"What have we told you, Tracker?" The Spy ceases his pacing, his form leaning down towards her. "Stay out of the battlefield." The entire time Tracks had been sitting as the two men towered over her. This was meant to give off a sense of authority. Now, Tracks has never taken being talked down to seriously. All of those times being chased and shit talked to by officers lanky and tubs never really put much of an effect on her. But for some reason she felt her skin burn as these two men discredited her like a child.

Chapter 11

The Running Lapse

So this was what it was like having a father—two fathers in fact.

Opening her arms she begins to speak for the first time since this all started. "I get it, but-"

"Why did you not listen to Sniper?"

"I was-" she attempts to defend herself, but the man snaps a glance at her. "Do not interrupt me while I am speaking," he grunts sternly. The Sniper points to her, his entire demeanor similar. "Don't talk while Spoi's talkin'." Puffing her cheeks up she slumps back down, her elbows resting against her knees. The Spy traces his invisible line back and forth again, his arms crossed firmly. His words were drenched with frustration. Squeezing his arms he lets out a long breath. "Because of your actions the BLUs were announced victor." His hard tone made Tracks wince, the click of his dress shoes tapping against the floor menacingly. "What?!" the woman jerks her body up, her bangs puffing like the hair on a cat's back. The man before her narrowed his eyes into mere slits, his fingers beating against his arms. "You were their winning kill." Tracks twiddles her thumbs.

"It's because you could not listen that we lost!"

"What do you want me to say? I ran down there because he needed help and-"

"The only one who needs your help is the Sniper. Who did you try to help?" his question made her back tingle. Tracks fell silent, her gaze rolling down. Spy narrows his eyes. "Well?"

"I think it was the Scout, mate," the Sniper spoke up, his form standing tall besides the seated Tracker. Spy raises a brow beneath his mask. "…Scout?" They watched as she diverts her gaze, a look of irritation on her face. A long and exasperated sigh escapes the Spy's lips as he stops before her; his palm rubbing against his aching temple. Cursing in his native tongue he opens his eyes once more.

The young woman flares her nostrils, "I didn't know it was a crime to be a team player."

"Protecting the Scout is not your responsibility." She snaps her gaze back up at him. "I wasn't trying to protect him, I helped him."

"J'en ai ras le bol, enfant!" he pushes himself away, arms raising to grasp onto his cowled head in frustration. He snaps a glance over his shoulder. "Helping him is not your job. You must learn your place as a support. As the Tracker." The young woman jumps to her feet and approaches him angrily. "What if it IS my job?! What'd you want me to do, leave him there to die?! You two are attacking the shit outta me as if I made us lose on purpose. If you hadn't noticed I DIED down there…there was a fuckin' arrow in my gut! Do you have any idea how scary that was? You both've been doing this kind of stuff for years—this is, what, my fourth month?! Keeping me up in those shitty sniper spots didn't help at all. If I died before hand I could have been used to it by now! Maybe then I'd be as good as the rest of the lot in this god forsaken shit hole!" The mysterious man hadn't even moved a hair when she spat at him. To be honest, Tracks wasn't sure if she felt more like a disobedient child or his prey. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing red as she allowed her body to fall back down onto the cold seat. Tracks placed her hand over her sweating head, her teeth nibbling on her tongue. Spy gives Sniper a glance, the Australian shrugging back. After several moments the Spy lets out another sigh before placing a hand on her shoulder. "…then what do you propose to do, mon petit." He had managed to regain his cool. Tracks raised her hand to her face, her finger rubbing against her itching eyes. Looking to the side she rolls her tongue alone the length of her teeth.

"It's just…let's just say I'm not just meant for being up there with Snipes? I get it—the two of us really work but what if there's more to the whole Tracker class then the name originally granted it? W-What if I can work as a support AND a defense?" She falls silent, her hands clasping together as she tried to find the right words. Grunting she shakes her head. "I'm not trying to be a brat. I-I don't want to be a disappointment! That is not what I intended it's just…I feel like I'm wasting my time up there. I wanna be reliable to everyone not just Snipes," she raises her hand to the motionless man, his ears open. Taking in a breath she could feel her confidence crumbling. "…I just wanted to help. I'm sorry I yelled."

Tracks fell silent now, her eyes low. Spy thought, no words escaping his frowned lips. The Sniper relieved himself from his observation duty and approaches the girl. Placing a hand on her shoulder he squeezes it lightly. Tracks looks up to see the small smile on his face. "It's alright Shiela. Spoi was jus' worried about you. Get on up and eat," he helps her up. For a moment she doesn't move, her eyes scanning the Spy's face. He looked rather dull, his eyes not even leaving where she originally sat. Whatever was on his mind it truly bothered her. Reluctantly she walks towards the door, leaving the meeting room. The two men were left in silence.

"…she cannot be both," the Spy finally spoke as he straightens his form slowly. Spinning his body around he slams his fist against his empty palm. "I shouldn't of scolded her, at least not like that. Now she may become mutinous because of my damn temper," he scowls himself. It was obvious that he was inexperienced with younger generations. They all seemed to have been. Sniper removes his glasses, his fingers rubbing against his dry eyes. "Nah—the lil' Shiela jus' felt guilty is all. On the bright side you'd make a decent dad, mate," the sun kissed man grins to the Spy teasingly. Earning a stern glance he watches as the Spy clasps his palm over his mouth.

"Merde…" he mumbles to himself. "She was doing perfect as support. Why does she think she's capable of defense? That's preposterous..."

"Let the girl find her own way o' bein' support. I don' really mind bein' on my own once in a while. Besides, was never one for bein' a bludger. Keepin' her caged up with me really got to her. She's from a Big Smoke, Spoi. Michigan got hard kids it 'em." Sniper takes a seat near the man, his hands clasping together as he taps his foot quietly. The French man turns his head to the side in thought. Sniper points to him. "Most ankle bitters are like that, whether they want to be or not. Hmmm…now that I think about it she mostly gets antsy when the blokes in trouble." Spy's eyes widen.

"Scout?"

"Aye. Maybe she's got a bloody thing for 'im. Sire as hell he does. Makes sense why they fight a lot." Spy grunts, his lips pressed together. "This could explain some things…but the Scout is always getting himself caught in a bad situation," the Spy grits his teeth. "Keeping her where she was would prove to be most difficult then."

Giving him a curious glance the Sniper tugs at his lone glove. "Then again maybe we're overthinkin' it," he chuckles as he hears the Spy growl at his statement. "So what's the plan, mate?" Taking a step to the side the Spy seats himself near the Sniper.

"She was raised in the streets of a large city. People like her make their own rules. You remember how Scout was when he came in." A loathsome grunt escapes the Sniper's lips. "Don' bring that up. The girl's tryin' her best to adjust." Taking out his case he retrieves a cigarette, pushing it between his lips before fondling with his silver lighter. "We keep our eyes on them," the Spy lights it, sucking in two lungs worth of smoke. The man near him nods as he slips his glasses back on. "No problem, mate."

Lightly he allowed her finger tips to drag against the smooth walls. Scout made his way down the agonizingly long hallway. Bright lights illuminated every crevice and curve—such a blinding florescent light made his mind numb. Strangely enough it was quiet. By this time around the Soldier would have them train intensely for the sake of not making similar mistakes in the future. Bored, he continues to play with his wrapping.

"What else happened?"

The Scout comes to a halt; that familiar voice was speaking in that same hallway again.

"That's it. He's at the hospital right now but I've used most of it. He should be fine…I just can't afford the pain pills. The rest of the money I put aside is for the rent."

"I…I think I have enough"

"No Tracks! You've given enough—you need some for yourself. Please. You've helped enough as it is."

"No, I'm fine really. I have more than enough. I'll send it over to you when I get the paycheck tomorrow. I should be over in about five days or so." There was a long pause. As Scout drew in closer he spots her form leaning against the phone, her arm acting as a pillow as she leaned her head against it. "I gotta help him."

"…alright. Thank you—you have no idea how much this means to me. Here I thought you were going to forget about him."

"Nah. I can never ferget about him…listen, I gotta go. It's three in the afternoon—I have to get things set up for tomorrow's job."

"Alright. I'll send him your regards."

"That'd be great…bye," she gives a meek laugh before hanging up. Pushing herself off of the wall she rubs her nose. Small sniffles managed to escape, and she growls at that fact. The Tracker turns her on her heels, her chest bumping against the Scout. "Huh?" she lets out a small gasp. She hadn't noticed he was there. Shaking her head she went from stunned to irritated. "You eavesdropping again?" she glares before shoving passed him. The Scout grunts. "Well someone woke up on the pissy side of the bed."

"Whatever."

His teeth caught his bottom lip, nibbling as his mind formulated the right thing to say. "Is everything alright with you?" his voice brought up that cocky tone again. Regaining his cool he stalks after her, practically swaggering after her. The Tracker fumes, her shoulders pushed inwards as her fingers rolled into heated fists. "Terrific." It wasn't long until they reached the end of the hall. Reaching forward she yanks onto her knob, the door stuck in its frame. Raising a foot she pushes against the wall, her arms pulling frantically as sweat beaded from her forehead. "Damn you, OPEN!" The Scout raises a brow.

"Try turning the knob…" Tracks blinks. She attempts it, and just as Scout had expected it opens. "Buzz off," she grunts, cheeks red as she walks in. The Scout watches as she practically tore through her room. Her small hands gathered the various bills that were hidden within random locations throughout her bedroom. It accumulated, but the final sum didn't seem to satisfy her. The woman fumes, her hair practically standing. "Dammit—I could have sworn that I had more," her voice was rather tight as she held back the urge to curse herself. It felt as if everything was collapsing on her. The entire time he had still been there observing her. It wasn't long until he realized where her money really went—but he hadn't expected this much was dedicated to back home.

Makes ya think o' someone, doesn' it?

He scratches his chin, his nostrils flaring. The Sniper had talked to him for the last few days. They weren't just your average discussions. The man hinted something to the Scout—no matter how the youngster attempted to change the subject it always ended with her. It was torture to say the least. The bastard did it on purpose just to piss the Scout off. The Australian made it a point that no good would come if he made bad, and he made sure those words became reality. At first the Scout didn't care much for it, but then two months in he started feeling guilty. In fact, everyone seemed to have been in on it. Gnawing on his cheek he blows out a long breath. Maybe it was time to try something he thought he'd never do.

Try being nicer.

A soft knock played in her ears. Turning her gaze she sees the Scout leaning against her door frame comfortably. His fist planted against the wall of her room as he made sure to keep on his egotistical façade. Reaching up the boy rubs the back of his neck, his eyes rolling to the side. "So…you look like you aren't doin' too hot. I was wonderin' if you wanted to try lettin' out some steam…" his arm scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. An extremely light blush tickled his face as the girl raised a brow.

"…what?" her face looked questioning. The Scout huffs—he didn't want to ask this shit again.

"When I'm pissed I play ball. I was offerin' to show you how it's done; maybe it'll make you feel better. I know ya hate it, but it's worth givin' a shot right?" he shrugs, a grin playing his face. He could feel an awkward chuckle escape through his clenched teeth. How the hell was he supposed to prove that he was being legit? The girl kneeled on the floor; her hands nestled within her lap. Raising her hand she rubs against her angered pink cheeks in thought. The Scout continued to watch her impatiently. Though she was a very rough girl there were small moments that the Scout would pick up—moments where her cheeks would blush. Sometimes the curve of her back would be a bit curvier. Or other times her bottom lip would pucker out when he ticked her off. Admittedly he bumped into her a week earlier, making her drop all of her dinner onto the floor. Yeah, he got a black eye afterwards but he saw her made that particular face. She shifts, her head gazing down at the dollars on her lap. The Scout darted his eyes away from her, his brows furrowed. What the hell was he just thinking? The atmosphere became awkward for him after that.

Tracks cringes her nose. This couldn't have been real.

"…you're a real joke you know that right?" she grunts. Standing she grabs a nearby envelop, shoving the money inside before approaching the door. The Scout's eyes widen as she pushes against him. He stumbles back, arms open defensively.

"Yo, what the hell man?!"

"Go screw with someone else you ass." A gust of wind blows his cap back. Dumbfounded, the Scout's gaze was glued to the door. Loud stutters escape his shocked lips, his hands reaching up to grab is exposed forehead. "…the HELL?!" he yells to her door. Furiously he gives it a kick, the wood moaning beneath his cleats. Silence—the rage seemed to have died down, his blue eyes gazing to the ground. "Frickin' waste of my damn time…stupid broad!" Bending over he retrieves his hat, his skin tingling as he opens his door and slams it shut behind him.

The next morning was the usual training, and not long after it was the usual battle. Surprisingly Tracks accompanied the Sniper, his eyes constantly giving her small glances here or there. He had noticed she didn't say anything other than anything target-related. Her eyes were rather dull, her body still. The Sniper thought to himself, and purposely he misses his target. Not even that earned a response from her. He sucks his teeth.

"Why the long silence, Shiela?" he shot his original target to the dust. The bullet ricocheted from the wall, blasting through the BLU Pyro's skull. He seemed to have died with his finger on the trigger, his fire engulfing his own men. The Sniper watched as they ran into each other frantically, a loud laugh escaping his tanned lips. "Did you see that, Shiela?! Ahahahahah!" He earns a slight hum, the man falling silent. Shaking his head he reloads his gun, returning back to seriousness.

"C'mon, Tracks. If you don' talk to me I can't help you." The girl bit her lip, her eyes pressed against her binoculars. Digging her fingers under her shin guards she scratches the sticky skin anxiously. "I want to help," he reassures to her. Some seconds passed as she lets herself sigh.

"I'm…worried. BLU Medic 5:00."

"About?"

Another shot—she watches as the Medic's head flops to the side, his glasses slinging off before his body hits the ground. The BLU Heavy seemed at a lost, his body turning in search for him. Tracks chuckles to herself at the sight. "Family back in Detroit need money…"

"You ain't got 'nough?"

"Nope," she grunts. A low chuckle escapes his lips. "We all have issues when it comes to money. When you grow up you start not carin' about that. Loses its worth. I'm sure they'll manage with what you send 'em." Tracks felt herself sigh, the man near her raising a brow. "That ain't all?"

"…Scout's upset." He chuckles at her words, causing her to wrinkle her nose. "When ain't he?"

"Yeah well…he's got a right," her words were mumbled as she scans the area. Though the Sniper hadn't noticed, she was watching the Scout slam through the various enemies, the Medic right behind him. The Sniper raises his hand to rub against his stubble. "Hell, the Scout doesn' know Smissmas from New Years. But him bein' boiled up gives you the right to make amends, eh? You work with 'im-might as well." His words pulled her attention, her coffee brown eyes gazing to him. The man was being supportive to his team like always. Dragging her teeth along her lip she leans on her guarded knees, her fingers still digging into her knees. The competition was tight, but the REDs managed to win by a single kill. Impatiently Tracker sat within the meeting room, her legs bouncing as she struggled to remain still on her seat. To her left was the Spy, his posture very proper as he smoke his cigarette. The men around her carried out casual conversation. The chair nearest to her right creaks from a sudden weight. A big hand pats her back lightly.

"Hello, Tracker." A warm sensation tickled within her stomach. It was the Heavy. She gives him a grunt, and he squeezes her shoulder in response. "I heard you respawn for first time yesterday. Is there any pain?" a hidden sincerity was in his voice. He could sense she had become tense. "Not really—just my chest. This…metal thing is killing me," she scratches her collar bone. If only she hadn't just reminded herself then she wouldn't feel that dull clawing again. Her breathing hitches for a second, the Heavy giving her a low chuckle.

"It is no problem—normal feeling. Will go away soon! Medic always right, but..." He leans in to whisper, the Medic on the other side of the room. "Sometimes...I think he is like mad doctor..." The German seemed to have heard this, his eyes widened. A small smile plays her lips, the Heavy giving her another pat before holding his finger before his lips. This was to be a secret between them for now on. Rolling her eyes up she notices the Scout—he had been ignoring her the entire day. Chewing on his usual gum he leaned against a chair that the Demoman sat on, his arms crossed and eyes glaring at a random spot in the room. The door opens, Ms. Pauling entering with a thick tower of envelops. Earning various greetings she shuts the door behind her with her backside, her arms completely full. "Good new boys, your payments are in." Several cheered, the woman dodging the various arms that flung about bottles of Red Shed. Like an expert she hands them their hard earned cash, her eyes never leaving the stack. "Here you are Spy," she hands him his share. He takes it, nodding gently before thanking her in his native tongue.

"Heavy," she allows the large man to take his share. Tracker gave her a soft smile, but the woman had only stared at her. "…uhh, don't I get any Ms. Pauling?" she questions as the woman seemed to fumble with her clipboard. Adjusting her glasses she reads through it with rapid speed. "…I'm sorry Tracks, but it says here that you don't earn this month's pay." Tracks's eyes widen, her fingers curling into fists.

"What?" Ms. Pauling frowns apologetically. "Because of your previous performance the Administrator felt it was appropriate to redact this month's performance from your records." The young girl's heart pulls painfully. "So it's as if I didn't work for an entire month?!"

"Well…yes," she nods as Tracker slumps down, her head tucked in between her legs. The room fell silent, and Heavy reaches over to pat her back softly.

"You have got to be kiddin' me," she sniffles. Raising her hand she rubs her swelling eyes, her but planted against the ground of her floor. Her back pressed firmly against her mattress, her head leaning back against the comforter. Tears streamed down her face—this couldn't have been happening. "I fucked up…I freakin' fucked up," her words shivered. Tracks presses her hands over her face. She hated this. She hated it when she cried. It made her feel so weak and, more so, extremely foolish. How could her actions screw her over so much? All because she wanted to help him. A whine escapes her pressed lips, her face slamming in between her knees as she slams her feet upon the ground furiously. She looked like an enraged child. If she hadn't of helped him then all of this wouldn't be happening. It would have been best to leave the bastard out there to die. Hell, he was going to right?

A low laugh echoed in her room as she presses her hands over her eyes again. Dragging her fingers away she swipes away her tears before they could even fall. "Wow…I'm such a bitch," she sighs—first she hated him, then she felt guilty, and now she hated him again. Tracks had been wondering how much lower she could go now. With a loud sniffle she turns her head to the side. 16:00 hours. "…"

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Scout…?" That nervous feeling ripples at her skin. Taking her hand she rubs the goose bumps. However, she doubted it would help. It wasn't cold in the hall, so she knew the real issue had to be her nerves. The sound of the AC kicks in; the only sound that seemed to respond to her. Sucking on her tongue she knocks again, this time a tad bit quieter.

"Scout? Open up…" Tracks could have sworn she heard fumbling—so he was awake.

"And Monbouqette sprints to second base!" the voice was an announcer. The sound of a radio fuzzed within his room. She huffs—he was listening to some baseball game?

"How long are you gonna ignore me?!" After several seconds the sounds of cheering grew—he had rose to volume. Something told her that no matter how hard she'd try he wouldn't respond. Tracks could feel her lip threaten to quiver, his throat tightening. "…" Turning she prepared to enter her room. But then she realized something. Tracker ran down the hall, passed uncountable rows of doors and down a single flight of stairs until she was out the front entrance. The sliding doors couldn't keep up, and she bounced before it impatiently. The hot sun stung her skin, her track jacket tied around her waist. Several stumbles later she was beneath his window, and she hops up to scale the wall once again. Sweat slips her grip, but she manages to reach his window sill. Tugging against the handle it doesn't even budge. She growls furiously, and shakily she reaches up to slap her palm against the window. The loud bump interrupts the Scout. Narrowing the gaze he reaches over to his radio, turning down the volume. He leans up on his bed, his fingers pulling against his hair. Tracks slaps the window again, her hand sliding down slowly and out of sight.

"Shit," he curses under his breath before hopping up and stomping to the window. Forcefully he slams it open. "The hell are you frickin' doing?!" he yells at her hanging form. Her red eyes winced, the sun shining against her face. Tracks grits her teeth, her body heavier than she had expected.

"I'm sorry…" she blinks, her face cringing from the sodding heat. Scout snorts at her. "Buzz off, doll face. I'm listening to a game right now," he turns away, hand ready to slam the window shut. Suddenly her grip gives out, a yelp startling him. Scout throws himself out the window, his hand wrapping around her thin wrist. Her weight nearly makes him fall. The Scout screams, his hand grabbing onto his window before his feet plant against the edge. Pulling, he yanks her back in. The two fall back, her body landing upon his. Her should slams into his chest, knocking all of the wind out of his lungs. Scout gasps, his hands clasping over his eyes. "AUGH…shit, g-get off!" Tracks groans, her body rolling off of him and upon various cans. They crumple under her weight, poking at her sides.

"Shit—are you crazy or something?!" he barks at her before getting up. She looks up to him. "…I was wondering…if you would take me to," she trails off, her hand playing with her ponytail. Impatiently he snaps at her. "Spit it out, frickin' hell!" She winces, glaring.

"TAKE ME…to play…baseball.." she grunts, defeated. The Scout blinks, eyes wide as she blushed viciously. He shakes his head, his smug attitude starting to play. "Oh, I thought I was just some chump tryin' to screw with you."

"I get it! I'm an inconsiderate moron…" He raises his brow noticing her swollen eyes. Subtly she licks her lips before taking in a deep breath. "…I really want you to teach me how to play...baseball…please." The last worded seemed to have been a whisper. He crosses his arms before tilting his head to the side. "I thought you hated it."

She attempts to conceal her defeated state. With heated cheeks she grunts to the side, "I do…"

"…" Strangely enough he doubted that she was forcing herself to. Why else would she waste her time trying to get his attention? Even the Scout knew that getting stuff out of him was a bitch. Even if it was from a chick. Just kick her out—it was that easy. The chick handed his ass to him earlier and now she wanted to make amends. To him she must have been completely insane—either that or she was suffering from a wonderful case of premenstrual syndrome. Scout glances to the side as he contemplated. His tongue pushed between the spaces of his teeth, his shoulders tensing as the pressure continued. Did he really have to make a decision to this? "I tried helping you. Ya know? I did yesterday, but you slammed the fuckin' door in my face! But no matter where we are your ass seems to never leave me the fuck alone," he rants, though he earned no reply from her. She just seemed to have been sitting there taking the blame. That was something the Scout had to do for way too damn long; the look on her face said she never experienced it enough. An all too familiar pull tugs at his chest when she swivels her eyes to the picture by his bedside. Warily he glances too. The image of his mother had been monitoring the scene the entire time. The Scout looks to the ground-this was like back at home when he fought with his brothers. But back then he wouldn't apologize, he'd just kick them in the shin and run passed his mother's grasp. Hell, he'd be gone the whole night after that. The irony was killing him. So this was how it felt to be in his elder siblings shoes. The young man turns, swinging his arm to the side to swiftly grab his bat. Bending over, Tracks watches as he pulls out what appears to be a leather glove. Scout tucks it under his arm before giving her an irked glance. "…come on."

Note: In case any of you have been wondering what the Sniper is saying...

Shiela:reference to a lady/sometimes used in terms of endearment

Big Smoke: reference to big cities

Bludger:some who is lazy

Also, for those who may not read the TF2 comics by Valve, Smissmas is their interpretation of Christmas.