AN: Warning: this chapter contains horrendous phonetic spellings and butchered foreign words. I'm sorry.

RED Team Base, Kitchen - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, March 29th, 1973

"Ja, hello? Ah, guten tag." Medic paused to listen, a tight-lipped smile across his lips. "I'm fine, thank you."

Heavy continued to wash their lunch dishes as he waited for the man to finish his phone call. He hadn't bothered to explain who he was calling or why, only stating that he wouldn't be long. He had a funny, tense air about him all morning. It was even there during breakfast and when he was caring for his doves; he usually couldn't stop smiling when he was among his feathered friends. Heavy occasionally looked at Medic, but mostly just listened as he dunked his hands into the hot, soapy water and thought about the chess game they had agreed to play later. Considering the odd mood he was in, Heavy was debating going easy on him for once. Winning a game of chess would have to cheer him up slightly.

"I need some cadavers. … We've been killing robots; of course I don't have spare bodies lying around." Medic absently twirled the phone cord around his finger. "I need them soon. … Mhmm, yes. ... For my experiments. Some organs would be good as well. … Wait, how did you know about that?" After listening a bit longer, he sighed and said, "Of course he told you. Well, ja, send me some of that as well; the team would like it if I could heal them again."

Heavy shook his head with a slight smile. Scout had a nasty habit of babbling about everything he knew to anyone willing to listen to him for longer than a minute. Since the team was recently informed of the Übercharge fluid shortage, it made sense to him how word would quickly get out. As expected, Medic neglected to tell them how he ran out; that much remained a secret the two of them to take with them to their graves. Heavy's temporary death alone was enough of a reason to not discuss the accident. Over the two weeks following that evening, Heavy had tried to rebuild his trust in the doctor. He just hoped whoever he was speaking to would deliver the corpses soon so Medic wouldn't get bored enough to try experimenting on the team again, namely himself. Imagining the ideas he'd cook up in his head, if given the chance, filled him with dread.

"By the way, could you do me a favour? … Wunderbar. Would you be interested in going out for dinner tomorrow night?"

Heavy shot his head up. Medic looked as though he were about to gag, yet his voice was as smooth as velvet. He couldn't believe his ears. Was he cheating on him with the mysterious phone person and couldn't be bothered to try to keep it from him? Or, was he already seeing them and was actually cheating on that person with him? He didn't want to know which it was, but it either one broke his heart. Heavy scrubbed at the bottom of a pot aggressively enough that the scouring pad became a torn mess from the dry, baked-on food stuck to it. In his anger, he realized he had forgotten to add soap and wet the sponge first and now it was only fit for the trash.

"What?" Medic's lip curled in disgust. "Nein, not with me. With Scout."

He let out a deep sigh of relief.

Medic listened for a bit, biting his lip as he waited. "Just this once, please?" he asked. A grin, one Heavy recognized to be sincere for once, spread across his face at the sound of the answer. "Danke schön. Danke, danke, danke! I will hear from you soon. Good day." With that, he hung up and joined Heavy at the sink, picking up one of the plates and drying it with the old tea towel. "Sorry for the wait."

Heavy shot him a look and dunked the pot with the stubborn mess into the water, then snatched the next plate off of the counter..

"What?"

"You ask someone on a date. Why?"

Medic shook his head. "No. Well, ja, I did, but it wasn't for me."

"Who was Doctor talking to?"

"Miss Pauling."

"You are not seeing her?"

"What? Nein, it was for Scout!" Seeing the distrust in his eyes, he let out an uncomfortable laugh and said, "You do not think I would do that to you, do you?"

Heavy sighed and shook his head, passing off the clean dish to be dried.

Medic took the dish and rubbed the towel over it. "Misha, you know I love you. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"You scared me."

"I know, but-"

"Why is Doctor helping whiney baby man?"

"I…" Medic put the plate on its shelf in the cupboard. "It's complicated."

He pulled the plug and watched the bubbly water swirl down the drain. "Tell me."

He laughed again, sounding just as anxious as he had before. "You're... not going to like this."

Heavy dried his hands on the towel. "I do not care. Tell me." He folded it neatly and draped it over the oven door handle to dry.

"Remember last night?"

"Da."

"Well, that was because he… caught me, leaving your room last night. He knows about us."

Heavy blinked, his expression blank. He scanned Medic's face for any hint of jest, yet saw no indication of it. "You joke, da?"

Medic shook his head.

" Oh my God…" He held his forehead in his hand. "This is bad. Very bad."

"Don't worry." He smiled and pat his shoulder. "I took care of him. Oh, do you know the difference between choking and strangling?"

"Yes. Doctor told me already."

"Oh. Well, I strangled him."

"Mmm," the Russian hummed. "I know."

The doors swung open and in strode Demoman, bleary-eyed from the night of heavy drinking. "Ayy, lads!"

Medic continued to smile as if nothing were wrong, silently giving Heavy a look that said 'we'll talk more later'. "Ah, guten tag, Herr Demo. Would either of you like a beer?"

"Of course I would! Why the bloody hell wouldn't I?"

After a moment of pause, Heavy said, "Da."

He turned to the dated fridge but stopped before opening it. "What's this?"

"What is what?" Heavy asked, coming to join him. Both of them stared at the fridge door, puzzled. On it hung a colourful crayon drawing of rainbows, a unicorn-like creature, and an array of candies. Two stick figures vaguely resembling a certain pyromaniac and a man wearing goggles and a hardhat could be seen in the corner. "Uh… I do not know."

"What's takin' ye so long?" Demoman mumbled, joining them. Now that he was closer, it was evident that he had already been drinking. "Who drew that rubbish?"

"I have no idea," Medic said, finally opening the fridge and grabbing three bottles. He passed them out and popped the cap off of his own, taking a large swig of it.

Heavy scratched his chin and stared at the drawing. "It look like Pyro's picture."

"Ye think the wee lass drew it?"

Heavy raised and eyebrow. "Pyro is a girl?"

Demoman shrugged. "Hell if I know, lad. Nobody knows what that thing is." Holding his beer up, he said, "Cheers, mate," and took a drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Hmm, this stuff ain't half bad."

Heavy sniffed his drink and took a small sip then made a bit of a face.

Medic put a hand on his hip and tipped the mouth of the bottle toward Demoman. "It's a German import."

"Almost as good as my stuff," Demoman said.

He snorted. "Everyone knows German beer is the best."

"We Scots make the best bloody drinks!"

"Is good, but Doctor has work." Heavy gave a placating smile and nudged Medic closer to the door.

"No, I- Ja, I almost forgot! Heavy and I have work to do."

Demoman said, "Take care, lads," and downed another sip.

Heavy and Medic quickly departed for the lab; Heavy tried but failed to keep pace as the doctor swiftly marched down the hall. Once Heavy caught up, Medic promptly shut the door and let out a weary sigh.

"That was close," he said.

"Too close," Heavy added.

For a while, they stood in silence, occasionally stealing a look at one another before darting their gaze elsewhere, much like a guilty child would avoid eye contact with their parent after getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Medic sipped his beer and eventually said, "Do you still want to play that chess game?"

Heavy gave a stiff nod and made his way to the crude table and chairs. In the back corner of the lab was an old wooden crate with a simple chessboard atop it, set up and ready to played. Medic insisted that it be left in order after each game. In place of chairs were a pair of wooden milk crates. The makeshift set almost seemed out of place in the lab, but neither of them cared about the lack of aesthetic appeal.

Heavy sat himself in front of the black pawns, the side he always sat at, and set his barely-sipped beer on the floor beside the crate. Medic sat across from him and said, "Would you like to go first?"

"You can go."

He plucked a pawn from the front line and made his move. Heavy slid a pawn forward then crossed his arms, keeping his eyes on the board.

After a few silent turns back and forth, Medic asked, "What's wrong?"

Heavy didn't look up from the pawns.

"Why aren't you talking to me? I told you the truth: I'm not cheating."

Heavy grunted in response.

"I got the date, so our secret is safe."

Heavy made his move, lining a piece up to take out one of Medic's pawns. "I do not trust him; is big ask for loud boy."

Medic smirked. "He would do anything to go out with her. Even keep a secret."

"I hope you are right. I do not want them to know. Not yet."

"I know, Misha, and they won't. You have my word. Anyway, back to the game." Medic pushed another pawn forward and reached across the table to hold Heavy's hand. "Your turn."

He slid a pawn forward with his free hand and studied the board, attempting to guess the next move. When Medic moved his piece, he saw that his prediction had been correct. He made his next move and said, "Think you will win, Doctor?"

"Nein, not today. Maybe one day."

Heavy chuckled. "Why not today?"

He shrugged and pushed another piece. "You're good at this; better than I am."

Taking another pawn, Heavy knocked down one of Medic's pawns with a playful smile. "Boom. Dead."

Medic gave a frustrated huff and removed the fallen piece from the board, setting it to the side. "My point still stands."

"Game is far from over." Seeing his current demeanor, he made up his mind: he'd let Medic win, but not without putting up a good fight first. He'd make sure it wouldn't feel like a pity victory.

Medic made his move, stone-faced. Heavy couldn't help but smile. He was adorable when he was grumpy. Of course, he never said this out loud. The longer they played, the more frustrated he got. His eyes narrowed, he took his hand back and repeatedly crossed and uncrossed his arms. Yet, when he managed to eliminate some of Heavy's pawns, he gave a triumphant laugh and a glimmer of joy flashed in his eyes. It was worth it to Heavy to see him so happy. Eventually, Medic declared, 'checkmate' with a proud grin.

"You beat me," Heavy replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Finally," he said, a cocky smile spread across his face for a brief moment.

"See? I knew you could."

Medic shrugged, setting the pieces back on the board one by one.

The two men sat in calm silence for a few moments as he set the game back to rights. Soon, Medic said, "By the way, I know you let me win."

Heavy smiled softly. "Da?"

"Ja. Why?"

"Simple: Doctor needed cheering up. If Doctor is hurt, he does not heal team. If Doctor is sad, he does not work well. So, I must keep Doctor safe and happy. It is my job." His smile grew. "And I love this job."

Medic rolled his eyes. "I don't need you to look after me."

"I want to, radost' moya." He watched as a light pink blush came to his cheeks.

"I'm… flattered, but you didn't need to do that."

Feigning ignorance, Heavy asked, "Do what?"

"Go easy on me."

"Did not go too easy. Just little bit."

He cracked his knuckles. "Well, let's try this again, ja? This time, give it your all."

Rattlesnake Grill, Teufort, New Mexico, USA. Friday, March 30th, 1973.

Miss Pauling tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear as she strode through the doors of the cheesy, western-themed restaurant. It baffled her as to why anyone in Teufort would be excited to eat at a restaurant modeled after the dirt-pit the town was situated in, especially with the gaudy cowboy and cowgirl costumes the waitstaff adorned. It didn't surprise her that Scout would take her to a tex-mex bar and think it was a place for a fancy dinner date.

Maybe the night would go better than she thought. Scout could have intentionally picked a lame restaurant as a joke. At least, that's what she hoped it was. Whether his pathetic attempts at flirting with her were deliberate or not, she couldn't know for sure. Unlike times before, he at least had her intrigued this time.

Inside the doors of the restaurant Scout was waiting on one of the wood benches set up in front of the hostess' stand. He stood up and straightened his bowtie as soon as he saw her. The slight man scarcely appeared to be any broader with the padded shoulders of the suit jacket. If anything, Miss Pauling was almost impressed that he even owned a proper suit, even if he was overdressed for the casual atmosphere of the restaurant.

"Hey there, uh… good lookin'," he said with a smile that she guessed was his attempt to appear seductive. It looked more awkward than sexy.

"Yeah, hi."

"You ready to have the best freakin' date ever?"

"I guess," Miss Pauling said slowly.

Scout grinned and approached the hostess. "Yeah, I'm gonna need a table for two. Stat."

The hostess smiled and grabbed two menus and told them to follow her. She lead them to a booth seat and set the menus down. When they sat, she asked, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"One bottle of any fine-ass wine you've got." Scout paused momentarily. "Please."

"Alright. I'll be back to take your orders in a few minutes." The waitress strutted away from the table.

"Thank God you didn't order the water," Miss Pauling said.

Scout leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his upturned hand. "Yeah, yeah, but you look beautiful! I mean, uh… y-yeah, beautiful! That's it, right?"

She rolled her eyes and flipped through the menu.

"So, uh, how was work? Do anythin' interesting?"

"I spent most of the day filing the fingerprints off of a pile of bodies. Oh, and The Administrator really isn't happy about the Medi Gun fluid. Or the robots."

"Oh. Uh, sorry. That's rough." Scout cracked open his menu and immediately turned to the steak section.

Miss Pauling continued to sift look through the various meaty entrees, a slight pout coming to her lips as she considered the options.

"What're you gettin'?"

"I think I'll get the blue cheese steak."

Scout smiled and closed his menu. "Sounds good. I'm gettin' the Saxton Special."

She cracked a smile at this. The waitress then briefly came to deliver the wine and take their orders. When they were alone again, Miss Pauling asked, "So tell me, Scout: why did Medic ask me out to dinner with you?"

"What? Uh, no. No, that was all me."

"Really? It sure sounded like him on the phone."

Scout tapped his fingers on the table. "Yeah, it was me. I was tryin' out my German accent."

She raised an eyebrow.

"What? Don't believe me or somethin'? Want me to do it again?"

"Sure…"

Scout cleared his throat and said, "Guten tage, Mizz Pauling. It is I, ze Medic!"

At first, a smile tugged at her lips. Soon, Miss Pauling covered her mouth to conceal the snorty giggles that escaped her lips.

"Vhy are you laughin' at me?"

She wiped tears from her eyes with the napkin at her place setting. "Oh my God!"

"Stop laughing! Zis is a serious discussion!"

"Scout, you sound nothing like him!" she managed to say as she gasped for air, breathless from laughter.

"Vhat are you talkin' about, dumbcough? I zound exactly like ze doc!"

Regaining her composure, she said, "I know he asked for you. You can stop."

"But it vas me!"

"Really, you can stop now. You sound like Dracula."

Scout held his forehead in his hands. "Aw crap."

"Hey, it's okay," she said, reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder. She offered a soft smile. "You still got me to come to dinner. And your impression was really funny."

"I know, but- wait, you're touchin' my shoulder." He looked up, mouth slightly agape.

Miss Pauling smiled. "I am."

"You don't think it's real freakin' lame that I didn't ask ya out myself?"

"Um… It's okay. But why-" Before she could finish her question, the waitress returned and placed their meals before them. Miss Pauling pulled her arm back. On her plate was a small cut of steak topped with blue cheese with a side of cheesy nacho chips. Scout's was just a massive steak that took up the entire plate, cooked rare with a light seasoning on it. He immediately cut into the ridiculous serving.

"As I was saying, why did Medic ask for you?" Miss Pauling asked. "I didn't think you two were that close."

Scout chewed his bite of steak thoughtfully then answered. "Medic hooked up with Heavy and I found out about it so he didn't want me to tell nobody. He owed me one."

"Oh." She smiled slightly to herself and munched on a chip. "That… doesn't surprise me. Like, at all."

He laughed and shook his head. "It's so freakin' obvious!"

"You know, you could have asked me yourself; I wouldn't have said no."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"Damn." Scout and Miss Pauling drifted into silence for a few minutes, quietly enjoying their meals. She seemed to be having a good time on their date. At least, he thought she was. He sometimes couldn't tell whether she liked him at all or if she just tolerated his presence, especially after the briefcase alarm incident. Miss Pauling was far from impressed about that one. She said she wanted to do it again, yet she also seemed pretty mad about it as well. For most of the meal he debated it, yet he still couldn't guess how she really felt. The jokes were true: women really were complicated.

"So tell me: what do you do when you're not working?" Miss Pauling chuckled and added, "I never get any time off, so I don't know what most people do for fun."

"Oh, uh, you know. Stuff. I mean, uh, I play baseball and I run. And I lift like 300 pounds all the time. Ya know, 'cuz I can. Oh, and I like goin' home to watch the Red Sox games and see my Ma." His expression turned dark without warning and he set his utensils down.

"Scout, are you okay?"

"I tried callin' Ma that night I called you but she didn't pick up."

Miss Pauling dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "I'm sure she was just busy."

"Yeah, but she always picks up. I didn't even know she had voicemail."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Reclaiming his knife and fork he hacked at the meat again, sawing aggressively at it with the knife. "Those Gray Gravel bastards wouldn't know where I live, right?"

"Probably not."

"But they could?"

She shrugged. "It's possible, but we keep your information as confidential as possible. TF Industries doesn't want any unnecessary security breaches. It's my job to go kill whoever finds out something they shouldn't."

"You don't think they kidnapped my Ma, do ya?"

"Nope. I'm sure she's fine." Miss Pauling smiled. "Why don't we try calling her again after dinner?"

"Uh, you mean together?"

"Yup. I want to make sure she's okay."

Scout's eyes danced with delight. "Uh... yeah! You bet!"

The two finished their meal, paid, and left the restaurant as quickly as they could. They got into their cars and drove back to base. After the two of them regrouped inside of the garage, Scout said, "Uh, hey, Miss Pauling?"

She looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. He made note of the way her eyes briefly met his, the soft crinkle of a dimple, and the way her glasses sat ever so slightly crooked on her nose. Scout almost wished he could have frozen time simply to keep looking at her beautiful face as it was at that moment. Remembering she was waiting for an answer, he said, "I was wonderin' if you, uh… I mean, how ya…"

Miss Pauling snickered.

"Aw crap. How do I put this? I was wantin' to... know how ya feel about me. I mean, I have no freakin' idea, and it's been like six years."

"I like you Scout," she said rather quickly. "You can be a bit… excitable sometimes, but that doesn't mean I don't like you. After that night you pulled the briefcase alarm, I've wanted to spend more time with you."

"Oh, s-so ya liked that? I thought you were real mad at me or somthin'."

"I was furious!" Miss Pauling exclaimed. "You pressed the one button you're never supposed to press!" Lowering her voice, she added, "but it kind of worked," tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Despite his efforts a blush came to his cheeks. "It did? I mean, uh, of course it did! I knew it would."

"I didn't know why you were throwing a prom or something, until I realized you did that as a joke!" Recalling the memory, she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was obviously a joke! I'm real funny, aren't I?"

Sobering up, she said, "We can talk about this a bit more later. Right now, we need to make sure your mom is safe."

RED Team Base, Intel Room - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Saturday, March 31th, 1973

He let out a short laugh as he smoothed out the sheet of crumpled copy paper out on the desk. "Those trash cans won't know what hit them!" He examined his intricately crafted tactics, starting with the ingenious disguises, greatly improved from last time. There'd be no chance of them getting caught this time. He smiled at his plans then frowned. "Zhanna?"

There was no answer.

"Zhanna? Did you hear me, private?"

She was sitting at the other end of the room, her arms folded over her chest and her legs crossed. When Soldier looked at her, she shook her head and picked up the book she had near her. Soldier guessed it was a copy of the Communist Manifesto; it had to be.

"So you didn't hear me!" Soldier took his paper in hand and marched over to her. Pulling up a chair beside her, he held it right in front of her face and barked a bit too close to ear, "Tell me what you think of the battle plans!"

Zhanna snatched the paper form his hand and folded it in half, then stuffed it into the open book. "It makes good bookmark."

"No! Not my battle plans!" Soldier tried to pry the book out of her hands, yet she guarded it well. "Those are real American plans! They're too good to be in that book of communist crap!"

"Book is Animal Farm. It is book about communism being bad."

"... Oh. Uh…"

With a sigh, she cracked the book open again and handed the crinkled paper back to her fiance. "Zhanna is still not happy. Maggot-Bear still sleep in hall."

"Damn it." Soldier crossed his arms with a pout, seemingly not caring about how mangled his precious plans became.

"I will let you sleep in bed when you stop being stupid man. But you are still being stupid man." With that, she stood up, and smoothly strode out of the room. Zhanna flicked her pigtails over her shoulder, making sure Soldier saw it.

Where she had been sitting was the book she had been reading, adorned with pictures of farm animals and the title. Soldier scratched his chin as he peered at the suspicious cover. Surely it was a trick the communists were using to lure in unsuspecting people. Or was it? He trusted Zhanna, and he want to believe she was telling the truth. Hesitantly, he plucked the small book from its resting place, holding it as if it could burn him. Soldier then opened it to the first page; he'd be the one to determine who was telling the truth.