Hey look at this what is this

is this team fortress 2 fanfiction?

whoa.


Spy could scarcely believe it. He had finally discovered Medic's secret.

He spent most evenings strolling around the base while cloaked and listening in to people's conversations. He had heard many a secret from the rest of the team, but he had yet to hear anything about the elusive doctor that was not freely told. So, of course, he had resorted to more underhanded techniques.

The German had a journal that he kept in his room, which was merely an office connected to the infirmary that had been converted into a sorry excuse for a place to sleep. The door was locked, but of course something so paltry as a lock presented no challenge to the spy. It had taken a mere few seconds to pick it and slip into the room. It was small and cramped, unsurprisingly, but Spy had not expected that it would be quite so tiny. There was space enough for one of the fort's uncomfortable beds, a nightstand with a lamp and clock, and a chest-of-drawers, but with all three present the room was perhaps four paces across, if that. At the very least, he had found his quarry – Medic's journal.

To his dismay, however, Spy discovered that the leather-bound book was filled only with mundane reports of injuries and tales on the battlefield. The only notable entry was a transcription of a story that everyone was familiar with, the tale of how Medic had lost his medical license.

Another attempt to glean information about Medic involved hiding in the room when he was operating on Heavy to remove shrapnel from the bearlike Russian's chest. This procedure had to be performed every few days, since the Medi Gun healed flesh without removing the metal lodged within it, and Spy had decided that it would be the best time to listen in. Heavy and the doctor were close friends due to their reliance on one another in battle. If there was any one person with whom Medic would share his secrets, it was surely Heavy.

It had not taken much to find a suitable hiding place within the infirmary – with all the clutter, Spy simply cloaked and found a clear area to sit behind a pile of books. A few minutes later, he heard muffled voices from outside and the clack as Medic opened the door.

"– and ever since zat day, Archimedes vas the only dove zat returned to me when I let zem out to fly around." Medic's distinctive voice filled the room as he completed his tale. Spy couldn't help but wish that he had heard the rest of it.

"Ah! Then that is why Doktor lets leetle bird stay in office, da?" The deep, throaty rumble of Heavy's voice was a sharp contrast to the higher-pitched doctor. Spy suppressed a cough as the smell of mustard and lunch meat, a perpetuating stench that followed Heavy around due to his excessive sandwich-eating habits, permeated the air.

"Precisely." The door clicked again as Medic shut it. "Now zen, lay down on ze operating table. I vill get ze supplies."

There was a creak of metal as Heavy obeyed the doctor. Spy waited as patiently as he could as Medic hummed an indeterminate tune. Judging by the clinking of glass, he was gathering containers in which to place the fragments of metal. "Ah, zere we go. Now, hold still!" Heavy grunted, then fell silent. For what seemed like an hour, but was likely no more than a few seconds, he didn't speak. Briefly, Spy wondered if the doctor had made a mistake and killed the overgrown Russian. Then, "Doktor, bird is not in room, right?"

"Oh, of course not, Herr Heavy. Though I regret it, I have decided not to allow him into ze infirmary – too many incidents." The doctor's voice briefly hinted at the man he was in battle – terrifying and completely insane – before returning to its normal state as he continued, "Ooh, goodness. Zat is more zan usual."

The Russian's voice held a hint of guilt when he next spoke. "I… when Doktor was in Respawn, I charged RED team."

"Heavy!" Medic scolded sharply; Spy almost chuckled, imagining him shaking one gloved hand at the larger man, but held it back at the last moment. "Zis is exactly vhat I am always varning you about. It is not good for you to take such risks!"

"There was only sentry! Doktor is always taking when healing team. I thought, 'Maybe Heavy will spare Doktor bullets.'" The Russian sounded remorseful but stubborn.

Medic was having none of it, however. "I am ze medic, it is my job to take ze bullets! I can recover alone on ze battlefield, but you need me zere." His voice was cross. "Now, be quiet for a moment. I need to take zis bullet out of your lung and talking vill only make it harder for you to breathe."

A silence fell over the infirmary. Spy yawned silently; it seemed that Heavy and Medic argued with each other like an old married couple rather than sharing stories. Perhaps this had all been a waste of his time.

Though he kept one ear carefully tuned to their conversation, prepared to cloak if it seemed as though they were finishing, Spy now turned his attention to the books piled beside him. The majority of them were medical, appearing to describe various surgical methods or medicine, but there were a few on other equally mundane topics.

Then he noticed something. It was a large book, and a dark blue rather than the off-white shared by most other books in the pile. The title was covered by a stack of binders. Intrigued, Spy carefully shifted the binders just as Heavy burst into explosive laughter. His timing was perfect, for the stack shifted and collapsed sideways into the books with a light thud right as Heavy stopped laughing.

Spy frowned, looking more closely at the book. The Classical Masters, it read, and in smaller script, Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Rorschach, and more.

Music? The Frenchman looked around the pile and all at once, his eyes began to pick out more books of their own accord. Duets, concertos, modern pieces – there was actually quite a large selection of music. But he had never seen Medic wielding an instrument of any sort.

"Zere we are, all finished," Medic announced abruptly from behind him. "You are good to go, Herr Heavy!" The easily-recognizable sound of the Medi Gun fired up, and suddenly footsteps were headed for Spy.

He panicked. In the instant before Medic turned the corner, Spy snatched the nearest music book – Duets for the Master – and activated his cloak, disguising both himself and the book. He leaped to his feet, barely remembering to do so silently, and bolted to the door. When Medic was facing away and Heavy had laid back, he slipped outside and ran to his room. Once he was a good distance, he allowed himself to calm down and let down his guard somewhat.

"Mon dieu," he murmured once the door was shut and locked. Spy set the book down on his desk and tapped his fingers next to it. "So, this is what the doctor refuses to tell anyone? Interesting…" Removing one glove, Spy opened the book carefully and turned to a random page. The top of the page read Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia. It was a duet for the cello and the violin – and a difficult one at that. He ran his hand over the page, scanning the violin notes, and suddenly found himself humming them. "Merde. I only wonder why Medic would hide this."

He also wondered whether the German looked at the book often. This particular book had been atop a pile, which suggested that it was recently viewed. Suppose he finds it missing? Then Spy realized how foolish he was being. "What does it matter if he comes looking?" he said aloud. "He has no way of knowing that it was I who took the book. And I'm sure he can handle losing it." Spy scanned the duet again, this time taking note of the music's flow. "I will treat this as a gift. Much appreciated, doctor." He chuckled. No need to worry.


No need to worry. That is what Spy had told himself, true, but in the following week it proved to be very wrong. Medic was not himself. The man would often stand for long periods in Respawn, staring bleakly at his surroundings, and he was listless and slow in battle. More than once, he had been killed when normally he would have dodged. He wasted at least two Übercharges in every battle. Needless to say, BLU lost every fight that week.

Spy went over the duet that evening, though he had already memorized its melody, while smoking his seventh cigarette in the hours after dinner. He was nearly out, and the thought of going even a day without them made him cross.

So when there was a knock at the door, Spy's instant reaction was to snap, "Go away."

"Spy?"

It was Medic.

Spy quickly shut the music book and tucked it into a drawer under his desk, stubbing out his cigarette and standing slowly. He crossed his room to the door and opened it a crack, raising an eyebrow when he was proved right. The German stood at the door, devoid of his gloves and lab coat. His shoulders were slumped, eyes shadowed and red. It was somewhat pathetic.

"What do you want?" Spy demanded. "I'm somewhat busy."

Medic lifted his head slightly. "I don't suppose zat you have seen a music book anywhere?"

Merde. Cover up. "Music?" he smirked. "Are you a musician?" He wanted to see the man squirm, confronted with the secret he had kept so well.

"I don't vish to explain to you vhy I vant my book back. Please just tell me if you have seen it."

"Hmm… perhaps," Spy retorted with a slow smile. He suppressed laughter when Medic lifted his head, eyes flashing hopefully. "Of course, I would need a description of the book."

The German doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ja, I understand. It is a large dark blue book… about zis thick…" he held up his thumb and forefinger to indicate an inch, "and ze title is Duets for ze Master. Zer would also be a note in the back cover, but zat may have fallen out." He sounded defeated.

"A note, hmm?" Spy echoed. "I am curious though. Why do you want a music book? Tell me, and I will tell you if I have seen such a book." Medic sighed. "I… did play music, once. But ze book vas a gift from a friend. It is very important to me."

"You do play music! Surely you have some sort of instrument here. Play me something, won't you?" Spy teased, grinning. He watched, amused, as the older man's face fell.

"Is there any way I can convince you to simply tell me whether you have seen my book?" he asked without much hope. Spy shook his head, still smiling, and Medic turned away. "Very well zen. Come vith me and I vill play something."

He trudged through the hallway, with Spy a short distance behind, until they reached the infirmary. Medic opened the door and flicked on the lights, sending three or four of his doves fluttering around the room in a panic. He didn't break his pace, shuffling to the connected room. Spy waited impatiently, smiling all the while.

When Medic emerged, he had a violin case. "Zis is a violin," he explained to Spy, who was appalled that the man thought he would need to be told such a thing. "I do not know vhat I vill play, though."

Spy raised an eyebrow as the doctor opened the case, but the expression quickly slid off of his face as Medic lifted out what was easily the most beautiful violin the Frenchman had ever seen. The fluorescent lights gleamed off of its surface, reflecting a dazzling gold and russet array. Medic picked up a bow as well and plucked a few strings, carefully tuning it.

There was no way to stop. Spy restrained himself until the violin was tuned, but as soon as the strings were in order he reached over and plucked it from the doctor's hands. Before the man could react, he was playing Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia's violin part.

It had been many years since Spy had held an instrument, but it was true what they said – one never forgets. He had ached to play the piece ever since first reading it recently, and now he finally had the opportunity. It sounded strange without the deeper echo from the cello, but he could focus only on the way the bow slid over the strings as he concentrated on moving his fingers in the correct positions.

Medic stared at him, glasses sliding down his face slightly and mouth half open. It seemed that whatever protest he had intended to voice was caught in his throat, leaving him wordless. Spy paused when there was a break in his part, smiling. It felt as if he had never offered a genuine smile before now, so pure was his joy at finally playing the piece.

"You –" the German stammered, but trailed off, eyes darting from Spy's face to his gloveless hand, which was still frozen in the position of playing.

Spy was about to speak when Medic abruptly spun around and rushed back into his office, leaving the Frenchman to stand there with the words ready to tumble from his lips. There was complete silence for a long moment.

Then the door opened, and Medic emerged with a cello that matched his violin in splendor. "It is a duet," he said to Spy, "and you do it shame by playing alone."

He began to play at the beginning again. Spy picked up as quickly as he could, bow flying to keep up with the doctor's pace. The music they wove was something not quite like the original; he could see that Medic was changing some notes with such deliberation that it could not possibly be a mistaken memory.

The cello's deep, rich melody sang out in perfect harmony with the violin's rapid pace, a duet that far surpassed anything Spy had ever heard or played before. He closed his eyes to let the music carry him, and when they opened again he saw that Medic had changed somehow.

No longer was he the strict, aloof doctor that the team knew. Indeed, Spy had no doubt that their own team would have a difficult time recognizing Medic. Though his physical appearance had not changed, there was a fire burning within him. Spy had never seen a passion for music that rivaled his own, and yet here was Medic surpassing him completely. His bow flew, his fingers wavered, and his eyes were closed in wordless concentration.

Spy realized that his pace was flagging and quickly leaped to meet Medic, keeping in tune with the German's brilliance and unwilling to be the one to make mistakes within the piece. Their bows moved in unison, the music weaving together in a tapestry of sound. Not a note was out of place.

The tempo increased drastically as they approached the song's end, and Spy began to struggle to keep up with the doctor. He was amazed that the man could so play so masterfully, but he was no longer sure that he could complete the song.

Then the pace slowed just enough for him to pick it back up. He looked at Medic and saw the man smiling and nodding at him, strangely reassuring, and threw himself into the last few notes entirely.

It ended in one long, drawn-out note that they instinctively ended at the same instant. Finally complete, Spy lowered the violin and looked at Medic, breathless and invigorated. He saw that the doctor, too, seemed to be catching his breath.

"So," Spy said after a moment, "you do play music."

His blatantly obvious statement was enough to send them into gales of laughter. When they had recovered, the German brushed hair from his forehead and grinned hugely. "Zat was amazing. You are one of the greatest players I have known."

"I scarcely compare to you!" Spy argued. "You have a command over your instrument that I cannot hope to rival. Watching you play was like watching a master at work."

Medic's face reddened at this comment. "Vell, I do not know if I would say zat…"

"I would," Spy reiterated gently but firmly. "Doctor, had I known that you were a master of your craft, I…" he shook his head, at a loss for words. "The simple fact is that you are brilliant."

"Perhaps, but then you are as well," Medic replied. "I hope to play vith you again, Spy."

"I believe you can count on that," Spy reassured him with a smile.