Work Text:
When Sniper woke up, he knew almost immediately that something was off.
First, it seemed his eyelids were heavier than normal, and it was ten times more difficult to get out of bed, let alone sit up in it. The stale air in the camper wasn’t particularly warm, but it didn’t feel cold enough yet for him to feel this amount of opposition to leaving the cozy little haven.
Sure, Sniper was not a morning person. Anyone on the team could attest to that. Though his professional standards made him punctual for work, that didn’t necessarily mean he was a bundle of sunshine and rainbows upon arrival. As long as he could get some coffee into him first, he was mostly agreeable. Mostly.
But it wasn’t just fatigue that weighed his chest down like a grumpy elephant. As soon as he threw his legs over the side of the bed, Sniper swallowed, and it hurt. He hated that feeling so much. That scratchiness at the back of the throat. The sickly sensation that made him want to clear his airway over and over, but it never made any difference. As the Australian reached up to massage his neck, he briefly considered the very real possibility that he had caught a cold.
Nah.
Denial planted roots, and Sniper decided that he was probably just dehydrated. Medic always harked on him for not drinking enough water, and despite how annoying it was, he knew the doctor was probably right.
As he brought himself over to the tiny kitchenette, Sniper poured and downed three whole glasses of water, hoping that would instantly make this feeling go away.
It did not. That raw, scratchy feeling was still there. He then tried coughing to clear it out, but realized his mistake too late. Once he started hacking, it was difficult to stop, and another glass of water was the only thing that could temporarily quell it.
“Bloody hell.” Sniper groaned as he leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes that had begun to water. He felt awful. He felt gross. Fortunately, he could still breathe through his nose, but he knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before the symptom of annoying congestion reared its ugly head.
No. He was not sick. He firmly made the decision as he started getting ready for the day. Maybe if he just went along with his usual routine and pretended like he was perfectly fine, he could trick his body into thinking that was exactly the case. Mind over matter, right?
Viruses were stubborn, but so was Mick Mundy. He’d see who won out in the end.
Except, there was no virus. Yeah, that’s right. He wasn’t sick. Just feeling a little off. Yesterday’s match had been a bit of a doozy after all. Nearly three minutes into overtime on payload. Who wouldn’t still feel exhausted after that?
Sniper brewed himself some coffee while getting dressed. His morning beverage of choice was undeniably soothing, although it still did nothing to temper the scratchy feeling in his throat. If only he had some honey on hand. The sniper made a mental note to pick some up next time he was in town.
Bugger. He didn’t have anything for a cold, now that he thought about it. No pills, no cough syrup, no lozenges, nothing. Out in the bush back home he had been able to whip up some natural remedies if the situation called for it. But here? Not so much, and he had never been sick once since starting this job.
And he still wasn’t, as far as Sniper was concerned. He had to keep remembering that, but it seemed the ruse was already failing to trick himself. How was he going to get away with hiding this from the rest of the team?
Especially Medic. Sniper couldn’t suppress a shudder, and it made him realize just how cold he was despite being fully dressed now.
He wasn’t afraid of Medic, not necessarily (or so he told himself). But he hated doctors with a passion, and anything related to them. Doctor’s offices, waiting rooms, nurses, tests, treatments, the lot of it. If he could just deal with his own health issues for the rest of his life, that would be perfect. Alas, even Sniper wasn’t stubborn enough to buy into that possibility.
The team's doctor had far more important things to do than tend to a bloody head cold, anyway. He would appreciate not being bothered about something as mundane as this. Yeah, Sniper could settle on that. Because trying to force himself into believing he wasn’t sick was getting harder and harder by the minute, especially when he was held hostage by yet another coughing fit.
Well, if he could get all his coughing out of the way now, maybe it would be easier to hide his condition amongst the others. Tempted as he was, Sniper made the decision to skip his morning cigarette. It always made him cough at least a little bit, and he didn’t need any more of that than what he was already given, thank you very much.
Feeling like a zombie working the night shift, Sniper dragged his feet across the dirt and towards the RED base. He didn’t always attend breakfast with the others, so his absence wouldn’t be considered notable. A small mercy considering how much longer the journey was taking today.
Sniper went straight to the resupply room. No one was there yet, but they’d surely be arriving soon. The mission started in fifteen minutes. Another payload match. Hopefully this one would be over a lot faster, and he could return to his blanket haven of warmth, bury himself under it, and just wait for this bloody thing to go away.
After grabbing the Machina from his locker, Sniper turned to see Scout and Demoman coming his way, joking and laughing and clearly enjoying their morning a lot more than he was enjoying his.
“Mornin’, lad!” Demo called as he went to his own locker in search of the Scottish Resistance. Scout simply waved before retrieving the Force-A-Nature from its home.
“Mornin’,” Sniper echoed, annoyingly aware of just how dry and unusual his voice sounded. He hoped the others didn’t catch it. He was never a man of many words, but the less he could talk right now, the better.
As the other mercenaries slowly filtered into resupply, Sniper tried to be mindful of where he stood. He tried to keep his distance, and keep it quietly, but in a way that made it look like he was merely thinking or strategizing for the fight ahead. In reality, he was thinking no such thoughts. The murky sponge that was currently his brain would not allow it.
When Sniper saw Medic enter the room, his gaze immediately flicked away behind the convenient cover of vermillion shards. He didn’t want the doctor suspecting a thing. Not a bloody thing. But were his nerves too obvious? His loner tendencies more noticeable than usual? Would it actually draw less attention if he strode up to Medic and said a casual greeting?
Maybe so, but Sniper just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he simply sat down on one of the benches and waited for the match to begin. At least when it did, there’d be almost no reason for someone to talk to him. Hardly an opportunity, either.
As his knee bobbed up and down with impatience, Sniper tensed when he felt another cough trying to break loose. Tried as he might to swallow it down, that ended up doing the opposite. He couldn’t help but cough a couple times, but at least remembered to do so against his arm.
Just a couple at least. Nothing crazy. And judging by the fact that no one even gave him an extra glance of attention, Sniper seemed to be under the radar. That is, until his gaze travelled further across the room.
Spy was staring; staring right at him. His eyes were sharp and narrow, a look that the Aussie unfortunately recognized. He knew something was up. He could smell it in the air like a bloody scent hound. Of course. Sticking his nose into other people’s business was what spook did best. He shouldn’t have been surprised.
He doubted it would translate, but Sniper tried to give him his best glare of warning, as though to silently say: “If you rat me out, I’m gonna rip off your mask and strangle you with it in front of everyone.”
Fortunately, Spy seemed to divert his attention after that, although it was unclear if the message was received or not.
“Mission begins in thirty seconds,” came the Administrator’s voice over the speakers, causing everyone, including Sniper, to straighten up with readiness. He was alarmed by how much effort it took just to stand from the bench, and gave his head a small shake as he walked up to the metal doors.
After making sure the Machina was loaded, there wasn’t really anything else to do but wait for the match to begin. Fortunately, his colleagues did not speak a word to him in the seconds remaining, other than the casual ‘good luck’ they often said to each other right before the start. Perhaps they were tired too, and Sniper wondered if he was the only one affected by the pesky virus.
The doors opened with a shudder, bathing the mercenaries in a flash of golden, morning light. Even through Sniper’s shades, it was nearly blinding.
As his teammates whooped and hollered to boost morale, Sniper wished he could have joined in. It felt like if he shouted right now, it would literally tear his throat to shreds. As it was, he barely had the energy to speak at a normal volume.
After positioning himself far in the back lines behind some rocks, the marksman got to work.
Or he tried, at least. It was not a good start.
In the first three minutes, Sniper only managed to secure one headshot on the Heavy, who was practically standing still while eating his beloved sandwich. Not exactly a million to one shot. His other attempts were either messy body shots or failed to hit the mark altogether.
‘Yeah, hit the wall, Mundy. That’ll do the trick.’
Shit. He was missing way too much, and it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. Even first thing in the morning his aim was never this atrocious. Sniper’s reflexes were a mess; his focus almost non-existent. His head felt like it was filling up with warm glue, and his eyes began to water again which made his sloppy aim even worse.
Although his team was doing a good job at keeping the cart at bay, Sniper couldn’t say he was playing any part in it. With how bad his performance was, he might as well not be here at all.
Things reached a truly awful breaking point as Sniper started coughing again. At first, he was relieved when no one was around to hear it, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
A blade pierced into his back, and the next thing he knew, he was back in resupply. Goddamn it. The BLU Spy sure picked a great time to turn up. Was probably having a good laugh with his mates right about now about killing the ‘oblivious’ sniper.
Growling with rage, he made for the doors again. Sniper’s next attempt wasn’t much better, although he did manage to get a headshot on the Medic. Unfortunately, his marksman counterpart saw him a split second before he did, and back to resupply he went.
By this point, Sniper realized he was positively drenched with cold sweat. It beaded down his temples and soaked his shirt. He started to shiver; shiver for Christ’s sake, despite the fact today must have been a hundred degrees in the shade.
Finally, on his third respawn, Sniper couldn’t take it anymore. His head was swimming so much he feared that if he didn’t take a seat on the bench he was going to fall and crack his head on the tile.
He was so out of it. The room started to spin. Every swallow felt like downing shards of glass. And now whenever he coughed, it wasn’t just one or two, but a whole burst that he could not hold back no matter how much he tried.
Sniper didn’t even notice that Scout had returned to resupply. He was currently lifting his hat to wipe away a disgusting amount of sweat from his brow when he heard the Bostonian’s worried tone.
“Hey, Snipes! You okay, man?” he asked as he took a few steps closer. Sniper wanted to tell him to keep his distance, but doing so would also be admitting that he had reason to.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he answered. Oh, God. The sinus congestion was starting already. He could barely breathe through his nose, and it caused his voice to sound even worse than before.
Unfortunately, Scout must have caught onto this as well.
“You sure? Jeez, you look like shit. You don’t sound good, either.”
“I’m fine...I just...” Sniper was forced to interrupt himself with another cough. A very gross and wet sounding one, at that. “I just gotta sit down for a sec. I’ll be right there.”
“Nu-uh,” Scout vocalized, shaking his head as he stepped back. “I’m gettin’ doc. You stay put!”
“No,” Sniper protested, the word slipping out of him like a dog’s whine. Funny. He had been so concerned about Spy noticing, but that wasn’t the colleague he should have been worried about. Like a certain Frenchman, Scout could be oddly perceptive at times, and never in anyone else’s favour.
“Sit your ass down!” he shot back, practically yelling as Sniper attempted to get up. He didn’t get very far and slumped back down again with a wheeze.
“Don’t tell me what to do, ya bloody punk...” The Aussie grumbled under his breath, though Scout was long gone by the time he said it. As it turned out, staying on that bench was exactly what he did, though by not much will of his own.
Some time passed. It could have been seconds. Could have been minutes. It wasn’t until the resupply doors opened with a bang that Sniper realized he might have actually dozed off for a spell.
He wondered why Medic was walking at him sideways, until Sniper realized he was the horizontal one. The sight felt like some hazy dream. Or, wherever the doctor was concerned, perhaps more of a nightmare.
“Go on, Scout. Danke.”
As Sniper forced himself to sit upright, he just barely caught a glimpse of Scout’s worried expression before he started jogging back to the fight. Damn it. He should be there with him. So should Medic, for that matter, and he felt awful for wasting his time with something so trivial when there was a literal battle going on outside.
“I’m fine, doc...don’t worry ‘bout me,” he insisted as Medic strode up to him. Now he was in the rare position of being much shorter than the doctor, and it was intimidating as all hell as he peered up at him.
“I wouldn’t call it worry, and you are definitely not fine, my friend,” said Medic in a tone that conveyed Sniper wasn’t fooling anyone, him least of all. After taking his glove off, he then pressed the back of his hand to Sniper’s forehead. He held it there for a few moments, hummed in some kind of thought, and pulled away.
“You’re very warm. Let me guess...sore throat, sinus congestion, cough and chills?” he asked, sounding almost amused as he reached to gently press the lymph nodes on either side of Sniper’s neck.
“Uh...yeah...and a headache,” he added, although that one had literally started only seconds ago. Shit. What was it about being sick that was so bloody embarrassing? He couldn’t help being like this, but Sniper felt the sting of intense shame, nonetheless.
“Doc, you should be out there. They need you.” He just barely managed to get the words out before he started hacking again. Medic recoiled a bit, but strangely, he didn’t look bothered by the display.
“I’m sure our team will survive without me for a minute or two. Besides, BLU hasn’t even made it to the first checkpoint. Open your mouth.” He said it all in a string of casual indifference, even the last part.
Embarrassment shot through him again, but Sniper obliged. After peering at his tonsils or whatever he was looking at to gauge his health, Medic withdrew and placed his hands on his waist like a disappointed parent.
“I’d say this is certainly a case of Viral Rhinitis,” Medic began, and seemingly paused for a bit of tension. “Otherwise known as the common cold.”
“Ugh, don’t scare me like that,” Sniper grumbled, closing his eyes.
“Here’s what I want you to do, Herr Sniper,” Medic continued like he hadn’t said anything as he put his glove back on.
“Stay here for the rest of the match. Don’t leave this bench until I return. When I’m back, we’ll take a trip to the lab.”
He flinched as the doctor turned away. The lab? Sniper didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. Medic probably wanted to perform all sorts of cruel and unnecessary tests on him just for the sake of it. There was absolutely no need for treatment with just a normal cold, right?
No. No way. He wasn’t going along with this doctor’s instructions. He wasn’t even a real doctor, anyway. All the more reason to get the hell out of here while he still could. He also desperately wanted to avoid the pity party he knew the team was going to throw for him once they all came back to resupply. Two witnesses of his sorry state were bad enough.
Sniper thought he had peeled himself from the bench rather quickly after Medic’s departure. However, a warning from the Administrator made him realize this was certainly not the case.
“Mission ends in thirty seconds.”
The match was almost over? How was that possible? He must have fallen asleep again, and it was pretty disturbing that he didn’t even know it.
Hard as it was to stand up again, the fear of Medic’s ‘care’ was greater than his fatigue. It gave Sniper the push he needed to move his feet again. One by one. Slowly but surely.
The halls of the RED base were unnaturally quiet as the Aussie strode down them. That is, until he unleashed a sneeze so loud and violent it felt like his ribs had shattered.
“Ugh...bloody hell.” Sniper groaned and sniffed. What a peachy day this was turning out to be. He couldn’t believe how much worse he felt compared to an hour ago.
As much as Sniper wanted to go back to his beloved camper, his personal room on base was a lot closer and easier to get to. Therefore, it started tempting him the moment he left resupply. Although he felt bad about contaminating two separate locations, it’s not like his teammates often frequented either of those spaces. By now, Medic had probably told everyone he wasn’t feeling well, and they’d be smart to give him a wide berth.
Honestly, he didn’t care which bed he flopped into, just so long as it was far, far away from...
“There you are! Where are you going? I told you to wait in resupply!”
Sniper heard Medic’s angry, flustered voice call out to him from over his shoulder.
Damn. Too late.
“C’mon, doc...I just wanna go to sleep,” Sniper whined as he turned around, not really caring how childish his tone was at the moment.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Medic replied as he took hold of his shoulders and physically steered him in the opposite direction. “This won’t take long, I promise.”
Sniper made an indignant groan in response, very much doubting that was going to be the case.
~
As Sniper sat there on the exam table, he was somehow both freezing cold and boiling hot at the same time. Or rather, he was switching back and forth between the two so rapidly that he wasn’t sure where one sensation ended and the other began.
He tried to breathe through his nose again, but all he got was a disgusting, congested snort as a result. He had a bad taste in his mouth, and his ears were constantly ringing at a low pitch. In the simplest terms, he felt like absolute shit.
It wasn’t until Medic repeated himself that Sniper realized he had even said something in the first place. One moment, he was staring at the slightly fuzzy outline of the doctor’s cabinet, and the next, Medic was directly in front of him like he had used Engineer’s teleporter.
“Drink this,” the doctor ordered as he held out a small, paper sample cup. Sniper peered down suspiciously at the neon red liquid in front of him. It wasn’t even in his mouth yet, and somehow he could already taste the horrid flavour.
“I’m good,” he insisted, turning away and crossing his arms defiantly.
“If you want a decent chance at getting any sleep, I suggest you take it. It will help suppress your cough.”
That last line made him somewhat consider it. And as he thought about it more, he realized what a stubborn idiot he was being right now. Only little kids refuse to take medicine, and if he didn’t want to be treated like one, well...
Sniper sighed, rolled his eyes and snatched the cup away from Medic with what was, admittedly, an unnecessary amount of spite.
He took a deep breath, prayed, and tried to knock the liquid back like a shot. It was overwhelmingly sweet and sticky, but coated his throat with a burst of menthol right away. He already didn’t have as much of an urge to cough anymore.
“Wasn’t so bad...” Sniper admitted gruffly as he handed the cup back to Medic.
“It never is,” the doctor replied with a teasing smile as he turned away to dispose of it.
As he went to go fetch something else, Sniper made the mistake of closing his eyes for too long and nearly jumped two feet when he was startled back into alertness. Medic was in front of him again, this time holding a thermometer as he leaned closer. Something about how close he was in tandem with holding an instrument in his face gave Sniper a rush of irrational panic like a spooked animal at the vet.
“I’m just going to take your temperature.”
“Get the hell away from me.” Sniper squirmed, trying to recoil from the thermometer as though it were one of the venomous snakes he used to grapple with back home. “I don’t need that.”
Medic stopped for a moment, but only to shoot him a pointed look that was somewhere halfway between amused and disappointed.
“If you prefer, I can insert this somewhere else.”
Sniper gulped. Despite the warm static clogging up his brain, he understood the doctor’s insinuation almost immediately. No bloody thank you.
“...Fine,” he grumbled, staying still and opening his mouth as Medic approached. The action made him feel like a baby bird, and it was more than a little humiliating.
Medic hummed a cheerful tune as he waited for the temperature to register. No matter what he claimed, Sniper knew he must have been enjoying this.
As he drew the thermometer back and looked at the results, the doctor’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise.
“Hm...one hundred and three. That’s a fever, alright.”
“Great.” Sniper sighed, rubbing his tender neck. He was already sick of feeling...well, sick. And the fact that this illness had only just begun filled him with crippling dread for the days to come.
If only the medigun could heal this bloody thing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had mentioned it. Sniper knew the response, just as everyone else did with how often Medic had to repeat the message.
The technology was designed to heal acute injuries only. When it came to viruses, there were apparently too many variables involved in trying to cure a different one every time. Essentially, Medic would have to invent a new medigun for each cold, which he was, obviously, not going to do.
And so, the only option was to deal with colds the old-fashioned way: common sense and waiting it out.
“Now, I’m not your mother, so I’m not going to give you the whole spiel...but I assume you know what’s in your best interests right now. Lots of rest, fluids, etc. And for goodness sake, please wash your hands! I don’t want the entire team catching this.”
Sniper said nothing, but nodded his head submissively. Medic hadn’t said it outright, but he assumed that he had the rest of the day off. It would be the most amount of time he had ever taken off work before, and it felt bloody bizarre.
“Alright, you’re free to go,” Medic said with a wave of his hand as he stepped away from the exam table once more.
“...I am?” Sniper asked, genuinely surprised that this was all the ‘torment’ the doctor had in store for him. No needles? No invasive treatment? No surgery involving exotic animal parts?
“Ja. I’ll come check on you later tonight, but for now I’ll let you rest. Unless there’s something else you need?” Medic asked as he started washing his hands in the sink.
The Aussie immediately shook his head and hopped down from the table. He had been given a gift horse here and nearly looked it in the mouth. Best to leave as fast as he could before Medic got any troublesome ideas.
Somehow, despite the throbbing tension in his sinuses and the crippling brain fog, Sniper managed to not forget his manners as he passed through the door.
“Thanks, doc.”
“Of course.” Medic smiled at him. It was a real smile, too. Not creepy or sadistic in the slightest. “Feel better, Herr Sniper.”
~
After returning to his room, Sniper rushed to the bed as fast as his sick mind could handle, and immediately collapsed into soft, seductive sheets. He didn’t even bother removing anything besides his shoes, hat and aviators. Couldn’t muster the energy for it. He wondered if the medicine Medic gave him was also meant to aid with sleep, because he somehow felt ten times more exhausted than he was before – though it didn’t seem possible.
He shifted onto his side, one hand curving around the cool side of the pillow while the other yanked the sheets up to his shoulders. When that didn’t get him warm enough, he then tossed them over his head. Now it felt like he was in a cozy, blanketed cave where nothing and no one could hurt him. Protected on all sides. Even the light through the blinds which he had neglected to close didn’t bother him at all as he swiftly fell into a deep, heavy sleep.
Then came the fever dreams; swirling, sudden and completely non-sensical. Not that most dreams made sense in the first place, but these were a whole other breed of weird. And so vivid, too. Wild and mysterious. Howling monsters and impossible geometry. The whole thing always had a paradoxical undercurrent of both fear and tranquillity; as though whatever crazy happenings occurred, Sniper knew, somehow, that none of it was real.
It wasn’t until he experienced a particularly realistic dream of falling off a rooftop that the Aussie jolted into lucidity. When he did, he immediately burst into a coughing fit while throwing the sheets off. Now he was burning up and practically drowning in his own sweat.
Shit. There was no in-between. Either his bones were frozen over, or his skin was on fire.
In a fit of heat-induced rage, Sniper sat upright and yanked his red shirt over his head as fast as he could. Then came the undershirt and his work pants. After haphazardly tossing them over the side of the bed, he then turned to glimpse the clock on his side table.
12:21. He had only been sleeping for a couple hours, and yet it seemed like ten. Time always felt weird and disjointed when he was sick. The days never felt quite real, like he was a disembodied spirit just floating along. Existing but never truly present.
For the next few hours, Sniper drifted in and out of sleep. Upon every wake up, he always found himself in a funkier sleeping position than the last. Sometimes it made his hands fall asleep. Sometimes he accidentally suffocated himself by lying face-first on his pillow, which not only produced some truly terrifying dreams, but sent him into more fits of coughing when he eventually startled out of it. While Medic’s vile liquid had clearly done its job, it seemed the effects were starting to wear off.
At one point, Sniper got up to use the bathroom, and found that when he went back to bed, sleep was annoyingly elusive. Sure, it was the late afternoon, but why was it suddenly so hard for his mind to fade out when his body clearly begged for more rest?
Maybe part of it was just how congested he felt right now. The worst it had been so far. It didn’t matter how many times he blew his nose. It didn’t help. So now, Sniper was forced to lay awake in the bed, recalling those precious moments in life when he wasn’t sick as a dog, and how he’d give anything to go back in time and re-live them.
He hated this. He hated having a cold. He felt so alone right now, and yet he didn’t want to be near anyone. How was the afternoon match going for his colleagues, he wondered? Especially without a sniper. He wasn’t naive enough to think his presence alone could make or break the odds, but he liked to think that he was at least somewhat useful for his team. If he wasn’t...well...
Sniper didn’t want to think about that.
Since he, apparently, couldn’t fall asleep right now, he briefly debated on leaving his room to go watch TV in the common area. He later ixnayed that idea when he realized he’d just be infecting the whole space with his awful mouth-breathing. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do in his room for entertainment. He had a couple books and magazines in the drawer, but reading gave him a headache, and he could barely comprehend the words anyway.
And then he had an idea. It wasn’t entertaining per say, but it would at least be a change in scenery without leaving the confines of his quarantine.
Mick Mundy was going to draw a bath. Even if the notion seemed ludicrous, and...what was the word: Juvenile? Feminine? There was this strange consensus in the male population that baths were for ladies and children. Not grown men, and certainly not hired killers. Sure, Sniper had taken lots of baths as a kid. But at some point, it seemed too childlike, and he was bullied enough as it was.
Just this once though, surely, he could make an exception, and it’s not like there was anyone here to make fun of him for it. Plus, it was one of the few luxuries that his personal room provided over the camper. It would be silly not to take advantage, right?
After filling up the tub and making it as hot as he could stand it, Sniper slipped into the water with a startling amount of relief. He thought his bed was the warmest, most comforting place on the planet. But he was dead wrong. This was where it’s at.
A light, almost devious chuckle purred past the sniper’s lips as he realized just how much he’d missed this. Hell, he could stay in here all day, or all night for that matter. Although, he’d probably get an earful from Miss Pauling about excessive water usage. As far as Sniper was concerned, this was anything but a waste.
Annoyingly, the tub was obviously not designed for someone of his height or leg length. There was absolutely no way Heavy could squeeze in here, and Sniper felt bad for the bloke when he re-discovered just what he was missing out on.
He did have to bend his knees in order to fit properly, but it seemed a small price to pay for the benefits he could feel already. His nose was a little clearer. Not perfect, but better than before. Relaxed as he was, Sniper also felt a touch more lucid. The exhaustion was still there, but the brain fog had partially lifted. He almost felt somewhat normal.
Sniper released a deep sigh, closed his eyes, and relaxed further into the back of the tub. The warm water enveloped him like the most beautiful hug, and just when he thought he might have been finally drifting off to sleep again...
“Sniper?” A knock at the door. “Are you in there?”
It was Medic.
For some reason, Sniper flinched with alarm like he had been caught in the act of doing something far more intimate. As his heart skipped a beat, he reached over to desperately claw at the shower curtain in order to censor himself. Partially, it was his own fault for not locking the damn door, and he had completely forgotten about the doctor’s promise to check on him.
“Uh...w-wait a sec! I’m havin’ a—”
Completely ignoring him it seemed, Medic opened the door anyway. At first, he merely poked his head in, but as soon as he saw Sniper in the tub, he pushed the door all the way and gave a whimsical laugh.
“Ah, good idea, Sniper! I was going to suggest a bath, but it seems you’re well ahead of me.”
The Aussie forced his gaze to the wall, heat blooming across his face like a sunburn. Surely, this amount of embarrassment in one day had to be lethal.
“For Christ’s sake, doc...” he grumbled while making sure the curtain was providing adequate coverage.
“Oh, please! We shower together, don’t we? You don’t have anything I’ve never seen before,” Medic said through a playful scoff, leaning his back up against the sink with crossed arms.
Sniper groaned, half seeing his point, and half not wanting to admit it. No matter what the doctor said, he still wasn’t moving the shower curtain. “I guess.”
“Anyway, I did not come here to tease you,” Medic began before placing a small, paper cup on the edge of the bathroom counter. Sniper couldn’t glimpse its contents from here, but he guessed it carried the same liquid medicine as before.
“Oh. Thanks,” he said quietly with a nod, easing into the warmth of the bath once again.
“How are you feeling? Mostly the same, I imagine?” Medic asked before turning around to check his teeth in the mirror.
“Mm...yeah.” Sniper sighed as he rested his arm across the rim of the tub. A frown and a thought suddenly came to him. “You don’t seem too worried ‘bout gettin’ sick, doc.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I have an immune system strong as iron!” Medic grinned with an uneasy level of pride. Sniper wondered if this ‘strong immune system’ had perhaps been achieved by non-conventional if not dangerous means. Either way, he wasn’t about to interview him about it.
“You just worry about yourself, my friend. Thankfully, you have the weekend to recover. As long as you are doing what you should be doing,” Medic paused to give him a sharp look of warning, “then you should feel much better by Monday.”
“The...the weekend?” Sniper repeated slowly, staring down at the steaming water in thought. Right. It was Friday. Somehow, in the deep haze of his mind he had all but forgotten. But that meant...
“Oh, shit...no, no...” He groaned into his hands as stress overtook him.
“What’s the matter?” Medic asked.
“My parents,” Sniper replied, and he hated how bitter he sounded towards the two people who mattered most. “I always call ‘em at two on Saturdays. At the payphone a few miles out. If I miss even one call, it’ll give ‘em a heart attack and I’ll never hear the bloody end of it. I mean...I might be feelin’ better tomorrow...or I could just tough it up and—”
“I’ll take care of it,” the other man interrupted as a small smile graced his features.
“You...you will?” Sniper arched an eyebrow, skeptical. “How?”
“Simple. I’m sure we could connect a phone line to your room. A secure one that can’t be tapped. I’ll speak to Engineer and get it sorted.”
“Oh...” Sniper looked back into the water that was already starting to cool. He had to admit, he hadn’t even considered that. Would have never thought to ask. Then again, he wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders right now.
Before he could even say a word of pre-emptive thanks, Medic lightly tapped the side of the paper cup before turning to leave. “In the meantime, continue to rest, Sniper. Don’t forget to take this.”
“Uh, thanks, doc...” he eventually said, although it was so quiet he wondered if Medic even heard him. The last he saw of him was the bathroom door being shut, and then he heard the sound of the door to his room closing a few moments later.
After adding a bit more hot water to the bath, Sniper stayed in there for...well, he didn’t exactly know how long. Long enough for the mirror and doorhandle to steam up. Long enough for his fingers and toes to earn the deepest pruning he had ever seen.
Though he dreaded leaving the tub, Sniper knew his best bet at sleep was going to be in his bed, not in the water. There was also the possibility of drowning, and waking up cold and naked in respawn didn’t exactly sound appealing.
After drying off, Sniper reluctantly downed another sip of the foul medicine. As he went back out into the main part of his room, however, he immediately noticed something different in his surroundings.
There were two water bottles on the bedside table that were not there before, along with a steaming bowl of what he guessed was broth. There was an apple as well, which made Sniper chuckle for some reason. Maybe because of the whole ‘an apple a day’ thing he often heard. Even if he ate it, Sniper had a feeling it wouldn’t keep Medic away.
While his stomach was starting to pang with physical hunger, Sniper really didn’t have much of an appetite. Even so, he wanted to at least eat something, lest Medic’s hard and surprisingly kind work go to waste.
Sniper didn’t want the apple right now. Too scratchy a texture for his raw and tender throat. But he did swallow a few spoonfuls of the broth and made sure to drink at least half of a water bottle.
After that, he was extremely exhausted again. It might have been the bath, or the medicine, or just the simple fact that he was still feeling awful. Either way, it didn’t take long for Sniper to burrow under the covers once again.
He didn’t even remember waiting to fall asleep.
~
By the next morning, Sniper didn’t feel much better, but at least he didn’t feel worse. He took that as a small victory as he lazed the early hours away, mostly staying in bed but not really sleeping. He might have caught an extra wink or two, but he mostly just laid there in silent suffering.
Around ten, Medic came to check on him and give him some more food and medicine. He also told him that Engineer would be arriving shortly to install the temporary phone. Or at least, Sniper assumed it would be temporary and he wouldn’t be allowed to keep it here. No one else on the team had a phone in their room, as far as he knew.
Sniper decided to retreat into the bathroom when Engie was installing the phone. As much as he wanted to talk to his friend, he was equally concerned about not getting him sick. Besides, he wanted to have a shower anyway. As nice as baths were, they weren’t ideal for a proper wash up. Similarly, however, the hot water did a great job at temporarily clearing his congestion. By the time he started dialing his parents, Sniper almost felt like a real person again.
The phone call went about as expected. His dad didn’t treat him any differently even after knowing he was sick, but Sniper actually preferred it that way. His mum, on the other hand, was constantly asking him questions about his recuperation and what he was doing to bounce back from this as soon as possible. Normally, her fussing would have been mildly irritating at best, but Sniper found it rather endearing. He never would have guessed it in a million years, but it seemed Medic and his mother had something in common.
Thankfully, this new topic of conversation dominated so much of the call, that his dad didn’t even get the chance to dive into his usual lecture about how much he disliked his son’s area of expertise. In fact, they kept things rather short as his mum insisted his rest was more important. Mick was tempted to agree as he found himself growing tired again. Hearing their voices felt like it had done him some good, even if the benefits were only imaginary. And he couldn’t put into words just how nice it was to be able to call them without even leaving the bed. Perhaps when he was recovered he would make a case for keeping this phone in the room. Although he wondered if Miss Pauling would approve – if she even knew about it in the first place.
After saying goodbye to his parents, Sniper hung up the phone and got cozy in bed once more. It was only then that he realized he had only coughed once during the entire conversation, although he still sounded terribly congested. But maybe Medic’s infernal concoction was finally starting to produce some real results. Or better yet, the virus was already working its way out of his system.
The rest of Saturday came and went in a sleepy, hazy blur. By Sunday morning, the fever was gone, and Sniper could confidently say that he was feeling better. By this point he was starting to get slightly stir crazy from being holed up in his room for so long. As much as he valued his alone time, he also craved the outdoors. Knowing Medic would never allow it, Sniper tried to sneak outside for a walk. However, he didn’t even get past the first stairwell before the doctor ushered him back to his room like a nurse assisting a confused dementia patient.
But he wasn’t without some new comforts in his quarantine. Scout had been kind enough to lend him the radio from his room and a few comic books, although Sniper really couldn’t have given a toss about the latter. Heavy also lent him a few of his texts on Russian Literature, but Sniper would have almost preferred the comic books with how dry and lengthy those were. Still, it was nice to have something new to read while listening to music at the same time.
By the evening, Sniper had energy again. And his appetite had not just returned, it apparently doubled. Even after eating two plates of the dinner Demo had cooked, he was still asking Medic to bring him more food. While he was banned from eating any more of the regular dinner so that the others could get their share, Medic did bring him a couple more apples and a muffin. After that, he said that if Sniper was feeling well enough to eat as much as a hippo, he could get the damn food himself.
Sniper had to admit, it felt good to boss the doctor around, even if he had done so much for him already.
Speaking of which, Sniper was already in the early stages of planning a surprise. He wanted to do something nice for his doctor colleague. Something that showed his gratitude while also conveying that he was, regrettably, more than a bit wrong about him. He thought back to when he first got sick, and how scared and stubborn he had been of accepting Medic’s help. In that time that felt like eons ago, he thought Medic didn’t truly care about his well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter. He thought the doctor only saw him as a test subject. A lab rat. Someone he’d enjoy scooping the innards out like ice cream and putting them back together just for the hell of it.
He was wrong. Completely wrong. Medic had sacrificed so much of his time, both on and off the clock, to help him feel better. Time that Sniper was certain he would have rather spent with Heavy, or toiling away in his lab working on God knows what. Sure, Medic might have had a couple screws loose. He might not have been the sanest man Sniper had ever met. But that didn’t mean he was heartless, and it should have taken far less than a cold to convince him of that.
After working with the man for years, Sniper should have known him better. Perhaps his fear of anything to do with the medical world had always gotten in the way of that. Perhaps now was the time for that to change.
On Monday, he could finally breathe the fresh air of the desert, and he felt truly alive again. The work shift went by without a hitch, and Sniper delighted himself with possibly one of the greatest comebacks he had ever made. One hundred and ten kills. All of them headshots. He hoped the BLU team had enjoyed their little break from having to deal with him, because Mick Mundy was back with a vengeance.
That evening, Sniper had driven out to the nearest pet store and purchased a small bag of birdseed. He had no idea if it was the kind Medic’s doves were used to eating, but he hoped they, and the doctor, would appreciate it all the same.
But he wasn’t going to give the seed to him outright. Too sentimental. Too awkward. Not his style. Instead, Sniper wanted to wait until he was certain that Medic had gone to bed before leaving the bag on his desk in the infirmary along with a little note. Nothing mushy or long-winded, just thanking him for his help while also making it clear who had done the writing.
After tweaking the note so it sat perfectly on top of the birdseed, Sniper turned to gaze at the doves who were cooing and softly fluttering amongst the rafters.
“G’night,” he said with a smirk and tip of his hat. However, as he started making his way to the door, Medic emerged from the other side with a clipboard in hand.
Shit.
For a moment, the two men stood and simply stared, both equally surprised to see the other at such a late hour. Finally, Sniper managed to drive some words out instead of standing there like a moron with his mouth half-open.
“Uh, sorry. I was...I was just, uh...” he began, gesturing vaguely to the birdseed on the desk but clearly unable to find his way to the explanation of why it was there.
“Oh!” Medic perked up and adjusted his glasses as soon as he saw the new item. Sniper took that as a good sign at least.
“For meine kleinen lieblinge? You shouldn’t have!” He smiled as he moved past him to examine the packaging.
“Well, uh...” Sniper began, feeling warm and sheepish despite the fact he wasn’t the recipient. This was exactly the type of interaction he had been trying to avoid. The type he wasn’t very good at. “I just figured, y’know...you deserve it.”
“Danke. I’m sure the greedy little things will eat it up in no time.” Medic chuckled low while giving his beloved birds a wink. One of them even came down to land on his shoulder. Sniper assumed it was Archimedes. No other dove seemed quite as attached to the doctor – almost literally!
Figuring this was as good a time as any to make a run for it, Sniper started to slowly creep back towards the door. His mission was accomplished after all, and he was happy that Medic approved the choice.
“Great, well, uh...I’m gonna turn in. G’night, doc.”
With the new birdseed in one hand, Medic turned to face him with a truly pleasant smile. It seemed he was far more capable of making those than Sniper realized.
“Goodnight, Herr Sniper.”
He had one foot out the door. Freedom was his, but Sniper hesitated.
After hovering in the doorway for what felt like years, he gave the frame a light smack with his fist and abruptly decided to change his course before he lost the nerve.
Screw it. He needed to say it. He was going to say it, even if the awkwardness killed him.
“I was wrong about you, doc...” Sniper began, turning slowly to face the man in question.
On the other side of the room, Medic stood almost as still as a statue, patiently waiting for the rest. It gave Sniper the moment he needed to relax a little and come up with some half-decent words.
“You...you really care about this team. About me. I just...” A nervous chuckle slipped out as he reached to adjust his aviators.
“I guess I never really believed that until now. But I should’ve, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for assumin’ the worst. You’re good to have around, doc. Better than that, even. We’d be right lost without ya.”
And then the silence came, and indeed it was awkward. Awkward to the sharpshooter anyway as he folded his arms and drove his stare into the floor like a piton.
When he finally gained the courage to look at Medic again, he was making yet another expression that Sniper had never seen before. It was another smile, but slightly guarded and almost bashful – like he was too flattered by such a deserving compliment. It wasn’t an expression he could have believed on Medic’s face if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
And then it shifted as quick as it came, and now the doctor bore a teasing grin as he stepped a little closer to him.
“Thank you, Sniper. That’s very kind of you to say. But maybe not too loud, ja? Unless you want Heavy to get jealous,” he said as he shot him a wink.
Now it was Sniper’s turn to feel bashful, and he nearly glanced over his shoulder to make sure the big guy hadn’t somehow been listening to the entire time. He could have laughed at himself just thinking about it.
Medic was merely deflecting through humour, of course. It could have been something they had in common, if Sniper was any good at jokes, that is.
“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it, mate,” he made sure to clarify just in case as he started backpedalling towards the door. Now that he had said what he wanted to, he soon had the crushing urge to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.
“Uh, well...see ya,” he rushed out with an awkward little wave as he slid out of the infirmary doors. Uncomfortable as that interaction may have been, it seemed he had survived the ordeal. Still, Sniper was glad he pushed himself to do it.
Just like downing sickly sweet medicine, maybe saying the occasional thing like that wasn’t so bad after all.