Grit on the floor cracked under BLU medic's boots as he approached the operating table. RED's medic lay unresponsive, pained in expression, his face glistening with sweat under the surgical lights.
Just a need for medical expertise, the spy had said. Now it made sense; the medic heals the team, but who heals the medic?

He put his hand to the doctor's brow and just about fell over at the heat of it.

"What?" said the RED heavy. "Is problem?"

There was a time in Medic's childhood when he came down with a wicked sickness. The doctor who was called to see him had kind eyes and was so sincere it seemed like nothing at that moment was more important to him than his patient's well-being. Compassion for the sick, Medic's father called it. Later, when he'd decided to pursue medicine as a profession, Medic discovered that he, too, possessed this same compassion. It was in his nature, and no matter friend or foe, the healer in him always won out. Some said that was his problem.
Not this time.

"Doktor?"

Medic frowned."Herr Heavy, are you blind as vell as fat?"

He couldn't believe he just said that. Strangely, though, the heavy just stared at him.

"Never mind. How long has he been like zhis?"

"Maybe…few days?"

A few days?

Medic was unimpressed. He moved round to the other side of the operating table. "I vill need ice packs, if you have zhem," he said curtly.

The heavy, though he hesitated, obeyed. While he found the ice, Medic wasted no time in locating filth-free instruments necessary for his examination. Without a word he took two of the ice packs and propped them up against the RED medic's bare foot soles, then took another and instructed the heavy to hold it to the top of the doctor's skull.

"Now," he said, preparing to take vitals, "you say he has been like zhis for a vhile, but I need to know more. Do you have any idea vhat caused zhis. Any idea at all?"

The heavy thought for a moment but said simply, "Nyet."

Keeping up his act, Medic grunted in reply. It wasn't long before he'd measured blood pressure and taken pulse.

"Has he eaten anyzhing?" he asked. "Is he drinking?"

"I am not thinking so."

He picked up a stethoscope and unbuttoned the doctor's shirt.

"Has he been sick at all?"

"Am not sure."

"Did he complain of feeling ill?"

"Is saying he is tired," said the heavy, "and just needing rest."

Silence followed as Medic listened to the doctor's heart and lungs. When he was finished he replaced the borrowed stethoscope and took a deep breath. Abnormal, abnormal, abnormal...

"Doktor?" the heavy said. "Dis ice. What is for?"

The question caught Medic off-guard.

"Zhe ice…is for his temperature. Now-"

"But why is ice on Doktor's feet?"

"Zhe sole of the zhe foot is a primary outlet for excess body heat. Now-"

"I am not understanding," said the heavy, crossing his arms.

This one was persistent.

"Sometimes," said Medic, "vhen vun is sick, zhe body's natural response is to raise zhe internal temperature and develop a fever. But a prolonged fever does nozhing but damage. If vhat you say is true and he's been suffering for several days, zhen his temperature must be reduced immediately. Medication may be required, but until I know vhat is wrong, I vill resort to no such zhing."

The heavy seemed content with that explanation, though Medic couldn't understand why.

"Herr Doctor," he continued, though he knew the doctor could not hear, "you know how zhis vorks. Tell me if it hurts."

Shortly into his abdominal examination, the RED medic came to, promptly emptying his stomach contents over onto the floor. When he collapsed back onto the operating table, he was much too pale.

"Hey, fatass, you listenin' to me? I'm talkin' here!"

A dejected BLU scout sat on one of the couches in the team lounge, nursing his shoulder. It still hurt from when he'd been tackled, and though everyone made light of it, he seriously thought he might be injured.

The mercenary responsible for said injury reclined along the length of a second couch, reading a book. He stopped to peer over his reading glasses at the kid.

"Is not my fault you have big mouth and leetle muscle. Go and see Doktor if you are such baby."

"Speakin' ah the doc," called the BLU engineer from the next room, "where is he?"

"In office," said Heavy, focusing on his book once more. "Is doing vork."

"Again? Shouldn't he take a break?"

Engineer had a great deal of respect for Medic - a great deal of sympathy, too.

"Hey, if he wantsa be a loner, let him."

"Nyet!" said Heavy, fixing Scout with a hard stare. "Doktor is NOT loner. Is writing papers, doing vork - something leetle Scout would not know about."

"Aw, that's low, man."

Unimpressed, Engineer headed downstairs to check on Medic. Even if his attempts to persuade the doctor to take a break failed, he wanted to let it be known his efforts were, in fact, appreciated.
It appeared, however, that he'd already gone to bed for the night, as his office door was locked and the lights inside were shut off.
He cupped a hand to the glass and peered inside. Medic had left his violin out, which was odd for a guy who had a thing about using your indoor voice and replacing pen caps and such, but as everything else was in its usual place there likely was no need to worry. Confident all was well in the jungle, he made for his workshop for some last-minute tinkering.

BLU medic hadn't hesitated; within fifteen minutes he'd taken scans and x-rays, and was now examining them up on the operating room light box. Behind him the RED medic lay curled in the fetal position, his breathing rapid and shallow, while the heavy stayed close by.

There was a remarkable bond between those two, Medic noticed, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise. The amity he shared with BLU's heavy was profound enough that some had gone so far as to refer to them as brothers, and why should RED be any different? Despite this, RED's heavy hadn't interfered even once so far, seemingly content to stand back observe.

Medic adjusted his glasses and focused on the x-rays. In one, no less than five bright spots appeared - five foreign bodies embedded in the doctor's gut, evidently of the metallic persuasion. The offending material could be removed of course, but an infection had clearly taken root and it seemed quite serious.
How though, Medic wondered, had the doctor possibly missed them? One did not simply walk around unaware of metal fragments lodged in one's body. He knew his RED counterpart wasn't stupid - quite the opposite. He was brilliant. Resourceful, too. So why such an imbecilic mistake? None of the others were suffering. Why the failure with his own self?
Was it pride? Was that it?
'Doctor's orders' and all?

Suddenly Medic was aware of the RED heavy at his side. "See zhis here, Herr Heavy?" he said, pointing at the spots, "Zhis is metal. Sometimes, zhe hell of Respawn really is vorth it. Zhe good news is zhey are no vhere else in his body, but I must remove zhem or he vill die very slowly and very painfully."

The heavy tensed visibly. "Doktor can fix...da?"

"Ja."

"So…must operate soon?"

"Immediately."