A/N: Haha, lame title pun. For Medic's memoirs, I used German terminology to make it a little more realistic. When he lived in Paris, he only managed to learn the basics of French.
Also, so for those of you who might think this is a little sudden, keep in mind that it's been a little more than a month since the beginning of the story, and you'd be surprised at how easily things like this can happen when you're stuck with someone for a month and have no choice but to interact and see them on a daily basis.
The Memoirs of Wilhem Brandt
It was February 12th, 1945, in Paris, France. I watched as the snow was blown from the roof and fell on top of an unsuspecting couple who had just gotten to the doors of the café. The woman was cursing lightly when they came inside, while her companion laughed and slung his jacket over her shoulders.
Me, I was sitting by the window, with an empty plate that had held by breakfast not too long ago, a cup of koffie verkeerd*, and a slightly worn copy of Das siebte Kreuz**. Almost all of the local businesses knew me by now, either by name or face or accent. My arrival as a 'refugee' of sorts in Paris had not been openly welcome, as it was quite obvious that I was German, but I knew that they had every reason to be suspicious of me.
Still, to keep myself from being possibly lynched by the community, I said nothing about my service to the Nazi army.
Part of me was angry that I was being condemned for something that I, personally, hadn't even believed in. I had only enlisted because it would both help to achieve my dreams of becoming a doctor and let me keep an eye on Dieter.
I had not received word from my childhood friend in some time. The last letter he had sent mentioned that he would be working in a hospital in Amsterdam, but I had no intentions of going back to Germany until the war was over, no matter who the victor was.
The door chimed again, and someone I recognized as my next-door neighbor entered. I knew little about her, as the only conversation we'd ever exchanged was a friendly "hello" every now and then. I adjusted my glasses and went back to my reading, pretending not to notice the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled invitingly at me.
"Hey, doc!"
I looked up from my desk at the sudden sound of Scout calling me from outside my office. Heavy sat up from the imprint he was leaving in the small couch I had set against the wall to the right of me and asked gruffly, "Want me to kick him out, doktor?"
"Nein, nein," I replied quickly, setting down my pen and sliding my chair back to stand up. "He probably just wants his test results. I'll be right back." Not bothering to put my coat on, I grabbed Scout's file and exited my office to see him rocking back and forth on his heels.
When he saw me, he bounced up slightly before asking, a bit wearily, "Got it, doc?"
"Ja. Ze only zing you ah allergic to is pet dander," I said, handing him his file.
He flipped through it with a frown. "That's it? Huh."
"Vere you... expectingk somezing?"
"Well... yeah, actually. First day, when I caught whiff of Spy smokin', I started hackin' my lungs out."
"Hmm. Zat might just be a first-time reaction, or possible asthma. The latter is very unlikely," I added with a smile, but when Scout returned it, it was brief and unconvincing. "Vhat's wrong?"
"Uh... I was, uh, just wonderin'... how did you'n-n Heavy... y'know..." He took a breath and quickly finished with: "Knowyouwereinlove?" His face turned bright red as he said it, and he furrowed his brows, as though he was angry at himself.
I blinked, letting his question sink in. "Zat vas razzer random. But..." I sat down on the nearest cot and craned my neck to smile at Heavy, who was failing miserably at trying to stay awake. "I guess... ve just got so accustomed to being togezzah zat... ve just could not imagine being apart." Scout looked thoughtful, in a slightly distressed way, but I could tell he was actually listening. "At first, it vas a bit odd, but after a vhile you just..."
"Stop carin'?" Scout finished for me, his eyes lowered to the floow when I looked up at him. "Shit."
"Care to tell me vhat zis is about?" I asked neutrally, although I had a good feeling that I already knew.
Scout shuffled his feet and, suddenly, sat next to me and put his head in his hands, muttering what sounded like every single curse in the English language under his breath. Feeling how disbelieving and almost sick he was feeling, I had to question why, out of everyone I knew, I had been chosen to be an empath. I put my hand on his back and felt him start to choke up. "Scout..?"
Whatever he was thinking, it was absolutely awful to say. I was even considering going to get a bucket for him by the time he gave up and whispered, nearly inaudibly:
"I think I love him."
Immediately, I felt the weight lift off from his shoulders, but I didn't move. He sighed loudly and, with a sniffle, lifted his head, revealing tear-streaked cheeks. "Huh. Th-that actually felt kinda good." He laughed dryly and testingly said again, a little louder, "I th-think I l-love him."
I smiled at him, despite the initial shock of the fact that Scout had let me see just how vulnerable he really was by coming out. "It usually does."
He looked at me and smiled weakly. "I felt ready to puke. That... was really hard to admit." He paused, then flushed. "I, uh, I'm sorry, for droppin' this bombshell on ya. It's just..." He shifted slightly, and I dropped my hand. "I figured, y'know, you'd understand."
"Better to come out to someone who undahstands zan to hold it in and self-destruct," I mused, noting how Heavy had mysteriously disappeared from the couch.
"Ugh. Never thought that people would be usin' that term with me. 'Hey, everyone, Bryan's came outta the closet!'" He waved his hands in a dramatic fashion, giggling in a nervously-excited manner.
I laughed right along with him, then lowered my voice slightly. "Vill you tell him?" After all of these weeks with him, I had no trouble guessing who exactly Scout was talking about.
His smile shrunk, and he started to fidget with his dog tags. "I dunno. I mean, I think he might like me, but he doesn't seem like the kinda guy who'd be that way."
"You didn't, eizzah. Vell, not to me," I said, not entirely out of just comfort. Hearing him sniffle some more, I got up and went into the office, grabbing a box of tissues for him and coaxing Heavy to come out from behind the door (he never was a good hider). Scout paled when he saw Heavy, but didn't throw out any comments or insults. I handed the box to him and said, quietly, "I do not zink you should tell him -- not yet."
He blew his nose loudly, nodding. "Yeah, I was thinkin' that, too. It's just... we see each otha every single day. It's gonna be so fuckin' awkward."
"Awkward is given," Hevy pitched in, standing next to me. "Was awkward when I told doktor I loved him."
"You wrote a poem and stuck it on my office door," I pointed out gently, looking back at him with a smile. "It vasn't awkward, it vas sweet."
"Was awkward when hiding and watching you read," he said with a sheepish smile.
I stared at him, then laughed quietly, reaching for an over-sized hand. Scout stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. Thanks for listenin', doc." He grinned at me, then left, whistling quietly.
I moved over and pulled Heavy towards me, a cue for him to sit down. Whenever he did, no matter what it was he was sitting on, it would creak under his weight, as if protesting. The medical professional in me would never stop being amazed at how healthy someone of his stature was.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I brought my feet up onto the cot, resting my head against his shoulder. A moment passed before he asked quietly, "Who was leetle Scout talkingk about?"
I simply sighed. "Do no worry about zat, meine liebster. It vill become obvious in time."
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*Koffie verkeerd = caf au lait, or coffee with milk.
**Das siebte Kreuz = The Seventh Cross by Anna Seghers.
