Spelling errors, and missing words are due to a lack of sleep, and I'm actually afraid to post this here, cuz I have a fear of being eaten |D Enjoy anyways~

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"MEDIC!" The American soldier screamed, dodging past flying bullets, shooting off a rocket of his own as he made his escape. He yelled for assistance once more before ducking behind a building wall. The gunner didn't seem to be following after him, but he had still been caught in the leg, and was left limping. It was rather painful, this bullet in his upper calf. He glared as he hobbled his way back to their base, where was that no good German bastard? Following after his husband, the Heavy? Or his part time lover the Pyro? Tending to the invisible wounds of his Australian pet? Or...

Or was he sitting right next to the dispenser, sharing a laugh with the team's Engineer. Soldier slammed his rocket launcher down on the ground next to them, livid. "Wen some one calls, 'medic' yer suppose to help them." He snapped, trying to find himself something to bandage his wound up.

"Hallo, Herr Soldat." The German said coolly. As if he hadn't noticed the blood pouring from the wound, which he had. "Did you vant somesing?"

"Yes, I want to you do your damn job." The American spat, sitting down, and ripping off his boot. "Now heal me dammit."

"Vhy vould I do zhat? You seem to hef zhe problem taken care of." Medic said, about to stand up, placing one last needle inside his gun before he headed off.

Soldier caught the tail of his coat, and tugged on it, "Get. This. Bullet. Outta. Me." He growled.

"I hef ozher, more important vork to do, zhen fuss over your vounds. Ja? Herr Engineer, vould be so kind?" He asked the rather quiet Texan, smiling politely.

"Yeah, dun 'bout it, none." The man said, tipping his hard hat to the German. Waiting patiently for the doctor to run off before tending to his teammate's wounds. "Now, how in the hell dija get shot back here?" He asked as he lifted the soldier's trousers, slightly amused.

"How ya think? I stopped in the middle of the battlefield to ask the Blus directions to the nearest malt shop, and a giant mosquito came out of no where, and the nice Blus just tried to get rid of it for me."

"Ya know... I wouldn' be surprised if seventy percent of that story was actually true." He said taking a pair of pliers to the other's leg. "An' y'all know not to yell at the doc like that. He's just gonna flat out refuse you."

"But he was hired to be a doctor, and heal us." Soldier said, gritting his teeth as Engineer pulled the bullet free. It kinda stung. Like a lot.

"Well, maybe if you were nicer to him..."

"Not happening."

"Then I can't help you."

The soldier snorted, and re-stocked on his ammo while the engineer bandaged him up. Really, they didn't need a medic with Engineer around. He was a far better doctor, than that German.

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He turned on his record player, and placed a record down on the turn table, carefully, as if it was made of glass. Spy rested on the bed, lazing around like a tired cat, cigarette held lightly between two fingers. It wasn't lit. The Frenchman watched the German with keen interest from his spot. It was almost a ritual every time he stepped into the medical bay. He would go first to his record player, and put on his favorite one. And then he would wash his hands, after putting on new gloves. His patients would just have to wait until he was done with what he wanted to get done first. But this wasn't medical bay, it was the medic's room. The procedure was still the same. Except, when he was in his room, the doctor would occasionally mumble to himself.

Or in this case, the spy. "Zhat vas close today on zhe field."

"Which pa't? Zhe pa't where you 'ad you' 'ead almost blown clean off? Oh zhe pa't whe'e my watch stopped wo'king in zhe intelligence room?" Spy said casually, putting the white cylinder in his mouth. He wasn't allowed to smoke it in here, but that wouldn't stop him from toying with it.

"Well, zhey vere both very clo-you vatch stopped vorking?" Medic turned around and looked at him startled.

"Oui." He was sure he was chewing on the tobacco right now, "But. I did not come 'ere to talk about zhat."

"Did you come to steal mien bed?"

"Non... Oui... but, non. I came 'ere to ask about zhe soldier."

"Zhen you vill get out. I vill not talk about zhat schwienhund."

"Oh, I think you do."

"Spy, get out."

"Wheneve' you' ready to talk, mon ami." Spy said, grinning, sliding off his friend's bed, and vanishing out the door. Medic was sure the man was chuckling while he was at it. But, he was too tired right now to exact swift justice. Right now, maybe he just wanted to lay down. And, maybe he was a little hungry. .... Medic frowned, and looked at the door. No... No, he wasn't hungry. He was just tired. He flopped down on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. That French bastard's smell was all over it.