Chapter 4—Ball 2

The next day was Saturday, and that meant Scout got to do whatever he felt like. Unfortunately, when you were based in an area that was nothing, nothing, a small town, and more nothing, there really wasn't a whole lot to do. He went for a run, but that only killed about an hour. He tried flipping through a magazine, but he wasn't much of a reader and he'd read all the ones he owned anyway. He was this close to asking Engie for a ride into town when the Texan poked his head into Scout's room.

"Sniper, Pyro'n I're headin' inta town t'get some supplies," he said. "Like t'come along, Scout?"

Scout shrugged like he hadn't just been planning to ask for that. "Sure, I guess," he said nonchalantly. He grabbed his bag and followed Engie.

Ten minutes later, Scout and Sniper were riding in the bed of Engineer's truck while Engineer drove and Pyro sat in the passenger seat, pressed up against the window and pointing at random things as they passed by. Scout shook his head. "How the hell does he put up with that guy all the time?"

Sniper glanced at him. "Who?"

"Engie. How does he put up with Pyro bein'...well, Pyro all the time? I mean, he's basically Pyro's only friend, and Pyro follows him freakin' everywhere."

The older man adjusted his hat so it rested over his eyes. "Reckon it's t'do with Truckie bein' Truckie," he said. "The man can be nice to a fault sometimes. 'Cept when he's angry, o'course."

Scout remembered hearing Engineer's laugh in the heat of battle and made a mental note never to piss him off. He looked over at Sniper, who appeared to be trying to doze off, and was struck with a sudden thought. "Hey, Stretch." Sniper peeked out from under the hat with one eye. "How much d'you know about girls?"

Sniper smirked. "This again? Whoever's caught yer fancy's caught it well'n good, hasn't she, mate?"

Scout mentally kicked himself for asking. "Whatever, if ya don't know, ya don't know," he grumbled.

An awkward silence followed.

"I mean, maybe it's my approach?" Scout finally said. Sniper looked at him again. "Look, a young, athletic, good-lookin' guy like me should have ladies fawnin' all over 'im, right?"

The Australian snorted. "And yer so modest, too."

Scout had a hard time telling through the accent, but he was pretty sure that was sarcasm. He scowled. "Cool guys like me don't haveta be modest," he boasted. "We know what we got, so we make the most outta it."

"Sure. And make sure everyone else knows, too."

"Exactly! 'Cept I think somethin's up with my approach. See, I usually come on strong t'girls, let 'em know what to expect, y'know? I figure that's honest enough, an' girls're supposed t'appreciate junk like honesty. But they never seem t'appreciate it!" He looked at Sniper again, who was shaking his head, an amused look on his face. "Well? What'm I doin' wrong, smart-ass?"

"How 'bout everythin'?" Sniper suggested. When Scout glared at him, he just laughed. "Look, mate, you really want my opinion?" Scout nodded and he sighed. "Well, I'm not as experienced with sheilas as, say, Spy maybe, but I generally apply the same rules ta skirt-chasin' as I do t'work. Have standards, be polite, that sorta thing." He paused. "Y'might want ta skip the 'kill everyone you meet' bit, though; that probably won't get you in the good books of many girls, unless they happen to be mercs too."

Scout sat up a little straighter. This was good stuff; it might actually work. "What sorta standards?"

"Well, don't go tellin' them yer intentions right off the bat. That never works. Ever."

"Wish someone'd told me that before Soldier got to it," Scout muttered, rubbing the side of his face. The bruise was mostly gone now, but it was still kind of sore—along with his ego.

"Why'd you even listen to anything Solly said anyway?"

"No one else was helping me! You all just laughed!"

Sniper shrugged. "Well, it was pretty funny. Anyway, don't be such a pompous dick. That doesn't usually go over well either."

"I'm not a—!"

"And don't flirt with every girl you come across, either. That makes you look desperate. There's got to be a type you like, yeah?"

Miss Pauling immediately came to mind. "Not really."

"Nothing? Hair, eyes, body type, personality? Nothing at all that you prefer over something else?" One of Sniper's eyebrows was arched straight up.

"Er...glasses? I dunno; I like most types I guess."

"Well, look, when you're tryin' to impress a sheila, glasses or no, be polite. Treat 'er like a lady. Talk to 'er. More importantly, listen to 'er."

Scout pursed his lips, confused. "Listen? T'what?"

"Whatever she wants t'talk about. Bein' willin' to listen t'her problems'll impress her more'n any bravado or 'war stories' about the time you beat the RED Demo with nothin' but a bat an' a glass of milk—which we all know didn't happen."

"Shut up, yes it did!" Scout said defensively.

"Sure, mate," Sniper sighed, settling back and tugging his hat over his eyes again. "Whatever you say."

It was a long ride into town, and Scout didn't have anything to do but think about what Sniper had said.

Teufort only had a few points of interest—a bar, a hotel, a grocery store, a mall, a gas station, and a couple other areas Scout never visited. He was really only interested in the mall, though he avoided the year-round "Visit Santa" area when he could. Sure, they'd beaten Old Nick and become heroes in Teufort, but the idea of a guy whose year-round job is to be Santa for kids was just plain weird.

The group separated with plans to meet back at Engineer's truck in a couple hours and Scout immediately headed for the mall's sporting goods store. Half an hour later he left, arms full of bats, balls, and shoes, and a huge grin threatening to split his face in half. Now all he had to do was convince the others to play some ball with him for once and his day would be complete.

He looked around. The mall wasn't all that busy, but there were still lots of good-looking young women walking about. Scout grinned and scanned the crowd. Time to bring his A-game.

Sauntering around, Scout tried to remember what Sniper had said in the truck. Be polite and don't flirt with everyone. Sure, no problem. Scout could do polite. He glanced to the side and happened to catch a flash of purple out of the corner of his eye.

No way.

He turned, scanning the crowd for someone specific this time. There was another flash of purple, this time heading into a bookstore. Scout adjusted his hat and followed.

Sure enough, there was Miss Pauling at a shelf near the front, already with two books under her arm and reading the back of a third. Scout grabbed a random book off a nearby shelf and headed towards her. The bookstore was unfamiliar territory, but he was sure he could make this work anyway.

"Yo, Miss P!"

She froze, then looked up warily. Her eyebrows turned up in disappointment, and even though he was upset that she didn't want to see him there, he couldn't help but notice that she had a very expressive face (that was really cute, to boot, but then he knew that part already). "What are you doing here, Scout?" she asked. She sounded a bit annoyed and a bit resigned, and a little bit wary as well.

"Engie offered me a ride into town," he explained. "I thought I'd take the chance to get some more, um..." He looked around. "Y'know. Books."

Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow, mimicking the expression Sniper had worn earlier. "Really? I didn't take you for much of a reader."

"Oh, sure, I read lotsa crap," Scout boasted. He glanced at the book in his hand. "Real big fan of this...Harper Lee guy."

"Harper Lee is a woman."

"Oh. Well, guy, girl, whatever, I like it. Read everything she's written."

The eyebrow crept higher. "Not hard, since she's only written the one book."

Scout paled and looked at the book he was holding again. To Kill a Mockingbird. "Yeah, that's why I've read all her stuff," he said. "I'm just...gettin' my own copy. I had t'use the one in the common area and it's all ripped and messy and junk so I want a fresh copy."

"Really." She studied his face. "So tell me, what kinds of things do you like to read?"

"Uh..." Playboy and Sports Illustrated, mostly, but he couldn't say that out loud. "Y'know, sports books and whatever. And the classics, of course."

"And your favourite author?"

"Dickens," he said immediately. It was the only one he could think of.

That seemed to have piqued her interest. She brightened a little and her eyes lit up. "What did you think of A Christmas Carol?"

Scout had never heard of A Christmas Carol; the only book he could think of by Dickens was Romeo and Juliet. He struggled to think of a response when he remembered something else Sniper had said in the truck. "Talk to her. More importantly, listen to her."

"Oh, you know, I could go on and on," Scout said airily, waving the hand that wasn't holding three bags of sporting goods and a book he'd never heard of. "But I'd rather know what you think, Miss Pauling."

She looked taken aback. "What?"

"What do you think about A Christmas Carol? And your favourite books and authors. I wanna know."

The petite brunette launched into a fast-paced tirade about the ups and downs of what she called "Dickens's opus," as well as what kinds of romance and mystery novels she liked. It was the most words that Scout had ever heard her say at once and it seemed to go on forever. But hey, if it made her happy to talk about some dusty old relics by (usually) dead guys, then he could listen. He could listen all day if he had to.

Miss Pauling had a very nice voice. It was quiet and unassuming most of the time, but when she was excited, like now, it took on an even more girlish quality than usual, and was very pleasant to listen to. He found himself nodding and agreeing with everything she said, even if he had no idea who Hercule Poirot and Ebeneezer Scrooge (seriously, who names their kid Ebeneezer? Scout thought) were. He might just have to read this Smissmas book.

"And the character development with Scrooge is just excellent, sometimes character development can be forced but Dickens does it so well, you know? Oh, and that part where—"

"There, y'are, mate!"

Scout and Miss Pauling turned to see Sniper coming towards them, looking mildly annoyed. "We were supposed to meet at the truck half an hour ago!" he snapped. Scout grinned a little sheepishly at him. "None a that, let's just go—oh, hello Miss Pauling."

Miss Pauling nodded at Sniper. "Hello. Don't be too hard on Scout, we were talking about books and I guess we just lost track of time." She looked up at Scout, who was touched that she'd come to his defense at all.

Sniper looked skeptical. "You. Were talking about books. With Scout."

She nodded. "Well, I suppose I was doing most of the talking." She turned back to Scout. "I guess we'd both better be going then."

"Y-yeah, just a minute. Be right back." He raced to the back of the bookstore and looked around wildly. Spotting a copy of A Christmas Carol, he grabbed it and ran back to the front. "Just picking some stuff up," he said lamely, feeling like an idiot and hoping Miss Pauling didn't see what book he'd just picked out. Sniper folded his arms and glared at Scout the entire time he was paying, and Miss Pauling had gone back to looking at her third book by the time he was finished. She looked up as he came back and he flashed her a grin. She smiled back.

"Well, come on, kid, Truckie'n Pyro are waitin'," Sniper said, turning to go. He tipped his hat to Miss Pauling. "Ma'am."

Scout did the same, still with his cocky grin. "See ya, Miss P!"

She gave them both a little wave, then headed towards the counter with her books. Scout was beaming the entire way back to the base.