It almost mocked him: the sky's shadowy tint obscuring any sign of the sun. His brown eyes scanned for any color, but all he could see was grey, a mixture of clouds and smog, and all he could feel was the bone chilling weather gnawing at his skin as the once clean air now relentlessly choked at him.
Lawrence bit into his lip harshly, letting the salty taste of blood roll over his tongue. He no longer possessed the proper words to describe what was occurring around him. As if his reality had been whisked away, fate decided to steal something dear to him; and the inability to purge his mind of the notion invoked a lingering fear within the feeble young scout.
The air remained still, the dust fell and the smoke wrapped itself around the neck of any man who trudged upon the god-forsaken territory of Teufort. Ever since the recent death of the BLU soldier, whom Lawrence had held as a dear friend, life among the mercs was filled with an ominous silence. Silent enough to send a shiver down his spine when he walked the front halls, where he could see the thin red dot, fixed on the wall behind the door leading into their own base, periodically swapping from the left to right walls, as if to warn any BLUs that if they peeked the corner, they would join their late soldier in the morgue.
The depression was starting to kick in, his chest heavy and his eyelids almost forcing shut at every moment. He had been on good terms with the soldier, to the point where they would exchange stories and reminisce about their days before becoming mercs. They spoke often, but Lawrence never got his name. He was a reserved fellow, one of the less impulsive, more logical members of their team. Now, it was too late to obtain it, and since no one else had, the nameless martyr would soon be forgotten. Would he be forgotten too when he died?
Lawrence took in a sharp breath. He needed to get his mind off of it. The darkness had been settling in his heart for awhile now, but the death of the soldier truly pushed past his threshold. He could feel how tired his muscles were due to the lack of sleep, despite having forced himself to rest with heavy medication as of late.
The scout backed off from the wall, giving the red light a glare as it faded away and he could tell the sniper gave up on trying to spot him. The RED sniper… as he was the blue soldier's assailant, a conditioned grudge festered within Lawrence, but he knew he didn't stand a chance trying to cross the bridge under his watch. Yet, at the same time, a certain curiosity lingered as well. Maybe the REDs were just as afraid as they were.
Lawrence made his way down the dirty hall, one hand gripping his scattergun and the other tracing his fingers across the wall. It was dusty, and his hands made clean line marks as they coursed along it. As he made a turn to the stairs under the sewers, Lawrence wiped his hand on his pants and headed down the stairs.
Am I really going to do this? he thought.
What unspoken motivation caused Lawrence to press forward, despite the odds? Revenge for his fallen friend? Or perhaps his depression fueled his desire to return the high-risk lifestyle the mercs basked in prior to the current state, in which he would walk the thin wire between life and death, prone to tipping over the wrong edge at every moment. These questions flashed in and out of his mind, like a gust of wind rustling the leaves of trees and then vanishing as quickly as it came. He was no longer going to sweat the details. He was going to take action; he was going to end the stalemate.
During times of a stalemate, it was not unheard of for the middle of the map to be desolate. Lawrence had skipped out on the scheduled team meeting, but he assumed his fellow BLUs were dauntlessly scheming in futility, barricaded in the intelligence room or upper level. Lawrence despised the meetings, as it often routinely occurred in a similar manner. Spy and soldier would end up arguing over whether to employ a stealthier, more guerilla tactic or focus on frontal assault and high amounts of firepower. Although since this was the first meeting since the death of their soldier, he wondered if someone would step up to take his place in the argument; the demoman being a likely candidate.
The end result was the same, neither side would win out over the other and the entire congregation would be rendered a waste of time. He chuckled at the irony he saw in this; the root cause of the stalemate between the opposing teams was a verbal feud between members of the same team.
Lawrence trudged his feet through the murk, the stench leaving a awful taste in the back of his throat, as if it was more than just a scent. He tried to keep his feet out of the water but gave up after the water splashed up to his knees with each kick and decided to face it head on. After all, to get to the middle, he'd have to fully submerge his body.
He peeked his head out the entrance from the BLU sewers and held his breath. Diving in, he tried not to notice the foul aroma the contaminated pool left in his nostrils and continued to swim forward until he hit the ledge of the RED sewers. He kicked his knees up and stood, trying to wring the water out of his clothes and threw his hat to the ground. It smelled and would only inhibit him at this point.
Lawrence kicked through the water again until he made it to the stairs, the awaited fear settling in his stomach. What was he doing? Attempting to assault the enemy team's base during a stalemate without support was a suicide mission.
Things up top seemed to be quiet; he could make out faint words, but nothing more. He wanted to strain to listen to what they were saying, but the muffled voices were contorted by the distance so nothing audible reached his ears. His nose turned up at the sound and thought of the RED team, the ones who killed his comrade. He ascended up the stairs slowly, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as possible, despite the inevitable rippling sound caused by the water.
It had been a long time since anyone had crossed over into the opposite team's territory. Even if the layout was identical, he could feel his heart rhythmically thumping in his chest at a recognizably faster pace than usual. Licking his lips and pressing his scattergun to his chest, he reached the end of the sewer stream and lightly stepped up the stairs that immediately followed. Upon reaching the end of the two flights, he edged along the top wall next to the entrance. Like a predator stalking his prey, his reflexes were heightened, and his consciousness in a state of flow. He was in this alone, and there was no turning back now. His timing was optimal, but one misstep could prove fatal, and the BLUs would endure a consecutive loss of life, and a team member.
However, there was an unpredictable factor that he could not have hoped to account for.
Lawrence's state of flow was shattered abruptly by the sound of a bullet flying from the barrel of a rifle not 100 feet away from him. In less than a second, he was aware of the sound it made as it seared through the air, and an image of his late friend flashed across his mind at the noise. Suddenly, Lawrence's blood began to rush through his body faster than it ever had before. His total awareness had ceased; he was only focused on one thing now: the sniper.
He hadn't anticipated the RED team's assassin to be posted up on the lower level of their base during meeting hours. A feeling of dread suddenly shot through him. What if that bullet had found its target? He was frozen in place like a lifeless statue, intently listening for any indication of a kill that the sniper might give.
Silence across the map, dead silence; even the wind appeared to cease. Lawrence could hear his own breath and heartbeat as if they were part of an orchestra. That ominous silence seemed louder than anything Lawrence had ever heard. The few seconds that followed, felt like the longest hours of his life. A step. The sniper drew himself upright, recocking his weapon.
"Lucky wanker," Lawrence heard the sniper hiss in his deep voice.
Thank god, he didn't hit anyone.
After a minute more, he heard the sniper trudging away, down the corridors and back into the deeper part of the base. As soon as he was sure that the mercenary was gone, Lawrence followed the path he had taken, deeper into their base.
Another set of stairs, wooden. Lawrence narrowed his eyes at the sight of them, looking around the clear courtyard before crossing it and climbing up. He skipped a few steps, trying to jump to the top without making a single creak, feeling his heart skip once when a misstep foot caused the stairs to groan. As he descended towards the intel room, the loneliness began to close in on him, and for the first time he realized that he might not return from this mission. He didn't know what to expect. Would the RED team function similarly to his own? Upon reaching the top of the wooden stairs, he glanced briefly towards the room that lead to the battlements, wondering if that's where their sniper had gone, but figured it would be wiser not to try and find out. He instead turned to the right, and went down the stairs into the lower section of the base. As it was identical to their own, he knew exactly where the intelligence was.
Lawrence hesitated before taking the sharp turn to another hallway. Up there had to be the intelligence.
This was where their soldier had been killed, in cold blood. Lawrence remembered 3 weeks ago, before the stalemate was instigated by the BLU soldier's death. They had driven the REDs this far back, the intelligence was almost in their grasp. In front of him he saw the vivid silhouettes of his teammates, the medic, the engineer, the heavy, and his friend, the soldier. With his buff banner fully charged, they were readying to make their final push into the intelligence room, where all hell awaited them. The medic, who had recently taken a hit from the enemy soldier's rocket, was idling next to the dispenser as it was being built, in need of recuperation. The battle was in their favor, they had the REDs in their weakest state.
The last thing Lawrence expected to see was their soldier abruptly leaping back from where he stood, in front of the medic, just in time for a bullet to pierce through his chest, ripping their team's toughest member's insides apart like goo. He fell in front of them, gasping for breath. Quickly the team focused fire onto the opposite end of the hallway, but the sniper, not being able to hit the medic, had promptly retreated back into the corridor. Lawrence bent over his friend, lifting his crippled body up in his hands. He had always put on the tough guy act, but tears relentlessly streamed down his face as the soldier, his dear companion, managed no words, but only a smile before collapsing onto him.
At that moment, realizing that they had become vulnerable, the RED team poured out from the intelligence, their demoman quickly demolished the sentry gun, and several BLU members were wounded by the heavy fire sustained from the opposing Heavy's minigun. Lawrence had to be dragged away from the soldier's body by their own demoman, and the last he saw of him was the RED sniper stepping over his body as if it were a mere tree lying in the middle of the road. For this, he detested him. Remembering that cold, sustained look in his eyes that said taking the life of another made no difference to him caused Lawrence to grit his teeth in anger.
The soldier's sacrifice saved their medic, but in the end, they couldn't even break the RED's defense and obtain the intelligence. Morale had been lowered so substantially, it was no wonder a stalemate had begun. Lawrence wondered if the thought of a death affected the REDs, despite the fact that the one killed was on the opposing team. This was war, but… deaths among the mercs happened so rarely, the notion of anyone getting killed would have to be staggering to both teams.
Lawrence's grip on the scattergun grew tighter, the cold metal pressing back. He took a deep breath and listened quietly, and as he reached the corner prior to the hallway preceding the intelligence room, a familiar metronome graced his ears. The RED engineer had positioned his sentry around the corner. He'd have to lure him out, kill him, and destroy his nest, but…
The thought of killing someone himself caused an upsetting lurch in his stomach. He had been so wrapped up in revenge for his friend, he hadn't considered that taking a life himself would put him on a level no higher than the RED sniper.
No, he thought. This is war, and casualties are bound to occur, even in the professional business that is Mann Co. I'm going to take the lives of as many as I need to in order to get that intelligence and end this stalemate, so that our soldier would not have died in vain!
Lawrence pleased himself with his newfound resolve. Pulling a baseball from his pocket, he held his breath and bounced it in the room. Immediately after, he turned the corner to where the stairs were and hugged the wall, pulling out his bat.
Shooting my scattergun in this silence would draw too much attention, Lawrence realized. I'll take the engie out with one swing, and no one else will hear.
The engineer looked confused, one hand grasping the ball tightly, his other hand on his shotgun. He turned the ball in his hand for a bit, examining it, and then Lawrence heard him advance towards the corner from which it was thrown. Just before the engineer rounded the corner, Lawrence leapt out with his bat and took a swing at his face.
With surprisingly agile movement, the engineer ducked underneath the swing, and delivered a swift kick to Lawrence's knee cap, forcing him to drop to the ground briefly. Caught off guard, he tried to recover, but found he had a slight limp. Still, he kept his grip tight on the bat and swung it at the shotgun the Engineer had aimed, and it sailed across the room, hitting the wall and was out of reach from the struggle.
The engineer whipped out his pistol and fired one round into Lawrence's shoulder before the scout by grabbing it quickly and, after struggling with the engineer momentarily, caused the barrel to point down. The next 4 shots hit the ground, barely missing Lawrence's feet. The pain in his shoulder burned, but it was not severe enough to keep him from struggling further. The engineer kicked Lawrence in the stomach, sending him back, raising his pistol once more. This time, he was ready. In the moment he was been sent back, Lawrence's hand had shifted onto his scattergun. He drew it promptly, reflexively aimed at the engineer's arm that held up the pistol and fired. Two shots rang out almost simultaneously through the hallway, that of the engineer's pistol and the considerably louder shot of the scattergun. The bullet hit the engineer right through the palm, causing two of his fingers to fly off and one of them to be disjointed. His aim was thrown ajar by the scattergun's impact and his futile pistol shot hit the wall behind Lawrence just before his hand, now unable to hold it, dropped the gun. The engineer gave a sharp cry of pain and clutched at the lump of peeking bones and muscle with his intact hand as blood waterfalled from it.
Lawrence, rejuvenated by his success in disarming the engineer, turned his scattergun like a bat and whacked the engineer upside the head, causing him to fall to the ground. He placed one foot upon the engineer's chest, and he could sense the fear in his eyes behind his glasses. Another death. Lawrence could faintly hear commotion rising from beyond the intelligence room; the rest of their team had most likely heard the scattergun shot. Another family member lost. His breathing was heavy and sporadic from the wound he had sustained, but in his weak state he still raised his scattergun up to his helpless opponent's head. Another grieving period. Lawrence began to sweat harder. Was he going to rob a man of his life, even after what he had seen happen to the team as a result? Another stalemate. The engie's gaze pierced his own goggles and into Lawrence's eyes. In those eyes, Lawrence saw the same silent acceptance that he had seen in the soldier on his deathbed, in that very same spot.
He was out for revenge, but the engineer had nothing to do with the death of his friend. Killing him in cold blood would make Lawrence no better than the ruthless RED sniper.
Lawrence was snapped back into reality by the sound of footsteps down the hallway. Suddenly his wound felt heavier, and he could see blood from his uncovered shoulder spilling down onto the pinned engineer.
"Do it," the engineer coughed.
But he couldn't. He pitied the engineer as he had pitied his soldier, and in that moment he realized that he was unfit to take the life of a man who had nothing to do with the incident. He didn't understand the new feeling. It felt foreign to him. and he didn't understand it, but Lawrence felt a connection with the engineer at that moment. When he looked at the engineer, he saw the BLU soldier.
The engineer felt the pressure on his stomach diminish as the weight of the scout and the cold aura of his scattergun barrel were retracted. The engineer gave a look of utter vexation, instinctively reaching back for his shotgun but stopped when he saw the scout backing off with his hands raised. The awkward air twisted around the room.
"Not again," Lawrence breathed. "Not another death."
He could hear shouting from the other hallway, where their break room was, and continued to gradually inch back towards the stairs. The engineer, although evidently perplexed, made no sudden movement towards his weapons or otherwise indication of hostility. Lawrence, now clutching his shoulder as he felt the pain fatiguing him at a faster rate than usual, continued to back up facing the engineer until he reached the edge of the stairs, then turned his back without another word and ran up them.
Almost suffocating from the heavy, irregular breaths he was drawing in, Lawrence bounded up the steps. As he neared the small courtyard at the top, he could feel the smoke choking at him harder than before. The voices followed him still, he was almost sure the engineer would alert the rest of the team to his presence. He made quick turns, trying to outrun them. Despite his wounds, Lawrence was confident in his own speed, and he anticipated at least making it back to his own base safely.
His period of relief was interrupted by the figure that unexpectedly loomed in front of him.
Lawrence's heart stopped and his breath shuddered cold. He gasped and backed up, realizing he had come face to face with the RED sniper. The look on the ominous figure's face became aggressive, and he swung the butt of his rifle into a momentarily confused Lawrence.
The end of the rifle hit the scout hard in the cheek, knocking him to the ground. Before he could attempt to rise, the sniper placed a firm foot upon Lawrence's chest, just under his wound. Drained by his encounter with the engineer and confused by his sudden change in mentality, Lawrence truly felt that at any moment he would die. He stared down the gun barrel that was poised at his face, and raised one arm slowly in desperation.
"Wait- please, I'm not-" he was cut off abruptly by the foot applying immediate pressure onto the area around his wound, and he let out a sharp hiss of pain. Like a mouse caught in the claws of an owl, Lawrence squirmed in futility.
Just when Lawrence was ready to surrender to death, he felt the impending pressure on his wound area lift slightly, and, contrary to what he had ever perceived the RED sniper to be capable of, he noticed a flash of pity in his eye. Pity for his disarmed, wounded enemy that hadn't even put up a fight.
"What are you doing?" the sniper impatiently growled, sounding annoyed but confused at the soft whimpers of pain coming from the lone scout under his foot.
Lawrence breathed hard, keeping eye contact. "Please- I'm not trying to fight you..." he tried again.
The sniper gave no immediate response, Lawrence knew he was considering ending his life. After what felt like a decade, the sniper sighed and raised his foot completely off, stepped back, and kept his rifle trained on Lawrence.
"Stand," the sniper ordered with a whisper.
Lawrence, with no real choice, obeyed. He was a real mess now; his wound had re-opened and blood trickled down his torso. The two mercs eyed each other cautiously as Lawrence backed up with his hands in the air. The gun was still pointed at him tentatively.
"Now, look buddy… don't do anything you might regret… I'm not trying to kill anyone. If the stalemate is prolonged, it'll be on you..." Lawrence kept his voice soft, but maintained a tactical demeanor, as if he wasn't simply trying to stay alive. Just as the sniper opened his mouth to respond, a shuffling sound came from the stairway to the intelligence room. The REDs were looking for him. Without thinking twice to ask for an OK, Lawrence instinctively ran behind a few stacked crates nearby. He glanced at the sniper after he had settled in his hiding spot, who hadn't taken the gun off of him. With an exasperated sigh, the sniper lifted his gun barrel.
"Take one step out from there, and I'll put a bullet in your skull," he threatened the scout.
Footstep sounds entered the room. Lawrence counted 2 distinct step cycles aside from the sniper, who hadn't moved.
"Jack. Did you see a scout run through here?" He heard a low voice ask the sniper. He couldn't tell whom the voice belonged to, as it was only a whisper, but he prepared to make a dash of faith towards the exit.
"Probably escaped. Just let him go," The sniper shrugged, much to Lawrence's surprise. He barely caught his "What?!" on the tip of his tongue as it almost came out right then.
As soon as Lawrence was sure the footsteps had faded, he emerged from the crates and reached for his gun that had luckily been thrown out of the other two investigating REDs' view. Before his hand even closed around it, the sniper raised his rifle back up him.
"Really?!" the sniper growled. Lawrence looked alarmed and quickly put up his free hand.
"My gun, man. It's like my child. I can't leave it behind; they'll get suspicious if I come back without it," Lawrence nervously retorted.
The sniper, whom Lawrence deduced to be named Jack, narrowed his eyes cautiously. He edged forward, his rifle unmoving, and Lawrence nervously stepped back, but realized there was only wall behind him. Before he could attempt retaliation, Jack lunged forward, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall he had backed into. The impact caused him to lose grip on his scattergun, and it fell to the dirt floor with a metallic clang.
"Shut up," Jack growled, easing off of his throat slightly so he didn't have to try so hard to suck in air.
He kept his eyes locked with the other's dull brown ones, trying to figure out if it really was the RED scout who had decided to give up. It couldn't have been, the other spy's eyes were blue. He would have recognized the blue eyes from a mile away, but all he could see was brown.
"Not a spy." Jack sighed under his breath.
"Huh?"
"You aren't one of the damn spies," Sniper spit out, stepping back and letting the helpless scout drop to the floor.
He winced as his palms hit the cold ground and momentarily choked on his own breaths. He scrambled to grab his scattergun, only for it to be kicked away.
"I'll let you live, if you don't have the intel," Jack said after a short pause, and Lawrence shot him a bizarre look.
He stood up slowly, keeping his hands up in case the Sniper snapped again and decided to attack him, and sarcastically spun around to rummage briefly through his pockets.
"No… I don't think- oh wait, is that-?" He pulled out an empty pocket. "Sike! How could I even hide the intelligence? That briefcase is almost as big as me; you'd have seen it by now!" Lawrence placed his hands on his hips, receiving a suspicious look from the sniper who once again advanced forward.
Jack reached for his belt, only to be smacked away by Lawrence who jumped back with a yelp.
"No- I was kidding. Don't you understand sarcasm, dude?" Lawrence chuckled at the sniper, but received only an unamused gaze in return. Jack had finally lowered the rifle barrel, but it was still in his hands, and his finger still rested gingerly on the trigger.
"'lright…" He muttered, staring down at Lawrence. He was inching closer to the door to escape, wanting to forget about his gun, but his eyes couldn't help but stay glued to the weapon on the floor, just out of reach next to the sniper's foot. Jack traced where his eyes were looking, and kicked the scattergun in his direction, never easing off the trigger of his rifle.
"I'd go, if you want to live another day," the sniper said, watching Lawrence reach down and grab the gun, flinching slightly when it was picked up.
"Another day of this?" Lawrence drifted off, looking out the door in the direction of his base. An ominous serenity lay over it. He felt his stomach drop when he thought he saw the BLU sniper on the battlements opposite them step out to check for nearby movement, but it was only his mind playing with him.
"Listen..." Jack started, getting caught off guard from the nervous glance he was shot by the scout.
"No, it's fine. I won't tell anyone over there that… this... happened."
They stood in silence for another brief moment, until Jack, closing his eyes apprehensively, put out his hand, praying he wouldn't regret his faith.
"You can call me Sniper." Jack cleared his throat, Lawrence stared at the hand and slowly slid his own into its grasp, shaking firmly.
He looked up at the man's face once more, now relaxed, and felt a sudden knot form in his throat. He was shaking hands nonchalantly with the man who had killed his best friend, and incited the stalemate. He hadn't thought of this before; his instincts were merely set on survival, but for the first time Lawrence realized the gravity of this notion. Not wanting to take any chances yet, he forced a smile, but was the first to release his grip.
"Scout… Hey, uh, I don't really think this is how it works between enemies,"
"There's no need for me to kill someone who poses no threat,"
A slight smile raised on Lawrence's face, and he audibly chuckled at Jack's response, picking up on his ironic derision.
The air seemed to settle at this point now, the occasional awkward glances had faded. Lawrence stepped back once, brushing the dust off of his clothes after being shoved on the floor several times. The dirt had already stained his clothes and browned his hands, some of it even creeping underneath his nails, which was his biggest pet peeve.
Lawrence grimaced, glancing up at the Sniper who stared absently, not knowing what else to say in the situation. It was a first for the both of them to allow an enemy team member to stick so close without open firing.
For Lawrence, it shook up his routine. It was no longer just another day; the mold had been broken. Not another death, not another dreary day without his friend, no more silence, and perhaps even the possibility of friendship.
Lawrence shot him a cold glance quickly when his friend crossed his mind, remembering his initial plan, to take him out as soon as an opportunity presented itself.
Now would be the ideal time, he thought. I've gotten this close… his guard is lowered more now than it ever will be. If I'm gonna do it…
Lawrence hesitated. He saw past the Jack's relentless gaze, and in him, he saw the same fear that he himself was experiencing. Was this sniper… this RED team member, really all that different from himself? His mind was riddled with a confliction between his grudge and curiosity. Something about the sniper, about their mutual momentary cease-fire, had invoked pity within Lawrence. Perhaps this could be his key to ending the stalemate, or maybe even the war itself. His curiosity won over.
"If you feel like talkin' again, I ain't comin' back in this area. Too many REDs, and I don't think you'd have an easy time explainin' to them why there ain't a bullet in my head." Lawrence said, watching the sniper's facial expression fall flat.
Jack's eyes searched around the walls analytically, intentionally avoiding his gaze, as if to buy time as he thought of an answer. What sort of consequences would this risk yield? Would he invest in a friendship with the man, or was it a mere cease-fire?
Jack's eyes accidentally met the scout's once more, and his mind suddenly lit up. He remembered 3 weeks ago, during the battle that preceded the current stalemate. Images of the BLU medic standing still flashed in his mind. An easy target. The BLU soldier jumping in front of the medic as he fired. His shot hitting the BLU soldier instead, fatally wounding him, and costing the BLUs the battle, and the life of their friend. The scout that stood before him now, cradling the soldier's body, not caring about the RED team's push from the intelligence room. The scout having to be dragged away from the BLU soldier's body that would only be deadweight as they made their retreat. Feeling nothing as he watched the soldier's corpse burn in the RED furnace.
Now he understood why the scout had been giving him awkward looks. For a moment, pity for the scout and his dead friend flashed within him. He didn't understand why; he had always worked alone, killing without hesitation or remorse. He tried to dismiss the feeling, but it ached in him. It was a feeling unlike any he had felt in his career, and he didn't like it. It made him feel vulnerable. Perhaps if he humored this scout in his… friendship, he would be able to feel as though he was atoning for his assassination of the BLU soldier.
"Alright. I will, the sewers aren't often ventured into, but..."
The sniper took in a deep breath. Lawrence stared at him to finish his sentence. He received a insulting look from Jack. Looking confused, he suddenly realized he had been gazing angrily at the sniper, still thinking of his late friend.
"What? You tryin' to pick a fight?" Jack hissed.
"Wha- No, nothin' like that! I couldn't help it. You bein' a…" Lawrence's tone drifted off, looking him over, subconsciously sizing him up. He still perceived him as much of a threat as he did during the battles.
"Red? It's not like I'm completely comfortable around you either, mate. I was going to say that I'd be in my own base, and you would not be."
"Right. I get it, I get it, no problem here! Why the hell are you even down here anyway? It's a little close to the base entrance, and you're usually the only thing that keeps our team from crossing mid."
Lawrence shifted his weight onto another foot, watching the sniper bite his lip as though he was wondering the same question. The sniper still being hesitant to even tell him the slightest bit of information. Realizing the Scout was correct in that sense, but it was easy to defend himself when he never missed a shot at any distance.
"Seemed too quiet. Battlements were clear on your end, so out of caution I had to check if any BLUs were creepin' around, sorta like what you're doin' right now. Do they even know you're here?"
"Doubt it."
The sniper furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around at his back. "What were you tryin' to do?" Jack's blue eyes rolled over Lawrence, the scout's eyes stuck to the ground. The answer was given with raised eyebrows, looking at him like he was dumb for asking.
"What would a BLU be doin' in the RED base, if not tryin' to get the intelligence?"
"Obviously, but alone? That's a bloody suicide mission. Did you plan to come back?"
Lawrence felt his wound for the first time in awhile, and glanced at it. It hadn't gotten any better, but the blood had dried. His gaze drifted away from the sniper, not wanting to answer his question, for fear of him finding out about the engineer. Jack caught on to the scout's ambiguity, and cleared his throat audibly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"I heard your name." Lawrence interrupted, wanting to break from the topic as fast as possible. "Jack?"
Jack was more relaxed now, so he didn't seem too taken aback by the question, and he realized that his teammate had overtly addressed him earlier while the scout was hiding, so knowing his name was inevitable. His name felt foreign rolling over the enemy team's tongue, and Jack suddenly started to feel self conscious about it.
"Tell me yours, then, to make up for it." An eye for an eye seemed to be fair, but Lawrence grinned after concluding that he had this piece of information to use against him if it ever came to that. He decided to ignore the question once more, but maybe he would tell Jack his name if he proved more trustworthy in the future. Tension from the thought of the BLU soldier still lingered.
Jack figured he was ignored for a reason, and decided to let it go. A name is a trivial thing, and how one is addressed holds no real meaning. He raised his hand and pointed his index finger to the door, indicating for him to take his leave.
Lawrence let out an annoyed, but relieved sigh. He left through the front door and let his hand fall from the door frame, but before he could make it halfway to the bridge, he heard the Sniper utter one word back from around the corner.
"Tomorrow."
To the fact that this one word that would throw off the balance of his normal days, aimlessly wandering the base, occasionally pausing to sip from a cold cup of coffee, washing the dirt from under his nails, Lawrence was none the wiser.
He was almost excited.
Written by Mick and Nighty