"Gentlemen, I have newz."
The small team looked up from their morning activities around the kitchen table to look at the Spy, the forever masked, forever smoking, forever in a pinstriped red suit Frenchman. He held a red envelope in one hand.
Their team had been large once. But, a change in the opposing side had brought their numbers down to only five. A Soldier, an Engineer, a Heavy, a Sniper, and the Spy himself were all that was left.
"Wot's up, mate?" Sniper asked, looking over his coffee mug at the thin man. The Sniper was finding it hard to work out whether the Spy thought the news was good or bad, and the Australian was usually pretty good at working out what people were thinking, just from the look on their face. The Spy's balaclava provided him little protection, so far as his eyes were concerned.
"Well, you see..." The Spy flicked the envelope onto the table between them with one gloved hand, and it slid across the wooden surface before coming to a stop by the Heavy's plate of eggs, sausage and bacon, which he stopped shovelling into his mouth when the object flitted close. "We have just received orderz." The Spy finished.
Dropping his fork onto the table with what could have been distain for life in general, the Soldier snapped his hand out and grabbed the envelope, pulling the contents out with his other hand, and skimming over it. He started, which got everyone looking at him right away.
"We're getting a new recruit!" He announced, tone surprised.
There were various exclamations of surprise.
"Really?" The Engineer was grinning from ear to ear. "Well, it's about time!"
"Who we get?" The Heavy asked, leaning towards the smaller man to try and see the letter. "Tiny Scout? Pyro? Drunk Man?"
"Y' mean Demoman." Sniper corrected, smirking.
Heavy looked at him, blinking. "Is not same thing?"
Sniper and Engineer chuckled.
Soldier shook his head. "None of them. They're sending us a Medic."
"A Medic…?" Sniper repeated, looking dubious.
But the Heavy suddenly looked thrilled. "They are sending me a Doktor?" He asked, a large hand reaching out to take the letter from the Soldier, who responded with a loud, "HEY!" which largely went ignored.
The Heavy's eyes lit up as he read the letter. "It true! A Doktor coming!"
"What did you expect, Private, that I was lying?" The Soldier barked, grabbing his fork and gesturing at the Heavy with it as menacingly as he could. Which wasn't much.
The Heavy was still grinning, but he shook his head at the Soldier's wild fork threatening. "No. Just hard to believe. I not worked with Doktor in… very, very long time. It will be good to have Doktor on team again."
The Engineer looked back at his newspaper. "So, when's th' Doc getting here?" He asked.
"Ze day after tomorrow." The Spy answered. "Wiff ze uzual suppliez."
"We must make sure Doktor feel welcome in RED base!" The Heavy announced, standing up. "I know! I go sweep Medical Bay where Doktor will work!" And with that decision made, the Heavy stood, collected his remaining breakfast, and trotted out. The remaining mercenaries looked at each other.
"…We have a Medbay?"
… … … … …
The rest of the day saw the Heavy inside the Medbay, happily sweeping the floor with an oversized broom, humming to himself all the while. It had been a very long time since they had last had a Medic on base, and it had been even longer still since the Heavy had last seen one.
Well, an allied one, at least.
Here and there he would occasionally see enemy Heavies with a faster moving, white-coated healer in tow. It always took a little more thinking when he saw a glowing blue Uber Heavy come around the corner. More or less, it involved ducking back and shooting at things that could actually be shot at for the next ten seconds, until the charge wore off. At which point he would pop out again, and offload several hundred thousand dollars' worth of bullets at the pair, usually aiming for the Medic first.
He hated doing it.
It always wrenched his heartstrings to see the small, thin doctor collapse to the ground in a bloodied heap after being peppered with bullets from his own gun. To see the look of horror on his opposite's face as he sees his companion's torso burst into a fine red mist.
Medics were few and far between on both sides, it seemed. No doctor would accept the terms of employment on either side unless they really needed to. After all, who would agree to running around getting shot at, with a stupidly high chance of getting killed on your first day, and just as high chance of not being able to save the lives of anyone on your team for more than five minutes, when you could just as easily get a job in a hospital, where there was very little chance of either?
But in the hardest of times, they could turn the tide of a battle. They were invaluable.
Which is why every team wanted one. And now they were getting one of their very own!
The Heavy chuckled to himself as he continued to sweep the floor. Listen to him. He was speaking as if the Medic were some kind of pet! He hadn't even met the man yet, and already he was sure the doctor would not appreciate the thought.
After sweeping the floor to rid it off its thick layer of grey dust, the Heavy picked up a cloth and started wiping down the counters. The Medic would know how to do it properly, of course, but it didn't do to welcome a new team member, and then lead him to a messy work area, and tell him to 'have fun'.
And different Medics had different standards. Some stuck to a minimum, 'it's clean so you won't become infected' level of sanitation, others, at a 'your eyes put biohazard filth on every surface you look at-STOP LOOKING AT ME' level.
Of course those were both extremes; most Medics fell somewhere in between.
Idly, as he polished the metal counter top with the damp cloth, he wondered what kind of person their Medic was going to be. Where he would be from.
They had mercenaries from all over the world in this war; the Spy was from a town in France called Lyon (this was the only bit of personal information the Spy was willing to give up). The Sniper was Australian, born in Melbourne. The Soldier and Engineer were both American; While Engie was from Texas, no one was really sure which part Soldier was from, and no one really cared enough to ask. And as for him, he was Russian, having lived a lot of his life in Novosibirsk.
He had heard Spies cursing in Italian, Demomen speaking Gaelic, and once, a Scout who spoke Greek.
And there were hundreds of countries that were possible. Any of them were possible. It was exciting!
The day after tomorrow couldn't come fast enough!
… … … … …
The following day saw a harsh battle, which ultimately, the small RED team lost. They were adamant that it wasn't their fault. Five against eight were stupid odds to fight against, especially when trying to capture a point. The smaller team could hardly get close to the point, let alone be able to capture it. They were lucky that the worst injury was a line of ragged, bloody bullet holes up the Heavy's left arm. Unlucky though, the Engineer was unable to have much done about it, apart from painfully digging the bullets out of his flesh with a pair of needle nose pliers, and then bandaging him up.
"You'll scar up somethn' harsh, with wounds like that." Engineer told him.
Heavy shook his head. "Doktor can look at arm tomorrow." He said. "I wish did not have to ask him to heal on first day…"
"You couldn't help it." The Texan said gently, cleaning off his pliers. "You were all that was between me n' half dozen holes in the head. I owe ya fer that."
Heavy smiled. "Have grown to like Engineer. Would be sad to lose you. Or any others."
Engie laughed. "You're a great bleedin' heart, arnt'cha?"
The large man blinked, and glanced at his chest, before returning his brown eyes to the yellow hard hat. "Was not shot in chest, Engineer."
That, of course, only made the other man crack up even more. "No, no, you don't get it. It just means you're a big softy." When the confused look did not abate, he added, "You care a lot."
Heavy shook his head, as though it was a silly thing to say. "Of course I do. About all team! We are like small family, yes?"
"Better not come on too strong to the Medic tomorrow." Engineer warned, suddenly serious.
"Why?"
"He's a guy we've never met before, buddy." The shorter man explained. "He might not want to be all friendly at first. I've heard Medics can be… temperamental."
"Non-sense!" Heavy said, confidently. "Have worked with Doktor before, long time ago. Was good partnership!"
An eyebrow rose over dark goggles. "Uh huh. Let me guess… you both joined at the same time?"
The large man blinked. "Da. How Engineer know?"
"People who join together stick together. Happens all the time. But this is a whole new Doc… Goodness only knows what he's like. Just, be prepared for the chance that you might not get along."
"Da. Will be prepared. Don't worry! Will all be fine!"
… … … … …
The next day, the team had all gathered to wait for the truck that would bring them their supplies, and their new member. They had been here nearly a year together, and none of them could remember a day where the Supply Truck had been anything but on time.
So they weren't exactly prepared when the truck came hurtling over the horizon, a whole twenty minutes early.
"What the bloody…?" Sniper muttered, pulling himself off the large rock he had sat down on, not five minutes ago.
"Ze truck is early." Spy said, looking at his watch. "…Unuzual."
"He's also bein' driven like he's a wild bull 'nstead of a thing on wheels…" Engineer pointed out.
And it was true. The driver was speeding recklessly across the red soil towards their base, like Hell itself were on his tail.
The large supply truck skid to a stop by the base entrance, kicking up a large cloud of red dust, which had the RED team coughing, and coated in a fine layer of red earth. There was a pause as the driver pulled on the park brake, and climbed out of the cab, looking like he was half expecting someone to stab him in the back any second. "So sorry for being late!" He declared, running around to the back of the truck to pull it open.
"You're early, mate." Sniper tried to tell him, but he was too busy fumbling with the latch on the truck to notice.
After a minute, the metal doors were swung open, and there was a dull THUD as someone jumped down off the back.
The team shuffled around to see the person who had just emerged, and, evidently, scared the absolute balls out of the truck driver.
He was about six foot seven, with broad shoulders, a square jaw and dark grey hair. Cold, ice blue eyes glared through a pair of circular glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, regarding the small five man team coolly. He was dressed in a pale red coat, with a white collared shirt underneath, and a bright red tie. His hands were covered by thick red gloves, and on his back, a metal backpack with a glowing red globe on the side. A tube connected the backpack to a large, gun like nozzle, which was hooked onto the side of the pack, for now. Hanging from his belt on his left side was a strange looking gun with a clear chamber, dozens of red and silver streaks inside. Hanging on his right, there was a large, serrated silver saw.
And slung over his shoulder, a leather travel bag.
Heavy grinned and stepped close. "You must be new Doktor! Welcome to team!" He said enthusiastically. "I am Heavy Weapons Guy. Very happy to meet you!" He stuck a large hand out in offer to shake hands.
But the cool blue glare never left his face. The doctor slowly looked to his right, at the four other dust covered men standing there, watching him expectantly. The blue gaze lifted slightly to regard the base behind them, dust covered and sun-bleached stone, concrete and timber, which had been bold red when it was new.
Slowly, the eyes returned to the Heavy, who still had his hand extended, although his eyes were starting to get a sliver of worry in them.
The Medic huffed. "Vell." He said in a thick German accent… which made the Soldier twitch violently. "It is no vonder vhy I have been called in." He ignored the way the Soldier was suddenly glaring daggers at him, and turned his gaze on the Heavy's arm. "You look like you need some help already. Und you are all vilthy." He added, casting a sideways glance at the rest of the team.
Spy, Sniper and Engineer all suddenly grabbed Soldier as, with an angry snarl, he tried to pounce the Medic. "LET ME GO!" He roared. "LET ME AT HIM!"
"Soldier! Control yourzelf!"
"You're out of y'mind, mate!"
"He's a RED! You can' just jump him!"
"LET ME AT THE NAZI BASTARD!"
Heavy's eyes snapped back to the doctor. And the large man grimaced a little. The Medic's eyes had just dropped another ten degrees or so, and had become hard. And the Heavy had to stop himself from flinching when that hard gaze was turned on him.
"You vill show me zhe Medical Ward." He said firmly, his tone dark, as if it promised very many nasty things should he not do as told. "I vill treat your vound, and I vill see just how much trouble you are all in."
The Heavy's mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, before he snapped it shut. That glare was narrowing at him, ever so slightly. He frowned, but nodded. "Da… is… this way."
The large man started leading the new doctor inside, who followed wordlessly, not looking at the others at all as he passed. This only seemed to irk the Soldier more, and he hissed like a wild animal.
The other three kept a tight hold on him until the Heavy had led the Medic well into the base, before even thinking about letting him go.
"What in HELL is command THINKING!" Was his enraged cry.
… … … … …
Heavy watched as the Medic placed his bag down on the desk in the Medbay office, and started looking around. A frown appeared on the larger man's features as the doctor seemed to regard the room's state with distain.
Hoping to alleviate the tense air, he spoke up. "I clean Ward as best I can yesterday, when learned you were coming." He explained. "Not been used in very long time."
"I can see zhat." The Medic said dully. "It vill take all afternoon to get zhis mess cleaned up."
"Was worse, yesterday. Very dusty!"
The Medic turned and looked at him, that cold glare unchanged, except by the slightest raising of his left eyebrow. He huffed, and pulled a chair out of the office, and placed it near one of the berths.
"Vell, let us get zhis done. Sit." He instructed.
The Russian nodded, and sat down on the chair, holding his arm forwards for the Medic to see. The shorter man pulled his red uniform gloves off, and replaced them with disposable ones, before he started peeling back the bandages without a word, and started to inspect the damage. He didn't even flinch when the ragged wounds greeted him by starting bleeding again in a slow ooze.
The Medic snorted, and turned to a small First Aid Kit he had pulled out of the office. From it, he withdrew some fine string, and a container which contained a sterile needle. Retrieving the needle from its housing, he threaded it, and, without so much as a word of warning, jabbed the needle into the Heavy's flesh, ignoring how the larger man jumped in surprise.
Silently, he stitched the jagged, torn flesh back together, ignoring how the Heavy twitched with each stab of the needle, and how he hissed in pain when he pulled a pair of scissors out and snipped dry, ragged torn pieces of loose skin off the edges of the wounds.
When the shorter man was satisfied with the condition of the Heavy's arm, he lay a gauze pad over the stitching, before binding his bicep and forearm in a wide, white bandage, which he secured with a small metal clip.
"Zhe bandages must be changed in two days." The Medic droned as he began packing up, removing his gloves and throwing them out before washing his hands in a nearby sink. "If zhe stitches do not hold, or it begins to bleed through zhe dressing, let me know at once."
"Yes, Doktor." The Heavy said obediently. "Thankyou."
"You can go." Was the cold dismissal.
Heavy stood, and headed for the door, pausing just as he stepped in the corridor. "Oh, I nearly forget!" He reached into the satchel on his belt, and pulled out a sandwich, in a ziplock bag. "I make Doktor Sandvich, for after long trip!" He turned to hand it to the other man, but as he did so, the Medbay door closed with a firm THUD, right in front of his face.
He stared at the metal door with wide eyes.
He had not… Been prepared for that.
Whispy: I know I shouldn't be starting so many new stories when I have old ones to finish, but I was INSPIRED!
Hee hee. The Medic is my favourite class. And, I'm not bad at him, if I do say so myself.
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