#ray's work

"You're not a bird person, are you?"

Pyro shrugged stiffly. The doves flocked to him like children to an ice-cream truck. He swatted them away gently but firmly, and kept his eyes on the exit door.

"They'll grow on you."

A curious pigeon sat on his shoulder and clicked its beak against his eyepiece. He poked its belly in return. Like its owner, it didn't seem to mind.

"You can give him a scratch if you like."

Reluctantly, he traced a few feathers with the tips of his fingers. Predictably, the pigeon bit him.

"Archimedes! No! Shoo!"

He watched it soar and wondered what it would taste like roasted. Horrible, his intuition supplied. Horrible, his stomach agreed, curling up into a knot.

"Socrates likes you."

He looked around, trying to guess which of the haphazard white smudges behind his goggles was Socrates, but they all looked the same, and one of them sat ontop of him like it owned the medbay. He shook his head roughly, if only to spook it.

"He does! Look at him snuggling up to you!"

Before the sugary overflow of undeservedly cutesy descriptors could continue, he stuck his fingers under the seam on around his neck and pulled his mask up to expose a part of his chin. Medic acknowledged it with a quick glance but, thankfully, didn't stare when he spoke out the side of his mouth: "How's that cage looking?"

"Eh, it's a bit more complicated than I thought," Medic admitted, not humorlessly, and pointedly raised two metal parts that very clearly did not go together.

Should have asked Engie.

"Herr Engineer offered some assistance," the doctor continued like reading a man's thoughts was a habitual kind of tease to him.

Pyro hummed. His voice was uncomfortable, like an unwieldy misshapen wrench. "Then why ask me?"

"I thought you'd enjoy it," Medic shrugged, taking no more offense than was intended - that is, none.

Pyro sighed and crouched next to him, causing the dove flock to disperce in a flashy white burst. "You're a bird person. You watch the birds. I'll try the cage."