The two had to be honest.

They liked sex.

"C'mon Tracks! Hold still!"

"Ahaha! No! Make me!"

Never had the two expected something so average and natural to be invigorating. It never seemed to have gotten old. In fact, they had completely forgotten about baseball for the entirety of the week because of it.

"Wait—what are you…?"

"Shush fatty. Lemme be on top this time."

"…okay."

At one point the Scout felt rather guilty. Perhaps he had been forcing her into it? Maybe Tracks didn't want it as much as he did? Though he was demanding by nature and rather spoiled the least he wanted to be was a forcer. Taking a good portion of the day to think he had come up with a rather solid decision. Perhaps it was best to backtrack and go back to an old habit they had—sports.

"Yo, Tracks!" Dusty, gritty leather rubs against the Scout's thick palms. It had been five days since he touched his beloved baseball. This item was always important, but ever since the Tracker had used it its overall sentimental value seemed to have increased. He had been searching for the Tracker for some time now. The young woman had exited the comfortable atmosphere of the recreational room. Her hand waved to someone.

"Au revior."

The Scout raises a brow—that sounded like Frenchie. Sure enough the smell of burning tobacco filled the air around them. Curiosity rose. He wanted to know what they were speaking of. Surely it had to do with the two of them. Helpful tips on how to get on the Scout's nerves no doubt. Shaking his head he attempts to clear his mind. "You wanna play ball?" he throws her a sideways grin, her body twitching. A light chuckle escapes his lips. She hadn't been expecting him. Approaching her he gives her a small peck. "I'm itchin' to get my heart pumpin'." Frowning she snorts at his statement. "You kiddin'? It's raining outside, Scout."

"So? When does a little rain stop us—that is unless you're scared you'll catch a cold. Daw, my poor Tracks," he pinches her cheek slightly, a hot blush spreading beneath his finger. Flicking his palm to the side she presses a finger against his lips. Finally his bickering had earned him a small smile from her. "Fine, shesh. Quit touchin' me!"

Chapter 19

The Running Subduction

Slippery fingers weren't strong enough to catch the slick surface of the sphere. A scream of laugher escapes the Tracker's lips as she skids against the ground, the Scout pouncing right after her. Brown clay mixes with water, coating their skins. Clawing the ground the Tracker attempts to crawl away, but the young man's grip was strong. "OFF!"

"Hell nah, I won!"

"NO…NOT….FAIR!" She missed this—even though it's only been a few days she really did long for it again. Running and playing baseball was refreshing. Later she would call the twerp and tell him that she played it again. After that she would listen to him tease and mock her for a good hour or so, followed by his playful remarks on how the Scout was her boyfriend.

Somehow she had managed to pull herself onto her feet and race away, her steps messy and slippery. A loud string of laughter escapes her lips as the Scout jumps after her. Neither two noticed the men watching them through a RED base window.

"They look like two joeys runnin'."

"Perfect, are they not?" Sniper raises a brow at the man. "So…what'd you talk to Tracka about, mate?" The Spy's long chuckle made the Aussie grunt, his eyes narrowing. Swallowing a lump in his throat his shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms not long after. "Alright—spit it out."

"Oh, nothing. Just had a little talk. The girl is young, and so is he. They need all the guidance they can manage." A true statement. Sniper, with a strong grip, tilts his hat over his face and sighs casually. The weather had been extremely relaxing that he could fall asleep. Only the Spy's words kept him from his much wanted slumber. "Do you suppose they'll stay this way?"

"Not sure. Relationships ain' no different from day an' night. I'm thinkin' they could last if they put their heads on it. But it's hard—reason why I never found a Sheila for myself."

A hum escapes the Spy's sealed lips. When it came to the romantic part of things he had almost forgotten how dull the Sniper could truly be. Compassion wasn't really part of the Australian's style. The chiseled man was most accustomed to the more practical things in life; or in this case a relationship. Things like how to settle a fight or how to keep a situation stabilized. But even then the Sniper was set in isolation for most of his life that company alone was near foreign. How could he even imagine giving anyone advice on a relationship. But the Spy knew, which was why he had choose him to side with in terms of assisting the two lovebirds. As cold and reckless as the man could be, he really did have a strange and trusting charm about him.

"Well. When the first struggle comes the question is do we help or let it solve on its own."

"If it solves mate. If it solves." Spy chuckles once again at the Sniper's statement. "If is an assumption of the future, therefore it may not happen," he turns towards the door, finally tearing his gaze away from the two outside. Sniper rolls his eyes—the Frenchman's technicalities were always irritating to follow. But the small speckle of hope that the Spy wore for the younger mercenaries was something Sniper shared likewise. Before their conversation could grow further the Sniper glances towards the clock.

18:00.

As the ten members began to settle in they patiently, like always, awaited for dinner. Two hours was no trouble for them. Occasionally a stomach growled, but the hunger was easily pacified by a glass of lukewarm water, or perhaps an ice cold beer. Scout would have taken a good bottle of Red Shed himself, but all that was available was Old Geezer. That was the Sniper's beer, and even if he let the rowdy Scout have a gander at one the boy abruptly refused. The sound of it was just too unappealing. Biting his tongue the Scout grumbles under his breath. His feet hammered the ground impatiently as his dear Tracker sat on the cushioned seat beside him. Her eyes were glued patiently upon the book within her lap. With blue eyes he pondered upon the title once again curiously—the man had forgotten the title already.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Raising his brow he leans over, his head only mere inches from hers. Tracks hadn't budged as she continued to become entranced within the rather boring looking novel. "Where'd you get that?"

"Spy let me borrow it."

"Pfft, another one? I don't see how ya can finish this stuff so fast. I mean look at it—the cover alone is freakin' boring." Taking a side in his palm he attempts to bend it over, his eyes narrowing at the image of a rather old looking man printed on the front. He sucks his teeth; yet, it looked boring as hell. Swiftly it was yanked from his grasp, eyes his growing large with curiosity. "It's not boring. It's a satire, about revenge."

"In other words boring," his words followed just as he pulled the book from her loose grasp. A blush spreads over the Tracker's cheeks, her eyes glaring to the Scout. A laugh escapes his grinning lips when she sneers at him. Practically sprawled on his lap she struggles to retrieve the text. "Hey, give it here!"

"If ya give me a kiss!"

"Scout, c'mon!" he had succeeded in pulling a laugh from her. But before the youngster could earn his much wanted smooch three light knocks had brought them to a silence. The both looked in unison as the door slowly opened to reveal none other than Miss Pauling. Such a lovely woman—her soft nature had brought both mercenaries a sudden sense of peace and comfort. "Good evening," she greets with a welcoming smile, and the two had adjusted themselves into more appropriate positions. As her heels clacked the Scout shuts the novel, his body melting against the chair. "Yo, what up Miss Paulin'?"

It was such a great relief that he had someone to become loyal to now. Lately she never needed to worry about the Scout's constant bantering and persistent attempts of asking her on a date. Instead he greeted her kindly, like all of the other mercenaries, and granted her a comforting space. She smiles warmer now, her clipboard in hand. "Scout, the Administrator would like to speak with you in private."

That was a first.

Eyes widened, a ball forming within the Scout's throat. "M-Me?" His sudden tension hadn't gone unnoticed by either of the women. Pink lips perked up warmly as they pressed against his now blushing cheek. "What? You scared?"

"Wha? Nah! I ain't scared, shit." Strong legs pulled himself up to his feet with a single leap. Stretching out his arms he bends over, grabbing the Tracker's face and giving her a firm kiss. He chuckled through her tired grunt, her eyes narrowing with irritation. Miss Pauling only giggled at the sight, making Tracks even more embarrassed. Finally he pulled away, and she proceeded to wiping her face off with her wrist. "Get outta here will ya?" her words only made him grin the more. Taking a step out he turns back, waiting to be ushered by the Administrator's faithful assistant.

The walk wasn't awkward like before. The two had a comfortable exchange of words, and soon a small conversation arose. "You seem happy."

"Hmm? Me? Ehh, I try."

A small laugh escapes Miss Pauling's lips. "Well, you must be doing it right. She seems happy too."

"Really?" The sudden glimmer of hope within his eyes had made the young lady snicker even more. A rather flushed smile spreads over his face. "Ya know Miss Paulin', if I had to pick out the greatest thing that ever happen to me, other than meetin' you, it would be Tracks."

This was just too adorable, she thought. Regardless of the suck up he had just managed to squeeze in. In fact, something like this was just so unexpected. Perhaps this was the reason as to why many of the members treasured the thought of those two more. "Well, here we are." Pushing the door to the meeting room open, the Scout took casual steps in. Clicking his tongue he stared at the black screen of the small television set just up ahead. "…sooo, what does she wanna talk about again?"

"I'm actually not sure," Miss Pauling shuts the door behind her. The suction it made rang in his ears suddenly. What?

Miss Pauling didn't know why?

But before he could even question this the television flashes. White noise fills the room for several seconds before the signal could be reached. That sickening silhouette of the menacing woman sent a shiver up his long spine. Daring to even take a gulp he steps forward, his shoulders bouncing in the heat of the moment. "Err…what's up boss?"

"Spare the salutations. I'll make this short and sweet." Growing still the Scout swallows a mouth full of saliva, his eyes not even blinking. As her imagine began to light a fresh cigarette he could have sworn he could smell the stale tobacco on dry cleaned fabric, and the sting of harsh smoke when it flew from her flared nostrils. For a moment she looked as if she were pondering something, but then she locks frightening eyes with his.

"Your performance has surprisingly increased in the last several months."

A compliment? Scout hadn't been expecting this. Tensing his jaw he rolls his eyes to the side subtly. "Well, yeah! I always-"

"I'm not finished." Biting his cheek the boy felt sweat building up. Peaking over the corner of his eye he couldn't help but plea towards Miss Pauling. Though she usually knew well of the Administrator's intentions her eyes seemed to have been filled with a sense of unsureness. That only made the Scout panic worse.

"You are rather tamed…" Rolling her eyes up she lowers her voice slightly. "Are you two intimate?"

His heart cringed at this—what did she just asked him? Opening his mouth he intend to protest, but all that could come out was…

"Dahh…ahhh…w-what?"

Damn, he felt stupid. Clenching his fists he bit down against his tongue now. Lucky for him he hadn't been blushing with humiliation, but the way his eyes flinched from side to side gave him away. A strange noise erupted from the woman's throat, but regardless she continued with the same tone from before. "…I understand your situation. You are young, and so is she. I knew something like this might have happened when I allowed a woman to join either team."

Dryness tore apart his throat as it began to swell. What was this woman getting at?

"The RED has been performing so well now, I'm actually surprised at how well my strategy unraveled."

"What's the point to this?" Finally his brows had furrowed, and the look on the Administrator's face showed that she hadn't been expecting him to talk a word. Suddenly, a long and slow laugh. It was almost agonizing to the ears, but the Scout had kept his form strong. "Oh, a point…shrewd, but true. Fine then, I'll cut to the chase." Long, sickening fingers played with the rolled piece of tobacco thoughtfully.

"Seeing as to how your team has reached an admissible goal there is no need for a tenth member. The scores are even—there is a perfect sense of equilibrium. Within the next three months your team will succeed over the other, and I will have to act in evening the scales again. A simple fix mind you."

A flicker glazed over his now widened eyes. "What are you sayin'?"

"A transfer, Mr. Scout. I am pondering about a transfer." His heart pulls once again, the strings nearly snapping apart from how hard the muscle began to beat. "No."

Her brow rose. "Hmm, I wasn't expecting you to understand so quickly. Alas, this isn't a proposition. This is me simply giving you a head start in preparations with…what is it you young ones call it? A break up?" Gradually he began to bore teeth, and Miss Pauling bit her bottom lip.

"I said…no."

The woman's laugh only infuriated him more. "I hadn't expected more or less from you. The youth are always blinded by such trivial things." Lips pursed as smoke seethed between them. "Don't look so hostile. You should know that you hadn't a choice in the matter. I simply though this would be much easier than having to subdue the two of you by force. Either way you are equally expendable. Rehiring is just such a hassle nowadays, what with the regulations, inspections and all sorts like them…"

Knuckles cracked as he attempted to bind his rage aside, having almost no success. "You…fuckin' hag!"

"My, what a mouth you have. If you had earned a care from me I would have informed you of losing it just now." Pressing her cigarette down, he could hear the faint buzz of the hissing ash against cool metal. "In three months she will be gone to the BLUs, just to level the sides a tad. After, she will be relieved of her duties." The Scout grits his teeth—relieved? Usually when people were relieved they were never heard from again. What happens to them after no one had the slightest clue. Thoughts spiraled within the youngster's head. What would happen to her if that was the case? She could have her memories erased, or she could have been returned back to Detroit in that shitty shack or hers. Or worse, she could be killed.

"You can't make me do this." The boy was desperate, and that only amused the Administrator even more. "On the contrary, Mr. Scout, I can. All I have to do is force her out of your life within this very moment, and I have no trouble in doing so. I have various alternatives."

Miss Pauling watched as his shoulders began to fall. Crumbling—his hope was crumbling slowly. There was no way out, no way out at all. And the woman couldn't help but stare helplessly at him, her stomach turning at how sudden all of this was. Was there anything she could do to change the Administrator's mind? Blue eyes rolled up, glaring darkly at the woman in the screen. But no words followed, only a desolate stare. "…you bitch."

"Good boy. I knew you'd be obedient. Try not to look so angry now. The Tracker isn't aware of this yet, and I don't intend for her to be so until I complete the preparations for her transfer. I insist, however, that you start your side of the job as soon as possible. It's only fair. Just imagine how troubled she will be. Surely you'll grant her some time to cope."

Muscles tensed so hard that his jaw shivered. "…please." Begging—the Scout was begging. How pathetic could he get? But he couldn't help it. He didn't want to do this. There had to be another way. The thought of being separating from her killed him, and the fact that she would be gone forever. And worse, she would be in the BLU team, with the other men. His very bones shivered at the thought. She would be in a new environment, without him, and he would be fighting her. Killing her. And either end would struggle with the fact. The only response he received was a dark laugh, and that alone was a sure answer.

Blood filled his mouth—he had bitten down so hard it had broken skin. The moment the word dismissed was spoken he turned instantly, storming out of the room angrily. He hadn't even noticed Miss Pauling call after him. This was shit, this was complete and utter shit. He couldn't accept this—he wouldn't do it!

"…fuck." Warm liquid rolled from his eyes as he reached one of the deadest portions of the base. He was surely alone right now, and Miss Pauling couldn't follow his path. His walking speed alone was hard to keep up with, and the woman was wearing heels. Unsteady breaths struggled to reach a comforting pace, and his anxiety and anger only grew from there. He was suck. Just what exactly was he going to do? Fighting was all he knew. That and running.

There was no way to run from this.

"…c'mon, think," he grumbles, forehead pressing harshly against the wall. Nothing came to mind. "…THINK!" he had slammed his forehead against the drywall with frustration, and he surely had earned a crack from it. Fists followed soon after, and he had struggled to keep his body standing. It was childish, the reason why he cried. But he couldn't help it at all. Scout loved her. He didn't want to have to do it. He didn't want to take such an unfair responsibility. It wasn't fair.

Yet he had to.