It surprised Heavy how unsanitary Medic's working conditions could be. Sure, there's only so many wounded bodies you can heal without getting splattered with blood yourself, but even outside of the battlefield, everything just looked like it needed a good clean. It was almost as if somebody had snuck into the room while Medic was out (presumably enemy Spy) and made it their one life's ambition to gloss each and every thing in said room with a healthy hint of blood.

Being the massive tank of a man that he was, Heavy found himself spending the most of his time pre and post battle in this very room with Medic. Before long, he found himself becoming familiar with the organised mess and chaos that Medic liked to claim was perfectly neat and tidy.

He knew where he kept his files, and in what way he liked to organise them- which he discovered was chronologically rather than alphabetically. He knew that the fridge before the operation table was for anything but food (which Engi had found out the hard way). That was where he kept his recently stolen (or persuasively donated, as Medic would say) organs fresh. The fridge that actually contained food was kept a little further back, where he also kept his bird-food for the doves.

He even knew where Archimedes liked to watch Medic's work from.

This was also how Heavy became the team's golden retriever every time they needed something from Medic's room. He didn't like it, but when they previously tried to get Medic himself to retrieve something, he would always get sidetracked along the way. He'd be asked to go in and get another health pack then he'd catch sight of his works-in-progress and he was unheard of again for hours. That was also the story of how Spy was sent into the doctor's room to see if he had died. Spy wasn't sure if he was more aggravated by the fact that Medic had completely forgotten their request or that Medic wasn't dead. At least then he'd have a good excuse for disappearing for the entire day.

"Oh, Spy! Guten Abend, vhat brings you here?"

"Where have you been, Docteur? It has been hours. Your team needs you!"

"Hours? What is this nonsense! You all know ver to find me."

"You mean to tell me that you have forgotten that we requested your help more than 3 hours ago?"

Medic stilled in his activities. Ohh Gottverdammt.

Spy continued with clipped tones. "And do you also mean to tell me that you are not in-fact, dead?"

Slowly, the German turned to face the other with rueful grin. "It appears that I am guilty as charged."

The Frenchie pressed his palm hard against his eyes. "How is that I am working with such incompetent imbeciles?"

To make matters more difficult, Medic simply didn't trust anybody else to go rummaging through his things. However, that wasn't so unreasonable a request ever since Scout and Soldier decided to play a game of 'Will It Blend?' with his possessions. The answer was, yes, it did blend. Brain specimens did indeed blend. Rather well, in-fact. But for whatever reason at the time, Soldier thought it a good idea to throw in a solid ubercharged brick into the mix.

His justification at the time, as Scout reported, was "We need to make this manlier! Fit for an army of men in battle!". Of course, Scout's "Go go go!" did little to suppress the imminent disaster. What happened next was left best to the imagination. Medic could never speak of it again without becoming livid. Needless to say, there were repercussions. The German demanded that the two should be on cleaning-duty for the rest of the month. Miss Pauling took away one of Soldier's heads. And Scout earned the dirtiest look from Miss Pauling. Ever. Granted, she was still giving him attention but Scout wanted the kind of attention that had her hanging from his readily flexed arm.

Finally, they all decided and agreed that Heavy, best-buds with the Medic, should be the one responsible for retrieving needed items. As Spy put it, "That man is so simple-minded that nothing could possibly deter his focus". Heavy was about to remark that it was the nicest thing he'd ever said about him. Then Spy continued, "Are you really suggesting that this thick-headed ruffian is actually capable of housing two thoughts at once?". He should have known better, really.

So with that decided, Medic had then appointed a specific day for him to teach Heavy the complexities of his filing and storage system. He showed him where emergency supplies were kept, what not to touch, what under any circumstance NOT to touch and how to properly handle his surgical tools and how to supply power-ups. It took a while to remember and some errors were made here and there, but eventually Heavy found himself as familiar with Medic's liar like the back of his extremely large paw of a hand.

"What you want?"

"I want my head back!"

"I'm sure it'll come back in no time, buddy. I'm pretty sure Heavy was talkin' to me, though."

"Nobody touches my heads..."

Engi spared him a pitiful glance.

"We don't have much time." The Russian reminded him. "What do you need?"

"I'm gonna need you to pop in a good amount of health packs on this tray. Gotta stock up the spencer! Also, pop in a few vials of whiskey if you got any. Demo'll show up later asking for some, I just know it."

Heavy frowned at the last request, though without much surprise. "No whiskey." A short pause. "But vodka, I have."

"That'll do!"

But before Heavy could take and supply the demand, Pyro came rushing towards them with an air of urgency. Just for a brief moment, Heavy considered very slowly backing away. As much as Engi and Medic had tried to convince him otherwise, he would always see Pyro as a thing to avoid at all cost. Whatever the matter, Heavy did his best to keep his stone features from betraying any tell-tale signs of fear.

When Pyro finally made his way to the two, he stopped just before Heavy and handed him his own tray.

"Mmph mmph mmph!"

The Russian arched a high brow. "Do not understand man in full mask." He tried to look at the Texan for some clarification.

And he obliged. "Whadya need, pal?"

The arsonist continued making muffled noises at Engi, every so often making wide gestures with his arms, Engi nodding his head in understanding every now and then. This continued for a few minutes before Heavy nudged the saner of the two.

"Says he wants three band-aids, some ammo canteens and to take this balloon to the Doc. He says Medic will understand."

Heavy was at loss for words. Here they were, three men (possibly?), trained and perfected in the arts of killing- and there he was holding a deflated balloonicorn in his hands. Once again, he looked towards Engi, unsure and needing the confirmation. Was this seriously serious?

But all he received in return was an equally puzzled shrug. "I don't ask too many questions."

A sigh. "Fine. Heavy be back in ten minutes."

The last thing he heard as he left them was Pyro clapping his hands in glee.