giddy young woman in a meadow of daisies. He could have sworn he heard a muffled laugh as well. It sent a chill down Soldier's spine; he couldn't fathom how someone could be so giddy about charring living human beings to a crisp. Being blown apart by a rocket or gunned down by a swarm of bullets seemed like a much nicer way to kick the bucket. Disgust washed over him as he recalled seeing Pyro roasting a marshmallow over a flaming BLU team corpse.

He put it out of his mind when Sniper and Engineer came out of their rooms, both half dressed in a pair of pants with a tank top. Sniper was only armed with his kukri machete while Engineer only had a wrench in hand.

"Men, what is the meaning of this?" Soldier barked. "Where are your weapons?"

"In resupply, mate," Sniper said, checking over his shoulder and holding his blade tightly.

Another loud bang echoed down the hall.

"Was that a bomb?" Engineer asked.

"Probably," said Sniper. "Come on, we don't have all day." With that, he hurried forward but took a different turn toward the resupply room. Engineer followed his lead.

"Brother is still not here," Zhanna said.

"Go get him, then," Soldier replied.

Before she could, Medic rounded the corner hollering for Heavy. His hair was a mess and his round glasses sat crooked on his nose. He had thrown on a white tank top, but it somehow already had a blood stain on it. From what or who, no one could have known. Unlike his allies, he was completely unarmed.

Medic banged on Heavy's door; the man opened it shortly after. He had his uniform shirt and pants on without the vest. Although he appeared to be half asleep still, he had Sasha ready to go.

"What does Doctor need?"

"Something's going on! I need my weapons, but they're in resupply!"

He gave a tired smile. "I lead way. You get crossbow and saw."

Medic smiled back. "Danke."

With that they departed for their destination, Heavy leading the way and using his larger stature to protect the defenceless man from any possible harm.

Soldier looked to Zhanna. "That's everyone, right?"

She nodded then she and Soldier followed after the other team members to the source of the noise.

Chaos had already broken loose. Windows were shattered, leaving debris strewn across the floor among the splatters of blood and golden brown engine oil. Scout was being chased around the room by a robot that appeared to rival him for speed. It was running up walls in an attempt to get ahead of him; it was succeeding. With every second he was losing ground, and the attacker only continued to tail him with bullets.

Meanwhile, Pyro was frantically swinging their Axtinguisher at another robot, its construction entirely different from the one pursuing Scout. Pyro's enemy was ablaze for a few seconds before it fizzled out. Pyro themself was also on fire, yet they didn't seem overly bothered by that fact as they seemed to ignore it. Soldier had no idea how heat resistant the asbestos suit was, but surely it wouldn't protect them indefinitely.

The Spy and his foe were nowhere to be seen. Soldier could only assume he was attempting to hide long enough to spring an attack, as usual. The enemy was likely using similar methods.

Just then, Soldier heard the pop of a rocket being launched behind him. "Incoming!" he shouted, tackling Zhanna out of the line of fire. She groaned from the sting of the impact yet didn't complain. They looked up from their spot on the floor and saw a blackened splotch where they were standing.

"Well, that was a close one," he said. With a laugh, he called out to no one in particular, "You'll have to try harder than that, hippie!"

Soldier then looked up to the source of the shot and saw two robots, also unique from the others. It seemed as though none of them were built to be the same as another. The one with the shoulder-mounted rocket launcher laughed. The slightly shorter one beside it did the same, yet it sounded higher.

The shorter robot put an arm around the other and said in its staticy voice, "Close shot, my love."

Soldier's jaw dropped. "My God, Zhanna, they did it again!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Did what?"

"Gray Gravel Co! They made murderous robots of us to kill us!"

She eyed the robots from head to toe. "They could have made mine pretty."

"No time for that now, son. This is war!"

Zhanna grinned. "We will destroy ugly robots!"

Soldier nodded, pointing and shooting his shotgun at them immediately. The rounds hit but did little to damage the machines. The Soldier one only gave a jeering smile.

He stared at the result for a moment before saying, "Well, that didn't work. Retreat!" He picked Zhanna up, carrying her bridal-style, and began to flee to resupply to retrieve stronger weapons.

Behind them, bullets rained down, threatening to catch Soldier's legs if he slowed down at all. With every step, they seemed to hit slightly closer to them. He attempted to pick up the pace; he wouldn't be beaten by glorified tin cans.

They made it inside without getting hit, with the invisible barrier at the doorframe keeping them safe for the moment. Anyone or anything that wasn't from RED that dared to cross would be disintegrated. It was a standard component of resupply rooms and the mechanical enemies seemed to know and respect the threat it posed. Rather than waiting outside, they marched back to the main room, likely to seek out a new target to pass the time.

Inside the makeshift safe-haven the missing members of the team, except for Demoman, were preparing themselves to fight. Heavy and Medic were suiting up, Engineer was digging through his toolbox, and Sniper was facing the corner to pee in a jar. It bothered Soldier that Demoman had slacked off again but guessed that he had simply been too hungover to fight. He had probably just gone back to bed despite the chaos.

"They're at it again," Soldier announced, setting Zhanna on her feet. "More robots of us meant to kill us."

Engineer sighed. "Dammit, again?"

"You'd better believe it, hard-hat." Turning his attention back to his fiance, he said, "Go get your gun, sweetie; this won't be an easy fight."

"On it." Effortlessly pushing past her brother, she went to her cubby and got her grenade belt and shot gun. "Fight well, brother," she said to Heavy.

He yawned, fighting the urge to stretch as he threw his bandolier over his shoulder. "You as well," he mumbled.

"He may as well be in bed still," Medic joked, popping the cap off of the rear of the Crusader's Crossbow's canister to load a syringe into it.

"There's no time for sleep now, ladies!" Soldier barked. "Victory waits for no one!" He took his rocket launcher and stuffed a few rockets into the barrel. "Onward, men!" With that, he ran to the door.

"Wait for me, Soldier," Zhanna replied, going to back him up. When she caught up, Soldier wrapped an arm around her waist, aimed his rocket launcher at the ground, then blasted a shot, flinging the two of them into the heat of battle.

When they had left the resupply room, Medic chuckled. "Aren't they something together?"

Heavy rolled his eyes. "They make me sick. She always wear necklace of ears he gave her. Human ears."

"I know. And their pet names are anything but romantic."

He nodded, absently spinning the barrel of his gun.

"Are you ready to go?" Medic asked.

"Da. We kill metal cowards now."

He grinned. "That's the spirit, mein freund."

Heavy mirrored his expression, let out a passionate battle cry, and charged toward the enemy. Medic clutched the Crusader's Crossbow to his chest and jogged behind him.

"I'm sorry I can't Übercharge you," Medic said flatly.

"I protect doctor, and doctor helps where he can."

He smiled slightly. "Danke." Although his understanding of the situation at hand was pleasant, it did nothing to solve the pressing issue at hand. They were still without a Medi Gun, and by extension without an Übercharge. A Medic without an Übercharge was anything but a 'credit to team,' as Heavy would say. The Crusader's Crossbow, although it could heal and damage, wasn't exactly the fastest tool, nor the most effective in his arsenal. The Übersaw was helpful, but its advantages were limited without having a Medi Gun to provide an Übercharge for.

Little truly put Medic out of sorts, but knowing he was quite possibly leading Heavy to his demise sent a wave of panic through him. It still wasn't a scheduled battle; any deaths would be permanent. Medic had already become the bringer of death only two weeks before and he didn't know if Heavy had gotten over it or not. He may have said he had forgiven him, yet the odd brooding state he had been slipping into at times said otherwise. At one moment he was more than happy to spend time with the doctor as they usually did: playing chess, reading a book together, or even offering to help him with his work. The next, he'd lock himself in his room, refusing to let Medic come in or speak with him. It was puzzling, to say the least. He couldn't figure out what had been going through Heavy's head in the recent weeks.

When he and Heavy emerged from the shelter of the resupply hall, the main room was already bullet-ridden and stained with blood, ashes, and machine oil. Pyro's axe swings seemed to be lethargic and their foe was as strong as ever. Instinctively, Medic fired a syringe from his crossbow at his ally. They seemed to improve slightly from the assistance.

"Doctor, this way!" Heavy hollered, moving as quickly as he could toward a behemoth of a robot, supported by a much smaller contraption. It may have appeared to be insignificant in regard to the other, but judging by the blue swirling beam it projected, Medic knew better than to underestimate it as a threat. It was mending the larger one, as Medic did with his own team. It couldn't have been shoddily made, either.

The towering foe appeared to be constructed with Heavy in mind, taking his size and weapon selection into account. It had to be at least eleven feet tall, seven feet wide, and heavily armoured. It had a large, powerful minigun barrel built into it, and its smaller assistant seemed to be supplying it with health and ammunition. The real Heavy gave the robots a stern glare as he revved up his minigun to begin the onslaught, despite the disadvantage they were at.

Medic scoffed, seeing that his counterpart had been reduced to a mere dispenser on wheels. His perspective changed rapidly when a compartment raised, then a swarm of syringes filled with an unknown translucent fluid came flying in their direction.

"Heavy, watch out!" he yelled, running out of the line of fire without delay.

Heavy, however, was not so lucky. Within mere seconds, he had gone from being a human tank to being a human pin cushion. He let out a blood curdling scream, letting Sasha carelessly tumble to the ground so he could rip the needles out of himself. Where they hit, the skin reddened and blistered. Horrified, Medic fired a syringe of his own at him then helped to remove the shots.

"You're okay," Medic assured him, despite the sinking dismay filling his gut. "Kill them; I will heal you."

Attempting to mask the searing pain, Heavy gritted his teeth with a nod and retrieved Sasha, revving her up and firing once more. Medic scrambled to fire another syringe at Heavy, then continued to remove the ones from the enemy. Although his efforts were warding off some of the immediate damage, the wounds were still an angry red and swollen; they had to be agonizing.

The enemy spun up the barrel and laughed mockingly.

"Don't be a hero," Medic said to Heavy. "Run if you need to."

"I will fight until I cannot," he grunted, eyes locked on his target.

He furrowed his brow, aimed, and fired a syringe at the awful robot, knowing it did little to damage it. Medic figured it had to be better to try than to do nothing. Reloading, he directed his next shot to Heavy. Unfortunately, the man was already splattered with his own blood from the numerous bullet wounds he'd received in a matter of seconds. The futility of his work stung. He contemplated whether there was still a point in trying or not.

Heavy caught a glimpse of Medic's face out of the corner of his eye as he shot, seeing his troubled expression, and forced a tense smile. He didn't peel his eyes from his target. "I am okay. Do not worry." He let out a mighty battle cry. Taking a step forward, he called out, "Is that all metal baby man can do?"

Medic saw that his ally was running low on ammunition, stepping away to bring some for him. For good measure, he hit him with another syringe on his way.

He found a large ammunition crate tucked behind the stairs, which he hefted into his arms and ran as fast as he could back to the fight. The weight slowed him down considerably, making him appreciate just how difficult running with the minigun must have been for Heavy. He claimed she weighed 150 kilograms; Medic had no doubt in his mind that she did. Not that he'd tried to lift her, of course. Even the combined load of the Medi Gun with its pack and the ammunition crate was laughable at best compared to Sasha.

When he returned, the machine was looking less than pristine due to Heavy's dedicated efforts.

"Wunderbar!" Medic exclaimed, attempting to pick up his pace but not observing a difference in his speed.

"I need ammo now," Heavy replied, the ammunition belt currently being fed through the gun being nearly spent as he spoke.

He pried the box open and yanked a belt out. He tossed it to Heavy, who caught it without ceasing fire, immediately threaded it through as the last of the bullets whipped into the gun.

Medic then took cover behind his comrade, trusting that they would be able to push through as long as he continued to provide what little aid he could.

The duo continued to serve their respective roles for what felt like an eternity. Without warning, when Medic had unwisely exposed himself for no more than a moment, the small robot shot a barbed arrow from the same place it had fired from before. Medic could only watch as the shot came hurling at him, followed by a fiery pain in his chest. When he looked down, he saw the hot crimson stain blossoming across his chest, the arrow at its center. He could still feel his heart beating, silently rejoicing that his counterpart had missed the intended target by about an inch.

Medic sent another syringe whizzing through the air toward Heavy before collapsing to his hands and knees. His tank top clung to his chest, blood dripped onto the floor below him. The sickening splattering sound was drowned out by the whirring of guns. When he fell, the Crusader's Crossbow tumbled down beside him, skidding across the cement floor near Heavy's foot. The man was too focused on aiming his gun to notice.

With a grunt, he forced himself to crawl closer to Heavy, feeling his arms shake and threaten to give out under him. When he was close enough, he grabbed at his ankle, feeling how weak his grip was. The agony of holding himself up was too great for him to avoid crying out; he silently cursed at himself for being so weak.

Heavy looked down, ready to shoot until he saw who it was. Immediately, he ceased firing and his eyes went wide. "Medic!"

"Help…"

Ignoring the danger they were in the midst of, Heavy put Sasha down and scooped Medic up, clutching him to his chest to shield him from further harm yet remaining mindful of the protruding arrow. Without so much as looking over his shoulder, he ran as fast as he could to the resupply room.

Behind them, a loud boom rang out, stopping Heavy dead in his tracks. Worried that they were being chased, he turned around, seeing that Soldier and Zhanna had taken their places.

"Go!" Zhanna yelled to him, whipping another grenade at the large machine.

"Da," he called back, trusting his sister and her fiance to take up their fight as he took care of his doctor.

Heavy looked down at the man in his arms, seeing that he was pale and rapidly fading. The bleeding only continued to worsen with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry," Medic slurred, his eyes barely open.

"Don't talk. You are okay."

He nodded slightly and fell silent.

They soon reached resupply where Heavy kissed Medic's forehead and gently laid him down on a bench, causing him to let out a groan of pain. He frantically dug through the cupboard, pitching anything that wouldn't provide health onto the floor. When he found a health kit, he brought it to Medic.

"This is not sandwich, but it will help."

Medic smiled weakly. "Danke, comrade."

Heavy studied the wound for several moments before asking, "How do we… get arrow out?"

"Do you have a knife?"

Heavy went to Spy's cubby and took his butterfly knife, assuming he'd understand. He then handed the blade to Medic.

He managed to smile when the blade was placed in his hand. A hint of his usual morbid excitement crept onto his face, even in his poor state.

He chuckled softly and said, "This will be excruciating." With that, Medic hacked the tank top apart, then sliced into his skin at the entry point of the arrow. Heavy cringed and looked away.

Medic screamed as he pulled the arrow out of his chest. Once he had it out his arm, still holding onto the arrow, fell to his side. The blood now gushed from his chest alarmingly fast. "The health kit, please."

Heavy put the kit beside him and opened it, allowing the short burst of a healing beam to leave the box to reach Medic. He wasn't fully healed, but it helped him substantially. The rest would have to remedy itself on its own. Medic sat himself up and examined the arrow with keen interest. "Ooh, she's a nasty one, isn't she?" He lightly brushed his finger over one of the barbs, careful to not cut himself.

"You almost died," Heavy said somberly.

He waved it off. "I'm fine, Heavy." He remained focused on the weapon, staring at the blood with glee. "My, they don't make them like this any more, do they?"

"Doctor..."

He sighed. "What?" Finally dragging his attention away from the weapon to look at Heavy, his hands went slack, letting it roll onto his lap. "Mein Gott!" he exclaimed. Only then did he realize that Heavy was still ridden with bullets and covered in blood, only looking worse than he had before.

Medic nearly leaped off of the bench, scanning the room for his weapon but not finding it.

"Crossbow is out there with Sasha."

He frowned. "A health kit will have to do, then."

"Sorry," Heavy said.

"It's fine." He took another health kit down from the shelf and used it on Heavy, smiling as he saw the wounds mend themselves. "Does that feel a bit better?"

"Da." Heavy smiled at him. "Ready to fight, Doctor?"

"Ja. Schnell! Raus, raus!"

The pair hustled out to the main room. While they were gone, Soldier and Zhanna had dealt a great deal of damage. The enemy's bullets seemed to fly lethargically compared to earlier in the fight. Despite all of their progress, its small companion appeared to be unharmed.

However, the couple was joined by their own machine counterparts, adding to the onslaught.

Heavy reclaimed his gun, pausing only to hand Medic his crossbow before unloading his rounds at the robots targeting Soldier and Zhanna. The bullets appeared to have a greater effect on them than they did on his own foe. "We destroy metal cowards!" he yelled as the bullets soared through the air.

Medic used the cover his three allies provided to take his Übersaw and slip behind their enemies. The other robots appeared to be too focused on his allies to notice his presence. Medic came behind the healing robot and slashed at it numerous times, swinging harder with each hit. Although his efforts appeared fruitless at first, they soon lead to severe damages that rendered it incapacitated.

"Great job, ladies!" Soldier yelled, firing another rocket at Heavy's robotic attacker. The machine recoiled from the direct hit.

On Heavy's side of the attack, the enemies were on their knees, barely able to lift their weapons to shoot. A few more shots were fired, and all four of the enemies were defeated.

Heavy raised his weapon in triumph. "Metal cowards are no more!"

"Thank you for help, brother," Zhanna said.

"Family makes good team," he replied with a smile.

Soldier wrapped an arm around Zhanna's waist. "Come here, Pumpkin," he said before kissing her. She practically melted in his arms and caressed his cheek.

Just then, they were interrupted as a familiar voice screamed, "Help!"

The four looked up to the source of the sound, coming from a balcony overlooking the room. Sniper was being held in the air by his throat by his machine counterpart and a sharp, claw-like arm was heading toward his abdomen, clearly about to stab him.

Soldier stuffed a rocket into the launcher and fired in their direction with little regard for where he had aimed. By some miracle, the rocket hit the robot rather than Sniper, blowing it to pieces and causing the man it held captive to be tossed to the floor like a ragdoll.

Medic rushed to his aid, loading a shot into the Crusader's Crossbow. The others followed his lead.

"Sniper, are you okay?" Medic asked.

"Bloody hell…" he groaned. He was cut in several places and bruised, but otherwise appeared to be in stable condition.

He fired a syringe at Sniper, which lessened the injuries to an extent.

"What was that thing?" Medic asked to no one in particular. He offered Sniper a hand up, which he gladly accepted.

"I recognize it," replied Zhanna. "It belong to Australium robot."

"One of those things?" Medic raised a finger, flashing a smile. "Ah, yes, I remember hearing them talk about those around the base!" Zhanna glared at him; he lowered his hand. "I mean, I've never seen one before. I have no idea what that is!" He then laughed uncomfortably and added, "Why would I?"

Soldier, seemingly oblivious to the other conversation, peered at Sniper. "Wait… You have Australium? Where are you hiding it, son?"

"I don't have any."

"It was targeting you!" he objected. "We Americans don't need Australium! We have stars and stripes, Private!"

Sniper rolled his eyes. "Look, mate, this won't be easy for you to understand, but I think it's about time you knew." He sighed. "I'm not American. I'm Australian… kind of. I was raised there, but my birth parents were from New Zealand."

Soldier's jaw dropped. Behind him, Medic waved his hand frantically in front of his throat with a sharp glare. Heavy mouthed, 'shut up'. Zhanna simply studied Soldier's face as he listened.

He nodded slightly, hoping to communicate his understanding without drawing Soldier's attention. "Anyway, as I was say-"

Before he could finish, Soldier said, "No! That's impossible! You're clearly American!"

"Most of us aren't," Sniper briefly shot his other teammates an apologetic glance. "Medic's German, Spy's French, Demo's Scottish, Heavy and Zhanna are Russian, and Pyro's… Pyro."

Heavy and Medic met each other's eyes for a moment, exchanging looks of shock and horror, then waited for Soldier's reaction.

Soldier gasped. "No! The spies have gotten behind enemy lines!"

Medic pinched the bridge of his nose. "We are not spies, dummkopf."

"Spy is only spy," Heavy affirmed.

Soldier stood unresponsive for a few seconds before aggressively shaking his head. "Medic, you're not a Nazi, right?"

Medic attempted to minimize a reflexive cringe at the mention of his home country's wicked past. He was more than expecting it to come up at some point, yet he still wasn't ready to deal with it. With a weary sigh, he asked, "Would I be working for an enemy country of Nazi Germany if I was?"

"Uh… no?"

"Exactly," he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose and allowing a piercing glare to accompany it. "And World War Two ended about thirty years ago. The Nazi scare is done, ja?"

Soldier muttered an agreement under his breath. Turning to Zhanna, he asked, "And you're not a communist, are you?"

At this, Heavy balled his hands into fists.

She frowned, crossing her arms. "You think I am enemy of America?"

"Uh…" Soldier furrowed his brow and rubbed at his chin. He then, not sounding overly sure of himself, said, "No?"

Zhanna rolled her eyes. "I thought you were smarter than this."

"Look, Zhanna, I-"

"Misha told me you insult Mother in our home."

"Da," Heavy said, glaring at Soldier. "I heard it."

Soldier frowned. He met his fiance's eyes, but she only continued to shoot him a murderous look. He said quietly, "It wasn't… it's not true, right?"

Heavy shook his head and walked away without a word.

Sniper noticed as Medic slightly raised his hand, as if it would have stopped Heavy from leaving, yet brought it down again a second after. It also looked as though he were about to call after him as well. Medic's face almost matched the one he had when the old brute he previously worked for had nearly killed Archimedes: crushed. Sniper didn't comment on it, though.

Zhanna watched her brother leave then said, "We talk later. You sleep on the couch tonight." She stomped away, her footfalls echoing through the large room.

Before tensions could worsen, Sniper clapped his hands together and said, "Well, that's enough of that for tonight. I don't know about you, but I'm tired. It's only…" He checked his watch. "Five thirty in the morning."

"Good night," Soldier said, quieter than usual, walking toward the common room rather than the bedrooms.

The man departed for his quarters. Medic lingered behind to speak with Sniper, asking him in a hushed voice, "So, why did the robot think you had Australium? Clearly, you don't."

"I don't know, mate."

"Hmm… Interesting. I would like to run some tests."

He groaned. "Of course you want to."

Medic shrugged. "This is the cost of medicine, mein freund. And, I can't afford to have you die again."

"You'd better not."

"It won't happen again." Medic looked over to him, seeing his jaw tense. He almost wanted to scold him for the damage he was doing to his teeth by grinding them. Rather than commenting on it, he just listened to the soft sound of their feet meeting the tiled floor and the distant chatter of the rest of his team drifting down the hall. After a few seconds, he added, "I only need a blood sample."

"And that's all you're getting from me."

"Very well. Come to my lab tomorrow after breakfast. I won't be long."

Sniper muttered a curse word under his breath and shook his head slightly, speeding up to be rid of the undesired company. Medic simply watched him leave; there was no use in pursuing him at such an unreasonable hour. He already had what he wanted.

Medic strolled down the hall towards his room, passing Engineer on his way. Engineer pried the glove off of his right hand with some effort as he walked, exposing the damaged metal one it covered. The contraption itself appeared to be intact, yet it was decidedly warped.

Medic chuckled quietly. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that one. I heal muscles, not machines."

He shrugged. "It's nothin' a bit of of metal and elbow-grease won't fix."

"You do have a point there."

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm doggone tired. Get some rest, Doc." Engineer continued on to his room.

Medic nodded. "Good night, Engineer." With that, he continued on his way.

Before he could open the door to his room, he heard a voice ask, "Hey, Doc?"

Medic pivoted, seeing Scout standing a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes, taking an inventory of Scout's state. Other than his clear exhaustion, he appeared to be well enough. Yet, he was a bit pale and clammy, slightly shaky as well.

"Yes? What is it? Are you hurt from the battle?"

"My head hurts a little, I guess."

Medic frowned. "Did that robot hit you on the head?"

"Yeah."

"You don't look injured, but you don't exactly look well."

"I'm fine, r-really. It's nothin'." Scout flashed a grin. "What, you thought those chuckleheads would get to me? In your dreams, pal."

He gave a knowing smile. "Scout, it's okay to be scared sometimes."

He crossed his arms, tucking his trembling hands close to his sides. "Who said I was scared, huh? J-Just some stupid robots, that's all."

"I was a bit scared, too. I won't tell anyone; doctor-patient confidentiality."

"A-Alright, fine. Maybe I did get a bit freaked out." Putting on a brave face, he said, "That thing almost got me. No respawn, either. I mean, I haven't even gotten a date with Miss Pauling yet..."

"It's natural to be uncomfortable with your own mortality."

Scout rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I've died plenty of times. I'm used to it."

"Just get back to bed. You'll thank me later."

"Thanks, Mom," he deadpanned. Scout rolled his eyes and traipsed off, leaving Medic by himself once more.

Medic dragged himself to bed, feeling the sting in his chest from the arrow wound. As the team's doctor, he was almost thankful to have been injured more than anyone else. It was a sign of a job well done, even without the Medi Gun. He lay on his back, letting himself fall into the clutches of sleep, all while wondering if Heavy would still be in a sour mood the next day.