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Heavy is in love with Medic. Has been, a little bit, since their first battle together, when he watched the doctor dismember the opposing Spy with his bonesaw. He had turned to Heavy, blood spattered across his white coat and his round glasses, and he had smiled so wide that all Heavy could do was grin back and will his heart to stop thumping against his ribs.
And since then, he's only fallen harder for him. The gentle, quiet birdkeeper; the stern, authoritative doctor; the dangerous, bloodthirsty mercenary; the cheerful, silly friend – every facet of Medic's fractured personality is precious to him, and he sits on the memories of their interactions like a bird guarding her nest.
Yes, he is in love with Medic, but the problem is for all of his good qualities (intelligent, handsome, deadlier than a rattlesnake), the doctor is almost painfully oblivious.
He decides to make the first attempt one evening, poking his head through the swinging doors to the infirmary. Medic is tending to his doves.
“Can I read in here?” Heavy asks, holding up his book.
Medic turns from his flock to see him standing in the doorway. “Oh, guten Abend. Yes, come in. Though I don't know why you would want to read in here.”
“Is loud in other room,” he says. “And want to spend time with you.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Medic asks. “I am just feeding the birds.”
“Does not matter.”
“All right,” he says, shrugging. “You know where the couch is.”
Heavy's still not sure why there's a couch in the infirmary. Medic doesn't exactly encourage company, and the team avoids the place as much as possible. Maybe he uses it to take naps or something, Heavy muses, sitting down; the lights are on in the lab at all hours of the day, so he knows Medic has to be getting sleep pretty irregularly.
Of course, thinking about Medic sleeping is leading him to other thoughts of what he could be doing instead of sleeping (or who he could be doing, adds a voice that sounds a little like Scout's), so he slams the brakes on that train of thought and opens his book.
In retrospect, his translation of The Picture of Dorian Gray was probably not the wisest choice. But it was a short book, which is what he had wanted at the time, and he didn't stop to consider the actual content. Too late now. He'll just read it and try not to look too deep into the subtext.
Medic continues on with his doves, completely unaware of Heavy's internal struggle.
Maybe he should ask Medic to come sit with him. But then he'd ask what book he was reading, and that could get awkward fast. But considering Heavy's intentions in coming to the infirmary in the first place, maybe that would be a good thing.
The problem solves itself when Medic joins him on the couch (the opposite end of the couch), his favourite dove still perched on his shoulder. Heavy looks at him. Medic gives him a small smile, then pulls out his own book from the rack next to his end of the couch and begins to read.
So much for that tactic.
Heavy gets a little invested in watching Medic read. Well, maybe getting caught doing so would provide the opening he's looking for (his inner Scout voice snickers at that).
He doesn't notice, keeping his eyes on the page.
Perhaps moving closer would help. He shifts to the centre of the couch. Medic keeps reading. Heavy coughs, once, quietly. Medic keeps reading.
What if he touched him? No, he reconsiders, that would be going too far. He doesn't actually know how Medic feels about him beyond “acceptable company, good meat-shield”, and the doctor can get quite testy about these things. He once punched Scout in the face for touching his coat without washing his hands first. Heavy will just take the feeling of their shoulders gently touching and treasure that until he gets his nerve up.
Despite it being his infirmary, Medic leaves first. “I am going to bed,” he announces, Archimedes leaving his shoulder to go roost in the rafters. “Good night, mein Freund. Turn the lights off when you go.” He pats Heavy on the shoulder as he walks away.
Heavy just sits there, Wilde open in his lap, smiling dopily. He's got a real problem.
“Brought you a gift,” Heavy says, walking into Medic's lab holding a carefully-wrapped jar.
“For me?” He comes over and begins inspecting the jar without even taking it from Heavy.
“Yes, for you,” Heavy says, putting it firmly into his hands.
He starts unwrapping it, shooting a curious look at Heavy.
“It's beautiful,” he says once it's open, holding the jar up to the light. “Thank you.”
In the jar is a yeti heart, something Heavy had to make some unfortunate deals with Mann Co. to acquire. It's impressively large and fairly disgusting, which will appeal to Medic, and Heavy thinks the symbolism of literally giving him a heart is obvious enough that even Medic will pick up on it.
Of course, he didn't consider that the doctor would immediately set about dissecting his gift. In hindsight, he probably should have.
“This is fascinating! I've never seen a heart this large!” he exclaims, merrily cutting away.
Heavy sighs, wondering where he went so wrong.
He decides his next attempt should be more along the direct route, so he pulls Medic aside as they head towards the battlefield a few mornings later.
“Doctor,” he says, “was wondering if you would have dinner with me?”
Medic looks confused. “We eat together every night.”
“Not with team. Just us, together.”
Now he looks suspicious. “Why?”
Here's where things get tricky – he doesn't want to press too hard and be rejected, but he also very much wants to make sure Medic gets the message that he's interested in him. “Is nice, spending time together,” is what he settles for, trying to emphasize it with some eyebrow movements. “Want to do it more often.”
“Oh. Ja, if you don't mind eating in my lab.”
Heavy barely resists the urge to hug him.
He spends most of that day going in and out of Respawn, even with Medic's help, too focused on the evening ahead to fight properly. Once they get off the field, he immediately sets about readying himself. This is his chance and he's determined to make a good impression (even though by this point he's seen Medic before his morning coffee and Medic's seen him in his pajamas; the perils of sharing a base).
When he shows up at the infirmary, carrying food, he's washed and pressed and generally done up as nicely as the situation allows. Medic is in the middle of stitching up a rather large knife wound in Spy's side, dressed in just his shirtsleeves and covered in blood. Spy raises an eyebrow at Heavy's rather formal appearance, but it doesn't seem to register to Medic at all.
“Hello!” he calls, yanking the thread he's using to close Spy up. “I'll be done here in a moment. Go ahead and start without me.”
“Is fine. I will wait for you, Doctor.”
Spy continues to eye the situation, a smirk on his face. Heavy attempts to stare him into submission before he says anything.
“That should do it,” Medic says, cutting the thread and letting Spy lower his arm. “I hope this taught you a lesson about playing nice with Sniper.”
“It most certainly did not,” Spy says, grinning sharply. “And now I will leave you to your ...meal.”
“You're welcome to join us if you're still avoiding Sniper,” Medic says. “It would be so embarrassing if you had to come back with butter knife wounds.”
Spy is torn between using this chance to irritate Heavy by staying, or getting him into his debt by leaving. He settles on leaving.
“Alas, no. The bushman and I will settle our differences like gentlemen, no butter knives involved.” He begins to walk away, whispering as he passes by Heavy. “I think you need to be more obvious. But you're already so trying so hard...”
“What was that about?” Medic asks, washing his hands of Spy's blood.
“Nothing, doctor. Come, let us have dinner.”
He decides to take Spy's advice and go for broke with Medic. He holds doors, pulls his chair out at the table, carries things for him. He takes more bullets than usual, punches more Spies, shoots more Snipers. By now, the entire team is onto what's happening – everyone but Medic.
The doctor finally seems to notice something's going on around him while the two of them are watching television. Heavy has his arm around Medic's shoulders, and Scout and Pyro have just walked through the common area, giggling.
“What do you think they're laughing at?” he asks, watching them go.
“Me,” sighs Heavy.
“Why would they be laughing at you?” He sounds genuinely confused. That's the strangest thing about this whole situation, to Heavy's mind – while he knows Medic is capable of all kinds of cruelty, he also knows that when he expresses confusion, he's always being sincere. “I can kill them for you, if you want.”
“No, do not need to kill teammates,” he says.
Medic looks a little put-out. “You've just been doing so many things for me lately! I haven't been able to pay you back.”
“Don't need to pay me back. Do those things for you because I want to.”
He sighs. “I don't understand you sometimes. If you like to do things for me, why wouldn't I want to do them for you?”
“Is not the same.”
“While I would never claim to be an expert in these matters, I believe friendship is meant to be an equal partnership.”
This is it. This is Heavy's chance. “Da, but do not do things for friendship. Do them for love.”
Medic looks skeptical. “Love.”
“Yes, love.”
“...Whose love?”
“Doctor,” Heavy says, his face in the hand he doesn't still have around Medic's shoulders, “for such smart man you are very stupid.”
The look of dawning realization on Medic's face is a sight to behold. “H-how long?”
Heavy shrugs. “Long time.”
“So, this whole time, you were, what's the word, flirting with me?”
Why is he not surprised that Medic hardly even knows the right words for this? “Yes.”
“I am very stupid,” he says. “I'm sorry, mein Freund, I have just never received romantic advances before. Or given them, for that matter.”
“Never?”
“Never. It has simply never been a priority for me, and then I met you, and that changed, but I am, as Scout puts it, 'old and crazy' and I have never even kissed someone else and you --”
Heavy puts a hand over his mouth, silencing him. “You love me too.”
Medic nods, still behind Heavy's huge hand.
“Then does not matter if you are old and crazy. We will be old and crazy together.” He removes his hand.
Medic laughs at that, both out of true amusement and out of relief.
“And can change other thing too,” Heavy continues.
“What? Oh, the part about kissing. How does that work? Do I need to take off my glass--”
Heavy doesn't stop to answer any of his questions, instead pulling the doctor in by his shirtfront. The kissing is awkward at first, as he expected from someone who's admitted to a complete lack of experience in that area, but Medic catches on to the basics pretty quickly. Even if he didn't, it would still be the greatest kiss of Heavy's life. Love will do that.
“Wow,” says Medic, sounding dazed, “we should do that again.”
He obliges.
“Aw, jeez, are you guys kissing?” Scout says, re-entering the room. “Wait, you're kissing! Good job, big guy, you finally got him to notice.”
“Did everyone know about this but me?” Medic asks, red-faced.
“Yep,” Scout says. “I'll let you get back to it; I just came to get my ball.” He picks up a baseball from the coffee table, tosses it in the air for emphasis, and exits again.
“This is going to be an embarrassing few hours, I imagine,” Medic says, idly plucking at the shoulder of Heavy's vest.
“Yes,” Heavy agrees, “but can shut them up for you.”
“No, Liebling, it's all right. Everything's all right.” He puts his hand back down and smiles. “Though if you wanted to convince me more thoroughly I wouldn't say no.”
Heavy convinces him. He imagines he'll be convincing Medic of a lot of things, for a very long time.