A/N: Thank you Taranodongirl1 for following and favoriting, thank you FreeSocksForAll for following, and HUGE thank you to Annomynous for reviewing. I appreciate anything I get.
Also, small disclaimer for this chapter. This chapter is filler and build-up, but I like writing filler. So love it or hate it, you decide. My current schedule for posting will be every Monday and Thursday, but ONTO THE STORY.
The exhausted Mercs retired back to the base after a long, particularly brutal bloodbath, which ended in victory for them. They were all in a cheerful mood, slapping each other on the back and telling each other about their kills. Medic was sore, and wanted nothing more than a shower and sleep, but he was also in a rare happy mood. He smiled at his comrades being civil to one another for once. No one offered him any slaps on the back, however, but this was merely because he was covered in blood. Scout was the first of many injuries. After he patched Scout up, Solly finally complied to treatment after he lost all of the fingers on his right hand, then Spy had taken a wrench to the stomach. Medic had found him weakly crying his name as he held his intestines in with one hand. Medic had barely been able to save him because Solly kept trying to hold his guts in for him, but Medic kept reassuring him he was perfectly capable.
"Aye, who's cookin' t'naet?" Demo called as he shrugged his vest off, hanging it in the corridor.
"Can we order pizza?" Scout asked hopefully, but no one answered him. Medic could care less who cooked, all he wanted was food.
"I could whip us up somethin' tasty," Engineer offered. Spy made a noise in the back of his throat.
"Not your disgusting, fried, American food again. I had diarrhea for a week the last time you cooked." He blew a smoke ring in Engie's direction. A large sigh came from the back of the group.
"Heavy will cook. Okroshka, vatrushka, maybe Lymonnyk if Heavy feel like it. Sound good?" The mountain of a man made his way through the crowd and stood in front of the others mercs. Nobody said anything. Rarely anyone disagreed with Heavy. They knew Heavy would never hurt one of them without good reason, but they knew that he could smash their skulls into their ankles with a flick of his wrist. He loomed above everyone at 6'6", incredibly broad shouldered and strong. He resembled the bears he used to hunt back in Siberia. But it wasn't just his size that made him scary; it was that he was smart too. He didn't have a great hold on the English language, which made him sound stupid most of the time, but hidden intelligence lay beyond his small, black eyes.
"I don't like vatrushka, you know zhat." Medic said with a bored tone of voice. "I'm going to ze vashroom, nobody cause any internal bleeding vhile I'm avay." He walked stiffly down the hall.
"I think I'll join him. Anyone else?" Engineer said as he looked around the room. Sniper waved his hand.
"I'll meetcha back there,"
Medic stood shirtless in front of the mirror for a long time. He disdainfully ran a hand through his graying sideburns and studied his long face. His face was hardened by years of war, and he could see every worry line and every grief line in his handsome face. His hair was as thick as ever, though he felt frustration bubble in his stomach at his slightly receding hairline. His gray eyes were nothing special, and he had always hated his large nose. He backed up a little bit and flexed in front of the mirror, relieved to see he was as chiseled as he was ten years ago. He was sure the Medi-gun kept him looking younger than most, but it did nothing to stop the aging process. He stripped the rest of the way down and began washing the caked blood off of his face. The door swung open as the Engineer and the Sniper came in to shower themselves. Medic squinted to make them out, and he put his glasses on in the open washroom because he was sure they would try to make small talk.
"How are ya', Doc?" Engineer smiled at him, snapping his goggles off.
"We thought we'd join ya," Sniper added.
Engineer was about Medic's age, if not older. They were the oldest on the team, with Medic about to turn 47, so he guessed the Engineer was close to 50. Sniper was a bit younger than Medic, having just turned 40 himself. Age had not treated Engie's hair so well. He wore a hardhat 90% of the time, but when he removed it he was completely bald. When he saw Engie without a hat, Medic was thankful for just having a slightly receding hairline. Engie was one of the shorter men, About the same height as Scout. Medic was barely in the clear, being an inch under Solly and Demo, taller than Pyro. Engie was short, but stocky, and well-muscled. Sniper, on the other hand…
Though he was older, he still turned the heads of many girls he walked by. Chestnut brown, wavy hair, very tall and fit. The accent gave him major points as well.
As Medic studied the two men in the washroom with him, one might find the immense diversity amusing, but they all had one thing in common: scars. Sniper had many nasty ones. Medic counted a few bullet wounds and the clean, straight, pink one they all had from Medic installing the Uber technology and respawn chip, but Sniper's back was awful. Medic couldn't count the many horrible backstab scars that Sniper had. There were countless ones that just ate up his back. He also couldn't forget about the one that ran from his temple to his jawline, the one BLU Spy had left him permanently. Medic had to look away the ravaged flesh.
The only scars on Engie Medic saw immediately were his hands. He had lots of scar tissue built up on his hands from where we worked with metal all day long. Then there was the persistent bruise that bloomed along the bottom of Engie's stomach. The Engineer had type I Diabeetus and he had to inject himself with insulin every day.
Medic looked down at his own body. He had his fair share of scars. None too excited, though. He glanced down at his wrists in shame. Back when the Medi-gun had just been in liquid form, Medic had become addicted to it, injecting himself with it multiple times a day. His wrists were hacked to pieces from the countless needles he had pierced himself with. He self-consciously rubbed them and continued with his shower.
Medic poked Heavy in the ribs. "You should be eating more vegetables," he chided. "All zhis fat and grease is not conducive to a healzy body." Medic was the ONLY person who could get away with poking Heavy in the ribs. You were pretty stupid to begin with to poke a bear, but Heavy just smiled and popped a carrot in his mouth, pointedly chewing at the doctor. There was a round of muffled snickers at the table, but Medic had learned to ignore them. He and Heavy were always some part of a running joke to the other mercs, but he had never bothered to find out what it was.
"What? Why did we all just laugh? What was funny?" Scout said quite obnoxiously, spewing bits of Okroshka everywhere. Scout let out a sharp yelp of pain and Medic looked up, narrowing his eyes. "Why'd you kick me, Cyclops?" Scout hollered at Demo who shrugged his shoulders innocently. Medic returned his eyes to his meal. They all sat in silence for a while until Medic announced:
"I know zis is ze last sing you all vant to do tonight, but vhat kind soul vould like to help me file papervork?" Medic looked expectantly around the table, but everyone mumbled excuses or concentrated on their meals. "Right, because you von't help ze man vho saves your sad lives on a daily basis file papervork." More silence.
"Heavy will help Medic with paper," he volunteered when no one else said anything. There was a catcall that came from someone at the table and Scout raised his head as a smile came to his face.
"Ooohhh! I get it now!" he began laughing. Medic set his fork down and his face reddened.
"Vell I fail to see vhat is so funny to everyvone!" he yelled. He stood up so fast his chair toppled over and hit the floor. "Guten nacht, men. Or should I say children? Because you certainly act like children!" Medic felt just how red his face was as everyone stared at him dumbly. He whirled around and stalked off to his lab, slamming the door behind him.
Everyone's eyes shifted to Heavy, who had stopped eating, something he rarely did.
"Doktor is right. You are children. Doktor dies over and over to keep you all alive. Doktor takes knives for you. Doktor takes fire for you. Doktor take bullet for you. Doktor made you immortal. Doktor wipe your noses, kiss your booboos, and give you life. All you do is be children. We will not have this discussion again." Heavy scooted his chair away from the table and lumbered down the hallway.
Everyone suddenly lost their appetites. They all turned to glare at Scout.
"What? I got the joke!" he said incredulously.
"You 'ave to ruin everything, don't you, tromper," Spy said sullenly.
In his room, Medic was in a particularly bad wrestling match with his demons. This was nothing new to him, but the rage that boiled inside of him made his vision blurry. He slammed his fist down so hard on the crude desk in his room that he felt his pinkie finger crack. Gasping at the sudden pain, it only fueled his rage ever more. He needed something to calm him down, and fast. He could feel his modified heart inside of him thumping painfully against his sternum and he rubbed a hand over the small lump. It was confused at the sudden pain and adrenaline being released in Medic's body.
He couldn't think of anything to do besides go to bed and forget about this day, and forget about the sorry bunch of ingrates that made up his so-called team.
Next time on The Mercs Take New York:
"Dear RED, I've been pulling a lot of strings lately with ze Administrator, and I finally talked her into allowing you guys a-" Spy paused, then spit the next word out like it was poison. "Vacation." Medic froze.