It’s Cold Outside
Large fingers tapped idly on it’s empty porcelain mug, while a smaller hand was refilling it’s own empty coffee cup. Gavyn waited patiently and silently for the Medic to get another serving of caffeine, the surrounding party commotion and conversations drowning into background noise. He ran his tongue along the inner side of the space between his two teeth, from one corner of his incisor, along to gum and down to the point of his canine, wondering if his teammate had anything else to say before he continued with his questions.
When nothing else came from the Doctor, the large Russian chimed in, offering, “Could you use help, doktor?” Their Medic was a capable man like the rest of them, which could probably be taken as an insult really, a better wording would just be; he was a capable man. Michael didn’t need help with his job. Gavyn couldn’t imagine what it was like being a Medic for a team full of rowdy, violent, gun-bearing and slightly damaged men, the job must be endless. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could help with, but if there was something, he’d gladly do it.
It had taken him a moment to process what the Heavy had offered him, or rather, evaluate the question for any hidden motive. Being the weekend before Christmas, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to spend it working when they had the opportunity to relax and enjoy the company of others at a expense paid party. Of course, that’s exactly what the Medic had opted to do, but he would stress that his circumstances were obviously different.
What exactly could the Russian be looking to gain? Being somewhat new, it was still hard for the German to let his guard down, fearing any sign of weakness would cause his team to distrust him. They already barely acknowledged his existence aside from when they themselves were injured, but the moment they thought him incapable could lead to the downfall of the stability of their team. Was it really so obvious how overworked he was?
"Nein, zhank you, I am fi-" He stopped himself, placing the coffee pot back onto the holster before turning back toward the large man in front of him. The Heavy’s arms were almost the size of the Medic’s torso, only a small indication of the strength the Russian must contain, strength that could come in use. "On second zhought, if you are truly looking to extend your assistance, zhen I might haff a job for you."