AN: Chapter ten everybody party. Thanks for the couple reviews I got, I really appreciate them. If everyone who enjoys my story would review, it'd be amaze. I don't want to be pushy but I really need more reviews, they make my day. Anyway, thanks for the follows and favorites and support yadda yadda, enjoy the chapter.

I manage to drag myself from bed, dress and get downstairs taking only five extra minutes than normal. Most everyone is already downstairs including the Spy, Sniper, Medic, and Scout. There is minimal chatting as I fill a cup with tap water and grab a straw from the recently provided straw drawer. As I drink, I try to pretend I couldn't feel my skin growing damp with sweat. I drain the glass before I leave the sink and take the refilled one to the table.

"You missed it last night, it was insane." The Scout told me, stretching each syllable of insane while leaning back in his chair. For the next few minutes he bragged about his drinking conquests and I couldn't help but think he was exaggerating because, based on the other night, he couldn't drink for nearly as long as he claims. I roll my eyes and continue sipping. "An da Medic's cure means I don't gotta try to limit myself anymore." And he shrugs as if to say 'yeah, all my testosterone keeps my shit together.'

That might not have been what his shrug meant, but that's how I interpret it with a resentful mindset as the water churns in my empty stomach. "Oh, please!" the Spy interrupts. "You were done before the evening was half over, you can't hold your liquor long enough to need a limit."

"You know what, I don't need to listen do you when you were too lame to join tha party! Not that any cared you weren't around."

The Spy gives an incredulous look before saying "I chose to stay away from your drunken display; I know my time could be better spent otherwise occupied." The Scout doesn't reply, needing a few moments to formulate a retort. The Spy continues "Not to mention I am not as eager to be a guinea pig of ze team's doctor as you might be." No one has a chance to speak after that except the administrator informing us that we have fifteen minutes.

The ride there was normal for everyone except me. I've started to feel it. My gut is pushing at my throat and my skin is slick against the interior of my suit. I struggle to resist the urge to remove my mask. This time I sit in the back in between the Scout and Sniper. The Scout is talking to me, but I'm barely listening. He blabs about today's mission which is similar to capture the point from my first day. My brain is a bit foggy, but from what I can gather, all we've got to do is hold the point for three minutes.

I know I'm not at the top of my game, but I think I can manage his. The van rumbles down the road, guided by the Soldier's careless hand. We swerve and bounce and I feel stomach acid and water rise from up my esophagus. I swallow and heavily bump my shoulders with the Sniper. I lean into him for a second too long before moving my weight to the wall.

I grunt an apology and take a deep breath. I'm suddenly exhausted and have completely given up on listening to the Scout. "You a'right, mate?" the Sniper leans over to whisper. I nod, grateful that I don't have to contort my face to deceive him. I sit up to make my lie more convincing, but as I do so the van pulls to an abrupt stop. The soldier parks like a teenager with a fresh permit.

My throat catches, but I'm able to hide it as we all rise and exit. I jump from the back and land shakily, but manage to keep my balance. The Sniper offers a hand for support but I turn him down and wordlessly insist that I'm fine. I attempt to convince him further by marching ahead of him, seemingly eager to begin the mission.

I stay strong as I arm myself and avoid the concerned gaze of the Sniper. He's the only one who's seemed to notice my less than par health. The gates open and we charge out; I keep to the Soldier's heels and in just a few seconds we reach the point. It could have been a few minutes because I feel like I might have been fading in and out.

BLU team takes only a second or two longer to reach the point. Bullets, rockets, bombs, and fire fill the air. In the haze of battle, I simply hold out my flame and run around. I couldn't focus where to point, so I don't. It's no surprise that I'm killed quickly and often, I'm completely off my game and can't seem to focus on anything except keeping a grip on my weapon while my hands slide around in the damp cavern of my gloves.

My feet are doing no better with my socks feeling like I just spend the day in canvas shoes riding water rides. I am completely unaware of whether we are winning or losing. After my fourth or fifth respawn, I've lost most of my steam. Explosions that seem close to me prompt the use of my air blast, but as I fumble for some sort of perspective I am struck with a feeling.

I push it out of my mind. Nope, I'm gonna be fine. I'll make it through this round, no problem. I hear a warning of one minute left. See? Whether we win or lose, I'm gonna make it back to spawn, no incident. I've got this. One second later my mind shifts.

I don't got this, I need to leave. I can't make it. With a final air blast I run away from the crowd and toward somewhere hidden. My feet slipping, my weapon discarded when it slipped from my grip, I run. I continuously swallow and go as far as I can. I've made it away from the point and to a mostly hidden place in a building most likely for Snipers. I can only pray that I don't run into one as I rip off my mask and suck in a breath of fresh air. I can't keep my voice from my violent inhale.

There, that's better. I'll be fine. I remove my gloves and mop my forehead try to stop anymore sweat from dripping into my eyes. Unfortunately, my palms are as soaked as my face. I undo the front of my uniform with the intention of using my clothing to sop something up, anything. I realize how futile it when I become aware the inside of my suit is as though I was just pushed into a pool.

Without warning, my gut lurches and copious amounts of water mixed with stomach acid splash from my lips. It takes a few retches for it all to come out. Once I'm empty and wet and my throat burns, I couldn't help but cry. I like to think I'm pretty tough, but keeping it together as weak as I am, is impossible for me. What makes it worse is as I attempt to wipe my tears, I only manage to smear more sweat into them.

And I will admit I do feel a bit sorry for myself. Justifiably, I think. I even let my tired muscles fail and lie as a sweaty mess next to a puddle of runny sick and stop caring about anything except wanting to be home. What I didn't hear or have any sense of was the BLU Soldier following me from the very moment I attempted escape. I'm pretty certain he lost me at one point and whilst searching was taken down by a single shot from RED Sniper.

What I also was unaware of was the fact that the Sniper decided to go and see if I had respawned. I only discovered all this when I heard boots against concrete and an Aussie voice "Pyro? You still aloive?" The noises jerked my from my pity trance and I snatched my dripping and smelly mask and with the upmost strength of will, force the horrible thing over my sickly face. Its smothering rubber didn't help matters.

Sniper approaches, but just before he can check how close I was to dying, we both appeared in spawn with the rest of the team. I stayed lying, grateful that my barf was gone, but still unable to keep my tears at bay. It doesn't take long for the group to realize that I have some sort of ailment. I feel okay blacking out when I see the Medic's eyes light up and rush to my aid with the Spy close behind him. Spy will protect my secret while I'm out, I'm sure. At least I hope.

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