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“Has anyone ever told you how much your heart weighs?”
Perhaps they were on a walk in the woods just after dinner, the first of the twilight bleeding into the edges of the golden sky; perhaps they were waltzing, twirling hand in hand through their living room, or lounging next to each other on the old living room couch, or their bodies pressed together in bed, Medic’s hair slightly sweaty from exertion, his ears pressed against his chest, right above his heart.
“No,” he’d say, and see the little smile teasing Medic’s lips that he tried to hide in front of everyone else but him. “Tell me more.”
“I weighed it. Not the mega-baboon one. Well, that one too, but the old one. I, aheh, had to patch it up a bit after the battle, but I’m sure Archimedes didn’t get to any of the bits before I did.” Medic shifted on his chest. A hand of his was dancing on his stomach, fingers tangling in the coarse, fur-like hair coating his chest, just an innocent idle fidget once upon a time, until one day he suddenly couldn’t imagine a night without them, weaving through the trail of hair between his belly button and solar plexus with the same dexterity as he did with a scalpel between them.
He continued. “It weighed six hundred and seventy one grams. It was- is - biggest human heart I’ve ever handled.” Medic chuckled. “Just like the rest of you, I suppose.”
Heavy responded with a soft kiss planted on Medic’s hair. “And the heart you gave me?”
“Nine hundred and forty seven,” Medic breathes, as if excited by the very thought. “The biggest one I own. I thought it was going to end up in the back of the refrigerator with the Spy head as a collection, it had seemed too valuable to actually use in an experiment.” His hand was on his chest now, his palm warm and calloused. He could feel his own heartbeat pounding away under it. “But that was before I met you, of course.”
“Before you broke my heart?” Heavy said, a traitorous smile threatening the edge of his lips. “Break it into tiny little pieces all over the ground?”
“No, Schatz, don’t say it like that…” Medic muffled his giggles in Heavy’s chest. “I thought you forgave me for that!”
“I did.” Another peck, this time at Medic’s neck, right between two blooming patches of red, one old, one freshly planted. “But doctor deserve to be teased for it for long, long time.”
Briefly, he thought to before. Before the surgery, before the battle, the Ubercharge, the doctor pulling him into a corner and missing him on the lips
“Misha…” he whined. “But it made you bulletproof! I made you bulletproof!”
“Da.” His heartbeat was surely audible to Medic now, powerful and roaring with pride, in remembrance of all the times the world had turned a brilliant, bloody red, and rockets and bullets glanced off his skin without so much as a scratch. His doctor would be behind him, always, every bit as invulnerable as him, and their laughter was one as they dyed the badlands the same magnificent crimson as them. “Doctor made me bulletproof so I can protect him. Will be bulletproof forever if I could, and hold doctor, and protect him forever.”
“One day, liebling. One day.” Medic assured. “And I suppose I’m going to be teased every night until then?”
Heavy chuckled, rubbing the back of Medic’s neck. “Doctor is too cute. Cannot look at little smile and pouty, puffy little cheeks and not want to tease.”
Medic gave a little huff, curled up against his lover, then buried his face in Heavy’s chest. Heavy could feel his breath tickling against his chest hair, feel the corners of Medic’s mouth curl back up into a smile against his skin, his stubble and eyelashes on his skin. This was the time in the day he truly loved the most: the ambience of the night as they laid together on their double bed, the dusts and struggles of the day settling down into sweet nothings whispered between them, promises and wishes and hopes and dreams held deep within to everyone but the other man gazing at him with such loving eyes, and promising that at the end, when they cross the gates of heaven or hell, that they would do it with the other at their side.
Slowly, the words began to flow.
“ One day you will make us immortal. ” It was not a question, nor a plead, but a simple statement, a fact obvious as the sky was blue. He had switched to Russian; prose flowed smoothly to him, but only in his mother tongue. His broken English could never do them justice. “ We will fight together forever, kill together forever, live together forever. And you will be God, an angel of blood and death, a beautiful, impeccable being descending from the skies, glowing white cloth and wings spanning as far as the eye could see. We will lay waste to enemies, miracles abound behind you, battalions rising from the earth with every soldier at your command. And I will be at your side, a steadfast shield ever standing before you, and there will be naught in our sights but red, brilliant, blazing red of all the blood we have shed and will shed. We will be everything powerful, the storm, the winds, the rain and hail, the thunder and lightning, and forever we shall stand victorious, kings of the deepest, bloodiest pits of hell.”
He looked down, waiting for a response from the “angel of blood”, his face snuggled firmly between his pectorals and wrapped up to the shoulders wrapped in their favorite comforter. The only response was a faint snore.
He smiled and ran his fingers through Medic’s hair again, then closed his eyes and allowed the heart beating persistently, insistently on top of him to lull him to sleep.
“ Good night, my angel. ”