A/N: I love all of you readers, you know that? So, uh... remember when I said that this story might have a teeny-tiny bit of romance in it...?
Reader: Yeeeees...
Author: Well...
Reader: I'm out. *leaves*
Author:...dumbass.
Stuttgart, Germany, Christmas Eve, 1962
Christmas Eve in Stuttgart, Germany. It was always considered to be quite quiet. Apart from a handful of carolers patrolling the streets, singing festive tunes in a melodic tone, most of the other residents this semi-rural metropolis were in their homes, celebrating the Eve with their loved ones. Snow was falling on the well lit streets quickly, and not a single stray sound was coming from the decorated houses. The season was merry in every sense of the word.
"MURDERER!"
Whoops, I spoke too soon.
To better understand this loud, echoing outburst, that made the carolers run for their lives, we must return a couple of minutes into the past, and take a peek in the Dienstag household. In this larger apartment on the south side of Stuttgart, lived Heimlich Dienstag, and his wife, Julia. They were considered to be the power couple of Baden-Württemberg. He was a renowned doctor, about to open his own practice. She was a doting housewife, the beauty of Stuttgart. On the surface, they seemed ideal. But the way they portrayed themselves was a mask, which hid a flimsy façade.
Heimlich despised Julia. Not at first, but as years of their marriage went by, Heimlich realized that Julia and him were nothing alike. She absolutely despised blood, hated doves, and did not appreciate her husband's profession in the slightest, albeit the money came in handy for her many shopping trips. But what else could he possibly expect? He married the woman for her looks and reputation of being the fairest woman. He hoped that marriage would help him fall in love with her. Sadly, this was not the case. Julia did not seem to notice his lack of interest, and tried her best to maintain their slightly odd marriage dynamic. However, there was one thing she desperately wanted to change about their dull, childless marriage. More specifically, the 'childless' part.
They were having their almost modest Christmas dinner, complete with a turkey, some peas and warm apple strudels. They sipped large amounts of wine of which they knew nothing about, besides its extortionate price. Julia kept pouring more and more burgundy liquid into her husband's crystal glass, which he would drink without even looking up at her. She nervously tapped her manicured nails against the auburn table, constantly adjusting her negligee the size of a postage stamp. She stared deep into Heimlich's eyes, trying to pull out information from him about his day.
"So," she squealed, which made her husband cringe; "what did you do today?"
"Nothing, Julia," he said coldly; "I did an appendectomy on a twelve-year-old boy, and that was about it."
"Oh! That sounds exciting!"
"It isn't." He took another fork full of peas and ate them gluttonously. Julia sighed. A fiendish smile then appeared on her face as she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt.
"Honey," she cooed; "what do you say we take the dessert into the bedroom?" She batted her long eyelashes, waiting for a response. Heimlich gave her a look he normally gave to complete and utter morons.
"But Julia, darling," he said calmly; "Think of the crumbs!"
It took every ounce of Julia's determination not to smack her husband at that point. She then tried the more aggressive approach.
"Do you like what I'm wearing?" She asked, pointing at the negligee. "It's new."
"Of course it is," Heimlich responded through a mouthful of turkey. His wife scolded him with her gaze, but decided against getting mad at him, and instead, grabbed his left palm and pressed it against her new transparent dressing gown.
"It's quite soft, isn't it?" she grinned. Heimlich dropped his fork on the plate with a clang. He did not even bother to look at her.
"Julia," he started; "Puppies are soft. Pillows are soft. Entrails are soft. That does not mean I want to slam my hand on them on every occasion I get. Apart from the entrails, naturally. Second of all, I fail to see the reason why you thought that I would be impressed by this... this…" he inspected the dressing gown, moving his head down and trying to make up a correct name for it; "glorified handkerchief. And, lastly, I find it quite difficult to eat with only one hand. Do you mind?"
He quickly pulled his palm out of her cleavage, to which she huffed and placed her hands on her hips. She tapped her foot against the floor while he finished the remaining bits of succulent turkey. Julia clasped her palms together and stood up, somewhat nervously.
"Heimlich…" she leisurely walked across the dining room, constantly tugging on the skimpy negligee.
"Heimlich…I feel like you're not interested in me at all, anymore."
It took you this long to figure it out?
"What do you mean, Julia?" Heimlich asked, wiping his mouth off a small napkin. Julia sighed.
"Heimlich…how long have we been married? Five years, it seems."
"Actually, it has been five years, two months, thirteen days and fourteen hours since we wed," Heimlich corrected her. Julia smiled at this, thinking that her husband was a caring, thoughtful man. She never considered the possibility that her husband was counting the days in holy matrimony the way prisoners count their days in solitary confinement.
"Well, you see Heimlich… being married to you has been…well…it's been… a remarkable experience, Heimlich."
Her husband leaned back on his chair and stretched his arm up, waiting for a response. It came quicker than he had anticipated.
"Heimlich, I want to have a child."
Heimlich raised his eyebrow, looking skeptically at his wife. He sniffed. Then he scratched the top of his head. Then he chuckled. And then he sighed, looking back at his smiling wife.
"…mmm. Nah."
His wife looked at him, wide-eyed and confused. Did he… just say what she thought he had said?
"Nah?" She asked him, crooking her mouth to the side to emphasize the ridiculousness of his unexpected answer.
"Nah. A variant of no. As in; I do not want to have a child."
"Well, why not?!" Julia asked, stomping her foot. Heimlich shook his head and clicked his tongue.
"I just don't. Please pass the strudel."
"Well, do you mean no, as in, not yet?" She asked, not listening to his request.
"I mean no, as in 'We are not having this conversation this year, now please pass the damn strudel'."
Julia paced around the room nervously, listening to the ticking of the antique grandfather clock. It showed that it was roughly half past ten. She gulped and narrowed her eyes at Heimlich. As she spoke, her voice cracked with anger and haste to get a point across. Heimlich listened to her, not even caring enough to look away from the plate of delicious pastries.
"Well, why not? Last year it was because of the money, the year before that you wanted to be promoted, the year before that was…was… God knows what! Heimlich, what is it this time?!" She slammed her fists on the table, which made a wine glass spill its contents. Her husband hissed at his clumsy wife.
"I'm sorry, but this is how things work sometime. I just don't think we're ready."
Julia frowned upon her husband, and the next sound that came out of her mouth was a gush of mocking laughter.
"Ready? Ha!" She tossed her head back with brute force, and Heimlich thought that her long neck would snap at one point. "I have been ready for years, Heimlich! I married you because I thought I saw a father in you. A clever, well-read doctor! I have been ready since you first asked me out!" The tone of her voice increased in volume, as well as pitch. The doctor had to cover his ears at one point to protect his precious hearing.
"I never thought that I, Julia Brennenjude, would have to wait five years to convince my husband to conceive a child with me! My entire family thinks I'm barren! Do you know how hard it is for me to live like that?! My mother thinks I'm a disappointment! She sprayed me with holy water the last time she visited!"
Heimlich reached for the strudel as Julia fell on the wooden floorboards, tears flowing from her eyes. He scoffed as she clutched big clumps of her hair. She could be so melodramatic at times. She whimpered;
"Our children would have been smart and beautiful!"
"Not to mention imaginary."
"Wha…wha…" Julia gulped and stood up from the floor, looking straight at Heimlich. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
Heimlich sighed.
"Well…I suppose I should tell you… I do not want to have children." He looked up to the ceiling, and tried to pick his next words carefully. "Now, you are not the biggest issue, albeit you are one of the biggest ones, it's just that… I cannot stand children."
Julia blinked once as Heimlich twitched his fingers, thinking of the menaces children could be.
"I mean, I know I help people, but only because I'm forced to! Children are… different, unthankful devils. They cry and run and don't respect rules of public decency and I-I just…" He exhaled sharply to calm himself down. This action worked, and he didn't even notice Julia standing beside him, her nostrils flaring and steam practically coming out of her ears. The tears had dried up by now.
"I never want to have children. Not with you, not with anyone else."
Julia's eye twitched as Heimlich ate the delicious strudel. She spoke through her teeth, grinding them as she did so.
"And at what point were you going to tell me this?" She asked. Heimlich shrugged, gulping a mouthful of the pastry.
"Honestly, I thought that you would figure it out on your own. I mean, this is not exactly out of the blue. No, no, this is more like a giant monster standing in the damn middle of the blue." He laughed at his analogy, but Julia wasn't entertained.
"I lived five years with you… I did nothing but the best for you and… you lied…you killed me." Julia clutched her head, which was suddenly beginning to ache.
"Come on, Julia. If you really want children that badly, you can always leave, and-."
"Leave? LEAVE!? You kill me and crush my dreams and you tell me to LEAVE?!" She shrieked, grabbing the neck of the expensive wine bottle. Heimlich laughed at her.
"If your dreams consisted purely of having a child, I think you might have…well… wasted your life." He then smirked upon seeing his wife practically foam at the mouth with fury.
"You…you… you murderer…" she blurted out through her rage, before lifting up the heavy, green wine bottle high above her head.
"MURDERER!"
And, we're back on track.
Bottles crashing, plates clinging as they fly straight into the wall, Julia screaming, and Heimlich desperately trying to avoid the projectiles being thrown at him did not necessarily describe the strangest Christmas Heimlich has had, but it definitely was the loudest. His wife insulted him through her cries of rage, and the poor doctor ran across the room to protect himself. He ran towards the door, flipping over chairs in order to clear his path. He clutched the gilded door knob and gave it a jiggle, sensing his mad wife on his tail. He finally heard a click and opened the door, wide enough for him to exit without giving his wife enough room to run after him. He rushed out, not even taking his jacket. The last thing he saw before shutting the heavy door was a knife flying right for him. The sharp blade flew into the wooden entrance, where it stayed, standing perfectly still. Heimlich was breathing heavily on the other side, and barely calmed down even after he heard Julia take out the knife and walk back into the kitchen. Her quick, stomping pace became softer, quieter. And then it was gone. Heimlich looked at the number of the apartment door; 219. He knew that he wouldn't be going back inside anytime soon.
Just as well, he thought to himself. There were people nearby more deserving of his visit.
And as soon as he thought of them, his heart began to pound wildly, and he ran down the long, narrow staircase, anxious to see them.
The snow was falling on the well-lit road, and looked like a silk white veil covering a road paved with gold. The church organ was playing outside, and through the dense blizzard and the whooshing of the wind, Natasha could hear the hymn, sung by the church's visitors. Their voices harmonized in a perfect crescendo, loudening more and more until the woman was forced to pull the window shut, for the sake of the doves resting comfortably in a white, spotless cage near the wall. The woman turned away from the window and smiled at the cooing birds, not even noticing a tall figure running towards her apartment building.
There they sat; Socrates, Euripides and Plato, happily pecking at a human eyeball thrown in. Natasha smiled at them. She didn't want to spoil them with another homeless man's eyeball, but it was the holiday season, after all. Though Natasha never celebrated it herself, she would often find pleasure in listening to the church bells from the living room of her apartment, or feeding the birds with some finer delicacies. She loved those birds she kept in that cage. She also loved the man they belonged to; the German man who patched up her leg when she spared his life. She ran her hand up her short calf. A small mark was left there to remind her of the doctor's act of uncalled kindness. A long strip of brownish discolored skin, currently hidden by her long pant leg. She couldn't help but to smile.
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
"Ich komme!" she said in German, a tricky language she needed to master if she was going to continue living here and work as an assassin. She turned to the birds, signaling them to behave in case her landlord was paying her yet another unpleasant visit. She huffed and tugged on her thick wooly sweater before opening the door.
Before her stood a man. Heimlich Dienstag, the doctor who patched up her leg and became somewhat of a close companion over the past years. He shivered in front of her, snow falling off his shoulders and his thick dark hair. He propped his glasses up with his stiff index finger. He spoke quickly, his teeth chattering.
"Hallo Natasha," he said. "Ze vife is throwing a bit off ein fit. May I stay here for a vhile?" he asked, raising his shoulders. Natasha blinked, before she shrieked in near ecstasy.
"Heimlich!"
She wrapped her hands around him and raised herself up to the tips of her toes in order to be at near eye level with the doctor. He shut the door behind him, kissing her forehead affectively.
"I missed you so much, Heimlich!" She squeaked.
"I missed you, too." He said, looking over her short, blonde locks. There he saw a cage with his favorite doves, which he gave to Natasha to keep them safe from his wife.
"Meine Liebchen! How are you?" he asked, running over to them. The question was more rhetorical, as he could see that the doves were doing just fine. He stretched his index finger through the cage bars, stroking Plato's tiny feathered head. Natasha smiled at the doctor, who was examining their dinner.
"An eyeball?" he turned to her; "You're spoiling them."
Natasha then grabbed his hand and dragged the puzzled doctor into the kitchen. She could barely contain her giggles as she instructed him to stand next to the refrigerator.
"I have a surprise for you, doctor…" she smiled, opening the fridge.
The thing in the refrigerator was a man. A dead, homeless, dirty man, who appeared to have been stabbed. His left eye was missing, and all that remained of it was a gaping eye socket, filled with clotted blood. She gave the eye earlier to the doves. The murder weapon was sticking out of his abdomen; a simple green plastic toothbrush. Heimlich was puzzled for a moment. Natasha noticed this. The lifeless body began to topple over, so Natasha grabbed his dirty jacket and pushed him back inside, closing the door hastily.
"You know how you're thinking of opening practice? But you need money?"
"…ja…?" Heimlich asked, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Well…I… I wanted to make job easier. This man was quite healthy… his organs are fully harvestable. You can take them out and sell them on the black market like you do when your patients die! It's like that, only… without lawsuit." She smiled nervously, looking at the doctor's expression. She noticed a small tear gleaming in his eye.
"You… you killed ein man for mich?" He asked.
"D…Da, doctor."
She suddenly felt his strong arms grabbing her with intense force. All air escaped her as the doctor thanked her.
"Zhis ist ze best thing anyone has ever done for mich!"
This was perfect. This was truly perfect. How much does a kidney sell for? That much? How about a heart? Put all of that together, and he could be a millionaire! That left more than enough money to open up a clinic. Maybe…maybe then he could buy that antique forceps he had his eyes on! An then he could spend the rest of the money on something silly, like retractors, and golden tongue depressors, and diamond encrusted scalpels, and-!
"Oh, and doctor?"
The doctor was caught in the middle of a daydream, and shook his head, trying to get back into reality. He looked at Natasha, who was now turning blue due to the lack of oxygen. He let go of her, and the act made him feel like he had just cut off his own limb.
"Do not spend any money earned on expensive medical supplies. You have enough of those." She breathed heavily, looking at a pot on the stove. It seemed to be filled with some strange, soupy liquid. The doctor was sure at that point that Natasha was psychic, or at least, knew him well enough to know what he was thinking about down to every last detail. He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He looked out of the window.
"Sorry I didn't cook anything," he could hear her say through the kitchen; "I wasn't expecting company!" She walked out of the kitchen, carrying the large pot in her hands. "Could you open the window, doctor?"
The doctor did so, and soon the pleasant warmth was coming out of the room, and the choir music filled the area. A couple of carolers were singing their own songs, just below the window. Heimlich frowned, but Natasha sighed with a faint smile.
"Listen to them, doctor. Listen to the happy sounds those playful carolers make. They are so innocent. They live to bring joy. We can all learn from that…"
The doctor shrugged, not used to having his sadistic sweetheart speak like that. Natasha mimicked his action.
"Oh, well…"
With that, she poured the soup out of the window, and it landed in thick layers atop the poor carolers. Steam was coming out of the now empty pot, and the carolers complained about a burning sensation they felt on their faces and arms, the only uncovered parts of their bodies. Heimlich looked at the now completely red singers. Natasha stuck her head out of the window.
"YOU ARE SINGING OFF KEY! IN RUSSIA, THEY WOULD HAVE HAD YOU SHOT!"
She placed the hot metal pot in her left hand and closed the window with her right.
"Do you always do that to carolers on Christmas?" Asked Heimlich, as Natasha placed the pot back on the stove. She rubbed her red hands together as she sat playfully on the round dining room table, built for two but usually used by one.
"Only when I'm in a festive mood. Normally, I stab them with a toothbrush," she smiled.
"So! What brings you here? Your wife kicked you out, huh?" She asked, sounding surprisingly cheerful. Heimlich sighed as he went up to her.
"Na ja. More talk about children." He shrugged. "I finally told her that I'm not interested in them."
"I hate kids," Natasha agreed. "So, are you going to leave her?" She kicked her legs excitedly. Heimlich looked at her with sorrow in his eyes.
"No. I don't think it vould do vell for my reputation."
"Oh… So, you're staying with her? You're coming back to her? Will she let you back?"
"Oh, she'll let me back home, but I fear zhat I von't make it out alive again," he chuckled. He looked back up, half expecting Natasha to throw in a couple of jokes about manslaughter. But she just sat there, on the table, thinking about something.
"Natasha…" he started; "You know how I feel about you. But it's just that…"
"I know," she raised her hand up and looked away; "You wouldn't be caught dead with me. What would the neighbors think?"
"Exactly!" he said with a hint of joy in his voice. Sadly, he would soon realize that this might have been the worst thing that he could have said at the time. Natasha kicked her feet again, nervously and sadly this time. She sighed.
"Vat's vrong, Natasha?" He asked her again.
"Do you love that woman?"
Heimlich scoffed, shocked by the question. "Do I… No! No, no, no, of course not! Vhy on Earth vould you ask me zhat?"
"Because, doctor… It's like you care about her more than you care about me."
Heimlich didn't get any of that, but, unfortunately, Natasha was willing to explain.
"Doctor… we both know that…if you didn't get kicked out… you would be with her now. And not with me."
"Natasha, you know I spend all the time I can vith you!" He said, sitting next to her on the table that miraculously supported their combined weight. He tried not to get too fascinated by this.
"I know you try but… when was the last time you were here, doctor? Two weeks? Three weeks? A month? Either way, I haven't seen you in a long time…"
The doctor expected an addition to her rant which never came. He tapped his palm against his knee before lifting it up, half annoyed by her.
"If ze only problem is me showing up less it can be easily fixed."
Of course, this was just the tip of the iceberg.
"You know, Heimlich, I may not look it, but I actually have emotions from time to time. I can't expect you to visit all the time. I can't expect you to leave your wife… but if you don't love her as much as you say you love me… why is it so hard for you to leave Julia?"
"But Natasha! The reputation… the neighbors!"
"You know what?" Natasha turned back to him; "I understand. Nobody wants to be with an obese Soviet woman. But when you're with me, at least pretend that you do! Nobody knows, doctor! Nobody knows about us! And if they did at one point, I stabbed them with a toothbrush!"
Heimlich wanted to smile at that. He really, truly and honestly did. But it wouldn't have been appropriate. He continued to listen to her, the idea of all the people with a toothbrush stuck in their abdomen pecking at the back of his head.
"I am not emotional. I laugh at misery, I admire death. I am cold-hearted, but… at least I have a heart. And every time you pick her over me… you break it." She made a pinching motion. "You break it just a leetle bit. I…I'm sorry, I had to say this."
"Natasha… meine Liebe, if ze situation vere any different, I vould gladly pick you over Julia, but I can't now!" He jumped off the table and grabbed her shoulders firmly.
"I wish there vas some vay I can say I care about vithout saying zat clichéd expression…"
And suddenly, it hit him. As a small tear drop appeared in her big blue eye, it hit him faster than a freight train. It hit him so hard that his head hurt a bit. He got down on one knee and grabbed Natasha's small hand in his. The church bells chimed in the distance, behind the closed window, and then, Heimlich made his proposal.
"When I open up my practice, I vant… I vant you to come vork for me."
Natasha wiped a tear off her cheek and frowned at him.
"What?"
"Think about it! Ve vould be together, and nobody vould suspect a thing! And it vouldn't hurt to have some steady money. I mean, killing is good money, but not fast money."
Natasha opened her mouth to protest. She promptly closed it. Then she opened it again. A sound came out.
"Hmmm…"
"If you're uncomfortable, I von't pay you anything!"
"I am not that uncomfortable, doctor." She chuckled as he stood up. "Hmm… but I have absolutely no medical training."
"Neither do I!" Heimlich laughed. He came closer to Natasha and placed the palm of his hand upon her knee. "Please Natasha. Meine Liebe… All you have to do is try not to kill anyone. Easier said than done I know, but…"
"I will have to treat the patients as human beings…" Natasha looked up into the ceiling. Heimlich nodded, agreeing on how hard that could be.
"I will have to wear a uniform… Possibly learn something about the human anatomy besides the most vulnerable parts of the body…"
"You vill do fine, meine Liebe, I assure you…" Heimlich said, before he was interrupted.
"I might have to call you Herr Doctor."
Heimlich stared at her, blinking once as the bells began to chime louder and louder as the clock struck midnight. He leaned over her, inches away from her face.
"Say zhat again, bitte," he said to her impatiently, sounding both excited and anxious to hear those words coming out of her mouth once more.
"…Herr Doctor?" She guessed. Her expression turned from puzzled to wicked in a blink of an eye. Her hand was running down the back of the doctor's leg, cooing the phrase.
"Herr Doctor, Herr Doctor He-e-err Do-ho-ho-ctooor…" she sung, as Heimlich began to quiver slightly. He grabbed her hand, and finally, he felt whole again, as he had a part of him attached after it had been brutally removed. Maybe it was her sweet, playful voice; maybe it was the sound coming in from the streets. Maybe it was the slamming of a chair as Heimlich pushed it away in the heat of the moment, or maybe it was another thing entirely.
Something made Heimlich press his lips against Natasha's at that point.
Now, Heimlich never enjoyed kissing. It seemed too crass, too simple of an act to express fondness. But there was something about this woman that made his head spin. When their lips touched, he would find himself in a whirlpool of euphoria, twirling and spinning until their lips would part. And then they would reconnect, and a surge of electricity snapped and whipped through his spine. Now, this was the only scenario when this would have been considered a good thing. Well, unless you were having your heart jumpstarted after it had stopped beating. Then a surge of electricity would be a good thing. Though it wouldn't go through the spine now… Well, maybe it would. Either way, the whole experience would be quite surreal. Like being on cloud nine, getting electrocuted in seventh heaven… Though he would never admit that heaven existed. His best educated guess on the matter would be that-
"Herr Do… Heimlich!" Natasha yalled, panicking. The doctor moved away from her as the electric connection had been broken. It took him a while to realize what was happening. He held Natasha's shirt in one hand, and his belt in the other. Her sweater was already under the table. He dropped the two objects on the floor, and he soon heard a short, ringing clang when his metal belt buckle hit the wooden floor. His tongue loosened up enough to formulate a sound.
"Whooohm…" he managed.
Natasha was looking at the bird cage. The birds cooed, ticking their little heads to the side in confusion. Natasha did not want the doves to witness… whatever it was that they were about to do. The doctor chuckled and began taking off his shirt, unbuttoning it hastily, and taking it off just as he reached the cage.
"I'm afraid you vill have to sit zhis one out," he said, covering the bird cage with a thin white layer of fabric. He rubbed his hands together and turned to Natasha, who was still lying on the dining room table.
"Now, vhere vere ve?"
Natasha responded by flinging her bra halfway across the room.
"Eeeeeeeeew!" Scout screamed, covering his ears like a small child whenever the topic of coitus came up. "Eeeew! Ew, ew , ew, ew! Nobody wants to hear dat, man! Jeez!"
"Huh?" The Medic asked groggily. He was currently in a daze, holding his hands out in a motion that resembled grabbing two larger oranges or two smaller cantaloupes. It was also within the range of two tiny watermelons or two gigantic cherries. He looked around the room slightly confused, and almost laughed at his teammates, staring at him. Their expressions varied from looks of horror to looks of almost perverse intrigue.
"Whoops," he chuckled; "I suppose zat my mind has vandered off a bit." The Scout did not find this amusing at all. The Bostonian covered his ears and crawled under the couch. Faint mumbles were heard from underneath it.
"Nobody wants to hear about you bonking some chick! No-FUCKING-one! You know how much therapy it's gonna take to get da image outta my head?! You're fucking freak, doc! You're a fucking… Ooooh! A penny!"
The Scout continued to rummage for riches under the couch while the Medic stretched out his mouth into an awkward grin.
"I'm… sorry. I suppose you vere expecting somezing ein bisschen mehr… tragic?"
"Oi didn't moind it," Sniper shrugged. He ignored the judgmental gaze from the semi-disgusted Spy and continued to look at the doctor, who was plucking at the cardboard on his freshly received mystery box.
"I haff spent every Christmas vith Natasha since then… My only regret is that I never got around to spend it vith her earlier… Just because of my… pride."
"Dude, I don't care about your sob-story, alright?" The Scout reappeared from under the sofa, chewing on some gum he found. He shifted a couple of nickels in the palm of his hand with his index finger, shaking his head. "You still don't go 'round, telling that shit to us, OK?"
The Scout looked up to the Medic, who was staring intently into what seemed like nothing. He crumbled a small sheet of paper in his hand. The Scout coughed loudly.
"Uh…doc? Are ya broken or something?"
Now, seeing a grown man cry is bad enough on its own. Seeing an old, sadistic psychopath cry, over a woman no less, was downright horrendous. The doctor covered his eyes, weeping loudly and uncontrollably. His shoulders twitched and he made sounds comparable only to the cries of Satan herself. At this point, Scout actually wished that the doctor would go back to talking about hanky-panky with Fatty McGee. The Bostonian put the pennies and nickels in his back pocket, clearing his throat.
"Aw, come on, doc… Shut up, it's weird," he said kindly, shrugging awkwardly.
"Augh-augh I… I just miss her so mu-u-u-u-ch… And-and now… I don't even get a chance to see her and-and… AAAAAH!" his sobs soon turned into a shriek of anger and panic. Her dropped the box on the floor and stood up.
"I can't take it in here anotzher second! I haff to go… I haff to see her!"
Just as he began to storm out of the room, his path was blocked by a burly Russian, who just came back from cleaning his beloved weapon. The Medic gulped as the Heavy stared him down.
"I heard noise," he stated, looking at the Scout, who was picking at the mysterious package. "What is wrong?"
"The guy's goin' ta visit your sistah. He's a perv like dat," he said. Heavy didn't seem to notice the Medic, anxiously trying to shut Scout up with a mix of hand gestures. The Heavy laughed half-heartedly.
"Enough jokes. Where is doctor going?"
The Medic turned to the group, shaking his head vigorously. Since the Scout had ineptly let the cats out of the bag, another team member had to either confirm this, or keep quiet. The Soldier muttered something under his breath while the Pyro looked out of the window and whistled. The Scout picked at the duck tape around the box as the Sniper inspected his yellowed fingernails. The situation couldn't have been more awkward if they were all whistling nonchalantly while looking in opposite directions. The heavy was growing agitated.
"Where are you going, doctor? You cannot leave. Fight starts tomorrow morning."
"Vell, ehm, you see…" the Medic gulped.
"There hass been ein emergency and…uhm… I… I haff to…"
"Ze docteour ees really going to see your sister. You do know she lives in Germany now. According to your personal letters you correspond with, she has already told you zat she was working for a docteour. He was not named, but his work address fits Heimlich Dienstag's, a.k.a, our Medic's former place of business." The Spy raised his eyebrow, forming a slight grin. "You were not aware of this already?"
Really Spy? Really?
The Medic chuckled nervously, looking at the large Russian, whose nostrils were beginning to flare.
"Is this true?" He clenched his fists. The Medic didn't say anything, but his occasional gulping and nervous tittering spoke for itself. The Heavy then looked up at the other mercenaries.
"How many of you know this?"
Slowly, but steadily, every team member raised his/her/its hand. As the last mercenary raised his hand, the Medic was shocked with how badly he could keep a secret. He was no better in Stuttgart, yet no one knew then. Of course, this time Natasha wasn't there to brutally stab them with an object usually associated with oral hygiene.
"You all know and no one tell Heavy?!"
"Now, now, big guy," the Engineer said calmly; "there's no reason to…"
"Shut up, leetle toymaker!"
"Herr Heavy, bitte…"
The Heavy pushed the doctor aside and grabbed the box he received. He shook it, trying to figure out what was inside. He ripped the cardboard carelessly, until he saw it.
He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it was in a box, next to a small photograph of his sister holding a small dove in her hands. She smiled at it, and Heavy could make out the words scribbled on the back by his sister, in her usual, messy, cursive handwriting.
I found another dove today. I named her Hippolyta. She shares Plato's enthusiasm for human liver. I think she and Archimedes would get along fine, but I need to fatten her up before I ship her. The antique instrument you have requested is in the box. I hope it didn't break during shipping. If it did, I would have a couple of spines to break. -Natasha
The Heavy didn't know what to make of this. He presented the doctor with the box, pointing at the unknown instrument taking up most of the box. The Medic gingerly took it and looked inside. His eyes almost fell out of his head as he saw it. The Scout looked over his shoulder, only to be let down.
"Wat da hell is dat?" he asked, disappointedly.
"It's a 17th century syringe," he said, mesmerized by it. "Used by European royalty. I think this is vat vas used to poison Elizabeth I. I… I haff spent years searching for this, and now…" he ran his fingers over the glass of the small pump. "Natasha… now mein life ist complete!"
POW!
The doctor dropped the box on the floor, and the elusive syringe broke into a million pieces. The Medic didn't care about this, now he was worried about ever seeing on his right eye again. The Heavy was breathing heavily above him, reaching out his fist to hit him again. It took all of the other mercenaries to control the mad Russian. The Medic stood up from the now broken coffee table he fell onto, and brought his hands close to his ringing ears. He could hear bells, overpowering the Heavy's profanities.
"Let me go!" He shouted, managing to throw the Bostonian off his back. "I will not calm down! And you are next! You are all dead!"
The Sniper tried to talk some sense into the Russian, but failed to do so. The Russian already had to have some sense to begin with. He casually left the shouting crowd, and walked up to the letter the Medic had dropped. He scratched the back of his head and lifted it up.
"Oy!"
The group remained frozen in place, and the whole situation seemed comical; the Russian grabbing the Medic's collar, the Pyro pulling Heavy's arm away, the Scout trying to beat some sense into the Russian with his baseball bat, the Engineer pulling the Medic away, the Soldier and the Demoman shouting encouragement to the Russian and making bets, all down to the Spy who watched the whole fight while standing idly by, smoking his cigarette.
"You blokes are embarrasin'," the Sniper muttered, fixing the rim of his Professional's Panama. The heavy let go of the Medic and shook off the Scout, who fell down with a shout.
"Ow! My spine!" he shrieked, but was ignored because he was a brat.
"What is letter?" asked the Heavy. Quite soon, the Medic was nervously biting his nails while the Sniper cleared his throat to read the note.
"This should be good," said the Spy, stomping out his cigarette on the floor.
"Ahem," the Sniper continued. He read the letter in his best fancy tone of voice, but his very Australian accent made the whole bit seem just a little too ridiculous.
"Moi dearest Natasha, thank ye so much for the package. Thank ye for tryin' to keep us a secret as much as Oi am… Ha! A bloody secret. Good one, doc," the Sniper snickered before he continued; "Oi like how you signed it. Oi hardly doubt any of these idiots know wot… uh… Doine… Lehiebe means."
"Liebe," the Medic corrected him, only to get a sharp look of warning from the Heavy. He flinched.
"Continue," ordered the Heavy, keeping his arms crossed.
"I absolutely hate every day Oi spend without you. As much as Oi love the job, Oi absolutely hate moi ditsy, complaining, idiotic colleagues." The Sniper raised his eyebrow to the Medic. "Oh, and Oi 'spose yer the fuckin' demi-god of RED, eh?"
"Continue!" Snapped the Heavy. Sniper huffed.
"Jeez, alroight, Croist mate, don't get yer knickers in a twist… ahem; Whenever I get a package from you, or look at Archimedes, Oi'm reminded of you. I truly miss you, Oi hope you know that. Oi sometimes think about coming back, leavin' all of these idiots behind. But Oi'm stuck 'ere, and every day I spend with you hurts jus' a little more."
"Blegh!" Exclaimed the Scout, still lying on the floor.
"But Oi try to withstand this. The sooner this ends, the sooner Oi'll come back to ye. Yer the only person that keeps me believin' that life is worth livin', the only person Oi don't hate with all moi moight… It's koind of cute if ye ask me… Oi can't wait to hear about that new dove you found. You remoind me so much of a dove yaself. But Oi'm repeatin' meself. The fact is, you're moi beacon of hope in this drab world, and Oi can't wait ta… Aaaand, that's all he wrote," the Sniper concluded, folding the letter. He didn't want to say that the next three paragraphs of the letter were extremely erotic and a bit too medically accurate for a love letter. He subtly placed the folded piece of paper in his back pocket for later use.
"Wow." The Spy turned to the Medic; "You really are a man of letters," he said sarcastically.
The Heavy looked back at the doctor, a serious look on his face.
"Look, Heavy, before I…"
"Do you love Heavy's seester?"
"…huh?"
"Do you?"
"Well…" the Medic fidgeted. "Kind of. This is simply because I cannot find a more appropriate vord for it. Love is too plain. Too used up, too clichéd, and…"
"Do you or do you not?" The Heavy asked, not caring much for the doctors pseudo-philosophical babbling. The other mercenaries looked at the doctor in suspense. The Medic finally managed to open his eye, now decorated with an impressive shiner. He smiled.
"Well…" he gulped. "I mean…I…Yes."
The pain the Medic felt then exceeded any ache that left him with a black eye, a wound, or a broken bone. Actually, this was extremely similar to having your bones broken. The Heavy was crushing his ribs, giving him a bear hug, much to the amusement of other teammates.
"My doctor and seester together! This best day of Heavy's life!"
The Medic wheezed as he was put down. He preferred a punch in the eye to this any day of the week, and possibly twice on Sunday.
"So," Heavy said with a smile; "When is wedding?"
"Huh?"
"In Russia, when two people love each other, they marry. Celebration then lasts for days. Is tradition!" He looked down at the doctor, his pupils widening with something that could be defined as the root of anger. "Unless leetle doctor wants to break tradition…"
"No!" The doctor panicked; "No, no, no, it's not zhat, aber… mein divorce is not yet finalized. I mean, my vife did try to kill me, and evicted me two years ago, but legally speaking ve're still…"
"When?" Heavy asked again, crossing his arms. The Medic could hear the Soldier and the Demoman making bets in the distance. They were putting all the money on the Heavy.
"July!" The Medic shrieked loudly and unexpectedly. "July 14th."
"…Good. I will be there!" The Heavy slapped the Medic's back so hard that the doctor fell on the floor, face first. "Doctor ees credit to family!" The Heavy then turned to the last two classes, who haven't told their story.
"Who goes first?"
The Spy snorted and pointed at the Sniper.
"Hmm…" the marksman rubbed his stubble, deep in thought. "Bad Christmas, eh? Well… Oi've had some bad ones… the one when moi dog Apricot got rabies and died… the one when moi cousin hung 'imself is still in the top foive…"
The doctor got up groggily and walked up to the Scout. The Bostonian was still chewing the gum that he found under the couch.
"Scout?" The doctor asked; "Am I… engaged?"
"A-yup. And to a fatty. Congratulations." The Scout slapped his back and walked over to the Sniper to listen to him listing story possibilities. The Medic stayed where he was. He could still hear bells echoing through his head. But this time, they were different. They were festive, jolly announcers of impending doom. This time, they were wedding bells.
Süßer die Glocken nie klangen.
"Oooh!" The Sniper snapped his fingers as he got an idea. "Here's a touchin' story! So, it wos the year 1966, and Oi wos jus' shootin' some lead in moi best friend's head…"