(A/N: Hi, everyone! So sorry for the delay. I'm currently in my last semester of college so life's been pretty hectic since January. Upon my heart, I swear I've spent every car ride and every silent moment pondering on Spies Like Us. I've written, redrafted, scrapped and re-written Chapter 11 a total of seven times now, with each version having at least two thousand words. =.= The seven were scrapped mostly because of pacing issues, so I decided to upload this as a separate chapter before moving on. Apologies in advance for the shortness, but it was too significant to cut out and too overwhelming to include in a 2000 word chapter... if that makes sense.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! c: The next update won't be too far off now.)

Title: Spies Like Us
Chapter 10.5: Fatigue

"You are quite certain of zis, Herr Sniper?"

"Positive, doc," he mumbled quickly in response.

"And you saw it clearly… wiz your own eyes?" Medic pressed on, wanting to be absolutely certain. He glanced up from his notes, his gaze hardening when he saw the Australian nod, securing his fears. Both of their faces were grim now. "Vhy don't you take a seat, Herr Sniper," he insisted, motioning to the examining table, the only other seat in the infirmary. The low hum of their charging Medigun filled the otherwise silent air, a bright red glow dancing on metallic counter in the middle of the room.

Sniper was hesitant. "Erm… alroight…" he murmured finally, complying to the doctor's wishes. He sat down and hid his wince.

It was cold.

"Now, Herr Sniper," Medic stood up from his chair just as his comrade sat down. "I did not initially zink zat I vould haff to prescribe you such medication…" Much to his alarm, the doctor approached one of his many cupboards, unlocking one of the doors to reveal a myriad of bottled pills and questionable liquids. Sniper's frown deepened. "However, your hallucinations might conflict—"

"Hallucinations?"

"Apologies, Kamerad," the German placed a hand over his own heart and gave a small bow. The amused, almost sadistic, grin plastered to his face made him doubt the sincerity of the apology… and also question the safety of staying in the room. "Vould you prefer if I called zese delusions somezing else?"

"Oi am not hallucinating!" with that, his fist collided with the table he sat on. "Doc, ya gotta believe me. Wot I saw was re—"

"A mere figment of your imagination," the doctor corrected promptly, folding his arms across his chest. "Shining orbs pushing people off cliffs? HA!" he threw his head back as he laughed. "Herr Sniper, zere are no such things as forcefields. I azure you, if zere vas, I vould be ze first to hear about it."

"Wot about Engie's new doohickey, doc?" Sniper was determined to prove his sanity. "The one that lets him control those guns of his. He has a forcefield—"

"It has a forcefield, Herr Sniper. It," the carefree and much-amused attitude was gone now, and the marksman found himself face-to-face with Medic's steely glare. A shudder ran down his spine. "A machine," the doctor emphasized, taking a few steps closer. "Not a human."

Sniper bit back another retort, averting his eyes to the side. He wasn't keen on admitting defeat, but he didn't want to cross any more lines either. And from the look in Medic's eyes, he assumed he had crossed plenty that evening…

"Now, Herr Sniper, I am sure zat zis is just the rezult of fatigue," the physician laughed, slamming the cabinet door abruptly behind him. The glare swung back to a grin and Sniper stiffened in his seat. "Humans can't zummon up forcefields! Zat is just crazy. Hahaha. I am zure you are just seeing zings," he took off his glasses to wipe an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "Indeed, you are seeing zings…" he chuckled in finality. "It is tiring being a Sniper, I understand. Your mind has a tendency to vander."

"Doc—"

A firm, gloved hand placed itself on the Australian's shoulder, squeezing it tight. "It vould be a shame if you had to be dismissed for instability, Herr Sniper, you are quite talented. Vun of ze best I haff ever seen," there was that laugh again as he patted his shoulder, like how a best friend would. Sniper started to edge away from the RED Medic.

Roughly, he was pulled back. "It vas a joke, vasn't it?" Medic's voice dipped dangerously as he muttered the last two words. "You vere trying out zat odd Australian humour, veren't you? Hahaha."

"Y-Yeh…" he was compelled to answer, twitching at the almost-painful grip on his shoulder.

"Vell, it vas very funny!"

To his relief, he was released after that compliment and the doctor casually stepped back to his desk, eager to continue with his research. Sniper wouldn't want to admit it… but sometimes, their doctor got a tad scary. But of course, he wouldn't say it out loud. That would be uncharacteristic of him. Tenderly, he brushed his fingers across his lightly throbbing shoulder, giving it a testing roll.

The sharpshooter swallowed and exhaled before pushing himself off the table, keen on getting out of the medicine bay. As his calloused hand clenched around the doorknob, he sighed in relief, for some reason, thankful that he had made it out without any odd drugs injected into his system.

"Gute nacht, Herr Sniper," the hauntingly cool voice drifted over just as he was about to close the door.

He didn't turn his head and simply raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. "G'noight, doc," he replied hastily.

The door slammed shut.