Another long, gruelling session of fighting had come and gone, yet the battle was neither lost or won. Guns had been fired, backs had been stabbed and charges had been ubered. It had been a long-lived wish now, that Medic could heal himself with his own Medigun, but alas, health-packs and dispensers proved to be more fruitful a source. Of course, when the situation truly demanded it, he could always place the uber on himself to survive just a little bit longer. But most of the time, behind Heavy's trusty, broad frame was his choice of temporary shelter.

His fellow team-mates groaned as they sank their tired selves onto the benches of the locker-room, clothes torn and wounds a-fresh. He realised that even though the battle may have ended for today, Medic still had a long evening ahead of him, as he would have to patch each and every team-mate back up again for tomorrow's war. So, instead of packing all his stuff away into his locker, he snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and wiped his glasses clean of any blood-splatter.

"You all know ver to find me." He informed his team-mates, receiving vague nods of acknowledgement before he disappeared into his usual operation room. After knowing each and every one of his group for a while, they had all reached a consensus where they would decide amongst themselves who needed the medical attention first. Of course, this had not always gone so smoothly. Everybody wanted nothing more than to get back to the comfort of their abode as quickly as possible so, duplicitous efforts had been made to jump to the front of the line. Demo had tried to inflict more damage on himself through the use of his sticky bombs, Scout had on occasion tried to zip past everyone in the line (and when that didn't work, he'd simply demand a dispenser) and Spy had cloaked and snuck himself into the room and locked the door on everyone else.

Whatever the deal was, Medic had little patience for it because no matter what their choice, Medic would always be the last to retire. On-top of that, he also had to clean up and make sure all the organs he collected throughout the day were placed where they should be in the fridge. Engi once made the mistake of rummaging through said fridge for a beer and after that, learned his lesson forever. But it wasn't all bad. Heavy was usually kind enough to offer up his sandvich to the Medic, as he consistently sustained the most amount of damage and thus took longer to heal.

But before Medic could even start prepping the exam table, he realised something. Or rather, he realised the lack of something in the very room itself: Archimedes. Medic glanced around the room, listening out for any faint cooing or fluttering of wings, but resulted only with silence.

"Archimedes?" The German called out as he surveyed the room once more. When his second attempt failed him, he decided to check for his bird in the fridge, albeit somewhat hesitantly. It wasn't likely but Archimedes went where organs went, so it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.

"Achso, not zhere eizher." And when that failed, he snapped off his gloves and out the room he went. To his surprise, the others had already left- all except Demo. But Medic found it safe to assume that the rest of them were just playing 'rock, paper, scissors' to decide who went first. Nevertheless, he thought he would start with the black Scott, who had waited no further to bring out his stash of whiskey and embrace it with his lips like a long-lost lover.

"Say, Demo-" Medic approached him, "Have you seen Archimedes?"

There were a few seconds of delay, but Demo eventually responded. "Oh, Doc! Fancy seein' yooh heer!" The man toppled over somewhat from his initial position, the liquor sloshing within its glass encasement. "Archimedes? Wot' ar' ye talkin' abowt? There 'e is! Right there on yer shoulder! Christ, an' they say I'm tha droonk one ovar heer'."

Okay. So maybe he shouldn't have asked him in the first place, Medic berated at himself.

"Of course. Silly me." But he played along anyway. "Now tell me, do you know ver zhe others are?"

"Aye," A hiccup, "Spoy went oot fir' a smook and the others went with 'im."

"Naturlich." Medic remarked dryly. "Danke, Kamerade. I'll be vith you again in just a bit."

And swiftly, he followed the Demo's directions. And he did indeed see the Spy enjoying one of his cigarettes. At least the man got that right and was not nearly as concussed as he seemed.

"Ah, Docteur." The Frenchman greeted him, "I take it you are not here to ask for a cigarette?"

"Nein, danke." And 'never', the Medic added inwardly to himself. "I seem to have lost the verabouts of Archimedes. Have you seen him?"

"Oui." Medic's brows raised just a little. "But that was yesterday at 5 o' clock. Have I seen him today? Then non." And just like that, Medic's features sank, his lips in a thin line of irritation. But he bit his tongue, thanked him for his time as any polite gentleman would and turned to go about on his merry way to find the others.

"The others have followed Engi out on a quest to find beer." The masked man supplied upon seeing his team-mate's dejected spirits. "The black Scottish cyclops tried offering his whiskey to them but yelled at them as soon as they tried to take the bottle from his hands."

The German had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. "Zhat does not surprise me."

"Try that way." Lazily, the Spy gestured in a direction with his thumb. The Medic nodded and left, but not until he snatched the cigarette out of the man's hands and threw it away. "You shouldn't smoke so much." were his parting words to the Frenchie.