((AN: Aside from the very first word, assume all the dialogue is in German unless stated otherwise. Headcanon that it's just easier for the two of them to speak than English.))
"Quatsch!"
Medic threw the scalpel he was holding across the room, taking slight satisfaction from the clattering noise it made as it hit the wall, then the floor. He turned his attention back to his aching hands, flexing the fingers sharply. He'd cut them off with that damn scalpel if it would make the pain stop.
Instead, he settled for going to the sink and washing his hands under the hot water. Clearly he wasn't going to be able to get any more dissection research done today. The weather outside was too humid, it made his bones ache too much, and no matter what he did he couldn't fight through it. The pain made his hands unsteady.
He wrapped his latest experiment up in some newspaper and stuffed it into his fridge, slamming the door shut. He was in a slamming mood. He stomped back to his desk and planted himself in his notes. At least he could halfway concentrate on reading when he was like this.
He heard the door to his lab creak open, and glanced over to see Heavy's head peeking around it. For such a large man, he could seem so small and unimposing when he wanted to. At least, to Medic he could.
"Is everything alright? I heard banging," Heavy said. Medic shrugged.
"You know how it is, with this weather."
"Ah. May I come in?"
"Of course."
Heavy closed the door behind him and walked over to Medic, holding a hand out. Medic placed one of his aching appendages in Heavy's large hand, which Heavy then covered with the other. Medic groaned at the warmth coming from Heavy's mitts, which soothed his achey hands a bit.
"Do you need anything? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be nice."
Heavy nodded, gently patting Medic on the head before heading back out and going to the kitchen. They had a communal coffee pot there, and Heavy went through the effort to brew a fresh pot before adding in the proper amount of milk and sugar and heading back to Medic. He'd memorized the combination through trial and error.
Heavy returned to the lab, handing Medic his coffee. Medic, gingerly holding the cup with both hands, carefully sipped it before sighing with relief.
"Thank you. It's perfect."
Heavy fought back a grin. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.
"Could you get me a bottle of ibuprofen? It should be in the cabinet by the sink. With a blue lid."
Heavy followed Medic's directions, hunting through the cabinets before finding the right bottle, which he brought back to Medic. Medic sat down his cup of coffee and took four pills, washing them down with more coffee.
"You may sit," he said. "Or stand. Do what you like."
Heavy contemplated for a moment, then found a particularly sturdy chair and carried it over, setting it down about six feet away from Medic, who gave him a wry smile.
"You don't need to treat me like a wounded animal, Misha. Come closer."
Heavy obliged, albeit reluctantly.
"What's wrong?" Medic asked.
"I do not like seeing you hurt," Misha said bluntly. Medic chuckled.
"And yet, here we are. I am hurt, and you are seeing me. What are you thinking about?"
"...my mother."
"Ah. I suppose I am getting old."
"She has knees that hurt like your hands do. On some days she cannot leave her bed."
"I'm not going to become immobile, Misha. This hurts, yes, but I can manage it."
"For how long?"
Medic sighed.
"The MediGun heals greater ailments. It leaves minor aches and scars. This will not progress far enough to immobilize me because when it does the MediGun will heal it. It's only a matter of time."
Heavy nodded, taking in and letting out a deep breath of air.
"Good."
Medic sipped the last of his coffee, setting the mug on his desk and turning to Heavy, holding his hands out once more. Misha gently took them into his own, lifting Medic's hands to his lips and gently kissing the knuckles.
"What a gentle giant you are, Misha," Medic said softly.
Misha snorted. "Thank you. I work very hard at it."
"I almost wish you didn't have to."
"Almost?"
"Some things that are difficult give us character. We wouldn't be the same without them."
"Ah."
Misha gently ran a thumb over the back of one of the hands in his grasp.
"Doctor, have you ever been in love?" he asked quietly.
Medic considered, then shook his head. "Not truly. Not compared to the way I've felt recently."
"Recently?"
"Oh, within the last year or so, I would say."
"Ah."
"And you, Misha?"
"Hmm?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
"I love my sisters, and my mother. And Sasha. But that is not the same. I know that."
Heavy looked off into space, choosing his words carefully. Medic knew that gaze. Much to many people's surprise, Misha was a smart man. One who picked through his feelings before pursuing them, when Heavy often did not need to. He was blunt with his thoughts, but his true feelings were ones he considered and organized.
"I love my sisters and my mother. I take care of them when they are hurt, and I protect them so that does not happen often. I love Sasha. She fights by my side and works very hard, and I work to make sure she can continue doing that.
"I take care of you when you are hurt. I protect you. You fight by my side and work hard, too hard with your hands swollen like this. I work hard to support you so that you can rest, which you never do as often as you should.
"It seems as though the solution is clear, straightforward. If all these things are true, it must mean I love you. But I am scared. I am a big man. I move too quickly and I break things. I do not want to break you, Doctor. Even if you love me, I do not want to break you. That is why I hesitate. That is why I treat you so gently."
"And that is why I almost wish you didn't have to be so gentle. Your fear has made you gentle, and that is something I enjoy about you. But I want you to be able to love as loudly and as strongly as you want, without fear. I want you to understand there are no limits. You are no bull in a china shop, you are a stallion in a field. I want to run free with you, Misha."
Medic pulled Heavy's hands towards him, leaving his own kisses on Misha's knuckles.
"You are a smart man. And so careful. Do not hold yourself back from me. I love you just as much."
Medic wished he could bottle the look in Misha's eyes. The larger man jerked forward, then stopped, then carefully stood up. Medic stood as well, eyes only just barely cresting Misha's chin.
"May I?" Misha asked.
"Limitlessly," Medic replied.
Misha wrapped his arms around Medic, lifting him up the four inches needed to close the distance and kiss him.
"I love you," he said when he stopped to take a breath.
"I love you too, my sweet," Medic replied, smiling. Misha beamed.
"You have such a beautiful smile," Medic said. "I hope I get to see it more."
"As often as you'd like, treasure." Misha laid a kiss on Medic's forehead.
Medic smiled and stepped back, pulling Misha towards his bedroom.
"Let's sit down somewhere private and comfortable," he suggested. Misha nodded.
Luckily, Medic's bed was big enough for both of them. And after they had tired of kissing, Medic discovered his hands hurt less when he was curled up in bed with Misha's arms wrapped around him. He kissed Misha's chest, and felt another kiss on his forehead.
"{I love you,}" Medic whispered in Russian.
"{I love you too, my love,}" Heavy mumbled back, kissing Medic's forehead again.
((AN: This started as another chronic pain fic but these men are just Too! Soft! AAAh! I also did some research for this one, both on arthritis and on German/Russian terms of endearment.))