Everything was too quiet, while Sniper did prefer it that way, it was a bit unnerving. He rarely went into the base, instead staying in his camper by himself, it was less stressful. But on the occasion he actually had to leave his small shelter from the world and see the team outside of the battlefield. One of those situations was today. Laundry had piled up and he had run out of clean clothes, he didn't even have any "clean enough" ones. Most of the mercenaries did their chores on the weekend, so he had waited until Monday. It was soon enough that he could live with the current state of his clothes, yet it was late enough that no one would be in need to wash their clothes other than him.

His shoes clacked against the floor, the sound seemed to echo due to the lack of almost any other sound. Sure there were the occasional noise from the other side of the base, but it was usually louder. Just as he stepped into the doorway of the laundry room he froze, bag of clothes falling to the floor with a soft thud.

Standing by one of the dryers was the lithe figure of the Scout folding a faded red shirt. It took the sniper by surprise to see him there, considering the runner usually got his laundry done first. He would have left, abandoning his plan to just come back another day, but the sound of the bag falling brought the other's attention to him. It would have been rude to leave, and if there was anything his mother had taught him, it was to be polite.

Sniper kept his head down, legs striding over to the furthest washer away from the scout, trying to avoid contact as much as possible. And shockingly, the other kept quiet, not trying to initiate conversation as per usual. Just as he was about to put a load in the washing machine, Scout threw the last few of his clothes back into the bag he had brought, most still unfolded or dirty. With a quick glance in his direction, Sniper could see bags under his eyes before his gaze was torn away and he left.

Something was wrong with Scout.

If he hadn't thought anything was off with the runner at that point, the next day's mission made it clear that he wasn't alright. To protect their intelligence and capture the other team's. That was their one goal, yet he managed to mess that up. Sniper counted each time the kid's death count rose. He bounced around like he was trying to get killed. Running around corners he already knew had sentries, as if he could outrun their firing. He flinched as he saw the runner's body collide with a rocket from the other team's soldier. While he knew that the scout would just run right back from respawn, as wild as ever, he knew that it must have hurt. He was so deep into his musings that he didn't hear the creaking of the wooden stairs to his hideout. He gasped as he felt the cold metal of the spy's butterfly knife enter his back. "You're skills seem to be getting rusty Filthy Jar Man," the Frenchman said, the hissing of the knife spinning back into place in the background.

As his vision started to blacken he heard the sharp clicks of feet walking away.

Something was very wrong with Scout.

The sniper had been sitting in his camper, drinking a mug of coffee and listening to the exploding crashes of rain pouring and the occasional roar of thunder and crack of lightening. As he finished off the last of the cup, he started to stand before stopping. Out on the desert stood a thin figure, getting pelted by the gallons of rain, yet they stood there unmoving. "Bloody hell," Sniper muttered before slamming his cup down and running out into the rain.

His shoes stuck in the mud with every step he took, the squishy sound following him until he reached the runner. "What the hell are you doing out here-" his voice died out when Scout turned to face him. His face was pale, more than it had any right to be, and there were blotches of bright red littering his face. "Are you alright mate?" He questioned, before the other could answer Sniper went to place a hand on his forehead, only to pull it away when he felt the radiating heat. He had a fever.

"'M fine Snipes," his words were slurred as he tried to push the taller man away. The sniper stood there for a moment, unmoving, debating on what to do with the kid. He could just take him back to the base, but then he'd have to deal with his teammates and their attempts to keep him there. It left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Or, he could take him back to his camper, considering he couldn't just leave him here, but that felt wrong as well. The small and beat up camper was like a shield to him, a blockade from the world that was too loud and too pushy. As a coughing fit racked the runner's body and he felt the rain drenching his shirt, he made his decision. As he started to lead the other towards his home the kid started to push him away again.

"Snipes, I can walk back to the base by myself," he muttered.

"I'm not taking you to the base," that shut him up.

Once he had shut the door behind them, the sniper led Scout towards the table before walking right back out the door. He pressed his back against the thin door, his breath heavy. It felt as if there was someone squeezing his heart, toying with it to see how long it would take before it would burst. The rapidly increasing thumps of his heart echoed as he took deeper gulps of air. Hecouldn'tbreathehecouldn'tbreathehecouldn'tbreathe.

After what seemed like hours his body seemed to slow down to a halt, yet that deep seeded panic stayed, only slightly dulled. He let someone in, someone other than himself was in his camper. Even though he was the one that brought the runner in with his free will, it still terrified him.

He took a deep breath of air, letting it out slowly, trying to calm himself before pushing himself off the camper wall and onto his feet. His legs were wobbly still, but he managed to scrape a majority of the mud off of this clothes.

The door gave a quiet 'click' as he shut it behind him. Scout was sitting by the table, shivering. He kept his eyes aimed at the ground as he strided over to the bed and pulled a box out from under it. Inside the container were several blankets, all folded to perfection. He grabbed one before giving it to the scout with only a quiet "here."

They stood in silence for a moment, Scout's teeth chattering too much to talk and that heavy pressure building back in the sniper's throat. His mouth seemed to be a desert, he backed into the counter and gripped it tightly, regretting that the camper was so small for once. "Would you like something to drink?" He asked, voice hoarse as he opened a cupboard and grabbed two glasses.

"You have any Bonk?" He asked, yet he scowled when the other stayed silent. "Never mind," he huffed " do you have any beer?" he asked instead and the sniper just grimaced.

"That would only make your condition worse, you have a fever and alcohol won't help that, it'd just make it worse."

"Does it look like I care?" He growled burying his face into his arms on the table. Sniper only sighed before reluctantly opening another cupboard and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels. He filled both glasses a little over halfway full before setting one in front of the scout, cringing when the kid downed it in one shot and his body was wracked with a coughing fit.

They sat there in silence as Sniper slowly sipped the drink and Scout started to stop shivering. "I can't believe her," Scout suddenly spoke, "I mean, what does she know?" The sniper stayed silent, unsure of what to say and letting the runner to continue on with his rant. "Waiting isn't going to help anything! We're perfect for each other, we could've made it work, we WERE making it work. But no, she doesn't even ask me and-" he groaned landing with a 'thud' on the table. "She didn't have to break up with me over it," he let out a small hiccuped cry before giving a sigh. Sniper came to realization with a quiet 'oh.'

"So you and Miss Pauling spit up?" He asked hesitantly, unsure how to deal with the scout. He only gave a small nod, head against the table, in conformation. "Maybe it's for the best? You two are are still young, maybe try to find another girl, see if Miss Pauling is really who you want," his voice was quiet and chopped. Unconfident with his ability to give advice, yet trying to not get Scout riled up. The runner groaned in frustration.

"But I'm not going to find-" he suddenly jumped up, leaning far across the table, so far that Sniper could smell the alcohol on his breath. "That's it! I'll find someone and we'll be a perfect couple! Miss P will realize that she made a mistake breaking up with me then!" He exclaimed, a grin on his face. "I'll get her back!"

"That's not what-" Sniper tried to point out, but the runner started laughing.

"You're the best Snipes!" He rushed over to the counter, grabbing the Jack Daniels, before filling both his and the sniper's glasses again. "To getting Miss P back," lifting the glass up before taking a drink. With the way his legs wobbled and words slurred, Sniper was starting to see how much the drink was affecting him.

"Maybe you should slow down a bit Scout," he suggested, taking the glass away before dumping it in the sink.

"C'mon," he huffed, "you're no fun Snipes. It's just a few drinks," he argued, wrapping an arm around the sniper's shoulders, causing him to stiffen. "Let loose a little bit," he smirked, pulling the taller man down a bit. He grimaced before pushing the other away.

"You should lay down, you're drunk," he had debated sending him back to the base, but with his current state and the rain, he doubted the runner would get far.

"'M' not drunk," he argued, "just a little tipsy!" The runner then went to latch onto the other again, just to be pushed away. His face had a flash of a hurt expression, but it turned into a scowl. "Fine, I can see you got a stick up your ass like the Frog. I'll fuckin' go lay down if that makes you happy," he waved his arms around in the air irritably before meandering a few steps and stopping, a bit lost.

Seeing his confusion, Sniper gave a silent sigh.

"The bed is behind the curtain," he said.

"But-"

"Just take it, I'll sleep out here," that was the end of it. Scout walked over to the bed, feet heavy, before sliding the curtain and curling up on the bed. The sniper let out the breath he had been holding before sitting back down and drinking what was left of his drink. As he noticed that the scout's breathing had slowed down enough to indicate he was asleep, he started to drift off.