Friday. 12:14 PM, Mountain Daylight Time. Two hours and forty-six minutes left to finish organizing the newest Respawn Logs of the week, sorting out the best applications for new messengers, attendants, and moles. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes to finish writing up the orders for large ammo packs, three new winter contracts to hand the BLU team, and to scan the last remaining footage she was able to salvage from yesterday's payload match.
As the footage rewound for the third time, Miss Pauling found the time to filter the remaining applications into piles of Bring To Administrator, Leave As Second Options, Last Resort, and finally Do Not Hire/Touch With A Fifty Foot Pole. She also found the time to take a quick sip from her rapidly cooling hazelnut and light cream coffee. Well, better a cold tongue than a scalded one, she supposed.
The footage stopped and Miss Pauling pressed play once again. The grainy black and white footage was horribly messy and thus trying to find anything of note would be a near impossible task. But The Administrator did not tolerate the bare minimum, she expected proficiency and excellence on every level, and that is what Miss Pauling would prove she had.
This had been from a camera right at the edge of Borneo, the closest to where Scout had described his encounter with that bogey. And right not, the blurry, speedy shape of her youngest mercenary made its way into the frame. Up and over the large shape what had to be a heavy, and then he came to a stop, switching his weapons. Why he did was anyone's guess, the runner was incredibly unpredictable. Which was, in all honesty, incredibly frustrating.
Of course Scout wasn't the sole perpetrator of impulsive action, the rest of his team were completely insane and downright odd. However, she could reason out when and how to guess their actions and keep them under control to largely great success. But Scout? The man was not one to be reined in. When told to be quiet and listen, he'd do the opposite and constantly talk about whatever he'd want, which typically was her and what she was wearing, how she was doing, did she see him wave at the cameras, would she like to go see a movie, and other distracting conversations. When told to complete a contract a certain way, he'd swear he'd stay on track and end up doing it in an entirely different, albeit it more efficient way, and gloat, and flex, and lean into her personal space when handing it in, flashing her a grin that he probably thought was incredibly suave. And when told to stick to a plan and not take any risks, what does he do?
Scout gets killed. Crushed, bloodied, broken, and very, very much dead, leaving Miss Pauling to sort through applications of men and women who could perhaps fill his role. Applicants who could take a hint, who could stand still and listen, who would hand in contracts and fall in line without debate, who wouldn't ask her questions like how she was doing, did she see their nonexistent waves at her through the cameras, would she like to take a break from her incredibly important work and risk disappointing The Administrator to grab an ice cream, would she like to spend the one day off The Administrator so graciously gave her with them instead of doing something she'd actually like to do, was she being treated properly?
Miss Pauling stopped the tape, knowing how it would play out already. Scout would rush out of frame, into a blindspot the camera couldn't view, which would be where he saw the strange disappearing person. She made a mental note to ask the Administrator to hire someone to install another camera in that corner, or she could ask if she could ask Engie to install one. She was sure he'd could do it, better than other technicians, and he'd probably add a feature like a little scanner for unspecified person, or a sentry to shoot unknown people not allowed on the battlefield- no, that wouldn't work, he then had the power to install something to give his team an unauthorized advantage on the battleground. But if Miss Pauling made it clear that he was to install a normal camera and nothing else…?
No, The Administrator would never allow it, and she'd be right to do so.
One hour and fifteen minutes left to finish up her paperwork before meeting with The Administrator. Meticulous and mechanical typing continued into the final hour. The crisp sound of her portable typewriter typing away always helped her focus. And the light rattling ding was always a nice finishing touch. Soon every order, contract, and log was written, scanned, and organized. She even had time to finish her coffee before heading to the Administrator.
Downing the now cold liquid and fighting back a shudder, the assistant got to her feet, grabbed the many files, fat binders, and the blockish phone before trotting out of her small office and towards The Administrator. The halls were dark and smelled of nicotine, the corners of the plastic binders poked her arms and weighed heavily, and a few strands of her air came undone. She'll have to fix those before meeting with The Administrator.
Through winding halls and narrowly avoiding tripping over the thick black cables coating the floors, Miss Pauling reached the labyrinth of staircases to reach her superior. Hitching her documents up, she began to hurry down the many, many, many steps. Oh, if only The Administrator would allow the installation of an elevator, so much time would be saved, and her feet wouldn't grow so sore so quickly. But if stairs were what her superior wanted, then Miss Pauling had no right to complain. So putting a pillow over those thoughts of hers and waiting till they moved no more were what she did as the descent continued. Now all she could think about was that person Scout saw. If that indeed was what he found.
It wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility that it really was just a person who'd ended up someplace they didn't belong. The delivery boy situation last July in Harvest was proof of that. That, or Scout had hallucinated the whole encounter, but that was less likely. He hasn't shown to have any symptoms of schizophrenia or mental impairments like that before, and his family's medical records hadn't shown a history of delusions and sensory issues. Then again, he's never been given a proper mental evaluation during his employment, and Miss Pauling couldn't exactly trust what was on Spy's records. Those seemed to change every couple days, and despite her many lectures to him about it, and threatening to write him up, she couldn't prove it had been him, and he kept doing it anyway so she just had to live with the additional workload he (hopefully) unknowingly dropped on her.
Perhaps she should have Medic run a mental evaluation on Scout. There wasn't a doubt in her mind they'd both agree if she brought it up and she made Medic promise not break the Hippocratic Oath under threat of his premium birdseed being downgraded to normal birdseed. Though even if Scout agreed at first, chances are he'd end up doing something to wiggle his way out of it. That was just his nature.
But if it wasn't any of those other ideas, then Miss Pauling could only reasonably come to one conclusion: the mysterious Gray Mann. So tight lipped had The Administrator been whenever Miss Pauling tried bringing him up, if he even existed and wasn't just a cover in order to trick them. The Mann brothers wouldn't hear a word of it either, too focused on their disputes over gravel to care. So the assistant was left in the dark once more, and she couldn't understand why.
She was the one who went around the Mann Co. Factories to discover the truth, she'd been the one to enter that building in the Rockies full of documents and tapes and evidence she'd ordered the retrieval of, and she was the one who'd faced down Connery with the then BLU team and put an end to him. All of that and The Administrator still wouldn't trust her with the larger picture that she knew had to exist.
But… if The Administrator found reason to keep the mountains of experiments and documents Miss Pauling provided to herself, then Miss Pauling had no right to argue against her ruling. She just had to prove herself until that changed.
Nearing the bottom, the brick-sized phone began to ring. A quick rearrangement later and Miss Pauling had pinned the phone between her neck and shoulder.
"Hello, Pauling here," she answered.
"Good afternoon, Miss Pauling."
"Oh, hey Spy, how are you?" She managed to say without sounding winded. Oh how she hated these stairs- nice thoughts, no backtalking.
"Reasonably well. Yourself?"
"I'm fine. Don't have much time to talk though, I'm meeting with The Administrator shortly."
"Not to worry, I'll make this brief," the Frenchman said lightly, "it's regarding that figure Scout claims to have spotted yesterday. Heavy and I decided to search the battlements and the area around the base early this morning."
"Did you guys find anything?" Miss Pauling asked after finally reaching the bottom. She could just picture the light shake of Spy's head as he replied with a sigh.
"Nothing of note. A few broken ferns, trampled grass, not unlike what a moderately sized animal would make. I could get the bushman to look it over as he's more experienced in tracking than myself."
"I do believe that's the first time I've heard you admit Sniper's better at something than you, Spy," Miss Pauling mused.
"And it will be the last," Spy replied without a moment's notice. "Either way, we found nothing. Though Heavy did say that he felt as though he was being watched the longer we stayed searching."
"Did you feel something similar?"
"...I can't say with complete certainty," the mercenary said, "but these woods are far too dense for their own good. I would air on the side of caution just in case, a false sense of security could end badly for everyone."
"Yeah, that could be a problem," Miss Pauling admitted, hitching her binders up. "But don't worry, your relocation to Upward can prove if what Scout saw is a legitimate threat or just a one off run in."
"Perhaps."
"Also one last thing, before your next match starts, could you please remind Scout to remember to wear his headset and not leave it at the base?" A hefty pause met her words before she heard Spy roughly groan.
"That boy… Yes, I'll make it very clear ."
"Thanks Spy, have a good weekend."
"You as well," and then the line went dead, leaving her to reach her destination alone. The further she went, the more electric buzz she could hear in the air and feel in her hair. And along with it was a grainy voice. It was too muffled to make out the words, but the closer Miss Pauling got to The Administrator, the more she could understand.
Finally, she reached the door, and hitching up her binders and folders once more, entered.
"- cries for water have ceased. Small boils are beginning to form on the outer skin, a deep red in color. The coughing seems to have increased in force, and the ears have begun to hemorrhage. Whether that is caused by burst eardrums or not- " The tape was stopped as a spindly, sharply nailed finger pressed down on the tape recorder to the left of the sharp leather chair. Surrounding them were screens, big and small, lighting up the space with artificial light that burned and smelt of the electrified corpses of dust bunnies. Playing out in the screens was the sight of the teams setting up in their locker rooms for the next match. In the farthest right TV, she could just spot the slim figure of Spy smacking Scout upside the head and holding the runner's headset.
"You're early, Miss Pauling." Said assistant straightened up, unsure if her time management was being complimented or scorned. "I believe I've told you to knock when you've finished quicker than expected."
"Yes, you have, I'm sorry," Miss Pauling was quick to say. A cloud of smoke blew up from behind the leather seat. "I've finished looking through the cameras like you asked. So far none of our footage captured shows any strange phenomena or unknown entities. But-"
"But?"
"The location the RED scout claims to have spotted a figure was outside Camera 23B's range, it happened in a blindspot." Miss Pauling stated, lightly tugging at her loose strands. The Administrator hummed.
"What solutions would you propose we implement then?" The older woman asked, her ancient tone edging on boredom. Miss Pauling took a breath.
"My first suggestion would be to install a camera in that blindspot, so that any future phenomena that occurs, we'll have captured on film. Perhaps extend that to every blindspot on the battlefield and on the bases as a precaution."
"And who should we go to in order to do this?"
"Hiring a civilian technician would be cheap but might produce less quality cameras. However, they would not have the means to install any malicious hardware that could give our enemies an advantage, as long as they are vetted property. And they would be expendable, so any classified company information they could gain knowledge about can't be held as blackmail and they can be disposed of without any hangups."
"And the other option?"
"Having one of the engineers install customized cameras could produce higher quality footage. Depending on how much we are willing to spend, and given that they're mercenaries, they have a far slimmer likelihood of installing hardware that could bring us any harm. Though should they do so, they'll be far more successful in attempts at blackmail as they can not only defend themselves, but they have no qualms of killing and are incredibly intelligent, making finding a replacement far more difficult than other classes." At that, The Administrator turned around. With the screens at her back, the shadows sat strongly across her narrow face, with the only illumination being the cigarette pinned between her cracked lips of old purple lipstick.
"And which of the two would you recommend?"
"Dell Conagher." The Administrator narrowed her eyes, then a thin smile cut across her face like a laceration.
"Good choice." Miss Pauling hoped the happiness she felt wasn't showing on her face. "See to it that he understands his new responsibility. I'll leave the payments to you."
"Thank you."
"Mhh," The older woman took a drag and looked down at the items in Miss Pauling's arms. "And I suspect those are for me."
"A- yes, these are the applications for the open positions that have been made recently," the assistant handed her superior the binders and folders. As The Administrator flipped through the papers, and with Miss Pauling standing at attention, the older woman blew out a cloud of sour smoke and spoke.
"I have a mission for you, Miss Pauling," the low growl it was spoken with snatched up Miss Pauling's attention and held it at gunpoint.
"What is it?" Miss Pauling asked.
"...I have reason to suspect the RED team is keeping something from me," The Administrator said, eyes cutting into her assistant's own. "And I have even more reason to suspect such information can affect everything I've worked so hard to control."
"That's a… rather hefty accusation," Miss Pauling replied, fiddling with her sleeve's helm. "Do you believe they have the… intellectual capacity to achieve that?"
"Of course not, which is why I suspect certain members to begin with." Another drag. Another large puff of smoke. "Your mission is this: keep a careful and close watch on the RED team's scout without causing suspicion within their ranks. Gain his trust, get him to admit anything he might know to you, the more trust you gain the better."
You could hear a pin drop after the older woman said her piece. Miss Pauling stood there under her superior's gaze in utter bewilderment. Scout? Why him, what could he possibly be hiding from them? The runner couldn't keep a secret to save his life, no, there had to be a misunderstanding!
"A… Are you certain I have to spy on him ?" Miss Pauling felt herself asking, a tint of disbelief on her tongue. "You know that Sc- the RED scout can't keep a secret, if he knew anything he'd have told me it by now. Wouldn't it be more beneficial to observe some of the others? Like the medic, or engineer, or even spy?" The Administrator didn't respond right away. Instead she stared, taking a long, drawn out drag of that cigarette pinched between her spidery fingers.
"...Are you insinuating that I'm mistaken, Miss Pauling?" The tone sent the secretary to stiffen. "That perhaps, in my old age, I'm finally growing too senile to know when something foul is amiss?"
" No! No, of course not! I'd, I would never…"
"But you are, aren't you." It was a statement. Miss Pauling felt goosebumps forming.
"That wasn't my intention, I'm… sorry for overstepping my bounds."
"...I do not take backtalk kindly, Miss Pauling. It would be a mistake to forget that."
"Yes, Administrator." The elder leaned back into her chair, then sighed, rubbing her temple.
"You must learn to realize, my dear, that I've been around far, far longer than you, and that when I make accusations, they are not accusations. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Administrator," Miss Pauling replied.
"Good," another drag with a gleam in her eyes, "once again, my trust and choice in you has proven to have not been misplaced." That earned the smallest of ghostly smiles from the assistant. "Now, let me be clearer: observe the RED scout's routines, learn them, memorize them, and should he break any, or show any unfamiliar behaviour, you will let me know. Keep a journal if you must, as this may take some time to truly get the information I need."
"But… how will I… get close to him?" Miss Pauling managed to ask, her voice was stiff and uncomfortable. The Administrator waved dismissively.
"Pretend to become friends, listen to his annoying rambles, trick him into believing you're romantically involved, I don't care about the how, Miss Pauling, I care about the results, and if that means even letting him have his way a bit, I trust you enough to not allow yourself become "attached"." The last word was spat out, like a sour grape.
Miss Pauling, however, seemed to have lost her voice. Her mission then was… to become a Femme Fatale? To fool Scout. That wouldn't be hard at all, and that was what left such a wretched taste in her mouth.
"...how can you be so certain that this will work?" She managed to mumble. The Administrator rolled her eyes.
"Oh, don't be slow, Miss Pauling, that scout is infatuated. You can easily control him through the lust he feels for you." Never again did Miss Pauling want to hear the word "lust" be uttered in any sort of context coming from The Administrator. And especially involving Scout.
"But I thought you hate friendships! And, well, any relationships!" Miss Pauling blurted out, the one last argument she had left.
"I do. Very much so. However, such connections can be exploited, and especially faux connections. And I trust that you understand that, Miss Pauling? Or am I putting too much faith in your abilities?" Miss Pauling stammered, then fell silent. After a moment, she nodded and straightened up.
"Your faith isn't misplaced; I'm confident I can complete the mission, Administrator."
"Good, then you're dismissed," her superior swiveled back around to face the screens. Miss Pauling gave them a glance, seeing the match had begun with no sign of a certain runner. "Do not fail me."
With that, the assistant nodded and left the room, dreading the walk back upstairs, dreading her nerves, and dreading seeing Scout again.
"I get around~ I get aarroouunndd~"
"Scout, if your plannin' on singin' during the match, could you kindly not do so into your mic?" The grainy and tired words of Engie rose to life in Sniper's right ear, acting as a voice for the people. More noise filled the earpiece.
"Gotta problem with my singing, Overalls?" The accusatory voice of Scout shot back. Through the boards of the window Sniper was aiming through he could spot the enemy heavy and pyro making their way to the payload. Taking aim and ignoring the buzzing voices in his ear, Sniper zoned onto his target. Breath in, and out. Steady now… the red bead found itself on the head of the pyro.
"-Completely off key as well- "
"-OH, I'm offkey, have you heard Demo's caterwauling he calls singing?"
"-Aye, leave me outta thi-" The demolitionist's voice was cut off with the painful static of death.
"Dummy," Scout said. Both Sniper and Engie groaned.
"Son, pay attention to the battle and not your little bruised ego, d*mnit! "
"Screw you," Scout replied smugly. Seeing as the pyro and heavy escaped with their heads intact due the distraction, Sniper felt it right to join the debate.
"Truckie's right, ya *rsehole," Sniper snapped, flicking his own mic down, "shut yer big gob for five bloody seconds, why don't you?"
"Cause then how else are ya gonna hear my angelic voice?"
"More like acidic," Sniper grumbled, smirking at the offended stuttering Scout made on the other end.
"Oh, just you wait, Horseface, I'm gonna blow the socks offa everyone here, mark my words! Bet if I get a karaoke machine for tonight-"
"Then you'll embarrass yourself even more than you already havee," Sniper mused, leaning on the windowsill in boredom. There was no way he'd be able to zone out the volume of the runner's snarky tantrum.
"Sniper, don't egg him on, we have a match to win, " Engie was practically begging for the men to take things seriously. But then Scout shot in again.
"Yeah, Sniper, why're ya eggin' me on, huh? Shouldn't you be snipin' or something productive? "
"Oh, you're one to talk," Sniper grumbled again. Seemed pretty obvious that something made Scout pretty eager to start a fight today. His bet was on Spy. The two were chatting before the match started, and before that Scout was in… not a good mood but more of a normal state of mind.
"Yeah, I am, cause ya ain't doin' nothin'! I can see you just sittin' there, takin' a little vaca, Snippy?"
"Don't you call me that, ya s**thead!" Sniper could hear the angry bristling building up on Scout's end.
"Fellas, listen-"
"Ah, shut up, Snippy, you melon! " An uncomfortable prickling started up at the back of his neck and only grew until Sniper ripped the headset off, only just able to catch Soldier saying he wasn't a melon but a squash.
"I'm going to kill that piker, 'm gonna kill him." The marksman took a harsh breath and sat back up to look through the boards. But that prickling warmth wasn't going away, and it soon turned colder and harsher the longer he sat still. He then spoke.
"So how long have you been standing in the corner? And are you planning on coming out any time soon?"
"Long enough now, I suppose," Spy replied, slipping into the dim light the boarded up window cast. "Any particular reason why Scout called you a fruit?"
"...no, it's not- nothing to it, just," Sniper could feel his face growing blisteringly hot, "what the h*ll do you want, Spook?"
"A place to lie low for a bit," the Frenchman said, stalking over to the window and sneaking a peek through the wood, "I managed to hide in their ranks long enough for the medic to entrust me with his Über." That made Sniper grin.
"And ya couldn't've done it within view of me nest?"
"Oh, my mistake, I should have taken the time to make sure the neighborhood jarman had front row tickets to the reactions." Spy dramatically rolled his eyes. The marksman only nodded with a teasing smirk.
"Yeah, you should have, I would've liked to have seen the bloke's face when it happened."
"If you must know, that expression I earned is why I am keeping a low profile for now," Spy leaned himself against the wall, bringing out a new cigarette and lighter, "I'd rather not be made into a pincushion for that lunatic's drug filled needles."
"Fair enough." Sniper peeked back out the window, watching the battleground. In the far corner was Engie placing down a Mini-sentry, which might have added to Scout's bad attitude today. Heavy was sheltered behind a wall eating a sandwich, the bullet holes in his chest magically pushing the lead out and sealing shut. And the runner was currently stuck in a brawl with his counterpart, who appeared to be winning.
The two slender mercs were rolling the mud, bats and guns tossed aside and forgotten. Scout looked to be pinned beneath the BLU scout, tanking blow after blow to his face which he seemed intent on protecting. The BLU scout had put his sour apple of a friend on the defense with no clear way of changing that. Scout was on a fast track to Respawn.
"How in the world did he manage to **** himself so horribly?" Spy mused, watching the brawl alongside the marksman. Sniper shrugged, drumming his fingers on the grip of his rifle, hands clenching and unclenching. Should he help, should he not…
It seemed like the BLU scout was growing tired of the fight and was determined to end it. He sat on their runner's chest, pinning him to the ground, before wringing Scout's neck. Beneath him Scout kicked and struggled, teeth bared and eyes clamped shut.
BANG!
The BLU scout collapsed on top of Scout, who only lay there, gasping, before shoving the body away with excessive force. Shakingly standing up, the runner's head darted around before landing on the next. His face was bloody, bruised, and blank.
Scout then flipped him off. Sniper shoved his own hand out the window and flipped him off in turn.
"Ungrateful lil' wanker," Sniper mumbled before reloading his rifle. To his left Spy hums.
"You two seem to get along quite well," the masked man mused, "though I can't seem to understand why."
"Cause it ain't your business, Spy," Sniper replied, turning to face his companion. His teammate only met his stare with an easy gaze.
"Am I not allowed to be curious? Realistically, you two have very little in common personality-wise, though that appears to be changing."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I do believe earlier was the first time I've ever heard you utter the phrase "s**thead". Or to be so quick to argue before." Wait, was it? Did he say that? …Well, even if he did, what was one slip of the tongue? Scout had a sailor's mouth, and a lot of the others weren't much better, and he wasn't exactly a puritan either. What was Spy's point here?
"So what if I did, Scout's being a little s**t."
"Yes, yes he is." Spy nodded, "I'm simply pointing out that you're starting to adopt some of Scout's mannerisms. Or at least his… less than stellar vocabulary."
"Are you implying something-"
"Does everything I do have to have some hidden, selfish motive?"
"Yes, because that's your bloody job , not to mention your name around here."
"Touché," Spy noted. He took a light drag, blowing out a light smog. "Well, I suppose I do have one hidden motive, though it wasn't going to remain hidden for long."
"Spit it out."
"...I believe you're beginning to grow soft."
…
"Excuse me?" The marksman deadpanned. The Frenchman shrugged.
"I'm acting mostly as a messenger, though I have noticed it myself. How do I put this without sounding crass?"
"Like that's going to help, just spit it out, mate, what the bloody h*ll makes you think I'm getting soft!?"
"Scout." Sniper's fierce glare faltered, then hardened.
"Sounds like projection, ya slimy git," he snarled, sitting up straight, "or jealousy, which came around 23 years too late!-"
"Will you let me explain without interrupting!?" Spy shot back. Sniper continued glaring, but gestured for the older man to continue. Spy took a breath.
"I couldn't care less about whether you're growing too soft for your role or not; perhaps we'd get a proper, less disgusting man as a replacement. But regardless, I know our team does. And it has been growing more and more obvious that the two of you are close. To a… concerning extent, some might say."
"And who would those "some" be?" Sniper said slowly. Spy met his gaze and took a drag.
"Our employers, for one. Our team is another." The masked man paused, rolling his cigarette around his fingers. "Let me start again. Scout is a very open individual. He… wears his heart on his sleeve, as they say. It isn't uncommon for him to show more affection than the others, and if he were showing such affection to, say, Pyro, who is also, er, "affectionate" in a sense, no one would bat an eye. You are a near complete opposite. Before that monster's attack, I couldn't even recall a time you'd willingly let someone touch you, let alone hug you. Now, since you have grown a sort of… attachment to the boy, you let him do those things and more.
"Medic has seen you carry him on your back and call him little "pet names". Heavy notes that whenever Scout's injured or emotionally distraught, he seeks you out before anyone else. Demo's seen the two of you enter that pathetic excuse for a mobile home at night and not leave till morning. Engie and I have been on the receiving end of many, many rants to your defense. Even Soldier has noticed this, though he seems to see it as it is."
"Which is what ?"
"A friendship formed by shared horror and misery caused by a traumatic event. Or, in his words, "Brothers in Arms"."
"...So then what do the others think?" Sniper regretted asking the moment he opened his mouth, because he had the awful feeling he already knew.
"I can't say for certain, or if they even believe their little theories and rumors. My guess is that it's simply becoming a running joke, and unfortunately for you and Scout, you two are the punchline." Spy took a drag, looking off to the side in thought, "but I will say that your "professional assassin" reputation is being smothered to death slowly but surely, though I'd argue you never had one to begin with." Normally Sniper would never let a jab to his professionalism go unchallenged, but if what Spy was saying was true, and that was a pretty big "if", then his image was already taking massive hits. And he wasn't even aware of it till now.
But… it would explain how quiet the meeting had gotten yesterday when Scout was telling him about that figure he saw. And it would explain the disapproving looks Heavy would sometimes shoot in their direction whenever Scout was being too loud. And it would certainly explain the jabbing and teasing Demo had been doing as of late. If they really thought he'd gone soft when he obviously hadn't…
He hadn't gone soft. He hadn't. Spy was lying. Again. Sniper's reputation wasn't being tarnished just by being friends with Scout, the runner wasn't bad luck, it didn't work like that. Spy was just being paranoid and looking for trouble where it didn't exist, and trying to push that paranoia onto Sniper. The others just couldn't understand, they never asked.
Correction: they never asked Scout. Sniper had made a promise, and if the team were so curious about their comradery, then they could ask Scout himself, Sniper wasn't going to break a promise like that so easily.
"So then what do you think," Sniper asked, looking out the boarded window, "'m I going soft? Ought to tell Scout where he can shove it?"
"I hold no personal feelings in the matter," Spy replied evenly, looking at the far wall. "...But he is happy around you, I can't begin to reason why, but he is. And I see nothing to gain from taking that happiness away, so for now, and unless something about your companionship is shown to be detrimental to him, I won't interfere." He pulled himself away from the wall, inhaling the last of his cigarette, "besides, you're the one who seems to have something to lose in all of this, it would make sense to leave the decisions to you, non?" The Spy flicked the butt of his cigarette at Sniper, which bounced off his hat and onto the ground. "Au revoir, ermite en lambeaux."
"**** you too," Sniper grumbled, stamping out the still smoldering ashes of the older man's stick. Spy could have said the marksman was the greatest assassin of all time and he would have replied the same. When in doubt, cuss the French b*****d out.
"I'm not growing soft," Sniper lightly shook his head, giving a airy chuckle, "stupid pricks. 'M not getting soft," BANG! The BLU demo fell down dead.
Sniper continued to absolutely demolish the opposing team, and in doing so not only giving a huge advantage which earned their victory that match, but would no doubt earn the cheers of his team once they returned to base. Going soft, what a joke.
Climbing down from his nest, Sniper watched the other members of his team gather around and begin marching back to base, heads held high and proud. Pyro, who was covered in blood, gave him an enthusiastic wave and a thumbs up. He waved back, then frowned. Reaching into his pocket, Sniper pulled out his earpiece and put it on.
"Oy, Scout, did you fall down an old well again, where are ya?" The static warbled and buzzed for a bit before a strained voice answered.
"Thank ****, you actually still have your earpiece! I've been calling for forever and no one's picked up so either they're all ignorin' me like a bunch of d-"
"Kookaburra, where are you? Everyone's headed back to base already."
"Those freakin' *ssholes!... I'm in, like, an offshoot of the main building, I think? I can't stand."
Uh oh.
"Could you Respawn?"
"Pistol got knocked away from me and Scattergun jammed."
"Oh, that's convenient," Sniper deadpanned, earning a short, barking laugh from Scout.
"Why is Sniper standing around," the marksman turned to find Heavy walking up to him with a curious look, "is Friday, sooner we go, sooner we play cards and have good food."
"Scout's got himself injured and he can't Respawn, I'm trying to find him."
"Is serious?" Heavy's brow furrowed. Sniper shrugged.
"Don't think so. You can go, I'll handle this."
"If Sniper insists," and with that, the Russian left, and Sniper was left to find the downed runner. It took a while to actually locate the offshoot Scout had meant, but once he did, a sour apple pal was there to greet him.
"Soldier just left me like this, man!" Scout shouted, visibly fuming and sitting in the middle of the linoleum floor. Fighting back a sigh, Sniper walked over to Scout's side. "Like, seriously, he saw me here and just up and left, like what the ****! What's his problem, huh!?"
"Did you insult him before asking for help?" Sniper droned. Scout's mouth snapped shut, and he looked away as his face and ears grew red.
"Maybe…"
"Dumb*rse."
"Moron."
"Imp."
"Melon."
"Well, now I'm not going to help you either-"
" FINE !" Scout snapped, dragging himself to the closest wall, "I can help myself, I don't need any of you jerks!" He braced himself against the wall and began to push himself up. Honestly, it didn't look like there was anything wrong with him, but something was obviously wrong with his ankle. He wasn't putting any weight on it and the kid was breaking into a sweat just from standing. And he was panting now too.
"What's even wrong with ya?"
"Ankle." Scout managed to force out, "broke, or. Sprained. Badly, and hurts."
"Alright, fine, c'mere," Sniper trotted over to the runner's side and grabbed his arms, lifting him off his bad leg. "Can you walk or not?"
"I… don't know, honestly, uh… could I get a ride?..."
"Seriously?"
"Please? You're already here and it'll be faster…"
"Debatable, but fine," Sniper leaned down just enough for Scout to hop onto his back. The sudden weight forced him to stumble forwards, but after finding his balance and shifting weight, the pair were on their way.
The walk was silent for a time, and it was almost surreal being on a damaged battleground with no one else around. Scorch marks peppering the walls, the bullet casings gleaming like copper dew in the grass, and the red puddles soaking into the earth and wooden floorboards. Soon the battleground began to filter out and into the path towards their home base.
"Eerie," Scout said. Sniper whistled.
""Eerie", wow, that's a complex word coming from you," he smirked over his shoulder, "did you finally pick up a dictionary for once in your life?"
"Yeah, I picked one up on my way out of your ma's house last night." The pair, and the world, came to a screeching halt.
"Off."
"What?"
"Get off."
"Wai- are you being serious right now?"
"Dead serious," Sniper shot Scout a cold glare over his shoulder and loosen his grip to the point of letting go. "Either take that back, or get off."
"...You're seriously drawing the line at "Your Ma" jokes!?"
"Yes, now either take it back, or get off."
"OKAY, okay, I'm sorry, I take it back, geez!" Scout shouted, scrambling to tighten his grip on Sniper's vest so as to not fall off. "'M sorry, okay?"
"Apology accepted," a small pause, "and I wasn't being serious," That earned him an angry punch to his shoulder. He tightened his grip and continued on their way in silence. Perhaps too much silence. Trying to sneak a glance at Scout was near impossible considering the fact that the runner was currently shoving his face into the marksman's vest.
"You're quiet," Sniper said as their home base finally came into view, "something on your mind?" Scout remained quiet for a time before roughly sighing, the heat soaking into Sniper's shirt.
"...Sorry for calling you a melon earlier," Scout mumbled into his vest, "and "Snippy", I just… was just a crumby day, kept trying to find that thing again and I kept getting outflanked and… just sucks, man. Sorry for dragging ya down too."
"No worries, Jay, as long as you're sorry, that's what counts." Scout only gave a noncommittal hum. Then, the runner's arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders.
"...can I ask ya something?"
"You just did."
"Mick, I'm bein' serious."
"Yeah, sure," Sniper shrugged. My, his arms were beginning to burn. Scout's little hug tightened.
"...We're friends, yeah?" The marksman turned his head to meet Scout's gaze.
"Course, don't think anything's changed that," Sniper said slowly.
"So, we'll keep bein' friends, right?"
"Don't see why not, not unless something horrid happens."
"...promise?" They were nearly at the base's front door now and Sniper's arms were aching. "Promise we'll be friends?"
"...I, don't ya think that's unnecessary?… I don't know if I…" the arms tightened, and Sniper felt the runner's face hide itself in the collar of his vest. "Look, Jay, just because I don't promise doesn't mean…"
Scout clung on even tighter, soon he'd be cutting into Sniper's airways.
"...I can… for now. I promise, for now. Alright? I promise." The runner's grip loosened.
"Okay, yeah that's okay, that's fine."
The pair finally entered the home base, and Sniper's arms were begging him to put the runner down. But instead he marched forwards to where he knew the Infirmary was.
"So just why was your day so crumby?" Sniper managed to ask. Scout shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep, Pyro ate the rest of my favorite cereal, Spy got all up in my s**t about forgetting my headset one time , or two… or, well a couple times , but then I get my *ss handed to me on a silver freakin' platter while I'm looking for that thing again, and because I didn't see it, I'm startin' to think I'm goin' crazy!"
"Well that sucks-"
"And a dream," Scout quietly added, "but I can't remember it at all. Just… sorta got me thinkin' and about you and some other crap so… yeah, I'm gonna get so freakin' drunk tonight. I'm drinkin' till my stars see stars!" That didn't sound good. But Scout could do what he liked, it wasn't as if anyone would care since they'd probably be doing the same. "Are you gonna come hang too?"
"Sure, why not? Not like I'd have anywhere else to go, I suppose."
"Sweet!" The hug tightened as they rounded a corner. And there stood the Infirmary, and out of the door strolled Demo, muttering something about needing a drink. Then the men locked eyes.
The Scotsman looked at Sniper, then Scout, then the ground, and then back up and opened his mouth to say something.
"Got himself hurt and couldn't Respawn," Sniper was quick to say, cutting off anything Demo could have said. Scout was also quick to jump in.
"Yeah, my ankle got busted, right? And I lost my pistol so I couldn't Respawn but then I remembered my scattergun, but turns out it jammed , so I-"
"Look, I'm just goin' to… let you go," Demo interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender, "I've got to find that stash of tequila for tonight." And with that, the demolitionist sauntered away, no doubt halfway drunk already. As soon as the man was gone, Sniper dropped the runner.
"Right, off ya get,"
"Wha- Dude , I still can't freakin' walk, did you forget about that?"
"The Infirmary is literally right there," Sniper pointed out, "and you can hop your way over there, it isn't like you got both ankles ruined." When Scout made to disagree, Sniper cut him off, "and besides, you're not the only one who could use a clean up."
"Ugh, fine , go take your stupid yearly shower, it'll probably take hours to scrub all the dirt off if at all , you gross…" Scout looked him up and down before finally settling on " Creature !"
"Rude."
"Rude yourself!" And with that Scout hopped his way over to the Infirmary, calling for Medic and to get his krauty *ss over there. Sniper didn't stick around. Heading to his van, the marksman found himself lost in thought. Varying types of thoughts. But thoughts of growing soft were the most vocal.
Bottles of beer, scotch, vodka, you name it, were strewn across the table, just like the poker chips and cards the men were playing with. The air smelt of breathy alcohol and sweat, making Sniper the lightest bit nauseous. Lights were dimmed, the players sat with bated breath as Demo and Soldier were making their final bets. Heavy watched as he shuffled the next deck to use.
Soldier showed his hand. A straight. Besides Sniper, Engie whistled. Demo nodded at the sight, before his face twisted into a devilish grin.
"Read them and weep, boyos!" The Scotsman exclaimed as he swept his hand along the table. Everyone leaned in to get a look. Silence.
"Demo, this is card for Teufort Insurance Company," Heavy pointed out, holding up the business card. Soldier sighed heavily.
"Insurance, I should have known you'd come prepared to gain even when you lose!"
"D*mn right, and you're goin' to be payin' a deductible!"
"NOOO!" Soldier cried alongside the last few mercs who weren't playing with them.
"DOCC, C'MON MAN!"
Seeing as how poker is an acquired taste, and how small the table was, and that two mercs had no idea how to play, the other four were doing something different. Charades, and it was quite clear which team was winning.
"Scout, you aren't allowed to speak when you're the one acting," Spy pointed out.
"EIN ESEL!? Von Mäusen und Männern!?"
"English, Doctor," Heavy stated then muttered, "is too drunk for game night." Pyro then sprang up, mumbling something.
"Times up, gentlemen," Spy translated. Both Scout and Medic groaned before the runner rounded on his partner.
"The Littlllle Engine Thhhat Could, man! Thhat was it!"
"The what?"
"It's a book!"
"I've never read it!"
"That's a children's story," Spy argued as he gestured to Pyro, "I believe it's your turn again, mon ami." The pyromaniac skipped over to the center, replacing the still grumbling Scout, and started to mime.
"An oak tree," Spy stated. Pyro raised her arms and clapped, "sea lion." Pyro crouched, "Atlas." A circular motion, "Solaris."
"Guillotine, gingerbread man, The Time Machine, a polar bear," the longer Spy replied to Pyro's mimicry, the more Scout and Medic were left dumbfounded. The runner ended up leaving after the thirty first correct guesses.
"Ffreakin'... cheatin' jerks, can't believe this crapp," Scout complained as he trotted up to the poker table. Well, a more accurate description is that he nearly face planted into the table. As the roaring laughter of Heavy and Demo rose up, Sniper grabbed Scout's shirt collar and yanked him to his feet.
"You are way too drunk, kid, how much have you had?" Scout's cheeks were flushed to high heaven, and his uneasy stance along with his light swaying showed plain as day that the kid was at least five drinks beyond tipsy.
"Jussst a few, er more maybe, I waanst… wasn't keepin' track," the runner mumbled as he collapsed into Sniper, sending the pair crashing to the floor. More laughter sprang up from the table.
"Private Twinkletoes can't hold his liquor!" Soldier wheezed, then coughed as the cigar he'd been smoking snapped in half and landed on his exposed hand.
"'M nott a lightweight," Scout barked, shooting to his feet with surprising speed, and pulling Sniper up too.
"Mate, ya look like you're about to snog on the first face ya spot," Demo said sympathetically. He then gave Sniper a teasing look. "Might want to keep an eye on him, lest the lad gets unfaithful." The Scotsman wiggled his eyebrows and Sniper groaned.
"**** off, Demo," the marksman growled, shuffling his cards to distract himself from the chuckles around him. "I swear, all you lot ever do is use me as a bloody mirror-"
"Wait, "snog"," Scout suddenly blurted, "Ain't that meannn kissin'?... EW , no, you're all grossss as s**t! And we're guys , I'm connolly, no, I'm only kiss- kissin' girls and… well, Snipes was th' cetion, but he was-"
Demo did a spit take and Engie was sent into a coughing fit. The marksman himself was currently wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. And Scout was just making everything worse.
"Nah, see, he was- like, he was dead and not breathinnn' so-"
"Scout, shut up!" Sniper hissed as everyone around the table grew more and more stunned. "Look, just get back to your own game, you don't even like poker!" The runner looked confused, lightly swaying and chewing his cheek.
"Wellll, yup, but I like you so- and Med's, like, sucks at games, worst teammateee, really,"
"Ya ain't helping, go away," Sniper tried pushing Scout away as the others watched in amused fascination.
"I'm plenny of help! Like, uh," Scout leaned over and looked over Sniper's shoulder. "You should fold thissss round, yer cards really suck, nothing's matchin', don't even have a pair-"
"Scout!"
"WHAT!?" The runner shouted back, though the uproarious laughter erupting from the table made it hard to hear. "I'm helpin' you, ya d**k!"
"You just lost me this round!" Sniper shot back, throwing his hand on the table and standing up, staring Scout down. The effect was lost in translation from Scout's drunkenness.
"So what? Pokeerr sucks! Let's go do something actuallyy fun!"
"...Know what? Yeah, let's go." Sniper said as he grabbed Scout's shirt and began to drag him out of the room. Behind him Demo called once more.
"Don't forget protection, mates!"
"Shut up, ya drunk b*****d!" Sniper shouted back, tightening his grip as Scout tried ripping himself away.
"W-What's yer problem, mann!? Lemme gho- GO!"
"No, because you're just going to make a fool out of both of us! Again!" Sniper snarled, pulling harder. Then something hard hit him in the back of the head. Snapping around, he spotted Scout glaring at him, fist closed and raised for another punch.
"Don't you dare go startin' a fight-"
"**** you, dude! I wass just hangin'- havin' fun, and you just- like, **** you! Ruinin' the fun!"
" I ruined the fun!?" The marksman yanked Scout close, locking the runner up in a blazing glare. "If you had any amount of self control, you'd be able to learn how to shut up!" He then continued walking, dragging Scout along and towards the backdoor. The runner still dug his heels into the ground, pulling away and cussing Sniper out with words even the most experienced sailor would blush at. And all it did was sand off the small amount of patience Sniper still had.
Sniper shouldered the backdoor open and was met with the cold night air. There in the darkness of night, he let Scout go and rounded on him. But instead of a verbal lashing, a mean right hook crashed into his cheek.
Stumbling away and swearing the pain away, Sniper managed to hear the temper tantrum Scout was throwing his way.
"-Didn't even doo nothin', and you th- think ya can jush, just treat me like a- a stupis kid!? That it!?"
"You have the emotional intelligence of one, so why not!?" Sniper shouted back, straightening up to tower over the belligerent runner.
"Qu- QUIT acting like you're freakin' better!" Scout shoved him away, growing angrier and angrier, every inch of him beginning to tense up in pent up energy. Sniper stared at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes and shoving back, making the younger man stumble and fall.
"Or what?" He sneered, watching the energy build and build until it neared spilling. "Cause they way I see it, I don't need to act out an obvious truth."
That did it. Scout sprung to his feet and lunged, sending the pair to battle and finish their spat in the dirt. The hard ground knocked the wind out of the marksman, and he barely had time to move his head before Scout fist collided into the dirt where it just was.
Punches and kicks were soon discarded as the two high strung mercs began to wrestle the other into the ground, sending clouds of dust into the air and into their clothes. Sniper had Scout pinned for a good moment, situated in a way where Scout couldn't kick or push him off. He bucked and writhed, but to no avail.
"Aw, giving up so soon?" Sniper sneered breathlessly. Scout stopped moving all together. Then Sniper felt the kid's back start to tense.
The runner threw his head back and cracked it against Sniper's face. The explosion of pain loosened Sniper's grip and Scout soon switched the momentum to his favor, now the one pinning Sniper. With the kid's knees digging into his back and the world a blurry mess from the dust in his face and the reflexive tears his now bleeding nose was causing, he was in a very poor position. Trying to throw his elbow into Scout's chest was really the only thing he could do, and that ended as well as one would expect. Scout linked his own arm through Sniper's and yanked it behind the marksman's back, trapping him further.
In one final act of desperation, Sniper tried bucking Scout off, and for a moment it seemed to work. At is until he felt the runner's legs wrap around his waist and use their weight to further trap him. Scout's grip only grew tighter and tighter the more Sniper struggled, and when he tried elbowing the kid's face to get himself free, something hard hit his arm and sunk deep into his skin.
"Alright, alright , let go!" Sniper shouted, ripping his arm away and cradling it by his chest. "S**t…" The second he cried out, Scout had completely detached and was now sitting in the dirt, spitting. His teeth were stained pink and the stuff he spat out was pink too. Sniper looked down at his arm. Deep, free bleeding bitemarks.
"Oh crap," Scout muttered, staring at the marksman's bloody arm, "crap, dude, I didn't mean-"
"Forget it," Sniper said, still trying to catch his breath, "guess that's what happens when you're drunk during a tussle." Forcing himself to look away from his wound, Sniper scanned the area.
The two of them were completely covered in dirt, sweat, and bits of blood. Scout's left brow had split, spear the top of his head in blood and muck. The collar of his shirt had been stretched to ruin from Sniper's tugging, revealing the very top of Scout's chest. Seemed like his surgery scars had finally fully healed.
Sniper himself fared worse. He could feel a black eye forming, and a nasty bruise on his cheek. His lower back also whined in pain as he shakingly got to his feet. Lending Scout a hand, he pulled the runner to his feet.
"Didn't mean to bite, honest," Scout mumbled, looking properly remorseful. Sniper could tear Scout a new one over it, at least he would if all the anger he felt earlier hadn't been spent on a brawl.
They'd happen sometimes. Rarely, but they did happen. Seemed to be a sort of release valve for the two of them whenever they did get physical. And afterwards, there were no hard feelings, not even a mention of the event afterwards as the day went by like nothing had happened, even if they were covered in new bruises, torn clothes, and sometimes blood.
"It's fine, I knocked one of your teeth out so I guess we're even," Sniper pointed out. Sure enough, when Scout ran his tongue over his teeth, one of his canines was missing. It was probably lying in the bloodied mud somewhere, and Sniper was too tired to try and make something from it(Scout probably wouldn't like it if he did anyway). "Look, you should get going, I need to take care of this."
"I cann get ya a medkit," Scout offered, jabbing his thumb at the base. Sniper shook his head.
"No, just get going, I can Respawn, and you're too drunk to know if what you grab is a medkit or a bottle of bleach."
"...yeah, Y- you gotta point," Scout stumbled back, heading towards the base before turning and meeting Sniper's gaze. "No hard feelings, yeah?"
"No hard feelings, now go." The runner gave a flimsy salute and walked back to the base, talking about finding a bucket for the morning hangover. Sniper turned and began his walk back to his van, frowning at the painful punctures on his arm.
Medic was passed out back in the base, and the walk to the Infirmary would take too long. And even then, this could scar, and chances are Scout was too drunk to remember anything when morning came, so seeing bite marks on his arm would lead to some rather awkward questions.
And that wasn't even bringing the team into account.
…
Yes, Respawn it was. He could already feel the stares he'd get tomorrow if he left this to scar.