#jsketchi

Scout was already trying to fight over the sausages with Soldier and possibly Sniper as well, who appeared to realise how completely outmatched he was but was still trying his hardest not to get stabbed by a stray fork. Engineer was too busy stuffing eggs into his mouth to chastise them for their table manners and everyone else was either half-asleep or actively snoring into their cereal bowls.

Spy wrinkled his nose in distaste and thumped Demoman on the back as he passed by, who spluttered and immediately started coughing up the milk he’d inhaled. Spy poured himself a steaming mug of coffee and took his seat next to Heavy, who was staring murderously at his burnt toast.

“Unpleasant morning?” Spy asked without looking, and Heavy grunted.

“Soldier patrolled last night,” he said by way of explanation, “Was loud. Did not sleep well.”

Spy hummed as he buttered his own untoasted bread and decided against making a snarky remark on how he wouldn’t have known that, since his own room was soundproof. At least it explained why everyone looked dead on their feet, and quite possibly Medic’s absence, though Spy couldn’t know for sure until he asked; Medic was usually quite punctual, in spite of the fact that he liked to spend his nights working away on his experiments and got little to no sleep.

Spy had casually questioned him about his sleeping schedule once and Medic had simply shrugged and said that there were things to be done and breakthroughs to be had, which were statistically more likely to happen during the night. When Spy had raised an eyebrow and asked him to elaborate on his sources, Medic had laughed in his face.

So Spy left Heavy to glower in peace and assumed the good doctor would show up for lunch. He ate his bread with butter and jam, added a pinch of sugar in his coffee and treated himself to a vanilla brioche from his secret stash. He made a mental reminder to bring his sapper to Engineer’s workshop later as he washed his plate and nodded to his teammates on his way out, ignoring Scout struggling to get out of the headlock Soldier had him in.

Since there were no battles scheduled that day, everyone went about relaxing in their own way, which for Spy included barricading himself in his smoking room with a good book and a fine wine. The hours passed swiftly, and Spy eventually opened the windows to air out the room and made his way to lunch.

It was Pyro’s turn on the stove, who could surprisingly cook up a storm when they weren’t messing with the settings in order to see how high the fire could burn. Spy didn’t recognise whatever they’d put on the table, but it did look appetising enough and ended up tasting delicious, if a bit too spicy for his taste.

He did notice halfway through the meal that Medic still hadn’t shown up and stated as much to Heavy, who frowned at the empty chair. He speculated that Medic might be working on something and reluctantly agreed to bring a tray of leftovers to the infirmary afterwards—Medic didn’t tolerate interruptions very well, even if they were well-intentioned.

Spy had pushed aside his concerns and decided to trust that Heavy wouldn’t let Medic starve. Everyone knew how well they got along and how much Heavy fretted over his teammates’ wellbeing—a leftover habit from looking after his sisters all his life, Spy knew.

So he ate his lunch and then went into town to help Engineer shop for weekly supplies. He himself had been planning on getting a new shoe polish and perhaps a new set of wine glasses. His old ones had dwindled in number over the last months due to his unfortunate decision to lend them to Demoman for game night, which had resulted in their being used to create what Scout had dubbed ‘the world’s shittiest champagne tower’ and ultimately shattering on impact when Soldier had drunkenly dived into them to take a ‘champagne bath’.

They hadn’t even used a decent brand of champagne for it. Needless to say Spy wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

By the time they returned and busied themselves with unloading the van, Spy had nearly forgotten about Medic’s suspicious absence. Heavy was nowhere to be seen, so Spy assumed that he’d gotten Medic to eat and decided to camp out in the infirmary for some peace and quiet, since someone was blasting the radio at full volume from somewhere inside the base. He’d picked up his sapper, thanked Engineer for his service, and returned to his smoking room to finish the book he’d started.

And then dinner came and Medic was still nowhere to be found.

“Door to infirmary was open,” Heavy said in-between bites of steak when Spy questioned him on whether he’d seen the doctor at all, “But door to lab was closed. Assumed doctor was busy, left tray with food on the table.”

Heavy had turned away to compliment Pyro on the mashed potatoes, and then Sniper had joined the conversation, and of course Scout had been chattering away the entire time, so the topic of Medic was soon dropped. Spy ate in silence, brow furrowed, and didn’t even react when the others had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on Soldier because he choked on a bone.

He offered to wash the dishes simply to take his mind off things, even if Engineer did stare at him like he’d grown a second head and asked him to repeat himself, and ignored the background noise of the team making up some new card game to play before bed. The rushing water brought him little comfort and the sharp scent of the dish soap stuck to his suit, which only further soured his mood. When he was done he tossed away the gloves and marched back to his room without so much as waving goodnight to everyone still hanging around in the living room.

Instead of going to sleep he adjusted his tie, strapped on his cloaking watch and slipped into Medic’s room.

The curtains were drawn, casting the room in partial shade, but the lamp on the far desk was on, shining dimly. The floor was clean and the bed was made, though the closet had been left half-open and the air was stale, indicating that no one had opened any windows in quite some time. Spy knew Medic tidied up regularly, but this went beyond that—the room looked almost unlived in, and when Spy touched the lamp on the desk he found it burning to the touch.

Spy tapped his fingers on the desk, weighing his options, and eventually reached over and turned it off. The only possible explanation for the lamp being on was that Medic had gone back to his lab in the middle of the night and hadn’t returned yet, and he’d forgotten to turn off the light in the middle of the rush. The thought made Spy tap his fingers harder the longer he waited.

Heavy wasn’t a very skilled liar and knew better than to lie to him of all people besides, so Spy had to assume that he’d indeed taken food to the infirmary and left it there when Medic hadn’t come out to greet him. But had he gone to check if the food had been touched afterwards? Had he knocked on the doors to the lab or listened for any noise that might indicate Medic was inside? Had he even thought to check for Medic in his room? On the balcony? In the gun range?

Spy came back to himself only to realise the room had gone pitch black. He checked his watch.

It was fifteen minutes past 3 am.

He didn’t even stop to close the door on his way out. The halls were silent, meaning everyone else was either asleep of holed up in their rooms, with the notable exception of Engineer whom Spy could hear welding something together as he passed his workshop. The doves startled awake when Spy barged into the infirmary and started crooning at him in displeasure, and he had no choice but to pause for a few minutes to calm them down—he hadn’t spent months earning their trust only to give them something to hold a grudge against now.

That and Medic wouldn’t approve of him upsetting his darling birds just because he was in a hurry.

The tray of food was still on the desk and completely untouched, as Spy had predicted, and the doors to the lab were not only closed, but locked from the inside. Good thing Spy was, among many other things, an expert at picking locks.

He had to shield his eyes from the fluorescent lights inside, but once his eyes got used to them he noticed that the room was more of a mess than usual. There were tools and papers scattered everywhere, drawers and cabinets left open, muddled jars of questionable contents and airtight containers that were usually carefully arranged on the shelves now in disarray. Spy stepped over a blueprint that had definitely been borrowed from Engineer and nearly slipped on a page that had likely been ripped from an old medical journal.

There was a flutter of wings next to his ear and a small weight landed on his shoulder. Spy huffed a private little laugh.

“Hello, Archimedes,” he said, reaching up to pet him before Archimedes could peck at his mask like he always did when Spy didn’t greet him right away. Archimedes crooned softly and leaned into his touch, then casually started grooming himself after Spy lowered his hand.

“Ah,” Spy said quietly as he rounded the operating table, “There he is.”

Medic was sitting next to one of the counters, gloves and coat tossed haphazardly at his feet, a stack of books by his left and a microscope to his right. His cheek was pressed against an open notebook, his glasses crooked, and he was snoring softly, fast asleep.

Spy came up to him and snapped his fingers next to his ear. When that garnered no reaction he grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him gently, then more forcefully, until Medic finally stirred. Spy watched him unstick his face from the paper and sluggishly push himself off the counter, then groan at the bright lights, pinching the bridge of his nose and further dislodging his glasses.

Spy, who had been quite prepared to deliver a scathing lecture, suddenly couldn’t muster up the vitriol.

“Busy night, doctor?” he said anyway, just to see how Medic would react.

Medic startled and squinted his way. Blinked a few times. Seemed to finally recognise that it was Spy standing in front of him, and also seemed baffled to see Archimedes staring back at him from his shoulder.

“Mhuh?” he said, eloquently.

Spy snorted, unable to stop himself. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over Medic’s cheekbone, trying very hard to ignore the way his heart fluttered when Medic, still drowsy, instinctively leaned into his touch.

“You have ink stains on your face,” Spy said.

“Mhm,” Medic replied, and instead of reaching up to wipe off said ink stains simply wrapped his hand around Spy’s wrist and leaned even further into his touch.

Spy sighed, but didn’t pull away. His questions could wait until the morning. “Come now, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, “There will be time for your experiments another day.”

Medic grumbled something under his breath, already half-asleep again, but went willingly, letting Spy guide him around the clutter and leaning on him as they navigated the halls together. They left Archimedes with the other doves and made it to Medic’s room without incident, safe for them bumping into Engineer as he was leaving his workshop.

Engineer had nodded at Spy and Spy had nodded back, and that had been that, a silent agreement that this encounter had never happened.

Spy wiped the ink off Medic’s face with a wet handkerchief and carefully tucked him in, making sure to place his glasses safely on the nightstand. As he made to go something pulled him back down, and he saw Medic watching him through half-lidded eyes, his hand fisted into Spy’s suit jacket. Spy sighed, too tired to argue, shed his jacket and his shoes and his mask and elbowed Medic out of the way as he wiggled under the covers.

Medic pulled him in by the waist and murmured something into his hair, and Spy smiled against his skin when he made out the words.

Medic was wild and captivating in his maniacal openness. He delighted in brutal honesty, laughing often and unrestrained, smiling too widely and with too many teeth. His eyes were like the edges of shattered glass, very sharp and just as transparent, and he was neither ashamed nor reluctant to show it. He was a whirlwind of naked, glorious emotion.

Spy would move mountains for him, would topple governments and drain oceans—but more than that, Spy had learned to share. Little things here and there at first, meaningless bits of everyday life, then, like a floodgate opening, his very heart and soul, laid bare in many other ways than lying on an operating table.

And amazingly, in turn, Medic had revealed an incredible talent for possessiveness. He had, naturally, matched Spy every step of the way, and instead of betraying that vulnerability had taken it reverently and locked it behind closed doors, threatening anyone who so much as thought about trying to get in with fates far worse than dismemberment.

For Medic, he could share. Had shared nearly everything, his secrets and his possessions and his face—and, most importantly, his space.

Their chemistry on the battlefield had not gone unnoticed, despite how little they usually interacted with each other on the job, and the Administrator had offered them a rise in pay on one condition: they would take up a one-time contract outside of work hours, which required both political scheming and medical knowledge, and once the job was done would return to their usual routine and never mention it again.

Medic had been eager to see it through and Spy was unable to say no to him, and so they had gone.

It had been harrowing. They'd had to travel outside of Respawn radius, for one, and for another they had received the wrong intel and were forced to improvise the entire way through. They had managed to come back in one piece, of course, but the stress of it all took an entire decade off Spy's life and he had the gray hairs to prove it.

Medic had looked even worse for wear, and after listening to him call the Administrator more than several colourful terms in German on the ride back to base, Spy had decided a night of relaxation was well overdue. It was a Friday, after all, and both teams had the weekend off.

So they had retreated—not to the infirmary, as they usually did, or to either of their rooms, as they more rarely did, but to Spy's cherished smoking room.

A place which was not among the things he had shared with Medic. Judging by the way Medic's eyebrows rose into his hairline, a place Medic had never expected to see, though that certainly hadn't dampened his delight in any way. Spy had proudly shown him his collection of famous literature and fine art, and then introduced him to his near-limitless wine reserve.

Medic had been ecstatic. He'd predictably chosen a white wine for himself, a dry Gewürztraminer with passion fruit undertones, while Spy had settled for nothing less than a cherry-red 1929 Romanée-Conti, the most expensive bottle he owned.

They had settled by the unlit fireplace with their respective beverages, letting the moonlight shine through the half-open curtains, and talked at length of anything but work. Spy had been on his third or fifth glass and in the middle of animatedly relaying the history behind how he had conned his way into owning a bottle of the most sought-after red wine in the world, which had involved a lot of charm, wits and subtle blackmail, when he chanced a look at Medic's face to make sure he was still listening—the man had a tendency to fall asleep after too much alcohol.

Medic was not asleep. He was leaning on the armrest of his armchair, chin propped up on his hand, and was watching Spy very closely with a positively lovestruck smile on his face. The moonlight illuminated his profile, highlighting the salt and pepper by his temples and the small crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

His glass lay on the coffee table between them, still a third of the way full.

Spy's wine-addled thoughts immediately ground to a halt, whatever words he'd been meaning to say dying a sudden death on his tongue.

In the silence that followed, Medic's smile widened. He said nothing, watching with visible pleasure as Spy's face—unmasked, always unmasked when it was just the two of them—flushed a no-doubt embarrassing shade of scarlet from completely non-alcohol-related reasons.

Spy stuttered out a few nonsensical syllables, trying desperately to regain the smooth dignity he was known for until Medic took pity on him and let out a little drunken laugh.

"Something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head at that angle that made Spy want to kiss him, that he knew made Spy want to kiss him.

Spy finally found his voice. Not at all, he meant to say, or perhaps some flirtatious line about how their chairs were too far apart for his liking, but no, what tumbled out instead was—

"I love you."

It came out all at once, the words nearly blending together, and Spy was startled by the sincere intensity of his voice. Medic, too, startled, straightening in his seat with wide eyes.

It was not the first time Spy had said it, and it would certainly not be the last, but something about the setting—the privacy of his smoking room, the gentle glow of the moon, the pure, unabashed affection in Medic's eyes—made it hit close to the heart with all the permanent finality of a wedding vow.

The comparison sent a shot of molten liquid straight down his spine, and he felt his cheeks heat up further under the rush. Medic's own cheeks were a bright ruby red, and Spy could see even from the distance between them that his pupils were blown wide—

Spy opened his mouth to say something, but then he blinked and Medic was on his feet, and then he blinked again and Medic was straddling his lap and cupping his face and kissing him with all the fervour and pent-up desire of a first-time lover. Spy let out a low noise of surprise and then instantly melted into him, hardly noticing when the glass slipped through his fingers and its precious contents spilled over his carpet; the world sharpened down to the warm body in his lap and the feeling of lips brushing fervently against his own.

Even when they broke apart for air, breaths mingling with every gasp, Medic stayed put, touching his forehead to Spy's and letting his thumbs caress his cheeks. Spy met his half-lidded eyes and saw that yes, his pupils were definitely blown wide, but more importantly he was gazing at Spy with unfiltered adoration, as though he had the privilege of looking upon an infinitely precious treasure.

Mein schatz, Medic called him in their most intimate moments, and Spy had never believed it as much as he did then.

Spy leaned forward and pressed a single, lingering kiss against his lips, simply to feel Medic smile against him. Then—

"I take it you love me back?" he whispered into the space between them.

Spy knew the answer, of course he did—Medic had probably said it more than he had, if he did the math—but he relished the teasing, especially when it made Medic laugh the way he was laughing now, all open delight in a way that made the muscles in his face ache.

"Yes," Medic said, still giggling as he kissed him back, "Yes, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

So Spy was not used to sharing. He shared not his possessions, nor his secrets or his space. But, he mused as Medic unraveled him under the pale moonlight, wine on their lips and passion in their veins, he could get used to sharing some things every now and then.