Work Text:
“And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning. In the words that it was forming.”
Medic followed the tinny sound of guitars and gentle harmonies, cast pale and sallow in the face of the bright, resonant tenor that oversang it all, echoing down the empty corridors of the quiet base. Wisps of an accent tinged the well-polished tone with its smooth, undulating vibrato. It was enchanting, and though he knew the voice, it was a side of it, a sound of it that he had never heard.
Sliding open the not-quite closed door to Scout's quarters, the doctor spied his teammate folding his laundry, the turntable in the corner of his room playing Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence. Scout's voice carried over the record, clear and lovely, capturing the older man in its warm embrace. His heart fluttered, bringing new volume, new fullness within his breast, privy to a side of the slim mercenary he'd never seen, in spite of having seen so very much of the handsome younger man.
“And the sign said, 'The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls. And tenement halls.' And whispered in the sounds of silence,” Scout sang, breathing through his nose with satisfaction as his voice fell from use. Turning to place a hat on the rack near his door, the runner stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, at seeing Medic in the doorway. His lips dropped open, his face grew as red as the shirt he wore. “Doc!”
Medic caught himself wearing a goofy smile and tried to compose himself, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Sorry,” he began, sheepish at the intrusion, “I just had to see if mein ears were deceiving me.”
“What?”
“Your voice is beautiful, Schatz,” Medic explained with a grin.
“Uh, thanks, Doc.” Scout scratched at the back of his head, looking away. He'd never sang around Medic. He'd never sung around anyone on the team, saving such things for when he thought he was alone. It was a secret he'd prefer kept, never mind Medic's intimate knowledge of much of the rest of him. "I, uh, didn't see you there."
"I was not here long," the older man assured, crossing the room to place warm hands on Scout's shoulders. "But I am glad I was able to catch what little I did. I did not know you were a singer, mein häschen."
Scout didn't meet Medic's eyes, his cheeks still red, chewing at the corner of his lip. "Yeah, well, I don't do it much. It's kinda embarrassin'."
"I don't see why," Medic reasoned, wrapping his arms fully around the shorter man's shoulders, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "You have the loveliest tenor I have ever heard. I have to know: did you have vocal training?"
The younger man leaned into the doctor's embrace, a small smile pulling at his lips, his arms sliding around the older man's waist. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
"There is a level of polish, a specificity to your final consonants and the openness of your vowels that speaks to it. Your breath control indicates training as well."
"I keep forgettin' you're a big music guy," Scout laughed, nodding. "Yeah, those sort 'a things got drilled inta me. I used ta take lessons when I was a kid, from first grade up through middle school. I sang in the church choir, and the director, Father Ahearn, he did voice lessons three times a week after school. I didn't wanna do it, but Ma figured it'd keep me outta trouble and help me develop my 'talent'." Scout did air quotes against Medic's back. "I got in trouble anyway, you know me."
"That I do," the older man cooed, pressing kisses into his hair. "You learned a lot, and it stuck with you, it seems."
"Yeah. Father Ahearn was a good guy. He was a violinist in a big orchestra before he heard the call an' joined the clergy. Always talked big about how music was one of the greatest gifts God had blessed us with, and it was only fair that we raise our voices ta sing his praises in thanks. He was even more flowery about it, but that's kinda the gist of it. Funny guy, too. Not a stuffed shirt like the rest of the priests were. I think it's 'cause he went an' lived some 'a his life first, then took his vows."
"Sounds like he had an impact on you."
"He believed in me, didn't give me shit all the time for bein' a little hoodlum. Said he was a lot like me when he was a kid, but still tried to get me ta quit bein' such a little shit all the time. He wasn't too successful there." Scout sniffed, smirking.
"What happened to stop you from continuing your lessons?"
"Got ta high school, got onta the baseball team, an' the track team, an' the swim team, an' didn't have time for voice lessons anymore. Shit, I barely had time ta sleep between that an' not flunkin' out. And all that detention for fightin'." The younger man's cheeky grin made Medic laugh, disarming the doctor.
"Well, I am glad you had those lessons, if it polished your wonderful voice to such a shine." Claiming Scout's lips in a kiss, Medic guided their bodies in a slow, swaying almost-dance. "Could I convince you to sing for me?"
"Might take a lot a' convincin' Doc."
"I can be very persuasive, mein häschen."