On most days, Heavy would wake to Medic's wandering hands, much too soft for their gruelling profession, gently caressing him from deep slumber into groggy consciousness. It was a great thing to wake up to one's lover snuggled so close, so affectionately, ready to start the day.
But today was different. There were no tender touches or tired kisses. Instead, what stirred Heavy was the heat that came from beside him. It was still dark when he opened his eyes, brows furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder at the lightly illuminated clock. 3 am. Not time to be awake yet. Not even by Medic's standards. It was a few moments later that he realized the doctor is what had woken him. Not the usual affectionate routine, but the intense warmth of his body that could be felt even through his nightshirt.
"Doktor…" Heavy murmured sleepily, running a large hand over Medic's forehead to brush his mussed spitcurl out of his face, and the beads of sweat there sealed the realization. The large Russian sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow as he placed the back of his hand to the doctor's cheek. Definitely a fever. Medic was burning up. His eyes moved restlessly beneath fluttering eyelashes, his hands clenched onto the fabric of Heavy's shirt, his breaths ragged through his set jaw and clenched teeth.
Heavy was no doctor. He was, however, a man raised in Russia with three younger sisters to care for. Fevers were nothing new to him. He knew it would be a good idea to get Medic out of the long sleeved pajama shirt he wore, but it wouldn't be an easy task to wrest the sleeping German out of his clothes. So he took one of Medic's broad shoulders in his great hand and gave him a few gentle shakes.
"Doktor, wake up," he spoke in a hushed tone so as to not cause any alarm; it wasn't the smartest idea to startle a mercenary, especially one dazed with fever. When Medic still didn't respond, Heavy spoke up. "Medic…" When it seemed the doctor was sleeping too deeply to be disturbed, the larger man sighed, resigning himself to stripping the man without his cooperation. However, as soon as his fingers began to pluck at the buttons on Medic's front, the doctor took in a sharp breath through his teeth, grip on Heavy's shirt tightening significantly and eyes snapping open. Heavy paused, watching Medic's face carefully for any signs of fearful hostility. But it didn't take long for the doctor to return to reality and relax his grip, letting out a long breath and wearily running a hand down his face.
"Heavy? Vhat time is it?" the doctor's eyes were bleary and his accent thick as he tried to sit up to look at the clock, but Heavy gently stopped him with a hand to his chest. Even Medic's heart gave away his illness. It thudded against Heavy's palm at an alarming rate, and when he lifted his hand, he could faintly see the uber implant pulsing its dim red glow inside the doctor.
"Is early," Heavy answered quietly, pushing Medic down as he stubbornly tried to rise again. "Doktor has fever." This finally stilled the man.
"Ein fieber?" Medic repeated in his native tongue, then shook his head. "Ach, nein… I don't zhink so. To be a doctor you need–"
"Good immune system," Heavy finished for him, looking unimpressed. "Have told me before. Does not mean you cannot get sick." Medic sniffed indignantly, unwilling to recognize the telltale soreness in his limbs and chills that racked his body every so often. Instead, he merely squinted up at his bedmate, but Heavy's steely gaze made him sigh.
"Vell… Ja, fine, maybe you're right," he reached towards the bed stand for his glasses. "I'll just run to zhe medbay and get some medicine…" Heavy's hand intercepted his.
"Нет. Doktor stays in bed. Heavy knows where medicine is."
Medic scoffed, pulling his hand away, but suddenly seemed too tired to argue. The symptoms he had been trying to deny were beginning to manifest with a vengeance, and though he knew he could outrun the Russian giant, he also knew he wouldn't make it out the door without falling victim to a dizzy spell. It was a feat to even keep himself propped up at this point. So, begrudgingly, the doctor allowed Heavy to push him back down.
Heavy smiled slightly as Medic complied, pressing a soft kiss to the doctor's knuckles before rising to retrieve the medicine he needed. It wasn't a long trek from the weapon specialist's personal quarter's to the medbay that Medic so often occupied. Rustling feathers and disturbed coos briefly accompanied the creak of the double doors. But heads tucked back under wings quickly, not too terribly interested in the giant of a man. They were familiar with him. He was no threat.
It didn't take long for Heavy to find what he was looking for. He had watched several times as the doctor rummaged through the endless medical cabinets, looking for something to shut Scout up. He would often resort to giving the boy some drowsy medicine meant for fevers and aches, which often proved unsuccessful thanks to the boy's unnaturally quick metabolism, but Medic was desperate. Heavy took the familiar bottle and started back towards his room. He would have the doctor read the dosages to him; he wasn't well-versed enough in reading English and didn't want to risk overdosing the poor man. Though maybe it would get him to actually sleep more than four hours for once.
Medic was sleeping once again when he returned. He had wrapped himself tight in the sheet, yet still trembled, sleep restless and troubled by the ever persistent fever. Heavy took his shoulder again, gently rubbing circles into the doctor's thin shoulder blade with a thumb. The German stirred with a weak groan, eyelids leaded with sleep.
"Got medicine, doktor," Heavy murmured, voice low and soothing. He put one hand under Medic's sturdy back to assist him in sitting up against the pillows. "Need help with dosage… Is in English."
"You got zhe… ja," Medic ran a hand tiredly down his face. He took the briefest of glances at the bottle. "Zhat's, ah, 20 milliliters… In zhe little cup zhere, it has… zhe…" Heavy understood. He filled the small medicine cap, which was a lot harder for him than it would have been for someone with much smaller hands. But he managed.
When Heavy offered Medic the cup, the doctor narrowed his eyes accusingly. "Nozhing to vash it down vizh?"
Heavy's eyes rolled so hard they'd have made a sound if it were possible. "Doktor is 55 years old. Not 5 years young. Will be fine." He held the medicine up to Medic's lips. Medic wrinkled his nose. "Now drink."
Medic took the medicine cup from Heavy with another disdainful glare, pinching his nose as he tilted his head back and swallowed the thick, foul-tasting liquid. He shuddered with a grimace, giving the meds some time to settle in his churning stomach.
"Спасибо," Heavy said with a sigh, setting aside the empty container and crawling into bed once more. Medic was content to snuggle back down under the covers with his love. The medicine was strong and already starting to kick in, or maybe the sick German was just growing tired again on his own. Whichever it was, it had his head lolling as he attempted to make himself comfortable. Heavy thought briefly about convincing Medic to change into something less warm, but the doctor was already drifting off and it would be a hassle now anyway. At any rate, the medicine would likely be capable of controlling the fever on its own.
As Heavy pulled Medic close by the waist, the doctor made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle away before cuddling close anyway, burying his face into the hollow of Heavy's throat with a soft snort and a sneer. "Dummkopf… You vill get sick too… Zhen vhat vill you do?"
Heavy gently cupped the back of Medic's head, giving his hot forehead a chaste kiss. "Will both suffer then. Вместе, да?" The giant stifled a yawn against the smaller man's salt and pepper hair.
Medic yawned back. "Ja…" He felt sleep tugging at his nerves once again. Heavy's breathing began to even out, and the doctor gave a tired smile. "Zusammen."