Edit: I wanted to redo this because I had a better idea for this. Happy reading!
Chapter 1
Medic sat in his office alone. The hospital had grown dark on his floor as every other surgeon had gone home. Instead he sat in his not-so-comfortable, black office chair behind his mahogany desk. A golden name plate read 'Hans Kastner, M.D./ Chief Surgeon.' In front of him lay several pages of paperwork that silently called to him through the reflected light of the desk lamp. His strong bare hands picked up the black pen next to them and forced himself to finish the reports. A request for more hearts as there were never enough, finalizing paperwork approving a patient for a kidney transplant, and a confirmation of a meeting with the rest of the medical staff on new sanitation procedures.
His hand stopped writing the chicken-scratch German as he trailed of in deep thought. The pen pressed limply against the white paper, causing a black spot to grow.
How long had it been? Five, six years since he saw his beloved wife? Of course in his mind she wasn't so beloved...
The Teutonic man had one single regret: marrying a girl he fell too fast in love with. He should have known something was wrong when he was with her. She was too attached, too loving to be with a man like him. She was his Bonnie and he was her Clyde. Partners in crime. Promising each other forever. Maybe that was his first mistake.
He tapped his chin in thought before setting the pen down and leaning back to stare at the ceiling, his fingers interlaced behind his head.
"Rose." He whispered to himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. The ache in his chest from the day she left returned as he dared to utter her name aloud. The pain was almost fresh, only slightly dulled after years of trying to suppress the feelings of hatred, rejection and want. Maybe that's why he missed his mercenary work as a combat medic so much. The adrenaline dulled the pain.
That's what had brought Rose back to mind. Of course not a day went by without a thought of her... But his real work is what got him thinking. It had been seven months since Gray Mann had taken over Mann Company from Saxton Hale. Since then the mercenaries decided to disband since they were no longer fighting a stalemate, but instead a losing battle. So with one last 'I'm leaving,' the mercenaries of the Red team went their separate ways. In Medic's case, that meant catching the first flight back to Stuttgart he could find.
After hooking up with a few connections and using manners of persuasion less than gentlemanly, he landed himself a job as Chief Surgeon. Now whether he had his medical license renewed, that was a different story. Apparently the Hypocratic oath didn't include human experimentation. Do no harm and all that jazz didn't exactly fit the Medic's profile.
The bottom line was that the good doctor was simply too bored with living a "normal" lifestyle. He missed the action and the adrenaline rushes. He missed the annoying cries of his name every ten seconds. He missed the blood and gore he was pleased to do whatever he wanted with. But he missed all of the war because it served as a distraction, a pretty damned good one albeit, from the real life problems.
Living in Tuefort was like living in a separate world, outside of normal society. Limited contact with the outside world meant that the teams could do practically anything they wanted. There weren't rules to follow besides those of the Administrator's. Life was good.
The more he thought about Rose, the more he longed for the adrenaline rush that came from being a mercenary. The more he thought about why he became a mercenary caused him to think about how Rose had influenced him into that life.
He knew that something had to change that night. And the decision that made the most sense was the hardest to make.
He leaned forward, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses with his hands. He ended up just taking them off anyway as they merely served to get in the way. He rested them on the paperwork precisely and picked up the black phone. He typed in a number and waited for the ringing to begin.
Once. Twice. Three times.
"'Ello?" A British voice answered on the other line.
"Rose." Medic's throat had become restricted. The air was hard to get down to his lungs and even harder to get out.
"Hans?" The voice asked in surprise. Well of course she had no idea her husband she hadn't seen in seven years was going to call her. "Are you alright? You're not hurt are you?"
"No. Vhy vould I be hurt? I'm fine. I promise." He babbled.
"Oh, good." She breathed a sigh of relief.
"How are you?" He asked hesitantly. What was he supposed to talk about? How was he supposed to act in this situation?
"Better than you're going to be." The door to his office opened and in strolled Rose in all her blazing glory, a trail of dead bodies behind her.
Medic stood up, dropping the phone.
"It's about time you called." She smiled, a pistol with a silencer was held in her black gloved hand delicately.