By the time that the two had gotten back to base, the rest of the gang had reassembled. Demo had either sobered up in the time they were gone, or he had simply sicked up what was in his stomach. Medic ventured to guess the latter. Nevertheless, there he was, sat just outside the locker room with Soldier. Another whiskey bottle had been brought to life by Demo and they were playing a game of cards. Spy lingered near them, leaning against the wall, idly listening in on what their drunken selves had to say, every so often peeking over to see which of the two had the better hand.
"Read it and weep, Soldier!" Demo announced quite confidently, throwing down whatever hand of cards he had before the army man.
"You have sevens! I need sevens!"
"Wha- Soldier, wat ar' ye doin? Yer not meant to take those cards!"
"I thought we were playing goldfish."
A synchronised face-palm was shared between the black Scott and the Spy.
"Boink! That's mine now." Scout interrupted their game, yoinking the liquor bottle out of Demo's hand and running off with it.
"That bloody Scoot!" He had poked the bear. "I'm comin ta get ye, yer little piece of sh-" The rest of sentence was muffled as Demo flung himself into the air with his sticky launcher.
"Why am I surrounded by idiots?" The Frenchman asked nobody in particular, looking up as if to have his ponders answered by the heavens.
"I see I've come back just in time." Medic sighed, announcing his presence among the others.
"The Doctor is in!" Soldier straightened up and saluted.
"I see you have found your bird." Spy noticed, "...and brought the fat man back with you." Heavy stared him down in response. But Medic grasped the Russian's shoulder firmly and with a hand raised in defence, said rather frustratedly,
"There will be no fighting among us. Not unless you want me to take even longer repairing the wounds you will give each other."
"He mock Heavy. He will get Heavy beating." The leviathan had engaged in a staring contest with Spy, who was doing all but acknowledging the Russian, whipping out one of his slender cigarettes again with the manner of a pompous arse.
"Oh, how clever! You made a little pun. Good for you, fat-child."
"Heavy is not child! Heavy is grown man that will break your face."
Medic heaved another sigh. Why call for a war when his own team-mates were already so eager to bring each other down? This was too much for him. He wasn't even going to try breaking up the inevitable fight. He did not go through 10 years of intensive training just to deal with this. Then a soft nibble at his hair reminded him that Archimedes was back with him now, safe and sound. And that was enough to lighten the grim expression on his face.
"Let's take you home now, shall ve?"
So he walked past and into the locker room, just in time to avoid Soldier deciding to join in on Demo and Scout's chase by supplying missiles for them to dodge.
At least the locker room had been taken refuge by a few of his more saner team-mates. Sniper had taken out his coffee flask and offered some to Engi, sitting across from him and talking about something or the other. Medic wanted to assume their conversation held more intellect than the one going on outside. There was only one left- and Pyro wasn't anywhere to be seen at the current moment, he realised.
"Apologies for the delay." He said when both men noticed him entering the room. The fresh pair of latex gloves were back on, and Medic was back for business. "But I'm ready to operate now! Have you decided who's going first?"
"Mmph mmph mmph!"
