I am so very, very, very, VERY sorry about the delay... I had a load of work to do (mixed with me getting sidetracked, plus plain old procrastination) and completely forgot about this. (I got a tattoo ) Plus, I've written so many different scenarios that, unfortunately, didn't fall through.
This is BLU SpyxMedic and contains the beginning of the relationship. :P Everything needs a beginning, right?

Midnightwolf0 requested this :P Here's for you, dude.

Sitting in the respawn room with a battle raging just outside, the BLU Spy drifted into thought, a cigarette mindlessly brought to his lips.

It was generally a Spy's job to research. It was this trait that kept them on the good side of their teammates, with the added benefit of staying alive on the battlefield. The latter being more important, of course. To research the enemy's strategy usually kept a Spy and his teammates from making fatal miscalculations and ending up in respawn too often.

Aside from enemy information, it was also a good habit to research one's own team. For instance, the Spy knew that his team's Soldier loved to watch American football and was incredibly hard headed; with or without the helmet. Their Scout could speak Italian, to a degree, adored American baseball and was left handed. He knew that the Pyro was a redhead under his gas mask, spoke in a British accent and his favourite food was anything smoked.

It was the little things that mattered.

However, there was one man that the Spy could NOT understand at face value. A man whose motivation came from some unknown past happening, or perhaps just a sick dream. The Spy couldn't grasp it.

"Medic? DOKTOR!" Spy cringed as the Heavy's echoing scream rebounded off the walls. He'd just walked through the sliding door, which slammed shut after him. It seemed he required ammunition for that rather large gun of his.
"Silence, dummkopf! I am here, quit your vhining!" An irritated voice hissed in tune with opening of the door.

Medics, he noted dully, were widely known to be sadistic. And authoritative, it seemed. Battle-hardened, destructive, yet as altruistic as they come; Medics could harm while being harmed, but still heal others before themselves. It was as if they took a sick fascination towards pain, in both inflicting and receiving. And that was perhaps the reason why there were so many Heavy-Medic teams on the battlefield; the enemy would usually attack the Medic first. But, while being demanding on the battlefield, many Medics were likened to mother hens, or were quite fatherly in nature. Many were rather quiet off the battlefield, preferring to listen rather than talk, yet still interacting with the team.

The BLU Spy's Medic, however, seemed to fall out of the brackets slightly.

Young, about early to mid 30s, startlingly thin, yet as sharp as the Spy's butterfly knife, their Medic spat words so bitter on and off the battlefield, it was surprising that the man didn't bleed lemon juice. The doctor had such a short temper as well. Spy couldn't place what had made the man so embittered, so caustic. From the first time he'd met the German doctor, he'd begun to notice a rather acidic change in Medic's tone after battle, whenever he was forced to pay the man a visit, due to injury. Well, a little more acidic than what was normal for the man.

"Technically, you should be dead. Zhough I vouldn't call zhat luck. Try zhat again und I von't use anaesthetic next time, Herr Spy. Now get out!" Was what the man would usually say after either healing horrifically burnt flesh, or stitching up knife wounds inflicted on the suit-wearing rogue. Anything unhealed after ceasefire was permanent. So the Spy very much owed the Medic.

"Thank you, Doctor." An attempt at a kind smile towards the healer went unnoticed, as the man turned his back.

"Vhatever! Just get out of here! Jetzt!" And he would be shooed from the room, nobody would see the Medic after then – aside from Heavy, who would bring the doctor his meals. Perhaps it was just a Heavy-Medic teamwork thing. It was hard to understand.

It didn't help that the German doctor had caught Spy's eye. In more ways than one. The man was a mystery that the Spy wanted to find out, to keep, to own. He wanted to unravel him, undo him, learn from him. The suit wearing rogue had been so captivated by the doctor's prowess, his skill, his looks maybe? Spy had to admit, second to himself, Medic was quite attractive. It wasn't uncommon on the battlefield for a relationship to occur between men. Even if it was just a onetime thing. What happens at the frontline, stays at the frontline.

However, the Spy deducted, as a human being, a man must have a reason to act as he does. At least, one should in most cases. And it certainly was not the case with that damn Medic. The Spy couldn't so much as say hello to him without getting a; "You are vasting my time. Get out of my vay!" or an even better reply in German. A reply which most likely involved a LOT of cursing. He knew for a fact that the enemy Demoman had apparently been seeing the Medic's wife, quite a number of times actually, yet the entire team got the feeling that the German man just didn't care anymore. The Spy remembered hearing the Medic scream at the enemy Demoman that he'd never even bothered to touch her in the first place, and that she deserved the black Scottish man because they were both tramps. He'd also yelled out that it was a forced marriage, so she was doomed to be alone anyway. This might have added to the Medic's cold demeanour, but it was somewhat trivial.

He took a puff of his cigarette, sneaking a sidelong glance at the other occupants of the respawn room. Heavy had gently placed Sasha down, and was fussing over a cut on Medic's arm, a cut that was bleeding heavily and staining the doctor's pale blue uniform a deep crimson. Heavy himself was littered with lacerations, ranging from small kitten scratches, to deep gashes. Though Medic had trained his healing weapon at the large man, so the wounds were quickly knitting themselves together. Yet he fretted over a single injury on the doctor.

"Don't touch me, dummkopf! I heal YOU!" Medic snapped, swatting at the bulky hands that sluggishly snatched at the Medigun. By this time, the injuries that littered the Heavy's frame had fully healed. There was no need for the Medigun at the moment, so he switched it off. "Stop being an idiot und GET GOING!"

Heavy put on his best sulking face, took his refill of ammunition and hefted Sasha into his arms. With one last unhappy look at the doctor, who was restocking his own weapons, he turned and walked away, leaving the two alone. Spy had turned away at this point, opting to look out the window at the myriad of explosions outside, feigning disinterest.

"Und vhy aren't you out zhere helping, Herr Spy?" Came the harsh question. Spy looked at the man, who was focussed on his task. He'd placed another set of syringes in the little pouch on his belt. A gun that shot syringes? Right.

Spy smirked with an amused chuckle as his flicked his cigarette.
"Zeir Pyro." Was the answer. What else could he say? The arsonists were known to be paranoid, and he'd spent more time either on fire or in respawn than he had on the battlefield. A scathing expression immediately crossed the doctor's face. As Medic glanced up to shoot a glare at him, he could feel the malcontent and disappointment blatantly expressed in the mere motion.

"Zhen stop hiding in here like a coward und go kill him!" Was the reply to his answer as the man took off out the door, his long white coat trailing behind.

The smirk dropped, and with a flash of anger, he snubbed his cigarette and stormed out the door.

The BLU team skulked back into their base.

They'd lost.


And as usual everyone would hide in their rooms; or in Sniper's case, a camper van. Perhaps they slept, or wrote home. Spy didn't really have a home to write back to. But that's not the point.

It was midnight.

Tonight, Spy decided to forgo the sanctuary of his bedroom, and wander the base alone. It was silent, and the only sound to be heard was of his own footsteps travelling down the hall. Silence was his element, his skill. It gave him peace of mind, however temporary that was. Besides, he needed a smoke and the rooms had smoke alarms. Smoke alarms that would go off even if one was to use hair spray, deodorant or any kind of aerosol product. That annoyed him more than Scout's incessant whining.

He leaned against a dark blue cement wall with one hand in his pocket, the other bringing his hand to his lips as he took a drag from another of his remarkably tasty cigarettes. Today's loss was... rather unfortunate. The enemy seemed to have an Engineer who thought outside of the box, placing a sentry in a very hard to reach area. Their Heavy was not as dumb as he looked, either. And their Pyro. The Spy tried not the think about it. His glare on the ground increased tenfold.

Tomorrow is their day off, due to... unforeseen circumstances and a grave loss.

The Heavy ('our Heavy' The Spy thought bitterly) was too injured after ceasefire, and died on the field today. The entire team did all they could to help the big man, but the bullets buried within the giant's flesh were stubborn and refused to stop bleeding. Arrows stuck out of him like miniature arms of a coat rack. Scout was devastated.

A muffled CRASH brought his attention to the present. He snapped his head to the left, the direction the sound. The only room to his left was the Medic's. Dropping his still burning smoke on the concrete floor, he sped to the door, slipping a little on the way. He tried the handle.

It was locked.

He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear anything. On the other side, he heard heavy objects moving, thumps and smaller crashes.

"Merde!" Pulling out his butterfly knife, he slid it through the mechanism in the jamb, disengaging the lock. He shoved the door open. He did not expect to see what was waiting for him on the other side.

The room was a mess. The desk had been flipped over, books and shelving had been destroyed, a lamp lay smashed next to the door and, most surprisingly, the mirror on the bureau looked as if someone had attacked it many times with their fists. Shards were missing from the broken glass. Strewn about the floor were sheets of paper with the words 'WERTLOS', 'Mörder' and other words he didn't understand. As he stepped in, he nearly tripped over a discarded Medigun.

Another sound caught his ear, from a small corner of the room. The Frenchman's eyes widened. That was distinctly a sob. He quickly moved over to the source of the distraught sound, only to gasp.

There was Medic, curled up in a hidden corner around a dresser, eyes screwed shut, glasses gone, hands cupping his head. His gloves were off, his knuckles were sliced open and blood freely flowed down his arms. He's been attacking his reflection. He kneeled before the broken doctor. The injured man didn't acknowledge his presence, nor move from his position.

Another choked sob left him, and Spy could only watch in amazement. This was the man who spat acid at his teammates for being incompetent, who would threaten them if they did one thing wrong on the battlefield, who would ignore his own wounds to deal with others'. This strong, bitter man... was crying in front of him. Spy placed a hand on his shoulder and watched him for a moment, before turning to nudge the door closed.

As a requirement, each team member is supposed to keep a first aid kit in their rooms. Spy kept his kit under his bed, just in case. In the clutter of Medic's room, the case was hard to find. Pages littered the floor, obstructing his view underneath the Medic's bed. Taking one last glance at the man, Spy stood and moved the paper. Nothing there. He checked the small, attached bathroom.

Nothing there, either.

In haste, he began searching drawers, first his bedside table, then his dresser. Lo and behold, there it was in the third drawer down.

He moved back to Medic, opening the medkit and removing tweezers, cotton wool, iodine, bandages and gauze. He tried to gently pry a hand away from the poor man's head, only to be met with a rough yank backwards. He tried again, however, with little resistance. Medic's tearstained face angled down and his eyes opened slightly, watching as Spy began to pluck out shards of glass as gently as he could. A large piece was embedded deep, so the Spy began with the smaller pieces first. He nearly jumped when Medic spoke. Nearly.

"I couldn't save him." The broken man mumbled wretchedly. Spy did not look up from his task, but merely exhaled though his nose.
"You did what you could for him, doctor." This reply was apparently the wrong one, as Medic suddenly tried to rip his hand out of Spy's grasp. Rage crossed his face as he clenched his eyes closed and harshly cried out.
"But it vasn't enough!" The suited man kept his grip on Medic's hand, adopting a soothing tone. He grasped the doctor's opposite shoulder gently, coaxing him to look into his eyes. "Doctor? Look at me." When the other man finally did, Spy continued.
"At least you tried, non?" He placed a warm, gloved hand on the doctor's cheek in a gentle caress. "One cannot save everyzing. You are only human." He cleaned away a tear track with his thumb, and the doctor relaxed with a woeful sigh. Spy returned to plucking the glass out of the doctor's hands. They continued in silence, until the suit wearing rogue had cleaned and bandaged the injuries on both hands.

He kept his hands over Medic's, sharing his moment of mourning, before standing. Just as he made to leave, a bandaged hand grasped his own, as the owner climbed to his feet.

"Don't leave me. Stay here, bitte." The previously bitter man uttered, sending a pang of pity into the Spy. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Medic in an embrace. The doctor followed his example, and buried his head into Spy's suited chest. And they stood like this for a long moment. Medic listened to Spy's heartbeat, as Spy took in the doctor's scent. He smelled like rubbing alcohol.

The moment ended when Spy spontaneously pulled away, leaned down and placed his lips gently over the doctor's. Medic stiffened, and he pulled away. That was just a spur of the moment thing. I hope it doesn't ruin this rapport that we've built...

The suited rogue almost expected the man to reel in disgust. Though he was pleasantly surprised.

Medic just stared for a moment, before reaching forward. The rogue thought he was going to be slapped or punched, and tensed for the blow. But pain never struck. Instead, Medic wrapped his arms around the other man's shoulders, pulling his face closer, before rejoining their mouths. The Spy was absolutely astounded, and hesitated before reciprocating. After an awkward moment, he looped his arms around the doctor's waist. At first it was a gentle, chaste kiss, until a war began to wage between their tongues. Spy's grip around Medic's waist tightened as their mouths battled against one another.

He backed the Medic to the wall, leaning him against it as he angled his head to kiss harder. It became a war of lust. Medic fought back, roughly pressing back, fingers digging into the fabric of the Spy's suit, trying to take control. It was a losing fight, however, as the Spy raided the Medic's mouth, his skilled tongue curling around the opposition. Satisfied with his win, he pulled back with a smirk, noting that the doctor's face had turned an embarrassed shade of pink. Medic huffed in surprise as Spy began to attack his neck as well, loosening his tie in the process. The doctor placed a hand on the back of Spy's head, yanking at the balaclava. It stayed firmly in position, so he left it as it was, and chose to slide off the Spy's jacket instead. The Spy unbuttoned Medic's coat, and pushed it off, taking the tie with it. It continued, each removing layers of each other's clothes, their defences, until it was just them.

From then on became a blur of lust, Spy dominating over his Medic. Gentle pushes and quiet moans filled the room. He remembered the little whimper Medic gave as they began their tryst, the panting in his ear, the way Medic's arms would tighten around his shoulders when he hit a sweet spot. He was glad that the rooms weren't very close together, or they would catch hell for their actions in the morning.

They'd made it to the bed. Of that fact, the Spy was certain. It was strange though, waking up and finding the man who was usually as caustic as drain cleaner, in your arms. He didn't seem to mind either. He hugged his Medic's waist a little tighter, and the man responded by snuggling up to him a little more. It was their day off. Who cared anyway?

Medic blearily opened his eyes, and Spy smiled warmly. He glanced down at the arm around his waist, before looking over his shoulder at its owner. Surprisingly, Medic was not really surprised.
"Good morning, doctor." Confusion, mixed with an embarrassed shade of pink, crossed his young features as he glanced down at their... provocative position. He took a breath, and spoke.

"Last night... Did ve really-?" Spy cut him off.
"Yes, we did doctor. You did very well, for it being your first time." He smirked evilly as the doctor's face burned a bright red. "But zere is no need to be ashamed. You needed someone to vent on. I merely... gave you an opportunity. However," He ran a hand down Medic's side, and couldn't help but notice how the man jumped.

"I wouldn't mind anozzer try. How about you?" Medic calmed himself a little, before he chuckled – chuckled –and eased himself up, almost regretting it as pain shot up his back. Last night, he had bared his soul and body to this man, and had enjoyed it. A fun, pleasurable experience and he wanted more. Perhaps in the loss of his bodyguard, he'd gained a new companion. A different kind of connection.

"Maybe next time, Herr Spy." To this, the Spy smirked.

Said smirk dropped as it suddenly struck the masked man why the Medic acted as he did. The reason why the German man was so bitter and pushed others away all the time.

He'd wanted something like this to happen. He'd waited for it.

All this time, he'd only wanted someone to step in for him, to provide him with an alternative to wallowing in his self-pity by himself. He'd wanted someone to approach him, to best him. He wanted an equal. It was so incredibly simple, Spy felt like slapping himself. Medic spoke again, startling Spy out of his thoughts.

"Vhat a mess..." He could almost hear the wry smile crossing Spy's face, and crossed his arms, suddenly feeling self conscious.
"Only a part of zat was from our fun, you know." He raised himself from the bed - avoiding the glass shards in the floor - and dressed quickly, and before he knew it, he was suited up once more. Spy was kind enough to help the Medic dress himself, helping with his overcoat and other accessories. Spy had gently checked the glass wounds, rebandaged them, then placed Medic's thick blue gloves over them. He'd also retrieved the discarded Medigun and placed it on the dresser. The cleaners would have a field day in here, as they usually came during battle hours.

Medic turned to the door with a sigh, a downcast expression on his features. As he stiffly walked past the Spy, an arm looped around his waist, tugging him into a warm body. Their lips brushed again, and for a long moment, they just stood amongst the wreckage of Medic's room, ignoring the world around them. When the two pulled away, Medic stared into Spy's eyes with a small smile.

"Danke." Spy returned the smile.

"It was my pleasure, doctor." And they both exited the room filled with anger, sorrow and broken mirrors.

The reflection that Medic once had was shattered, but at least now he had his Spy to help pick up the pieces.


BLEH! I tried SOoO many situations and circumstances! I finished this one at half past 3 in the morning. My eyes are killing me.

Well, this is probably as good as it's going to get, coming from me...

Fixed the ending because it sucked. :P

Like it? Hate it? Review it!
Flames do not hurt me, as I am a Pyro and deflect them!